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I am going to leave this bar and yeet myself into traffic.

Why did I move to New York City? Albeit there weren’t millions of people here in the 1850s. There was no technology. No crowded sidewalks with noses stuck in phones. No tourists suddenly stopping in front of you to take photos, just to post them on social media for clout, causing you to have to do a little dance to avoid running into them.

I’ve had enough.

Sure, I could move to the suburbs where there are fewer crowds. Or even the countryside where animals outnumber humans.

But that would mean my life would go on, and I’d still be miserable .

If I could die, I’d walk out into the street and let the next passing bus barrel into me.

I mean, I can die, but not by bus, or terminal illness, or even a knife to the stomach. Death by breaking my neck? Nope.

I have very few options: a wooden stake, or bullet, to the heart. My head, or heart, being ripped from my body. Or I could face the sun and burst into flames. All are extremely painful ways to die but not as painful as continuing to live this godforsaken life.

I’m so fucking bored.

Nothing excites me anymore. Music, movies, television shows, art, books, sex. Yes, I enjoy those things, but it’s all beginning to blur.

I’ve experienced life to its fullest. I’ve traveled the world, learned all the languages, forgot all the languages, took classes for everything one could imagine:

Cannabis 101. How to Survive the Zombie Apocalypse. The Art of the Selfie. How to Waste Time on the Internet. TikTok for Millennials. Pinot and Paint. Pole Dancing. Young People Slang for Old People. Improv 101. Musical Improv 101. The Art of Paper Mache.

Five hundred years of living and hating my existence. And it’s all because of the man who turned me .

I was thirty years old with a husband and two kids with plans for a third. We had just settled into our new home in the countryside north of London a few weeks earlier. It was after dusk, and I’d forgotten to bring in the laundry off the drying rack. Our new home was located on an isolated part of land with the nearest neighbor miles apart. Aside from wild animals frequently approaching our home looking for food, I had no reason to fear the night. I had no reason to look over my shoulder or be on guard.

I didn’t know a vampire was watching me. Hell, I didn’t even know vampires existed until one was sucking on my neck.

Heinrich, the fucker, had been wandering from village to village, killing humans for his entertainment. He found me alone outside, approached me from behind, and covered my mouth with his hand so I couldn’t scream. He sunk his teeth into my neck and drank from me until I was weak and not able to fight back.

Not that I would have been able to fight him off at full strength.

Heinrich was cruel. I begged him for death. Instead, he kept me alive so I could watch my family die. I pleaded with the monster of the night to spare them. I bargained with him, telling him I’d do anything he wanted .

I never expected him to turn me.

After a couple hundred years, Henry—a name I started calling him because he loathed it—got bored of using me, abusing me, and ordering me to kill alongside him. He’d spend weeks away, sometimes months, and I eventually worked up the nerve to leave him. It wasn’t easy. He was my sire, and I was bound to him.

But I found a way.

I moved to America because I knew it’d be the last place he’d search for me. Thankfully, all I needed to escape was my determination and a trunk full of clothes and personal items. Money was never an issue. I didn’t need to buy food or lodging since vampires have the ability to charm a human into compliance.

Compulsion is the one good thing that came out of meeting Henry. I’ve been compelling my way into free rooms, lofts, and two-story homes for most of my life.

I’ve started many new lives because when you’re a vampire, people begin to question why you’re not aging like everyone else. Which is why I chose to move to New York City. It was a fast-growing metropolis, and as the years went by, the easier it was to disappear.

Now? It’s too damn crowded.

I stare down at my brand-new dress where a wasted woman spilled her vodka cranberry drink on my chest, causing the sweet liquid to trickle onto my lap. This is what I get for wanting to get high tonight. Alcohol and drugs don’t do shit for me, but drinking the blood of someone who’s intoxicated or stoned does.

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry,” the gorgeous blonde giggles, slapping a palm over her mouth. She holds out her other hand. “Let’s go clean you up.”

Perfect. My next meal.

She takes my hand, it’s smaller than mine. Her skin is soft and warm and if she notices how cold I am to the touch, she doesn’t say a word.

She’s half my size too.

Being fat was never an issue when I was turned. I was immortalized with a soft and jiggly stomach, thick and cottage cheese thighs, stretch mark-riddled arms, and an extra chin. This body of mine was never seen as negative, and people certainly never shamed me for my size and loving my plentiful curves.

Now? I’m basically invisible. For a vampire, that works quite well when most of the world doesn’t know about our existence.

Like right now. No one suspects I’m following the blonde into the bathroom to consume her blood. I’m just one of the girls, joining a friend for a pee break because these modern women rarely make solo trips to the restroom, especially when the night involves copious amounts of booze.

The moment we enter the single toilet room, I lock the door. The woman is at the sink, gathering paper towels and wetting them under the water. She turns and walks to me, a smile spreading across her face. She’s young. At least twenty-four if I were to guess.

“Can I?”

I nod and without breaking eye contact with me, she slides the paper towel over the dress, from my cleavage and my stomach down to my crotch where the majority of the drink spilled. She rubs over the area, slowly at first, before picking up speed and putting pressure on my cunt. Then she secures a hand on my shoulder and walks us until my back hits the wall.

This woman is shorter than me. I’m five six. She has to be close to five feet, but our height and weight difference doesn’t stop her from taking control—something I rarely hand over.

But there’s something sexy about a woman who knows what she wants.

The paper towel drops to the floor, and she reaches her hand underneath the bottom of my dress to find my black laced panties soaked. She pushes the fabric aside .

“I’ve been watching you all night,” she purrs and slides two fingers inside me.

She curls the tips, causing me to moan. I briefly close my eyes and lean my head back against the wood.

“You have?” I ask, breathless.

“Yes, baby, and you’ve barely glanced my way.” She pouts, but it’s hard to pay attention to what she’s talking about as she pumps her fingers in and out of me like a goddamn expert.

“Are you saying…” moan. “You spilled that drink...” Fuck. “On purpose?”

She presses her thumb to my clit and massages, and because it’s been a while since I’ve indulged in casual sex, I explode into an orgasm. While my body shakes with the release, she grabs my hair and pulls my head back to press a kiss to my neck.

“Mhm. Guess it worked.”

She licks the spot she kissed and removes her fingers from my cunt. That mischievous smirk I spotted after she spilled the drink on me returns as she licks off my pleasure.

“Tasty,” she says.

As she’s at the sink washing her hands, I walk up behind her. I wrap an arm around her waist, cup her chin, and tilt her head. We lock eyes in the mirror, and I expect to see fear staring back at me, but maybe she’s too drunk to notice mine have turned black.

I can smell her arousal.

She closes her eyes. “Do it. I know who you are. What you are. Bite me.”

This has happened to me before. Fang chasers. People who know of our existence and seek us out. They get off when we feed from them, craving the adrenaline of having their lives in our hands.

I’m not sure how she knew I was a vampire. Maybe she recognized me because I’m considered important in my world. Fang chasers know all the high-profile vamps.

Whatever the reason, I don’t care.

“What’s your name?”

“Ana,” she responds, her chest heaving and her hard nipples poking through the fabric of her top.

“Beautiful name, Ana. I’m going to bite you now, okay?” My voice lulls her into a hypnotic compliance. “You won’t remember this tomorrow. Tomorrow you’ll wake up after a fun night out drinking with friends. You had too much and got sick in the bathroom.”

She may know of our existence, but I can’t have her remembering my face. I definitely can’t get caught feeding in public. I didn’t care to follow any rules tonight since I don’t plan to be around tomorrow. It’s why I ditched my security team, something I do often when I want to be alone. Still, I don’t want a dramatic exit. If I let Ana remember tonight, she might go around bragging about her bathroom hookup with a plus-size vamp with the midnight hair and silver and black eyes.

The eyes always give me away.

Ana nods, biting her lip. Her pupils dilate until all that is left is a ring of blue.

She gasps when my mouth descends on her neck, my fangs sliding out and piercing her skin. When her blood pours into my mouth, I moan the same time she does.

Damn, this is hot.

Once her eyelids start drooping and her heartbeat slows, I know she’s close to passing out, and it’s time to stop feeding.

I pull away and prick the pad of my thumb, dabbing my blood on the fang holes, then brushing her long hair over her shoulder to hide the bite. It will heal faster with my blood, but it’ll take a couple hours to disappear.

“You were such a good girl,” I say, and she turns around. She leans in for a kiss, but I hold up my finger. “Go back to your friends, tell them you threw up in the bathroom and you’re going home. Keep your hair over your neck. Okay?”

With a nod, she leaves the bathroom .

I check my reflection, making sure I didn’t make a mess of that feeding, then grab my clutch and walk out.

The bar has become packed with people, standing shoulder to shoulder as it nears nine at night. Now that I’ve fed—and came, thanks to Ana—I have no reason to stay.

Just under nine hours until dawn and I have a few loose ends to clear up before facing the sun.

I squeeze myself through hot bodies. Everyone’s drunk or entranced in conversation and no one notices me struggling to slip out. By the time I reach the door, I’m agitated as hell and aggressively sling the door open… only for it to slam into something hard.

Not something… someone .

“Ow!” a deep voice says.

When I emerge, I find a blond man cupping his nose.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” I say and try to keep walking.

He moves to block my path.

A coppery rust scent hits me, and my fangs drop despite feeding just minutes ago.

Fuck.

He’s bleeding.

And it smells divine.

“That’s all you have to say? Shit, sorry?” he asks, his voice muffled behind his hands as he conceals his injury .

I narrow my eyes at him. My cold stone stare typically scares people away as if they recognize the predator standing before them.

Not this man.

He straightens his shoulders and drops his arms, revealing his face. It’s stained with streaks of blood from his nostrils, down his chin, to his light blue, short-sleeved, V-neck shirt.

He’s taller than me, perhaps six foot to my five foot six. And he’s big. Broad shoulders, wide chest, strong arms, but his stomach is a little soft. Not technically plus-size like me, but not ripped either.

A dad bod.

He smiles, blood staining his teeth too. It takes everything in me to retract my fangs and keep them there.

I’ve never smelled blood so delicious.

“Where are you heading in such a hurry?” He holds out his hand, his palm covered in blood. “I’m Teddy. You are…?”

“Sorry about your nose,” I say, pulling a napkin from my cleavage and handing it to him. I keep them there in case I spill during feedings, but he needs it more. Especially since I’m seconds away from jumping this man and ripping his throat out so I can have a taste of that mouth-watering blood of his.

He takes the napkin and shakes his head—that irritating smile still on his handsome face—when he realizes I’ve rejected his greeting. I don’t touch humans unless I’m feeding from them. Especially in the summer. My cold skin on a hot and humid night always garners too many curious questions.

Ana was the exception because I knew I’d be compelling her to forget.

“You got a box of tissues in your tits?” he asks and laughs.

His amusement lights up his face, his green eyes shining.

I typically can’t stand happiness. Probably because I haven’t been happy in centuries. But this man’s energy is endearing. It could also be Ana’s blood kicking in. Fuck. She had more than booze tonight. Drugs, definitely. Molly maybe? Ecstasy?

Whatever it is, it’s making me horny. I find myself… attracted to this golden retriever man.

I’m horrified.

“No, I’m not storing tissues in my tits. I’m storing napkins. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go—”

I try to walk around this man and once again he steps in my way.

I zero in on his eyes .

“You will move and let me pass. Then you’ll go into that bar,” I nod over my shoulder, “and clean yourself up. Do you understand me, young man?”

His eyes widen slightly before he bursts into laughter.

“Young man? You can’t be much older than me.”

What the hell? My compulsion didn’t work? Is Ana’s blood hindering the ability? No. That’s not it. I know I’ve compelled humans while intoxicated before.

“Tell me your name.” His voice is rough, full of demand, and my pussy pulses in response.

What the fuck?

“You at least owe me that for beating me up with a door.”

I ignore the way my confused body is reacting to this man and pinch the bridge of my nose. “I didn’t beat you up! It was clearly an accident.”

Why am I defending myself to this stranger? To this human?

He stands there, arms crossed and that infuriating smile refusing to falter. The streaks of blood on his face only add to his appeal.

He could at least wipe the blood off his palms with the napkin I gave him. I’m practically foaming at the mouth for a taste .

His eyes trail down my body, pausing at my breasts where my traitorous nipples poke through the fabric of my red dress.

“Tell me,” he commands, his voice dropping an octave.

I barely stifle my whimper.

Ok, seriously. What the hell is wrong with me?

You know what? Fuck it. What’s a little more fun tonight when it’s the last one I’ll ever have? This man is gorgeous, and he seems to be into me—I’m most definitely into him. I’d planned to hook up with someone tonight anyway and if Ana hadn’t been a fang chaser, it would have been her.

Maybe this puppy can be my last fuck and feed.

“Fine. You can have my name. It’s Millie.”

“Hello, Millie. Nice to meet you.”