Two hours in the life of an immortal vampire should be entirely inconsequential, but seeing as I was always an impatient human, it makes sense that I would be an impatient Kresova.

Even with the centuries—or more—of life that await me, I sit here anxiously glancing at the clock every few seconds, hoping that the next two hours will somehow magically pass in a matter of minutes.

What happens in two hours?

Carvell ‘Carver’ Marceau, the first of my three consorts, returns from his forced trip to Paris. The evil bitch queen (Reina’s official title for Morana) summoned him for a ‘short visit’. She said it was to see to matters of the court and address the rogue Kresova progress, but I’m calling bullshit.

She doesn’t like me for a bunch of reasons and shoving Carver’s servitude in my face gives her copious amount of pleasure.

Number one on her ‘Aurora hate list’? I’m the only Kresova since the queen herself, to survive without the blood of our reigning leader. Add onto that the fact the Carver, the lord of pleasure, prefers me over her, and her total lack of empathy or human emotion, you’ve got the perfect combination for ‘jealous bitch’.

A jealous bitch with a whole lot of power and not a single rule to stop her from chopping my head off. One of the few ways to permanently end a vampire. Hence the reason why Carver is still ‘playing bases’ i.e. playing ball, with her. We’re acting out this masquerade until I find my third consort and unlock the second Dria, moving us another step closer toward defeating Morana.

After that? Who fucking knows.

My old neighbor back in Cali always said, ‘don’t borrow worries. It’s a waste of your time.’ So I’ve been making the plans up as I go along. Besides, Carver isn’t exactly in the position to offer any guidance so for now, all plans are on hold.

His ‘short visit’ turned into almost four weeks. Four weeks of hardly any communication. Since the moment he left my sight, and the return trip postponements began, every one of my worst fears has plagued me daily. Did she know? Had she discovered the truth? Was Carver ever coming home?

The only time I finally accepted his word that this time, was ‘the time’, was when he’d phoned in from his connection at JFK.

At 3:42pm his flight lands at Louis Armstrong Airport, and by 5:00pm, he’ll be back in my living room in Louisiana. Safe and hopefully. . . unharmed.

I should be relieved that he’s so close, but instead I’m a cluster-fuck of emotions. What if she’s threatened him? What if he’s brainwashed him and he’s decided to remain loyal? What if he’s bringing terrible news? What if . . . No. Stop the obsessing Aurora.

This is Carver. He hates this bitch more than any of us, and though we haven’t hit the ‘I love you’ stage of our relationship, I’d call us ‘ride-or-die.’

He saved my life, betrayed his queen, and supported me through all of this madness. He gained nothing for it—except my loyalty and affection. For him, that seems to be enough. So yeah, ride-or-die.

“Aurora?”

I turn from my computer and look up to the cubicle beside me. Ashley is frowning at me again. Her ashy-blonde brows bunched together and her mouth tight.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“You’re doing it again. Spacing out when I’m talking.” She bites her lip and the black rimmed glasses she wears slip down on her nose, just a hair. “Are you sure everything is okay with you?”

No. Everything is not fucking okay. It’s hella far from okay, but that’s not her problem. I’ve only been back to work a week and the last thing I need to do is create gossip around the office that calls my mental capacity into question.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. My boyfriend finally gets back into town today.”

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

Technically, I was going to have three. . . what? What should I call them? Boyfriends? Lovers? But it’s not like I could admit that aloud to anyone outside of the handful of people who already knew of the prophecy. My future was ‘Ms. Aurora Heldvige & guests x 3’

I sit back into my chair and twist the pen-tool I use to customize images between my fingers, “Oh, I didn’t mention it?”

She shakes her head and that worry in her eyes morphs into a smile, “So that’s what it is. I’ve been wondering.” She laughs, “You’re in the love haze.” She scoots her chair closer to the small divider between us, “So, did you meet him back home?”

“Back home?”

Oh, that’s right. I’d told everyone my extended absence had been to bury my only living relative and settle their estate. It was the only excuse I could come up with so last minute that didn’t leave room for a lot of questions. Death makes people uncomfortable, and uncomfortable people don’t ask questions.

“Yeah, in California.” She says.

I nod, “Yeah, he was there for the funeral with a friend.” I don’t want to add too many lies to the list I already have to maintain. “He’s great.” I roll forward and face my computer again hoping she gets the message that I’m done talking.

“Well, I’m glad something good came out of that for you.” She’s wearing a new perfume and I can smell the remnants of her lunch, a turkey wrap with mayo and horseradish as they linger beneath the minty gum she’s chewing. She may have even brushed her teeth afterward, but my new ‘Kresovy senses’ as Reina calls them, hit me hard and fast sometimes.

“Thanks.” I say with a smile, but don’t face her again.

When my hornified blood lust dissipated and I finally gained control of my new vampire emotions, I was able to return to work. Carver had offered to ‘provide’ for me like I was some sort of sugar baby, but I politely declined. That’s so not my style.

Besides, I need the normalcy, even a tiny fraction of it, to make me feel like I haven’t lost everything that made me—me. I’m not the best graphic designer out there, but it’s something of mine from before all this. I refuse to let it go.

While Carver has been off doing God knows what—or who—in Paris, most of life in New Orleans has remained the same. Well, aside from the extra snacks as I like to call them. With my primary consort oceans away, I’ve been feasting on a delicious array of donor blood bags. I like to think of them like the Lean Cuisines I used to grab at lunch. Easy and convenient. Not better than a fresh cooked meal, but good enough to do the job.

It’s not like I have any other options. Drinking from Row would be. . . just totally weird considering his and Reina’s whole hot-cold hookup thing, and I haven’t made any new Kresova pals to feast on. My secondary option is Lucian, but since he’s continued avoiding me, he isn’t really an option at all.

Speaking of which, what kind of fucking prophecy chooses some dude who’s already engaged? Why not make the Dria have three eligible bachelors who happen to show up on the same day? Oh, that’s right, because nothing can be easy. No, everything has to be complicated as shit.

One hour and forty-three minutes.

Fortunately for me, the amount of blood you needed as a vampire wasn’t anything like in the movies. It was more like a vitamin deficiency. If you don’t get it, you won’t die immediately, but as time goes on, you’ll shrivel into a husk of a creature, neither human nor vampire and ultimately cease to exist.

Carver described it to me in great enough detail to ensure I wouldn’t forget a dose in his absence. Apparently, the older you get, the less you need it, but the more you want it.

Sounds like everything else in life.

Row said that Carver had informed Lucian of his trip and my predicament, but what his answer was, I still don’t know. Reina did some digging from Row and found out that Lucian’s wedding is in six months from now. There go those mixed emotions again. How can something seem so far and so close at the same time?

My cell chimes atop my desk momentarily distracting my train of thought. I glance at the screen to see a message from Reina.

Her: Doing ok?

Me: Yes MOM. Stop worrying about me. I’m a freakin vampire for fucks sake. Super speed? Strength? Any of that ring a bell?

Her: I’m aware, smartass.

Me: Then why you asking?

Her: I’m talking about your mental state, bitch. I know you dreamed about him last night.

Fuck. I must’ve fallen asleep with my door open again.

The him she’s referring to is Abe. Or Abehartach, Morana’s maker, ex-leader of the Kresova, and the rightful king according to the Daks. Since the first night Abe had called to me, I’ve had two more dreams. Two more storm filled visions of death, life, and choices that could alter the future.

Her: HELLO…

Me: Sorry. Someone asked me a question.

Her: Don’t lie, bitch. It’s an ugly habit. So…you gonna come clean and tell me about it?

Me: What do you want to know?

Her: Same as the others?

Me: Yeah, exactly the same.

Not exactly. That was a lie. Each dream had come with a storm and the storms were growing in severity and duration. If I didn’t believe in omens before all this, I sure as hell did now. The storms meant something, but what exactly that was, I didn’t know.

Was it a metaphor for Morana’s growing strength? Was it a sign of Abe’s growing irritation that he hadn’t been raised yet? Was it the shit-storm headed my way? Could be any of the above.

There’s one person I could ask for help, Lavinia current leader of the Daks. But since that night in the swamp when she had threatened me, I haven’t heard from or seen her since.

My ‘freak-the-fuck-out’ meter is blaring like a fire siren but what can I do about it? Lavinia for the most part is like a ghost, appearing and disappearing at her leisure. She contacts me. Those are her rules, or at least they were. So until she reaches out, it’s a constant waiting game.

And that’s a game, I’m clearly not good at.

One hour and thirty-two minutes.

Fuck it. I can’t just sit here.

I text Reina that I’m on my way home, then stand from my desk, gathering up my laptop and cell and toss them into my black Marc Jacobs backpack. The one of maybe five splurge purchases I’d made in my whole life.

“Ashely, I’m gonna take off early and work the rest of the day from home.”

Ashley spins in her chair to face me, “Everything okay?”

I nod, “If any projects come in for me, just shoot me an email.”

“Of course.” She offers me a sympathetic smile and turns back to her monitor.

She thinks I’m still grieving.

She’s right—at least partially.

I am grieving, just not about some imaginary relative or even about my new vampirehood. I’ve come to terms with that. Instead, I’m grieving for the simplicity of humanity and how often I took it for granted.