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At twenty-nine, I had a higher body count than most serial killers. I’d killed for the first time at seventeen years old. The difference was, my targets were already dead.

There’s a weird fatigue that comes with hunting vampires – one that sinks into your bones and twists your sense of time. It’s not the kind of job you can really switch off from, when an average night has you rolling into bed at 2 A.M., up to your elbows in blood and running on fumes. Your body learns to stay awake whether you want it to or not. Which is how I found myself sprawled on the living room floor at three in the morning, surrounded by half-dried acrylics and an unfinished mural.

It’s also why, when a shadow shifted at the edge of my vision, instinct took over. A faint scuffling from behind the fireplace, and I was crouched and alert, every muscle ready for action.

Across the room, Tom appeared in the kitchen doorway, coffee mug halfway to his lips. “What? ”

I held up a hand for silence. The shadow moved again, and I whipped my gaze toward it, tracking its trajectory with measured breaths.

Tom’s eyes were wide when I glanced his way.

Raising a finger to my lips, I shook my head and inched forward. My Wonder Woman socks were silent on the bare floorboards as I crept toward the sound, ready to attack. A silhouette in the doorframe, Tom shifted his weight, and the board beneath him let out a long creak. He winced, but it was too late.

A tiny, furry head peeked out from behind the stone fireplace, skittering across the room to hide under the sofa. I dived, hands outstretched, my fingers scrabbling after it. It dashed under the base of the seat, and I wriggled my hand against the velvet, scrambling to get at it.

Behind me, Tom released his breath as he realised what I was doing. “You’ve got to be kidding me? Erin, it’s a bloody mouse. It’s the middle of the night. It’s what mice do.” I heard his exasperation, but it did nothing to stop me from grappling with the sofa.

“Grab a box or something, will you?” I kept my voice low. The scraping sound had stopped.

“What for?”

The cambric was grazing my arm, but I hadn’t seen it come out. “To trap it!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him shake his head – but he disappeared into the kitchen. I held my breath, waiting for the mouse to make its move. Tom came back through, not troubling to tiptoe, and handed me a stained plastic box.

A faint scratching sound came from the other side of the sofa. As gently as I could manage, I removed my arm from the tight space underneath and straightened, careful to keep my movements small and silent. Tom watched me with a smirk, and I gestured at him to help me lift it. He shrugged and made his way toward the other end of the substantial three-seater.

I counted to three, mouthing the numbers, and we lifted. The floorboards were dusty in the dim light of my table lamp, but the mouse was nowhere to be seen.

Tom let out a bark of laughter and dropped the sofa with a thud.

“It’s like a bad documentary,” he chuckled, sitting down by the ancient bureau I used as a desk and picking up a deck of cards. “‘ The hunter’s instincts are sharp and well-honed, allowing her to sense her prey from several miles away. ’”

I gave him the finger and returned to my usual chair, though his Attenborough impression wasn’t half bad. “It’s a sodding mouse, not a vampire.”

Tom continued shuffling the cards. “‘ Though the hunter may have been defeated, she must try again, in order to survive in the harsh reality of the jungle .’”

I settled back into the cushions, resting my feet on the displaced coffee table – pushed aside earlier to make space for my latest mural. “That’s basically what Jon’s been saying.” I ran a hand through my hair, still gazing around for any sign of the mouse. “Then again, it’s been quiet lately.”

My eyes pricked with tiredness as I surveyed the room, clamping down a yawn. I didn’t spend much time at home, so my floorboards were bare, the walls still the same bland ivory they’d been when I moved in almost six years ago. The only hint of personality was the colourful patchwork blanket thrown over the moth-eaten arm of a once-black sofa, and the bureau pushed against the far wall. Acrylic paints in every hue were scattered on the surface and across the floor, but the canvas was still half-finished. I released the yawn and reached for my mug.

“Surely you’re not going to drink that. It’ll be clock cold by now.”

I raised it in Tom’s direction, firmly meeting his expression of horror. “Coffee’s coffee,” I said, downing the cold, sludgy dregs in one delicious mouthful.

“Uh-huh. Is that what you tell the customers?” He plucked the mug from my hand and took it through to the kitchen, and the sound of running water reached my ears a second later.

I rolled my eyes, knowing he couldn’t see me. “’Course not. But I hate to waste the caffeine.

The water stopped, and Tom came back through, picking up the cards again. “Have you heard from him, then?” he asked, shuffling them like a pro.

It took me a moment to catch up. “Jon? No. It’s been busy at the café. I was planning on calling yesterday, but I’ve not had time.” I paused, glancing at the clock on my phone. “It’s probably too late now. But I thought you said he’d messaged?”

“Not a bloody word since he got on the train. Been trying to track his phone but it’s either dead or…” He shrugged.

I smirked. “It’s only been a couple of weeks. He’s probably shacked up with some Scottish girl he met in a bar.”

Tom laughed. “Maybe. Or dragging her up a mountain or something.”

“Oh, I know all about the ‘guy’ stuff you get up to when I’m not around, Chowdhury.” I waggled a finger at him. “On that much, my instincts are pretty sharp.”

He spread the cards across the desk in a fan. “What are we supposed to do while you’re off being badass and killing things, eh?”

“I dunno,” I mocked. “Tear your hair out with worry? Knit?”

“Come off it,” he chuckled along with me. “You’re fine on your own.”

I shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt to know someone cares.”

Tom shook his head and gestured me over. “Play me?”

I glanced at the time again. 3.14 A.M. “Sure. Ready to lose?”

Before he could reply, a beam of blue light fell in through the open curtains of the bay window, flashing around and around in a familiar swirl that caused my stomach to drop. Tom shot me a look of alarm as I stood slowly.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing!” I was already edging into the kitchen, towards the back door.

“Shit. Okay, go. Hide. I’ll deal with them.”

I hesitated, wracking my brain as I shoved my feet into unlaced Dr Martens. I had no idea what this was about.

“Just hide!”

***

I ran. The icy wind bit into my skin, burning my lungs as I pushed my limbs faster than I’d ever run before. Slowing down wasn’t an option.

The skies were clear and starry as I sped toward the city, away from the house. Even now, part of me registered it was a perfect night for hunting. And if killing something would help release the tight, dull ache in my chest, that’s what I would do.

My heavy boots battered the ground beneath my feet, never faltering on the icy pavement. It was only November, but the night was deathly cold, and my cheeks grew numb as I forced my body onward. Away. It didn’t matter where to. I cast my senses ahead, throwing them before me like a net, seeking the empty patches in my mind that signalled something unnatural. It was after four in the morning, but somewhere, someone might need me. Something would oblige my need for violence.

Pockets of late-night stragglers lingered on the street, huddled close to the light and warmth of the few pubs and bars still open. I sped past, ignoring the bursts of sound from within.

It only took a few minutes of searching before I felt it. An uncomfortable alertness settled over my body like a veil of ice, and I slowed to a walk to catch my breath. Goosebumps crept over my skin, and I shuddered, though my pulse was pounding in my ears and my blood hot. I hadn’t seen the cause of the sensation yet, but my instincts were sharp from years of practice. In this, I trusted them absolutely.

I let the feeling take over my mind and body, flooding through me to almost sweep away the unthinkable thoughts the last hour had brought – since I’d first seen those blue lights. There. In the thin white glow from the streetlights, two women turned the corner ahead of me, blending into the shadows of the alley as though they’d never been there at all. My skin prickled, and the hairs raised on the back of my neck. I picked up my pace, keeping close to the wall.

The rich scent of tobacco filled the air as I edged toward the alley where they’d disappeared, and sneaked a glance into the passage. The dark-haired woman had lit a cigarette and handed the lighter to her blonde friend as she leaned against the wall. She inhaled and tilted her head back, closing her eyes as she blew smoke artfully into the frigid night. Both women were attractive, so similar at first sight that you’d assume they were related: high cheekbones, symmetrical features, and large, dark eyes. The blonde was a few inches taller in glossy black heels.

I observed them for a moment, my pulse pounding in my ears. From the sheer, form-fitting dresses and heavy make-up they both wore, they were probably passing as students from one of the local unis. They looked to be about the right age, not that appearances meant much. But the ruse was simple enough to be believable – unless, of course, you happened across someone like me. Keeping an eye on them, I assessed the short, narrow alley. From my position, I should have a slight advantage. Emphasis on slight .

I took a deep, silent breath, reigning in the simmering heat in my blood that begged to be released. My body trembled as I held it back, waiting, the taste of fire a metallic tang that filled my mouth.

The blonde was distracted, rifling around in her bag. Now was the moment. I stepped forward, the streetlamp behind throwing my face deeply into shadow. Everything about the alley was dim and filthy, from the sweet stench of refuse to the grotty, spray-painted graffiti across the brickwork. On a normal night, I might have worked harder to draw them out – if only to get away from the smell. But tonight was not a normal night.

“You know, they reckon cigarettes are bad for you. I guess that’s not a worry when you’re dead?” I frowned. “But second-hand smoke in a public place… that’s just rude.”

The smoker barely reacted, throwing a lazy glance my way. But her blonde friend’s head snapped up at the sound of my voice.

“Excellent,” she murmured, scarlet-painted lips curling. “A late-night snack.”

I resisted rolling my eyes. Vampires had no imagination.

The brunette straightened as her friend spoke, her head tilting to one side as she looked me over.

“It’s you.” She tapped the ash from the end of her cigarette with a long, enamelled nail, apparently unconcerned. “I’ve heard about you.”

“I’d bow or curtsy or something, but…” I pushed my hair back from my face. “Manners won’t matter much in a few minutes.”

The blonde gave a low chuckle as I took a step toward her. I could smell them now – perfume intermingled with something darker.

“Witty.” She reached out to push me with both hands, the movement faster than should have been possible .

I stepped back, and her fingertips missed the wool of my coat. “I like to think so.” Any minute now…

Anger flooded her pale face, turning her skin an unpleasant mottled pink. But the brunette came between us before I had time to react. I twitched.

“Look,” she said, raising her hands. “We get it. But it’s late. We haven’t done anything.”

Something flickered behind her eyes, and I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.

“So, no one took the bait tonight. What about next time?” My voice hardened. “There’s a reason this isn’t a negotiation.”

“Idiot,” the blonde one spat, leaning around her friend. “You’ll lose.”

They were strong. And fast – I could see as much. Plus, it was two against one. But I’d fought with worse odds, and I was still here.

“Ignore her. We’re not looking for a fight,” the brunette pressed, edging forward. “Walk away.”

I almost laughed. “How considerate of you both. Maybe manners do matter after all.” Despite their words, bit by bit, they were forcing me against the wall. My mind flashed to the dagger tucked into my boot. “Unfortunately for you,” I planted my feet. “This is what I do.”

“Don’t worry—” Blondie took off one of her heels. “You won’t be doing it—” and the other, “much longer.” Dropping them behind her by the straps, she grew still for a second, a predator’s gleam in her eye. I blinked, and with a casual, unnatural swiftness, she attacked .

I dodged the first blow – a punch aimed squarely at my face – and a hunk of brick in the wall behind me shattered under her bare knuckles. Before she had time to step back, I swung my fist up into her abdomen. Molten adrenaline shot through my body as I made contact, and I grinned wildly, revelling in it. This was exactly what I needed.

She stumbled away, feet slapping on the damp concrete. I used the pause to wiggle my way out of the corner and shook out my shoulders, the heat spreading through my limbs and finally burning through the haze of grief that had brought me here. The brunette vamp shot a glance between us before starting forward, stubbing out her cigarette on my arm as she tried to grab me. The wool smoked, but I felt nothing.

“That’s my favourite bloody coat you’ve ruined!” I seized the strap of her dress to stop her from getting away. Grabbing her shoulder with my other hand, I dug my fingers into her cold skin and shook her hard before dashing her against the wall. Her skull made an unpleasant crunching sound as it hit the stone, stunning her momentarily.

Taking advantage of the confusion, I spun back to Blondie, who’d recovered her balance.

“You actually are an idiot,” she hissed as she advanced, aiming her knee at my gut in a move I almost didn’t spot. I backed up, but not fast enough, and flew backwards as her kneecap met flesh, landing on my back with a thud. I groaned inwardly – that was going to leave a hell of a bruise. But I didn’t have time to complain.

Twisting up and straightening, I ignored the urge to vomit rocketing up my throat and blocked a couple more punches with my forearms.

“Seriously?” I caught her wrist and wrenched it behind her, grabbing her hair with my other hand. “You’re the one calling me names?” I smashed her face into the concrete, dropping to a crouch. “You were gonna eat me—”

“Oh, fuck off!” she half-yelled, writhing, her mouth full of dirt.

“I don’t think I will.” I eased my grip for a moment, sure I had her trapped, but she rolled over, ready to bolt. Before she could get far, I shoved the heel of my hand into her shoulder and pinned her other arm to the ground. “If this had gone your way—”