When he closed his eyes, he could still see bluebells fluttering in the summer breeze. Early morning sunlight streamed through the hayfields in patches, and Vincent’s clothes stuck to his body from chopping wood all morning.
He paused to take a swig of his canteen and allowed his body a moment to catch up with his breathing. Dragging his bandana over his clammy forehead, he gazed at Bella unfurling her patchwork blanket in the middle of the prairie. Noah buzzed about her, holding an action figure high above the grass and called out to his new pony to watch him play.
It was his fourth birthday, and after much deliberation with Bella, they had given Noah his own pony. With their ranch on the cusp of Colorado Springs, they’d already purchased, and saved three other stallions. But Noah had been begging for a pony since he could talk, often praying to the Gods for a “Fido”, whom he would love and groom and tend to every day.
I swears it, God, I promises you I’ll look after him.
The warmth of the sun on his face, birds flapping in the cloudless sky, and Noah laughing as his mother tickled him to eat his watermelon, filled Vincent with joy. He walked over to the outside gate, and one of the horses came over to inspect. Chickens clucked in the huts overhead, and Vincent ran a hand up the stallion’s sable forehead. He listened to Bella and Noah with a fond smile.
“Come on, baby, try a little bit for Mommy? Look, I’m eating it. Mmmm. It’s yummy.”
Noah, now sat cross-legged on the blanket with his back to Vincent, shook his head.
“It has little bits in it, Mommy, and I don’t like little bits. Emory says they grow trees in you. He says he eated an apple once and a tree popped outta his…outta his butt.”
Vincent suppressed a laugh and continued stroking his horse, the sun beading down on his brow again. Knowing full well how stubborn Noah was when it came to fruit and vegetables, Bella resorted to plan B.
“Well, your Uncle Xavier will be here soon, and you know how he feels about wasting food.”
Wrong choice of words, Bumblebee.
Noah jolted up from the blanket and threw aside his doll. “Nerf gun, Nerf gun!”
“Nerf what now?” Bella squinted at him, the sun streaming through her blonde hair. She had unbraided her plaits that day, and the locks draped down her sapphire dress in soft waves. “Oh, good lord. Has he promised you one of those for your birthday?”
“Two of them, so I can plays with Daddy. He even says…” He dropped his voice low and held a hand to his mouth. “He even says he gots Emory one, too, so he can plays with us. Do you think he will?”
Bella wrapped her arms around him, grinned over her shoulder at Vincent. “Why wouldn’t he?”
Their son looked away, his attention drawn to the blanket. “Auntie Vy says Emory’s sick.”
“Sick?” Bella’s eyes widened, and she lifted Noah’s chin. “What do you mean sick, baby?”
Vincent grinned at the surprise in Bella’s voice. He already knew what would ensue from their son.
“Uh-huh! She calls it, umm…” Noah scratched his head, then he exclaimed, “Pubsurty! Auntie Vy says he’s too old for Nerf guns and he’s just grumpy all the time. Like Uncle Joe when the Montana Foxes don’t win and he owes Auntie Penny money.”
Scattered leaves kicked into the air around them, and Bella burst into laughter. “He’s only thirteen, baby. If he’s too old for Nerf guns, then your daddy and I will play with you. How does that sound? Although, I have a feeling Daddy will win,” she added in a whisper.
Vincent used his boot, heavy and clogged with mud, to push open the gate to the prairie. He prowled through the grass, grabbed Noah by his armpit, and hoisted him onto his shoulders. “Hey, I heard that. I’ve just had more practice than Mommy. Now, isn’t it someone’s birthday today?”
“It’s mine, Daddy, it’s mine. I’m a big four. That makes me a big boy now, right?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You’re still our wittle baba.”
Vincent tickled Noah’s feet, who threw back his head and giggled, twisting his squishy hands into Vincent’s shoulder-length hair. Meanwhile, Bella turned on the radio, and a crackling news reporter documented another major earthquake that had struck China. The third in a week.
Vincent lay Noah on the blanket and switched off the machine. It was rare for him to have a day off, and he wanted to savor the moment. No more news. No more natural disasters. And for the first in weeks, no more Bella fretting over their ranch being destroyed and them becoming homeless.
He sprawled out next to the picnic basket and instinctively wrapped Bella in his arms. Noah chomped on a slice of watermelon, content and humming to a rhyme as he swung his Logan Chain doll back and forth. For that moment, everything was perfect. Then the sun disappeared behind the clouds, and a sinister shadow dropped over the ranch.
Noah glanced at his parents and then to the sky, questioning why the day had grown so dark. A strand of his honey-blonde hair had caught fire and singed slowly to his scalp. Vincent tried to warn him, but his lips had been nailed shut, the iron stabbing at his gums.
Noah opened his own mouth to cry out, and his jaw snapped off into his lap. His flesh melted from his bones like a decomposing corpse, leaving blackened, charred patches of skin hanging from his small body. Vincent grabbed on to Bella and looked down, her beautiful features had split like cracked porcelain, and flakes of ash blew away from her skin, her eyes burned into crispy slits.
Fire devoured them, their hair, their eyes, bodies, and souls. The wildflowers were replaced by concrete rubble, and, silently screaming for a way to bring them back, Vincent burned with his loved ones on the wooden pyre.
When he shot up gasping in bed, Maddox leaned over him, his fangs gleaming. Before Vincent’s brain registered what he was doing, he grabbed Maddox by the throat and screamed like a man on the brink of insanity.
His hands fell through the air, unable to find purchase. Had he been dreaming?
Vincent groped for his nightstand and switched on the lamp. “Come to finish the job?” he snarled, baring his own teeth.
There was no response.
A cold draft crept into the room, drawing Vincent’s attention to the wide-open door. Large, black eyes glistened at him, but they did not belong to a vampire. A fuzzy, black-haired puppy sat on its hind legs staring at him, one ear perked and the other drooping.
“What the hell…?”
The puppy tilted its head at him, and its other ear flopped to the side.
Vincent pushed out of the bed, his bones still tender, and snatched a pair of sweatpants from his drawers. He pulled them on and then hunched down, extending a hand.
“Come here, little guy. What you doing here?”
Slowly, the pup padded over to him, sniffed, paused, and then cautiously sat by Vincent’s side.
“There you go… Did you lose your way?”
With his voice still pretty hoarse, Vincent was surprised to hear the softness in his tone. He had become used to talking so defensively in Hope that he’d forgotten how to speak without hatred. He ran a hand down the pup’s spine, his eyes roaming over its tiny body. The mutt was kind of wolfish in looks, with a long, thick snout, stocky limbs and a thick undercoat. The fur felt like wavy silk between Vincent’s fingers, particularly around its mane.
He paused on the leather collar fastened around the pup’s neck. A blue gift box, wrapped in white ribbon, glared back at him. Vincent unravelled the box from the pup’s collar, and the item dropped into his hand. A fucking Tiffany’s box? Were they still manufacturing that shit? He wouldn’t be surprised if Maddox had his own Tiffany and Co. somewhere in the city.
What felt like an eternity ago, Vincent had given Bella her engagement ring in a similar box. Typically, she had cried and phoned everyone and their dog to convey the news. The same box had been stored in her memory bag at the shelter, the same ring on her finger as she’d burned on her pyre.
Calloused fingers slid to the edges and cracked open the lid. He expected to see another cock ring. He still had the previous one hooked on his junk, and despite how often Vincent pulled at it, the damn thing wouldn’t come off. When he popped the lid open, he was confronted by something much worse. A pair of fangs, with polished, curved tips stained in droplets of blood.
“Is this some kind of joke?”
“On the contrary, it is a gift. The only peace offering worthy under the circumstances.”
Nearly a week in the infirmary, Vincent’s body remained slushy and bruised. It took him a moment to register Maddox and what he’d said. A peace offering between a vampire and hunter? Impossible. That was like the moon giving the sun the night sky—an offering that was categorically inconceivable.
Vincent scowled up at the vampire, clenching his fingers around the box. Maddox appeared visibly dishevelled for once. His snowy hair hadn’t been slicked back or combed to the side, and his gray suit had wrinkles on the sleeves and pants. More noticeably, to Vincent’s utter astonishment, he also didn’t have an expensive pocket square folded neatly in his top pocket. He looked almost…unkempt.
“I don’t want your fucking gift. I did everything you said, and look what bullshit you landed me in. What’s the fucking point?”
He didn’t bother with ‘sir’ or ‘master’ anymore. The creature no longer deserved his respect, as forced as it had often been.
Maddox shifted to the side of Vincent’s bed, his expression pained and affronted. He sat on the mattress, barely leaving a dent, and kept his attention on the pup. Vincent, on the other hand, couldn’t peel his own from Maddox.
“Have I ever hurt you, Vincent? Ever laid a hand on you?”
“You don’t gotta hit someone to destroy them,” Vincent barked, struggling to keep himself from pouncing over the room and throttling Maddox. “As a so-called leader, you should know that.”
Sharp, shooting pains clamped Vincent’s jaw and strained the bandages tied around his neck. Maddox leaned back a fraction to study him, a hint of perplexed awe on his countenance. Had those silver eyes always been so translucent? Those lips so unexpectedly warm, and his touch flitting between ice and fire?
Vincent looked away, disgusted by his own thoughts. The vampire had let a psychopath break into his room and nearly kill him. Regardless of what Maddox said, he couldn’t be trusted. Vincent would obey him because he had no other choice, but he would not trust.
“I vowed never to punish you unless it was deserved. What that traitor did… It was unspeakable, and he paid dearly for it.” He nodded to the fangs—a vampire’s identity.
“Why do you care?” Vincent’s anger seethed from him, straining his temple and neck. Was this another game to him? The puppy, now the fangs, some form of entertainment? “I’m a toy to you.”
A badly treated one, at that.
“You are nothing of the sort.” Maddox pushed off the bed and flattened his gray suit.
The pup wavered on the verge of approaching him, but he probably smelled vampire and decided to stay put. Vincent stroked his spine again, keeping himself grounded before he lashed out. Think of your group.
“You are merely too valuable to taint.”
He repeated Maddox’s words in his head, trying to make sense of them. Merely too valuable to taint? What did he want to do with him? Keep him like a prized turkey, hung to bleed dry in the back of a butcher’s? Because that’s what he felt like. A slab of meat hanging dry.
“What’s the deal with this mutt, anyways?” Vincent jutted his chin toward the puppy, who had forced two chunky paws on his lap and tried to lick his face. He pulled back and ruffled a hand across its chest, resulting in a myriad of sloppy kisses. A smile almost made an impression on Vincent’s face, then he remembered Maddox was there.
“I cannot protect you at all times. This beast, however, will remedy that. As you heal, I expect you to train him. He will become your shadow. Your shield. Your best friend.” Maddox veered to the door, paused, and looked back. “Your wounds are healing nicely, Vincent. In time, those marks will also fade. Perhaps I will see you at dinner. My penthouse. Tonight.”
The door closed, and the pup pounced onto Vincent’s chest, taking him by surprise. He peered down at the box of fangs on the floor, then switched his gaze to the pup.
“All right, Fang.” He carried him into his arms and stretched from the floor. “Let’s start your training.”
At least now, he had something to keep him sane in all the madness.
Something that was his.
It had only been hours, and already Fang was proving to be an intelligent shadow. He followed Vincent around his room, to the bathroom, and even padded along to the gymnasium downstairs. Ezra had escorted him as usual, around early evening time, for his daily workout. Seeing him uncomfortable had brought a smile to Vincent. The vampire was clearly uncertain when it came to canines, and Vincent planned to use that to his advantage. Not that Ezra was particularly cruel to him anymore. But he was still a vampire, at the end of the day. Just like the rest of them.
Fang had taken a shit on the treadmill. Since Vincent was the only one to use the gym, he had left it sitting there. He had, however, made a sharp squeal when he’d caught Fang circling and squatting down. At least he’d confirmed the pup was male when he took a piss on the barbells, too.
If Vincent was to be training Fang, he’d need access to a garden. He made a mental note to ask Maddox at—Vincent’s stomach seemed to lurch into his throat—tonight’s dinner.
Asher had knocked on his bedroom door prior to the meal. He now hated whenever people knocked. As ridiculous as the notion sounded, knocking had been unusual and reminded him of Titus.
“I trust you are feeling better, Mr. Hudson?”
The doctor set his medical bag onto Vincent’s bed, as he always did, and motioned for Vincent to come hither and sit. He did, but so did Fang, who tried to claw up onto the bed.
“Down, Fang. Stay.”
The pup took that as continue jumping. It was still day one. He’d cut the pup some slack.
“He’s a lively little fellow, isn’t he?” Asher reached for Vincent’s neck and loosened the bandages. Gunk pulled away with the stained cloths.
He’d been told it was because his wounds were still healing.
“He’s just a pup.”
“And the name Fang?” Asher’s gloved hands rolled the bandages into a ball, then into a transparent plastic bag. He unwound fresh bandages and began to cover Vincent’s neck. They’d already been steeped in the healing balm the doctor always used. Its application was more for the bite marks than the welts.
Vincent shrugged a shoulder. “He’s surrounded by vampires. It fits.”
He heard Asher chuckle for the first time, surprising him.
“At least you have a sense of humor. What breed is Fang?”
“Fuck knows. I reckon shepherd more than anything. Maybe a mix of wolf.”
“Wolves are practically extinct,” Asher said. “Before the Collapse, I was an environmentalist on the East Coast. Grew up in a Conservation Center where the wolves had roamed freely. Not now. They were wiped out by the Collapse’s first blizzard.”
“Of 2090?”
“Yes.” He felt underneath Vincent’s jaw, his neck, his glands, and looked over the bite marks on his throat and chest. “They are healing. Slowly.” He rifled through his bag, poured some of the balm onto a cotton ball, and dabbed at the bites.
“What’s in that shit?” he asked, watching Asher closely.
Fang had settled into a ball at his feet.
“You don’t want to know.”
“If it’s that bastard’s venom, I’ll kill you.”
Another laugh, and dammit, why it did feel so good being around humans? First the kid, now Asher’s daily visits. He was terrified of taking pleasure in them. Or more likely, becoming dependent on them.
“Just a droplet,” Asher replied, and Vincent glared at him. “Now, how are your muscles feeling? Still painful?”
“Nah, not really. Tender at bits. You know, around my ass.”
“I’ll leave more painkillers with Ezra to be administered with your meals. I do think you are healing splendidly. Titus, he… he was a powerful vampire.”
In other words, you’re lucky to be alive.
A change of bandages and some ointment later, Asher left, and Vincent prepared to get dressed. He yanked off his t-shirt and sweatpants, then rummaged in his wardrobe for a fresh pair of pants. He hesitated. Dinner with a vampire? He could hardly show up in sweats. He flitted through the wardrobe and dragged out the black suit Asher had given him weeks ago. He brushed his teeth in the bathroom, washed his hands, and ran a wet hand through his hair.
Let’s see what the bloodsucker has to say now.
Vincent knocked on his bedroom door and waited for Ezra. When nobody appeared after some minutes, he tried the handle and started at the door being unlocked.
Fang padded into the hallway with him, sniffing his way toward Maddox’s door.
“You smell something, boy?”
Gotta get used to the stench of vampires, he thought, raising a hand to knock.
The door had already been pried open, and a loud crashing noise shrieked from the other side.
Fang growled behind Vincent’s leg and scratched a paw on the floor.
“It’s okay…” Vincent whispered, admittedly unsure himself. Was dinner a new euphemism for punishment?
He pushed the door farther aside and took a step in.
Maddox, hunched over his desk, and the entire contents of his penthouse smashed into pieces.
Sculptures, vases, chairs, stationery, books, parchments, white rose petals—they were all destroyed.
Vincent’s body tensed as he tiptoed toward Maddox. The vampire’s back was as still as the statues had been, an insectile sculpture bent over his desk. The closer Vincent came, the clearer he saw what Maddox was peering at.
An extravagant gift box…containing Yuri’s head.
Vomit belched up from Vincent’s stomach, and the floor swayed underneath his shoes. Yuri—dead? He was the only person Vincent had grown fond of since this whole nightmare began. Just a kid, as innocent as Noah had been, now slaughtered?
“Who… Who sent that?” he managed, his head turning fuzzy and his legs trembling.
“Cadmus,” Maddox replied, reaching toward the box. “Your beloved uncle.”
TO BE CONTINUED…