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Soren

S oren took a small sip of his vodka soda.

It wasn’t his drink of choice, but he didn’t trust this place to make him anything more complicated than that.

The bar definitely wasn’t one of his usual haunts, with its surly staff and tasteless collection of neon signs advertising mediocre beer brands.

But he was trying to keep as far away from Danny’s house as he could without leaving city limits.

He’d been drinking and flirting his way through this part of town all night. It should have been fun—it might have been in the past—but mostly it was just…tedious. There was no heart to the flirting. No real intention. Not even for the sake of hunting.

Soren’s inner vamp was still only interested in one particular prey.

It wasn’t like Soren had suddenly stopped liking to go out—dancing and flirting with Gabe at his side had been all kinds of delightful.

He’d relished getting to study his human’s reactions to Soren, to other men.

And then the incredible satisfaction at being the one to take him home at the end of the night. But Gabe was at his stupid work .

With Jay there for added protection, of course.

Theoretically it should have been Soren with him, but Soren was hoping to avoid drawing attention to his human—if Hendrick hadn’t gotten a close look at Gabe that night, then it would be best for them not to be seen together.

And while Jay wouldn’t be much of a defense against Hendrick, he was still stronger than any human and would hopefully be able to stall Hendrick enough for Soren to get there.

At least, that was what Soren hoped. He worried he was putting an awful lot of stock in Jay’s loyalty to him, considering this was Jay’s first time away from that fucking den. He caught himself biting at his fingernails and tucked his free hand under his thigh, annoyed at his own nervous tell.

Was Soren making a mistake? But Jay had always hated Hendrick. He could never understand why Hendrick took such delight in hurting Soren, why he didn’t take more care with him, like Vee had for Jay. Soren was counting on that hatred to help his old friend hold strong.

He took another sip of his drink. It would be okay. Gabe would be okay.

And Jay had been more than happy to help, sweetheart that he was. Moreover, he was nonthreatening and adorable enough that Gabe had been pretty sure Jay could get away with hanging around the hospital cafeteria all night without drawing too much suspicion.

Soren was trying very hard not to feel bitter about it all.

At how easily Gabe and Jay interacted. He was painfully aware this was all his own trauma-induced bullshit.

Gabe had done more than his fair share in reassuring him, both verbally and in other ways, that he liked Soren just as he was.

And he wasn’t being subtle about it—having Jay around apparently did absolutely nothing to stop Gabe from wanting to touch and hold Soren all the time.

And Soren was having a hard time even pretending to be annoyed by it. He liked being touched by his human. Liked being held by his human.

Soren had never thought he could be so content stuck in the same boring house for days. But Gabe had a way of making staying still easy, for the first time in Soren’s lengthy existence.

Soren toyed with his straw, trying to push thoughts of his human away.

There was an even better reason to send Jay in his stead.

Hendrick may have been jealous in the past, but his obsession was still very much with Soren.

If Gabe had to leave the house, Soren wanted to be as far away from him as possible.

Even better if Soren could draw Hendrick out himself.

He’d tried calling the same number he’d been receiving all those goddamn texts from, but either Hendrick had blocked him or he’d already dropped whatever burner he’d been using to taunt Soren. Another aspect of his pointless mind games, no doubt. Don’t call me; I’ll call you.

And so here Soren was, enduring all this barhopping and empty flirting, just to lure Hendrick’s attention and to hopefully get that attention off Gabe, if it had ever been on him in the first place.

But at this point, Soren was starting to think he’d only imagined Hendrick’s face the other night.

He was too used to fearing it in every corner; apparently, he’d started conjuring it.

Soren took another sip of his vodka soda, trying to find it in himself to search the bar for someone to make exaggerated eyes at. It was hard to focus on the present, when all his current actions were fixated on the past.

The start of Soren’s new existence hadn’t been so bad.

More confusing than anything. He didn’t even really remember dying. There had been a voice in the darkness, a sharp bite of pleasure, and then unbearable agony. But that had only been for a moment—Soren had lost consciousness fairly quickly.

After all, other than hunger pangs, he’d never really known pain before, at that point in his life.

The real pain would come later.

“You’re awake, angel?”

Soren opened his eyes to a dimly lit room. He was in a bed much softer than any he’d ever been in before, the silky texture of the sheets against his skin a foreign sensation.

There was a handsome man sitting beside him, his hair a few shades darker than Soren’s own, big and broad and dressed in fine clothes.

Soren blinked. Angel? Had the man been referring to him? “Where am I?”

The big man smiled at him, all teeth. It couldn’t have exactly been called a warm smile, but Soren had seen worse. “You’re home,” he answered, as if it were obvious.

“This isn’t my home.”

It definitely wasn’t. Where Soren lived wasn’t nearly as nice as this. His family were peasants, and he was the fourth of six children—they rarely had enough food to put on the table, let alone silver to set it with.

Another toothy smile. “It is now. I’ve been watching you, little Soren. We’ve even met before, though I made sure you wouldn’t remember. I know the things you crave.”

Soren doubted that. Besides the fact that they had definitely never met…this man couldn’t possibly know what he craved. No one knew who Soren dreamed of at night, the men he dreamed of touching.

So Soren kept silent, not wanting to give anything away. More than that, he was…distracted. There was a buzzing under his skin. An itching for something, and he didn’t know what. It was building and growing to an overwhelming degree every moment he was awake.

“Ah.” The man gave him a knowing look. “You must be hungry. Don’t worry, I’ve brought someone for you.”

He gestured to the corner, where a woman with a blank look on her face was sitting with unnatural stillness. “Don’t worry,” the man said gently. “She won’t fight you. You can let it out.”

Soren didn’t know what the stranger meant. Let what out? He didn’t move.

“Here,” the man offered. “I’ll help you.”

He moved impossibly quickly to the woman’s side, pushing back her sleeve and baring her wrist. He bent over it, broad shoulders hunched, and his dark-blond hair swept over his face, hiding it from view.

Soren very quickly began to smell blood.

Only…blood had never smelled so enticing before. The familiar metallic notes, yes, but also a richness…a spice…

Why did it smell so good? Soren’s breath hitched as he felt a change come over him. That overwhelming sensation grew and grew until he felt something other come to the forefront.

Himself but not himself.

And then he was up and across the room, and his mouth was covering that gentle river of blood, and he was drinking deeply. Big, greedy swallows.

“Good,” the man murmured from his place at Soren’s side. “Very good. We’re going to do well together, angel.”

Soren licked his bloody lips. “Who are you?”

That toothy smile became even more sinister with fangs glinting in the candlelight. “I’m your new master, angel. You can call me Hendrick.”

Soren had killed that poor woman in the end—had drunk her dry.

He’d been too new and too hungry to know any better, and Hendrick had been in no rush to teach him proper control.

Humans were expendable to the older vampire.

He’d been completely unbothered by Soren’s excess, by any destruction left in their wake.

It had taken very little time in his new life for Soren to realize he was meant to be seen, not heard. And a very long time for him to realize how stifling that was, with his new and improved condition.

It hadn’t made sense at first. His had never been a life full of choice and possibility. He’d been poor and half-starved and long used to playing up to other people’s expectations—what was one more person telling him what to do?

But that was something Hendrick and his den didn’t acknowledge about turning someone.

That change…unleashing someone’s inner vampire—their demon , as Roman called it—did more than just make someone crave blood.

It amplified certain parts of their personality as well, all those inner cravings given new life.

For some, like those in that shitty den, it amplified their viciousness, their cruelty.

But for Soren…

Soren craved pleasure, excess in all things. And a pursuit of pleasure necessitated freedom. He wanted to feel and think and say what he pleased. It had taken him many years to realize it fully.

And one night for Hendrick to beat it out of him.

At least, temporarily. The cycle would continue for decades. Until Soren couldn’t stand it anymore, and he’d run. And run. And kept running.

“Christ,” Soren sighed. He was being fucking maudlin, obsessing over the past. He looked over the latest text from Jay, lips quirking at his friend’s unbridled enthusiasm.

No Hendrick. But so many humans! A little old lady called me adorable. I love the hospital!

This was pointless. Soren downed the rest of his drink in one graceless gulp. He’d go back to the house, cuddle that silly puppy, and wait like a sap for his human to return.

“Another one?” the bartender asked.