Ted woke up the next morning on a mattress that was surprisingly soft. For a brief, blissful second, he forgot everything. He forgot the blood, the chains, the agonizing burn of the sun in Ken's torture chamber.
He decided to force a sense of normalcy.
First, a little exercise.
He dropped to the floor and did fifty push-ups in under a minute, marveling at the effortless, spring-loaded strength in his new muscles.
Next came a hot shower to wash away the lingering smell of ash and sweat from the day before, followed by a thorough brushing of his teeth. He stared at his fangs in the mirror, running his tongue over the sharp points.
He was a monster, but he was clean.
Walking back into his room, he spotted the daylight ring sitting on the small bedside table, its blue stone catching the ambient light. He slid it onto his finger, feeling a strange, comforting hum against his skin.
Taking a deep breath, he walked over to the heavy blackout curtains and threw them open.
The morning sun flooded the room.
Ted flinched instinctively, bracing for the sizzle of burning flesh, but all he felt was the gentle, golden warmth of a South Carolina morning. He closed his eyes, relishing the heat on his skin.
It felt like a fresh start. A second chance.
He went to the small kitchenette in the corner of his quarters and brewed a pot of coffee. It smelled heavenly, but he knew it wouldn't be enough. He reached into the mini-fridge and pulled out a small, sealed blood bag a guard had left for him. He snipped the corner and stirred three spoonfuls of the thick, crimson liquid into his mug.
Taking his doctored coffee, he sat down in a plush armchair by the window, crossed his legs, and cracked open a paperback novel he'd found on the shelf.
The quiet. The sunlight. The book.
It was a desperate attempt to enjoy a laid-back life.
Knock. Knock.
The sudden, sharp rap on the door startled him so badly his hand jerked, spilling a splash of bloody coffee onto his grey sweatpants.
"Damn it," Ted muttered, setting the mug down.
He walked over and swung the door open.
Standing in the hallway was Rick, Ken's stoic, heavily scarred second-in-command. Rick didn't say good morning. He simply shoved a pile of dark clothing into Ted's chest.
"Get dressed," Rick ordered in a gravelly voice.
He turned on his heel and walked away before Ted could even open his mouth.
Confused and suddenly very anxious, Ted closed the door and went back to his room to put on the gear.
---
Miles away, on the edge of the city limits, a sleek black car pulled up to a secluded, cabin-like house surrounded by dense forestry.
Laura killed the engine and hurried up the wooden porch steps, ringing the doorbell.
"I'm coming!" a voice yelled from inside.
Footsteps approached, the deadbolt clicked, and the door swung open. Standing there was a middle-aged woman with warm eyes and hair tied back in a messy bun.
It was Laura's aunt, Sarah.
As their eyes met, Sarah's face broke into a massive, relieved smile. She pulled Laura into a tight, grounding hug.
They exchanged a flurry of greetings, Sarah making a dry joke about Laura's extravagant taste in "prison wardens," which earned a genuine burst of laughter from Laura—the first time she'd laughed in days.
Once inside the cozy, clutter-filled living room, they sat on the floral couch.
"Where's Kathy?" Laura asked, looking around.
Sarah sighed, waving a hand toward the kitchen. "Probably out back. You know how she gets when she's stressed."
Laura nodded, standing up and pushing through the kitchen door.
The backyard was a sprawling, untamed space filled with towering oak trees, a variety of overgrown plants, and a large glass flower garden house at the far end.
As Laura scanned the yard, she noticed a rhythmic, unnatural flickering of light coming from the greenhouse.
She jogged over and pushed the glass door open.
Inside, the air was thick with the smell of ozone and melting wax.
Kathy, Laura's younger sister, sat cross-legged on the dirt floor, muttering a rapid-fire incantation. Dozens of candles were scattered all around the room. Without a match—without even moving her hands—Kathy was lighting them and extinguishing them in rapid succession.
Pure, raw magic fueled the flames.
"Are you crazy?!" Laura exclaimed.
She ripped the silk scarf from her neck and aggressively whipped it through the air, the gust of wind snuffing out the nearest candles. She grabbed Kathy by the arm and hauled her to her feet, dragging her toward the door.
"Do you want to die? Do you want to get us killed?"
Kathy violently wrenched her arm out of Laura's grip. Her eyes were blazing with defiant fury.
"I'm not afraid of your psychotic boyfriend!" Kathy yelled, her voice echoing in the glass room. "I'd rather die fighting than live like a prisoner in our own city!"
"Shh!" Laura hissed, her eyes darting frantically toward the tree line. "Keep your voice down. Vampires have hearing you can't even comprehend. They could be listening right now."
"Let them listen!" Kathy spat back, stepping closer to Laura. "I don't care. You and Aunt Sarah are just rolling over for them. You're cowards."
Before Laura could respond to the sting of those words, Kathy turned and stormed out of the greenhouse, marching angrily back toward the cabin.
Laura stood alone among the smoldering wicks.
Kathy's words echoed in her mind, hitting a nerve she had been trying very hard to numb.
She took one last, paranoid scan of the surrounding woods, ensuring no unblinking eyes were watching from the shadows, before finally turning and heading back into the house.
---
The air in the woods on the outskirts of Charleston was suffocatingly humid.
Ted trudged behind Rick, swatting at a mosquito that tried to bite him before realizing he was dead and buzzing away. They had been walking for twenty minutes through the dense woods.
"Rick," Ted finally broke the silence, his frustration boiling over. "What are we doing out here?"
Rick didn't look back, keeping his eyes straight ahead. "We're vampires. Being a vampire in Charleston means working under Ken. Taking care of the things he wants taken care of. That's what we're doing."
Ted halted.
Unsatisfied with the vague answer, he reached out and grabbed Rick's shoulder.
Rick froze.
Slowly, he turned his head, fixing Ted with a death stare so terrifying that Ted's supernatural heart skipped a beat.
Ted instantly snatched his hand back.
"Come on, man, please," Ted pleaded, holding his hands up. "You've got to at least tell me what my job is."
Rick sighed, lowering the machete.
"Years ago, Ken banished the werewolves to the outskirts," he explained. "The treaty says they never show their faces in the lively parts of the city. But Ken's informants have seen them in the city multiple times this week."
"They're probing our defenses."
"We need to find them. Or find their hideout."
Rick turned back around and took another step forward.
"Keep your eyes open and your mouth—"
SNAP.
Rick's boot triggered a hidden pressure plate beneath the leaves.
Before either of them could react, a thick rope snapped tight around Rick's ankles. With a violent whoosh, he was yanked upside down, dragged twenty feet into the air, and left hanging from a branch.
"Rick!" Ted yelled, his fangs dropping as adrenaline surged through him.
He bent his knees, preparing to leap.
Then—
Something felt wrong.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
A massive, suffocating presence appeared behind him. The air suddenly smelled of wet dog and earth.
Ted spun—
Too slow.
A force like a freight train slammed into his back.
The impact launched him off his feet. He flew through the air and crashed spine-first into a tree with a sickening crack.
He crumpled to the forest floor.
His vision fractured. The world spun.
Through blurring eyes, as consciousness slipped away, he saw two massive men step out of the bushes, walking calmly toward Rick.
Ted tried to move. Tried to fight.
But the darkness was too heavy.
He closed his eyes.
The woods faded to black.
TO BE CONTINUED...