GUILT

Blood seeped from this terrible wound in my stomach, gumming between my fingers.

 

The pain was incredible but slow. I braced for it, feeling it creeping up as my body began to push through the shock of trauma and register what had happened.

 

I looked down and could not believe what I saw. My sweater shredded and the flesh beneath torn away. Through the blood, through a haze of disbelief, I understood that I was looking at my own insides.

 

Parts of me that had never before been exposed to the open air. Parts of me that should never see the light.

 

This couldn't be real. It was impossible. My stomach wasn't laid open; those weren't the bulge of my intestines. That wasn't . . . couldn't . . .

 

The tall man stood over me. Long, body fingers clacking hollowly; he lifted them to his mouth and licked my blood from the ends.

 

I trembled with emotion too severe to be called fear; too cold for panic. My mind reeling – caught between what I knew was happening and what I couldn't imagine.

 

The dark-haired stranger prowled nearer, his eyes glossing black as night.

 

He bent to pluck the silver knife off the asphalt.

 

I watched him, enthralled by the way he moved. Fearless. A deadly swagger, his jacket shiny in the rain and the glow of a single lonely security bulb burning over the door of the bank building.

 

"It's over," he said, voice resonating in the silence. He spread his arms wide, light glinting off the razor-edge of the knife. "You know how this ends."

 

The tall man laughed. Low and menacing.

 

Arrogance flitted over the dark-haired stranger's expression; a cocky tilt to his sharp smile.

 

Not swagger, now, but pure provocation and I could see why. He was not alone . . .

 

Out of the darkness they came.

 

A dozen or more; spilling from the shadows, identical black eyes glinting in the rainy night and it was as if they'd been there the entire time. Surreal. All of this like a fevered dream, too vivid to be anything less than real.

 

They moved as one; a single unit closing on a target with the precision of guided missiles. Silent as the grave, with hardly a breath of sound passing between them.

 

My vision swam.

 

I swallowed thickly, tasting blood in my mouth.

 

We were surrounded and I was ignored; black eyes in pale faces, not one of them paid me the slightest attention. But I was watching

 

Through the heave and pitch of dizziness in my head, the nausea thick in my throat . . . the fleeting warmth of blood seeping through my fingers . . . I was watching all this unfold.

 

From behind the dark-haired stranger, a teenager sauntered forward.

 

He was different from the rest. Not only younger but far less anonymous in a green novelty t-shirt and sneakers. Hair plastered flat around his ears.

 

At first glance, he had no place here. He looked like he should have been rushing home, having missed curfew and in my delirious haze I almost shouted a warning . . .

 

. . . he was one of them.

 

It was subtle but unmistakable; the way his gaze swept the parking lot, a precise focus in those soft brown eyes. Mirroring the same careless lethality that had torn open my belly and left me lying boneless on the ground.

 

"We need it alive," he said, voice carrying easily across the deathly silent parking lot.

 

The arrogance never left the dark-haired stranger's face. "I know."

​

I turned my face away, despair smoldering like a coal in my chest with the realization that I'd made a terrible mistake.

 

There was the man I'd tried to save, thrumming with dark power and the glint of the silver knife in his hand. Cool fury tightening around his inhuman eyes.

 

"You need help?" the teenager asked, quietly.

 

The dark-haired man slipped into a tighter smile, lips drawn to reveal sharp white teeth.

 

"I got this."

 

A crack! as a boot came down on one of the bowls still on the ground. Glass splintered into a million needle-sharp shards.

 

The man in the gray coat pulled his fingers from under the folds of his hat. A low, guttural sound drawn out with them.

 

The crowd stirred. A sea of black eyes glistening dangerously.

 

They were here for him. He had to know that but rather than withdraw, or face them, the tall man knelt down beside me. His elongated body seeming to fold on itself, and my heart leapt at his nearness. A smell like vinegar wafting from his heavy gray overcoat.

 

My fingers skidded over rough asphalt, feeling blindly for the keys I knew were there. So scared I could hardly breathe through the slam of my pulse in my throat. Paranoia, skin twitching in anticipation. He would see. He would . . . would . . .

​

I felt eyes on me.

 

Out of all of them, I'd drawn his attention.

 

My gaze met his from across the length of the parking lot, rainwater and blood loss blurring the edges and though the dark-haired stranger didn't make a sound to give me away, I sensed his hesitation.

 

Yellow light slid off the rain-wet metal of my keys. My bloody hand closed over them, fumbling for the small canister of pepper spray on the chain.

 

A shadow of a smile flitted over Dark-hair's expression.

 

Fear and doubt collided, a maelstrom of emotion. I wanted to live . . . the seize of panic that gripped me no more complicated than that one, simple truth. I never felt anything as strong as what I felt in that moment, my life roaring inside of me. A scream that made no sound.

 

The tall man touched me, his hands grotesquely warm.

 

I jerked my arm up; shoving that tiny metal can under the folds of his hat and pressed down on the release with all my strength.

 

My shredded stomach flamed with pain as something on the inside tore.

 

The bottle in my hands hissed, a liquid mist sprayed out in a cloud of particles.

 

The tall man threw back his head, gloved hands going up to hold his hat in place while scrambling out of reach of the noxious mist.

 

The dark-haired stranger struck.

 

Fast as the crack of a whip, he launched himself clear across the parking lot. A blur of black leather and crystal pale skin.

 

I tried to move out of the way, but the last of my strength had gone out of me. Eyes slamming shut, I braced myself.

 

Dark-hair didn't land on me.

 

Boots thumped the ground inches from my body, close enough so that he'd had to twist in midair. Both hands catching on the Tall Man's shoulders, driving the creature another step back.

 

He drove his fist solidly into the folds of the hat where a face would be. Knuckles crackling on flesh with a satisfying crunch; the man in the gray coat crumpled in a bewildering heap, his body distorting under the bulk of his overcoat.

 

The throbbing in my stomach like liquid metal poured into my wound.

 

White hot. Searing pain.

 

I wanted to cry, but couldn't pull in enough air to make a sound.

 

Through the trauma of being split open, I hadn't actually felt the severity of mortal injury. I knew it was t here, saw it with my own eyes, and could understand what was happening. But until now the pain had been so far away.

​

As if my body was just so damaged, it didn't quite know what signals to send my brain. So the ache just sat there.

 

Roiling, boiling heat growing steadily hotter but never . . . quite . . . reaching me.

 

Trembling hands slid to cover the gaping wound in my midsection, as if that would make any sort of difference.

 

Thwack!

 

A body careened into mine; dark-hair torn off the man in the gray coat and flung ruthlessly down.

 

"Ai . . . da . . .n!"

 

There was a roaring in my ears and I think I might have passed out at that point.

 

Not for very long, the violent jostling too much for my broken body, it was only a quick fade out and back. My hands were pressed to dark-hair's shoulders, muscle tight under slick black leather.

 

He pulled himself up.

 

Our eyes met.

 

For just an instant, this frozen second where I stared into eyes that were black as the rain-glossed asphalt – the whole world seemed to quiet around us. A moment of calm in the midst of a nightmare.

 

The man in the gray coat hooked sharp fingers in the back of his leather jacket.

 

Dark-hair came off the ground; his entire body heaved up and thrown. He struck the side of the bank building with an audible thump and slid, senseless, to the grass.

 

The teenager responded faster than any of us, shouting "Go! Go! Go!" while Gray Coat paused, watching with interest as dark-hair staggered.

 

Dazed, but trying to get up.

 

The others surged forward, the teen's voice carrying over the sudden cacophony of noise. He was issuing commands: "Close around the building. Don't let it get away; watch the flank! Aidan, you okay?"

 

They were all so fast. My head spun, dizziness like a weight pressing me into the ground.

 

The hoard closing like a first around him, the tall man turned in my direction. Face hidden beneath the folds of that shapeless gray hat, it should have been impossible for me to tell what expression he wore

. . . and yet I knew. I knew.

​

I'm coming back for you.

 

Air left my lungs in a whoosh that scalded my throat.

 

A seething mass of flesh and fangs, of violence descended on the man in the long gray coat. He stood tall, unafraid, not waiting for them so much as coolly unconcerned. They didn't matter.

 

Cool trembled beneath my skin.

 

I peeled my hand off my stomach, the numbing spreading all through my body. Through a blur of exhaustion, I saw the first of them reach him. Too many bodies, their forms seemed to melt into each other so that I couldn't focus on what was happening.

 

Blur of black, a splash of red and claws raking down.

 

I closed my eyes, and it felt like only a second passed but when I opened them again . . . I was fading in and out of consciousness. Maybe just fading.

 

With the most dramatic sweep of his coat, the tall man tore straight through the bodies in his way. The mob responded exactly as one would expect – with angry shouts and yowls, these wild cries, and gave chase as Gray Coat launched into the shifting darkness beyond.

 

The teenager sprinted after them, brown hair slicked back out of his eyes.

 

But where the others never even paused, he did.

 

Attention landing first on me, brow furrowing, then swinging around to the man still on the ground. Wrestling with indecision.

 

Follow his people, or stay.

 

The dark-haired stranger pulled himself up off the grass, lithe as a panther. He swept at the blood dribbling from the corners of his mouth.

 

"Go on," he rasped.

 

The teen didn't move. "You sure?"

 

Those piercing black eyes never wavered.

 

"I'm sure."

​

​

​

Lying in the rain, shivering and twitching convulsively.

​

Never in my life had I felt this alone. It seemed perversely right, that I would experience loneliness this profound at the moment of my death.

 

It didn’t feel quite real.

 

Death came for me in the silence of a windswept parking lot. Faint lights catching in his hair, the rain-slick leather of his jacket. Predatorily beautiful, no less terrifying.

 

Absent the dark resonance of before, he asked me, “Do you know what I am?”

 

Tears I’d tried so hard to hold inside spilled over, trailing hot from the corners of my eyes. So full of regret, of pain.

 

“Do you?”

 

Distant thunder roared, followed by a whip of forked lightning. Eerily quiet.

 

His boots scuffed the asphalt as he drew nearer.

 

“V-vampire,” I managed, through a full-body tremor.

 

I knew.

 

Had known almost from the moment he swung up off the ground, brown eyes glossing inhuman black.

 

I swallowed into the silence, tasting the rain on my lips. Tasting blood.

 

“I w-won’t tell.”

 

“No, you really won’t.”

 

That could so easily have been a threat, menacing and monstrous but we both knew I wouldn’t survive tonight. A simple statement of fact . . . who would I tell?

 

One hot tear trailed from the corner of my eye, melting into the rainwater that coated every inch of me. Invisible.

 

“I-I need a-an –” I licked my lips, swallowing hard. Tried again. “I-I need an ambulance.”

 

He shoved a rough hand through his hair, spiking the wet strands. “An ambulance. You think that’d make a difference?”

 

“P-please,” I breathed.

 

Emotion flitted over his expression, the hard line of his jaw tightening. Pain in his eyes that might have mirrored my own, indecision, but also something darker. Dangerous.

 

Crimson seeped through my fingers. The weight of my pulse, and the alarming flutter behind my heart.

 

“Are you going to k-kill me?”

 

Black eyes met mine.

 

I don’t know . . .

​

The wind moaned, a stiffer breeze that swayed the trees. The paper rustle of dying leaves turning over, and the clack of branches. It felt good – cool, crisp, soothing some of the feverish heat under my skin. Some of the nausea.

 

His nostrils flared, and as far gone as I was already, I didn’t fail to understand the significance of that sharp inhale. Vampire. The scent of blood, of my blood seeping through my fingers, rousing a hunger in him I couldn’t imagine.

 

I was caught in this terrible in-between; tore between wanting it to be over, and the sheer terror of the unknown.

 

The horror of waiting to die the worst thing in the world.

 

Who was right, I wondered numbly.

 

Would there be peace, once my heart gave that finale heavy thump and I fell into death, or nothing at all? Did the good in me outweigh the sins, or did it not matter?

 

Oh, god, I wanted to live.

 

With every fiber of my being, every shred of consciousness I clung to whatever life was left in me and drowning hands reached for any shore . . .

 

“I wasn’t l-lying,” I managed, struggling to breathe through the tightness in my chest. “I d-did call them . . . what I told him. Him. I c-called the police. T-they’re coming.”

 

A bright burst of desperate hope, immediately stolen away by a pitying, “No one’s coming for you,” he blew out a quiet breath. “We’re alone out here.”

 

If I thought that compassion would slow anything, I was wrong. The wind swept through the trees and straight over my broken body. It smelled like the rain, wet concrete. Grass and autumn in the city.

 

The dark-haired vampire breathed deeply, eyes slamming shut and turned his face to the sky.

 

“You don’t h-have to kill me.”

 

Drizzle on his jacket, the shine of yellow light slicking off the black leather. His nearness, a palpable presence. If I were blind, I would know he was there.

 

He didn’t say a word, only swallowed, once. Jaw clenched tight. Face tilted up, at the roiling dark clouds.

 

I shivered in the cold.

 

Could do nothing but wait for a decision already made, counting the seconds with every limited beat of my heart. Would forever remember the look on his face, the exact second he surrendered to this need.

 

Despairing acceptance.

 

The vampire dropped to his knees beside me, dark denim and black leather. Unnaturally pale.

 

Sharp teeth and midnight eyes, piercing black. He slid one hand down under my shoulders, and with infinite gentleness lifted my upper body off the ground.

 

I met his gaze, holding that glossy black stare through a blur of hot tears. “I don’t want to die.”

 

Cool fingers on my chin, he turned my face into his shoulder.

 

Exposing the length of my throat, skin drawn taut over the pulsing vein.

 

“I was trying to help you!”

 

“Shh. Shh. I know,” he said, quiet. “Close your eyes.”

 

I didn’t. My vision swallowed by his jacket and the smell of leather and blood, the tang of my own fear burning like acid.

 

He lowered his face to my throat, the flesh there wincing from the press of fangs like knives.

 

My whole body ached with denial.

 

A silent, voiceless scream.