Page 13 of Blood Lovers (American Vampires #1)

They didn’t even let me read the books.

I’m starting to get sick of the dreamwalks .

Ten years, nothing. Last four weeks, I can’t get a moment’s peace.

It means something. Like the numbers ‘11:11.’ There was a time, years ago, when Zusi and I were teenagers, when these numbers seemed to be everywhere.

“It’s a sign,” Zusi told me at the time. Because the urban lore around eleven-eleven was something Guild kids just knew about.

They are most often seen on the clock or some kind of timestamp and they mean that you have a new beginning coming.

It was true, too. There was a new beginning coming. I graduated from the Guild school and was sent to a public college to study library science.

But so did Zusi. Not public college, of course. She went to some Guild place. Wherever Guardians go to learn to… guard. So I kinda just forgot about the numbers.

But college was a new beginning. It was the first time I’d ever been on my own. First time since I was seven that I wasn’t surrounded by Guardians. I learned things there I didn’t really need to know, and dated men, and had friends who were neither witches nor Guardians. I went to parties, and rushed a sorority—though I didn’t get in—and took tests like my life depended on the scores I got.

I loved college. I didn’t have a care in the world, either. No worries about hunters, or vampires, or witches muddying up my head at all hours of the day and night because I was under the protection of Grandma.

It’s possible that I took that for granted.

And now I am on the run from a hunter and it’s not just a possibility that I took my grandma for granted, it’s a fact.

But the reason all this stuff is presently on my mind is because my current dreamwalk has brought me to the Guild library. The haze is purple. So past, or future, or some other reality. That’s the only thing I know for sure.

To be an actual librarian in the real world you need a master’s degree. But the Guild came to collect me at undergrad graduation. Zusi and Tristin, in fact. They were already partners, but it was new to them, so they were still getting used to the idea of one another.

They took me back to the Guild headquarters and suddenly I was the newest Guild library intern. I spent my time shelving books, and answering questions, and helping Guardians do their research.

I didn’t choose to be a librarian. Hell, I didn’t even get to pick my classes at college. Every semester I’d get an email from the Guild liaison with a schedule. Everything all paid for and my textbooks waiting for me to pick up in the bookstore. All I really did was show up.

And now that I think about it, that’s still all I do.

But I loved my job at the library and I’m going to miss it. Maybe that’s why I’ve dreamwalked my way here?

It’s not a lavish library. Very… standard, actually. It’s pretty. And old. There is a lot of well-polished dark wood and some oil paintings on the walls. But the library’s grandeur has always been in the books themselves, not the décor or the architecture. That’s why it was so surprising to me that the Guardians were given access to all those Guild Lounge perks. That wasn’t the Guild I grew up with.

Or possibly, it wasn’t the Guild I was shown .

Right now, I’m standing on the top floor of the massive central hub, looking out at hundreds of thousands of books. There are nineteen floors below me—terraces, really—and on each floor the books are arranged in a particular way, as one does with library books. But there is no Dewey Decimal System here. The organization of these books is all about age, and then topics, and then, of course, titles and authors.

Older books are arranged by subject on the bottom half of the shelves because they are most often used for Guardian research. And the newer ones are all up at the top. Only accessible with ladders, because the Guild feels that the Old Ones knew much more than we do now.

The whole point of the Guild, aside from protecting people from monsters like Paul, is to uncover the secrets of the Old World.

Not Old World as in Europe. But Old World as in… something else. Some missing civilization. I’m really not quite sure on that point. And even though I had access to every book in the entire Guild library, I was forbidden from opening them up, let alone reading them. There was a shelf number on the spine and when I saw a book that needed shelving, I just put it back in order.

If a Guardian needed help finding something, I would get it for them and hand it over.

I never once opened one. Ever.

That was basically the only rule I had. “Do not read the books. They are not for you.”

And who was I to look this gift horse in the mouth? They saved me. Not to mention educated me and still, today, they are looking out for me.

Plus, I think the Guild elders put me in the library as a test. To see if I would cheat. I was there alone most of the time. I didn’t really have a boss. There were a few older Guild librarians—legit ones, not interns like me, but I wasn’t accountable to them. And we were solitary workers, not teams.

I wasn’t even accountable to the archivist who ran the place. I was just… there. Kind of.

But I did not cheat.

One rule. It was basically like… You may live in my paradise, and you may eat all the fruits on all the trees—except this one. A real Garden of Eden kind of directive.

A test. With dire consequences should I fail.

If I was kicked out of the Guild, where would I go?

Would Zusi still be my friend?

I would like to think yes, she would. But she’s not really in control of her life. She might push boundaries here and there, but she’s a Guardian. I don’t think disobeying an order is actually an option.

I did not want to lose her, or anything to do with the Guild, so I did not read the books.

Of course, they couldn’t stop me from seeing the titles. And the titles of the oldest books were always telling. Old-World Mechanics. The Physics of Ether. Sound and Light for a New Age of Magic.

And, of course, there were also grimoires.

I knew those shadow books belonged to my ancestors. They were the writings of the witches who made me. Not the Black witches, because obviously, we are the anomaly and used as feeders or to power spells upon our deaths. But the bloodlines of the witches who made us were powerful in their own ways.

I look across the open space to the other side of the massive library and find the clock tower. The face reads 11:11.

Something is changing.

And then I am somewhere else.

That winter forest with a fallen tree trunk in the center.

But that man holding the baby isn’t there.

Instead, there is a woman. She is standing in the snow, naked, her back to me, her long, dark hair falling all the way down to her waist. It’s a waterfall of loose waves blowing in a gentle wind. I know she is beautiful before she even turns, just by the curves of her body.

When she begins her turn, I’m focused on her face. Waiting for it. But as she turns my focus lowers down to her stomach because she is pregnant. It takes me another moment to look up and realize that she is me.

She extends a hand, offering it to me, and even though I feel like this is a trap, I find myself walking towards her. I take her hand and she gently places it on her stomach. I marvel at the taut skin and then feel a small kick.

I want to pull away, but she forces my hand to stay where it is.

And then all I can do is look up and meet her gaze.

She doesn’t speak. Not out loud. But in my head, I hear her say, “He will make promises, darling. You need to be ready to hear them. Because they will be magnificent promises.”

It’s my grandma’s voice.

When I wake up , I’m drenched in sweat. My whole body is slick and gross. But when I open my eyes and turn, I realize it’s not me sweating like crazy. It’s Ryet.

“Holy shit.” I shake his arm. “Ryet? Wake up.”

He doesn’t even groan, let alone open his eyes. He’s just… still.

“Ryet?”

And then the hazy fog is back and for a moment I’m relieved because I must still be in the dream.

Except I’m not. It’s lavender. So it’s in the present.

And then there he is. The demon from the woods, baring himself to me in his true hideous form. Wings, and fangs, and claws. Blue-black skin and the face of a devil.

He is hideous and my stomach turns, feeling sick. Because I am a hundred percent sure that I just led him here .

One little mistake and now my life is over.

His wings extend a little, like he’s stretching but the room is too small to do that properly. He sits down on a chair near the door, leaning back, like he couldn’t be more relaxed. And when he speaks, he changes. “He’s dying, you know.”

He changes into a man. A very beautiful man, not unlike Ryet, but more. Everything about him is more. His voice is deep, and sexy, and… completely normal. Not anything like a demon. And I’m so shocked that I can actually hear him in this dreamwalk that I can’t even respond. Hell, I don’t even understand that I’m still naked or have the good sense to cover myself from his now wandering ice-blue eyes.

I can only blink at him.

“Did you hear me?”

I nod.

“He’s dying, Syrsee.”

“How do you know my name?”

He practically snorts. “Is that a real question?”

“What?”

“You’re mine , Syrsee. You’re the last Black witch… at the moment. I always know where you are. I breathed blood inside of you when you were born. I am literally the reason you exist. And Ryet? He’s mine too, darling. He’s your hunter.”

“ What ?”

“He’s dying, Syrsee. What will you do about it?”

Ryet coughs. I turn and look at him. “Ryet?” And when I turn back to the demon, he’s gone.

For the second time in as many minutes I sit straight up in bed, suddenly awake, my body nothing but sweat, my hair sticking to my face. I glance down at the bed, looking for Ryet, but he’s not there.

Then I let out a breath of relief. Dreams. That’s all they were. Just dreams.

“Sorry.”

I almost scream when I hear Ryet’s voice coming from the doorway to the bathroom. I just barely manage to hold it in. But my hand flies to my chest, like I’m trying to prevent my heart from bursting out.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” He coughs again. He is sick. That was real. But the rest of it?

What the hell just happened?

He’s your hunter.

He’s dying.

What will you do about it?

But there’s more. That first dreamwalk—the woman—me? Oh, God, what have I done?

Ryet and I didn’t even use protection. Why am I so fucking stupid? How did I let this happen?

I get out of bed, realize I’m naked, and hastily pull on my underwear and shirt. I’m just about to reach for my jeans, pull on my boots, and get the fuck out of here so I can call Zusi and Tristin and…

But I stop. Because Ryet is so sick, he’s propping himself up against the wall. His face is so pale, so sickly, I hold my breath for a moment trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. He begins to stumble forward, forcing me to blink out of my stupor when he almost falls and I literally have to catch him and lead him over to the bed.

“Ryet, what’s wrong?” My tone is serious. But my voice also trembles.

That demon was lying. It was a dream, that’s all. Just a dream. But then, for some unknown reason, my eyes wander over to the analog clock above the door and find the little hand is on the eleventh hour and the big hand is at eleven past.

11:11. A number I have not thought about in years, but is suddenly in my face.

Ryet coughs again. “I’m OK. I think. I’m just...” He doesn’t finish, just leans over and holds his head in his hands.

What is happening?

And what should I do?

Seriously, Syrsee? You know what to do. The vampire, Paul, just came to you in a dreamwalk and told you that the man you just had hours and hours of sex with—an entire night of sex—is the very man who is hunting you for your blood.

So he can give you to Paul to feed on.

It’s a setup. This whole thing. Somehow, I don’t know how, the vampire corrupted people. Zusi—no. She would never send me into the lion’s den. Not unless she came with me. She would never send me on a ten-day journey into the hands of that monster. That thing .

But it has to be someone at the Guild. They’re the ones who told me to come here!

The vampire, who I have been hiding from my entire life, knows where I am and if I don’t run, right now , I’m going to end up chained in a dungeon somewhere. Being bitten and fed on.

Ryet coughs again. Something inside his chest is rattling.

“Sorry.” His words are breathy and labored. “I don’t know what’s happening. I’m just… sick, I guess.”

He’s sick. He really is sick. Maybe it’s just that simple?

Maybe I made the whole thing up?

Maybe my imagination just went a little crazy because of how stressful the last month has been?

Maybe a dream is just a dream and—

No. It’s just not that simple.

I know the dreamwalks are real. And I know that this man—who a few hours ago was a stranger, then a possibility, then a foregone conclusion as far as I’m concerned—is some kind of feeder hunter and he is dying in front of me.

What am I supposed to do about it?

Is the vampire gonna show up and tell me?

Am I supposed to figure it out by myself?

What? What am I supposed to do?

Why would I care? Shouldn’t I help this process along?

That’s the prudent thing to do, right? Let him die?

I should call up Zusi and Tristin and hand him over. Mission accomplished.

But instead of doing that, I turn to Ryet. “How did you get so sick so fast?”

He’s in the middle of a cough, so it takes him a moment to answer. But when he does, he looks at me like… like… I dunno.

Never mind. I do know. He looks at me like my voice just brightened his day. His eyes are locked on mine and he’s smiling. Even though his chest is making noises that are just not right, he’s smiling at me.

He reaches out and pushes a piece of hair away from my eyes. “I’m fine, OK? It’s fine. I’m just gonna sleep a little. You don’t have to stay. I’ll come by your place later. I bet it’s a whole lot nicer than this dump.”

He’s still smiling. Trying to hold down a cough.

He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know who I am.

If he was hunting me, he wouldn’t just… let me get away.

So he’s not the problem here. He’s been tricked, like me. So if I walk out, something bad is going to happen to him.

Something bad as in… He’s dying, Syrsee .

“Syrsee?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m fine. Really.”

I push him back and he doesn’t fight me. He lies down on the bed and immediately his eyes start closing. “You’re not fine, Ryet. But I’m gonna stay with you until you are.”

I think one corner of his mouth might lift up in response. But I might just be imagining it. Because he’s out.

“Ryet?” I shake him a little. “Can you hear me?”

He doesn’t move.

Shit. I get up and pace the room. Then I realize I don’t have my boots on, so I slip my feet inside them because this carpet has ‘no’ written all over it.

What do I do?

I walk over to the window and pull the curtain back. It’s a gray morning. Typical for this far north in January. The roads are clear and wet and a truck passes by as I stand there, conflicted.

He’s definitely got a fever. My words from earlier in the morning come back to me. You’re like a little furnace .

He was already on fire before he went out to get food. But was he that warm when we met?

I don’t recall noticing. And he was touching me.

God, was he ever.

The sex we had last night. It was… incredible.

Even the first time, which was sexy as hell. The way he carried me to the bed and pulled my pants down like that. I chew on my lip, getting a little turned on just thinking about it.

After I came the first time, he went back to eating me out, watching me watch him as he did this. At first, he was holding my legs open, but then his hands reached up, sliding under my shirt and up my belly until he was grabbing both breasts.

I lost track of time after that. I think I came… four, maybe five times just while he was licking me.

But that was just the beginning. It was one after another. He flipped me over and fucked me from behind. He ripped my jeans down my legs and threw them across the room.

But then he repositioned me so I was sitting on the bed. And he kneeled down and put my boots back on.

That might be the cutest thing a man has ever done for me.

He put my boots on so I didn’t have to step on that gross carpet because the next time he fucked me, I was pressed up against the wall.

He went slow this time. Our eyes locked together. Me watching him watch me. He took one hand and carefully, and deliberately, raised it above my head. “Don’t move.”

It was a command.

I had absolutely no intention of moving.

Then he did the same thing with the other hand. Slowly. Carefully. Until he had both my wrists clutched in his one-handed grip.

Then he teased me with the other one. He kept telling me to look at him.

“Look at me, Syrsee. Don’t look away.”

I did not look away. But there were a few times when I couldn’t keep my eyes open. The feelings were just too intense. Not just the orgasms, either. The feelings .

The whole thing was pretty erotic.

I mean, I came… I suck in a breath and blow it out. A dozen times, at least . It was the most incredible night of my life.

By the time he put me to bed, we were deep into the night.

Then he woke up and went out into the cold, and wind, and snow to get me food, and he came back with an entire homecooked meal.

We already have so many things to reminisce about, I can’t walk out on him now.

“I’m gonna go get you some medicine, OK?” I say this out loud like he can hear me. But I don’t think he hears me.

This is very dumb. I understand this. But this guy and me, we’ve got a connection. Hell, we had a connection before the vampire told me he was my hunter in the dream. And the vampire is just lying. That would be typical of a vampire, right? But even if Ryet is my hunter, that’s an even bigger connection. Especially considering the fact that he doesn’t know who I am.

Why wouldn’t the vampire tell him first?

Does he want me to run?

I don’t know. And maybe later today when I’m thinking straight and not in some leftover lavender haze, I will come to my senses and just… disappear. Never to see him again.

But I’m not gonna abandon him when he’s like this.

I finish getting dressed, get my coat out of the closet, and then—reluctantly—leave him behind as I go out to find medicine.

When I fish my truck keys out of my jacket, I pull out my phone too. I check the home screen, but there are no messages or missed texts.

I know I should call Zusi.

There is no way I’m calling Zusi.

Not yet, anyway. Twenty-four hours, I decide. I need just this one day to make sense of things. And anyway, it’s one day. How bad can things get in a single day? Because I feel… I dunno. Like I’m missing something about myself. An emptiness that seemed to fill up immediately upon meeting Ryet last night.

I get in my truck, slam the door, and just let out a breath.

I turn the the engine on, put the heater full blast and take a moment to think.

Because there’s something more to that last thought. Emptiness .

It was a throwaway word in my internal monologue. A bit of an overreaction, maybe.

Or was it?

Have I always felt an emptiness?

Have I always felt the missing pieces?

“They didn’t even let me read the books.” These words come out without any sort of premeditation. Just… there they are. Floating in the air in front of me. Literally. Like the purple words ‘blood lover.’

They didn’t even let me read the books .

Yes. There is an emptiness inside me.

And yes, I do feel a connection with Ryet that fills it up.

And I don’t know what this means, but… they didn’t even let me read the books .

They taught me a lot of things in the Guild school. Lots of very important things like reading, and writing, and math, and science, and martial arts. In the early days, when I was young, my schooling wasn’t any different than Zusi’s. We were in all the same classes together. But then, well into our teens, she and I had different electives.

But this is how school is for everyone as they get older. You’re with all the same friends and then… paths just diverge.

Even though that place is the only home I’ve ever known, I have always understood that I was a guest at the Guild school. No one really treated me different, either. Not overtly. No one teased me for being a witch. No one tried to beat me up. None of that mean-girl stuff happened. But I felt it, didn’t I? I felt that I was different. No one made a big deal about it, so I didn’t either, but that difference was always there.

I don’t know what Zusi’s electives were back in high school. She wasn’t allowed to talk about it. But mine were a little bit mindless, now that I think about it. We didn’t have a school newspaper, or a football team, or a yearbook. But we did have daily current events, and war games, and a chronicle.

I didn’t get to read the current events on camera for the morning briefing or anything—no students did that. But I was on the research team that put together the nightly broadcast.

I was in the same martial arts classes with all the Guild kids until ninth year, but in tenth year, when they were required to fight in the war games, I was put on the strategy team.

I participated in daily events, so of course I was included in the daily chronicle—which was a strict record of everything the Guild did. Kind of like how a president’s daily calendar is recorded for posterity. But there did come a day when no one cared what I was doing and my activities ceased to be important.

They cut me out. I felt it at the time, but I just… glossed over it, I guess.

But that’s what they did. I got to a certain age and they cut me out. And then Zusi and the other Guardians went one way, and I went the other.

Why?

I understand that I have the Black blood inside me, but I’ve never been a danger to the Guild. I’m a danger to humans because I feed the vampire and the vampire is the personification of evil on earth.

The Guardians are something other than human.

But maybe I am a danger to them? Maybe that’s why I could never truly be one of them?

Maybe it’s something big and important like that. But it’s just as likely that I’m just not one of them. It’s like raising an injured baby bird. You take it in, you take care of it, treat it like part of the family… but then the day comes when you have to admit, this is a bird and it belongs in the wild.

So you set it free.

They did set me free. But then they called me back. They put me in the library and they didn’t even let me read the books .

I put the truck in gear and drive down to the gas station. It’s open, but there’s a new sign on the door informing customers that the pumps are empty.

That’s wonderful. The whole idea of escape is dubious now because I have less than a quarter of a tank in my truck. When I got in yesterday, I wasn’t in the mood to gas up. I didn’t think I’d need it. So according to my digital gas gauge I can go sixty-seven miles.

Someone who lives in the city would figure this would get them to another gas station. But I’m really not sure it would. There was nothing around this town from the direction I came in.

But it doesn’t even matter because I’m not running. Not yet. I’ve given myself one day.

Inside the gas station there are exactly two products on the healthcare shelf. Visine and migraine-strength Excedrin. I buy the aspirin.

But there’s no cold medicine. And he needs something for that cough. I get back in my truck and slowly troll the downtown. Maybe I missed a store last night? I mean, where the hell do these people get groceries?

That’s when I spy the church and a sign directing people to the back where the food pantry is. I don’t have anything to lose at this point. If there’s no medicine at the food pantry, I might have to go knocking door to door because a doctor’s office is yet another thing this town doesn’t have.

I park the truck in the back and go inside. There is no one here to greet me but there is a shelf in the corner with stacks of medicine on it. I walk over there and start checking it out. There is at least one of pretty much every cold medicine you can think of. And to the left of this corner shelf, down a narrow hallway, is something else. A whole set of shelves filled with herbs in jars.

I’m curious. I’m a witch, after all, even if I don’t practice the ancient rites. The library had all kinds of herbs in a special section that I wasn’t really allowed to browse. There was no door on that section of the library, but there was a huge, two-story-tall brass gate with plenty of ancient-looking bulky locks. I never did get in there, but I could see everything just fine. Jars, and jars, and jars. All the way up to the ceiling. I could even read the labels of the ones closest to the gate, but I never saw anyone go in there and actually use anything.

But those little glimpses of the hallway jars make these jars feel familiar to me.

“Can I help you?”

I startle at the voice behind me, whirling around. “Oh, my God.” I put my hand over my heart. “You scared the shhhhh—crap out of me.”

She’s obviously connected to the church. She just has ‘church’ written all over her, from the pulled-back hair right down to the apron covering the front of her light-blue dress. Hell, all she needs is a bonnet.

Her smile is bright and wide. Also… well-practiced. Almost… charismatic.

I don’t know her, so I’m not sure why I get this impression, but there it is.

“Sorry.” She’s smiling as she says this. “I was in the kitchen cooking and I heard the door chime.”

I didn’t hear a door chime.

It’s like she reads my mind because she says, “It only sounds in the back.”

“Oh. OK, well…” I look down at the medicine in my hand, then hold it up. “My… friend is sick. I think he needs this. Is it OK if I take it? I can pay you.”

“Oh, no. You take whatever you want, sweetie. It’s all free. No matter who you are or what you need it for.”

Sweetie? She barely looks old enough to drink. “Well, thank you. This town is really lacking in shopping options.”

“Yes. That’s why the pantry is so important.”

“Well, let me make a donation, at least.”

But she puts up a hand. “It’s really not necessary. We are always fully funded.”

“Oh.” That’s weird, right? Aren’t food pantries always bitching and moaning about how they are low on everything?

“You were looking at these.” She pans her hand to the jars of herbs. “Can I help you find something?”

“Well.” I look down at the Mucinex in my hand. “This should probably do it, right? It always works for me.”

“Depends on your friend’s symptoms.”

“He’s hot. Like burning up. I got some Excedrin from the gas station—”

But she’s already reaching for a jar on the shelf. “Here. This is what you need for that.”

The jar is filled with shriveled-up black things and a lot of ground-up leaves. I look up at the girl. “What is it?”

“Hibiscus, mostly. But there are other herbs in here too.”

“Hmm.” It sounds familiar, so even though I think what I already have will work, I begin to consider this alternative.

“This little concoction will bring that fever down, no problem. And it’s all natural. No pesticides, no GMO seeds… we grow everything here in our greenhouse.”

“Oh. OK. Does it cost—”

“No. It’s free. Let me measure it out for you. In fact, let me put it in a tea bag to make it easier to use.”

“Cool. Thank you. I really appreciate this.”

“I’ll be right back.” She shoots me that well-practiced smile again, then disappears behind a doorway covered by a curtain.

She’s nice. This whole pantry is nice. In fact, the entire town is quite picturesque. What with the mountains, and the trees, and the snow.

But there’s something off about it, too. I can’t put my finger on it. Well, I sorta can. No grocery store? No restaurants? You’d think, if it’s a tourist place—and those vacation-rental cabins kind of imply that it is—they’d have at least two restaurants. And some shops. But there are no shops. Not even ones that are closed for the season.

And no doctor?

It’s rural. I get that. But this place is like… wild. Is there even a police station? I didn’t see one. But I did see a gun store. That I remember. It’s right next to the hardware store.

The woman appears again. This time she’s holding a small brown paper bag that is folded over and stapled together at the top. “Here you go. There’s enough for two doses. One for him and one for you. The instructions are inside.”

“Oh, I don’t need any. I’m not sick.”

“If he’s contagious, and the chances are high that he is, then you could be sick by tonight. So”—another one of those smiles—“it’s better to be proactive.”

And… I dunno. Maybe this is a mistake. Something about her is creepy. But I just want to get out of here now, so I take the bag, and in that same instant, she removes the package of Mucinex from my other hand.

“You can’t mix them.”

“What? Why not?”

“Drug interactions.”

“What are you, a pharmacist?”

“No.” She laughs again. “I’m a certified herbal healer. I grew up here. The greenhouse I mentioned? My family has been growing herbs in there for over a hundred years.”

“Ah. So you’re the doctor.”

This time her smile is different. Not the wide, fake, practiced one. But a smaller, more genuine one. She’s not lying. Not about this, anyway. She might be young, but she really is the local healer. Kind of a contradictory profession, given that witches use this kind of stuff and she’s standing in a Christian church. But whatever. I’m ready to go.

“If you need it”—she holds up the package of Mucinex—"if he’s not better by tomorrow, then come back. It should be safe to take it then.”

“Tomorrow? You think it’ll run its course that fast?”

She points to the little paper bag in my hand. “It works. Trust me.”

I nod. “OK. Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem. And no pressure, but if you do come by tomorrow, and it’s noon, you can meet everyone in town.”

“For church , you mean.” I don’t mean to curl my lip, but it happens.

The well-practiced smile is back. “No pressure.”

I hold up the bag, say, “Thank you,” one more time, and make my escape.

Back in my truck, I suddenly feel conflicted.

I really want to go to my apartment to shower and change. I barely remember it. I was only there for a few hours after I pulled into town and I spent most of that time sleeping.

And now I’m taking care of a man. A stranger I had all-night sex with, who is now sick as a dog, and might have some connection to the vampire who wants to feed off me for the rest of my life.

What I should really do is leave this place, drive sixty-seven miles in any direction, call Zusi, tell her the whole story, and find the closest Guild Lounge to crash out in until they can come get me.

But if I do that, I lose him.

Just as I think these words, I look down at the dashboard clock and see that it reads 11:11.

And… that’s not even possible. It was 11:11 at Ryet’s cottage.

I fuck with the clock controls, because this is bugging me. Like what the hell, ya know? 11:11. My new beginning.

Is someone fucking with me? Is this magic? What’s going on?

Luckily, my rational mind takes over and I realize that it’s not magic or fuckery, just some Daylight Savings Time thing.

But what are the chances that I’d look at a clock twice in the same morning and see the same time?

I look over my shoulder, feeling watched, and scan the town from the church parking lot exit. I can see most of it. A few trucks are parked at the gas station. There’s another truck in front of the gun shop. And a man is coming out of the hardware store.

I look down at the clock again, but it still says 11:11. Then I blink, and it changes to 11:12.

I have never liked watching the numbers change like that. Even if they don’t read 11:11 when they’re doing it. It feels like a countdown, even though time runs forward, not backwards.

And that must be part of it. My new beginning is Ryet. I know it is—the numbers say so. But they’re telling something else too. They’re telling me to make a decision or it will be too late.

With this realization comes another revelation.

This choice is permanent. It’s a new direction. And when you turn towards something you are turning away from something too.

If I turn towards Ryet, who will I be leaving behind?

Zusi is who comes to mind.

But would she really abandon me if I decided to help the hunter? I mean, he’s my problem, right? They’re only hunting him because he’s hunting me. But he’s not hunting me. At least, not consciously. Because I just had sex with the man and he didn’t even know I was his prey.

So if I say it’s fine, he and I are good—the Guild should be OK with that, right?

It’s not likely.

It’s also not likely that once Ryet figures out who I am, the hunt will be over.

He will probably be conflicted the way I am now, but I doubt he will give up his mission in life because of a one-night stand.

But what about the vampire?

He came to me. It was a dream, but he came to me. He told me Ryet was sick and he asked me what I was going to do about it.

And here I am trying to decide.

No. I’m not, actually. My decision has been made because while all this internal conflict has been happening, I’ve been driving and I’m now pulling into the parking space in front of Ryet’s cottage.

I’m going to stay and I’m going to help him, and once he’s feeling better, I’m going to tell him exactly who I am and whatever happens after that… well. Then it happens.

I get out, grab my little bag of tea, and open the cottage door.

It’s not bright outside by any means. But it’s a lot brighter than it is in here because the blackout curtains that cover the only window are closed.

It’s one moment. That’s it. One moment of confused blindness as my eyes adjust.

I close the door behind me. And then, just half a moment later, my eyes adjust to the low-level light and I realize I just made a fatal mistake.

The vampire is sitting in the bed next to Ryet, back up against the headboard, flipping through soundless porn channels on the TV.