Envious Of Fire (Kissing With Teeth #2)

2. Peace & Quiet.

There is a large painting of a lion on the wall—a king of his pride, regal and pulsing with undeniable command, blazing in bold oranges and fiery golds, his eyes stinging with greens and sensitive blues and highlighted with amber tints of wisdom.

It is Kyle’s best work to date, if he does say so himself.

“It’s obviously me, right?” asks a rather cocky Elias tonight, coming up from behind to lock his arms around his lover.

Kyle breaks a smile, enjoying the kisses Elias places up the back of his neck. “The lion’s my favorite animal.”

“Other than me?” He reaches Kyle’s ear, takes a nip.

“The way you keep nibbling me like a sirloin, you’d think you were the one who drinks blood around here.”

“Can I help that the mere sight of you makes me crazy?” A growl rattles up his throat. “I want you so bad tonight.”

“You know I’m heading to the bar soon, babe.”

“That still leaves us ten or fifteen to mess around. Will you even have any customers? Who the fuck drinks on a Tuesday?”

“In this town? Everyone.”

“Only you.” Elias turns Kyle around and presses him to the wall. “And I’m the only one you drink.”

“Elias …”

“Just one bite before you go?”

With Elias, it is never just one bite. The man is addicted to being Kyle’s only source of satisfying his thirst. Kyle can feel Elias’s longing for being bitten even now, thanks to his unique ability to feel the emotions of others. What is it that Kyle finds so delectable about Elias? Is it his excitement in showing how strong and fearless he is, to take on Kyle’s hunger? Is it that specialness of being Kyle’s lone object to satisfy his needs?

Or is it something more selfless that drives Elias, perhaps slightly sacrificial, to give a piece of himself to Kyle every night, that both feeds and suppresses the monster within?

“You can be gentle,” says Elias, “or as rough as you like. I can take whatever you got, you sexy thirsty fuck. You know I’m all yours. You know I’m just your piece of meat .”

This is their brand of dirty talk.

Kyle feels Elias’s heart accelerating the more he goads him into biting. The anticipation crackles between their bodies, like a literal current from Elias’s inviting veins to Kyle’s teeth.

It isn’t a difficult sale—Elias. He is handsome. Sturdy. Eyes that rage like the sun. Golden brown skin that grows warmer at his cheeks, as if the flame of his mortal life burns through them. His voice, unexpectedly velvety and smooth, with a daring edge that sharpens when he’s turned on, like right now. His white tank top stretches over his chest and runs down his tapering form, showing off his proud and dominant posture, before the material pools at his hips, meeting the waist of his low-hanging grey-black jeans that fit snugly on his thighs.

It is no secret that Kyle can overpower his mortal boyfriend Elias and break him with distressing ease. It is perhaps that fact that makes Elias’s taunting all the more thrilling—and proving both his devotion and unwavering valor.

If there is anything in existence Elias shies away from, Kyle has yet to know it.

“Please?” Elias, as gently as a hot-blooded lion seducing his mate can manage, presses Kyle to the wall with his body, showing his strength, tempting Kyle’s appetite with so many tasty choices on the buffet—his smooth, supple neck, broad shoulders, meaty biceps as they bulge with his efforts … “Don’t make me beg.”

“You already are,” whispers Kyle back.

“Don’t make me whimper, then.”

“You’re about to.”

Elias’s body turns to stone when Kyle bares his teeth, and upon his neck they find their favorite spot. It is behind the ear, always emitting a perfect, clean scent, the flesh feeling to the touch as strong and yet also as sensitive as Elias himself. And the moment blood is released, Elias lets out a whimper despite all his efforts to contain it.

It is a battle he never wins, much to Kyle’s delight.

Though the act is never quite painful to Elias, he can feel the puncturing of teeth into his skin, as well as the suction of Kyle’s mouth. Elias seems to experience pleasure in the pain—such a fine line it seems to be that separates the two.

And Kyle knows what Elias wants in every moment. This is what his unique gift does without effort now, indicating to him every shift in Elias’s emotion and cueing him when to ease off, when to go further. When Elias’s heart races, Kyle’s does, too. Every stroke of pleasure is twofold. Every pinch of pain as well. Kyle carefully weighs what Elias wants against what is best for him, ensuring no actual harm comes to his boyfriend.

Each second is a crucial judgment.

This is the reality every time the young men are intimate.

A consequence of playing with fire.

Elias grinds his hips into Kyle’s as he’s fed upon. With each thrust, the framed painting of the lion above their heads rattles. Elias’s fingers claw down the sides of Kyle’s body as his need for him becomes more urgent, catching the waistband of Kyle’s pants and tugging them down. Kyle’s appetite for sexual release competes with his thirst for blood when Elias’s hand slips inside his underwear and finds something far more satisfying to grip.

Kyle lets go of Elias’s neck, gives the punctured holes a lick to stop the bleeding, then moves to his lips for a kiss. He has come to learn over time that he, as Elias describes, is a “clean eater”, never a drop spilled nor dripping down his chin.

But for as skilled as they’ve become in not spilling blood, they have regrettably not yet mastered the ability to stop time. “Babe, I really gotta go …”

“Just call in tonight,” moans Elias. “They won’t miss you. What’ll Cade do? Fire you? Who the hell can she replace you with anyway? No one else exists in this tiny town.”

“There’s no end to you, is there?”

“What am I gonna do all night? I’m outta sunlight. Can’t work on the porch ‘til morning. Almost outta nails, too.”

Kyle kisses him again, grins. “You’re amazing, building me that big sun porch …”

“Can we still call it the sun porch when its whole purpose is to block the sun?” Elias tries to entice his lover again, plunging his lips into Kyle’s neck, then growling. “I would build a roof over the whole goddamned town for you if I could.”

It isn’t easy to let go of Elias, not after a statement like that, but after pulling away to put one last kiss on his firm, delicious lips, Kyle says, “Love you, babe, so much, but I really gotta go,” then slips out from between his boyfriend and the wall.

Elias frowns. “That was barely half a bite you just had.”

“Half a bite too much, apparently.” Kyle goes to change.

Elias drops onto the couch, sulking. “You do realize you’re leaving me here with blue balls,” he mumbles to himself.

“So jerk off a few times while I’m gone,” Kyle calls back all the way from the bedroom, having heard Elias perfectly thanks to his superior hearing. That has seemed to improve lately, too.

“It isn’t the same.”

Now in uniform, which is really just a black polo shirt and jeans, Kyle slips into the bathroom to do his hair. It’s a messy, brown situation that never goes in the direction he intends. He donates half a minute of time attempting to fix it before giving up entirely. He’s a bit overdue for a haircut, anyway.

Then he just stares at himself. Sullen, plain, mediocre eyes. Average nose, average lips, nothing remarkable.

His skin, which has gone so pale over the years due to the lack of sunlight for more than obvious reasons.

This is the same face he’s looked at for over twenty years. Was it roughly twenty years ago that he stopped aging? He was turned when he was eighteen years old, though he remembers exactly none of the process. He merely took the blond-haired, blue-eyed fiend named Tristan to his bed, in a complete frenzy, like something demonic had taken over.

Then his little brother Kaleb came to the door.

Uttered his name.

That’s the last thing Kyle remembers before waking to find his house turned into a bloodbath, his whole family dead.

“Mom. Dad. Kaleb,” recites Kyle into the mirror.

Then Tristan and his cold hand gripping him, pulling him out of the house, to forever go on the run from something that cannot ever be escaped. Perhaps twenty-seven years have passed since that night, in theory, but so often when Kyle stares at his reflection long enough, he can swear it feels like the nightmare happened yesterday. Is there any escaping that night? Will he ever feel true relief from the guilt of ending the lives of his mother, father, and little brother? Does he deserve it?

“What was that?”

Kyle turns to find Elias at the bathroom door. He dodges the question, puts a deeply charged kiss on Elias’s lips, then says in a light voice: “I just remembered it’s Jer’s birthday. They’re doing a thing at the bar. Why don’t you come with?”

Elias blinks. “Jeremy Rojas? Isn’t he, like, sixteen?”

“Seventeen. Well, eighteen as of tonight.”

“What the hell’s an eighteen-year-old gonna do at a bar?”

“Drink soda, eat cake, and make out with his girlfriend.”

“Shit. Did we need to bring him something?”

“He specifically requested no one does.”

“Thank fuck.” Elias reconsiders. “But … isn’t that just shy-people talk for ‘please bring me something’? Y’know what? Yes, it is, and we’re gonna swing by my place to grab something on the way. Don’t give me that look. I told you they won’t care if you’re just a teeny bit late!”

Kyle throws his arms around Elias’s neck. “What the fuck did I do to deserve you?”

“Everything probably,” grunts Elias, pressing a kiss to his lips.

It’s on the edge of sunset with but a safe sliver of light left in the sky and no sun to be seen that Kyle and Elias make the short drive to the bar—after a quick detour to Elias’s house at the opposite edge of town. Cade, the bar owner, has clearly had her way with the place, because there are all matters of tacky birthday streamers and colorful paper decorations everywhere. After all, it is her daughter Layna that the birthday boy Jeremy is dating, and Cade is known for making a fuss over anything worth celebrating around here. Music blasts from the jukebox, and the air is thick with its usual woodsy musk mixed with the scent of old alcohol and cigarette smoke. Kyle passes several of the regulars on his way to the back, depositing Elias among them, who instantly gets into a discussion with an old man from the hardware store who’s been helping with supplies (and tips) on building the porch. The other bartender Becks, dancing as she wipes down a table, waves at Kyle as he passes by, unusually cheery. Everyone seems to be affected by the party spirit.

It’s in the kitchen that Kyle finds Leland, the cook with the sagging jeans, messy hair, flushed and sunburned face, and big, bright baby blue eyes. Next to him at the sink is Jeremy Rojas, whose short and spiky bleached hair glows like a torch under the fluorescent lights of the kitchen. He’s skinny with the same russet complexion as his rigid police chief father, swimming in an oversized band shirt, jeans, and a thick cuff on his wrist, which looks ten pounds in comparison to his arm.

The moment Kyle enters, Jeremy’s eyes light up. “Oh, I’m so glad you came, man!”

“Why wouldn’t I?” asks Kyle right back. “I work tonight.”

“I mean …” Jeremy chuckles self-consciously. “I knew that. I just meant I’m glad you’re here, like, tonight -tonight. Because we’re having my party this late. So you can, uh, y’know, come.”

Kyle stops. He didn’t realize that.

Then Jeremy ambushes Kyle with a surprise hug. “I will never forget you were the one who saved my life, who really saved it. I’m here because of you . Thank you, man. I mean it … thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Now, now,” sings Leland, who has returned to scrubbing something in the sink, “don’t go smothering poor Henry. Uh, I mean Kyle.” He throws an apologetic wince over his shoulder. “ Sorry, old habit .”

Jeremy continues to cling to Kyle, his sentimental feelings radiating out of him like a beacon. “Really, you’re one of the good ones. I feel safe because you’re here. We all do, everyone in this whole town, we’re all grateful, even if we don’t show it.”

One of the good ones.

Kyle thinks about Tristan, about Lord Markadian, about the cold and vile George who killed his childhood friend Brock, about every last one of those fiends at the House of Vegasyn.

Are they the bad ones?

“You’re … awfully emotional tonight,” Kyle notes.

Jeremy lets go suddenly. “Oh, is Layna here yet? Did you see her out there?”

“Nope,” says Kyle.

“Hope she isn’t doing some big thing,” he mumbles. “I told her not to.”

Leland drops a dish in the sink, curses, then glances over a shoulder. “What do you want for your birthday, Jer?”

“Told my dad I wanted to go to Vegas, just an overnight trip, no big deal, but he strictly forbade it. He doesn’t want me going anywhere or doing anything fun with my life. I’m gonna be stuck here forever.”

The moment Jeremy mentions Las Vegas, Kyle’s mind is transported there.

To the threatening hallways of the Scarlet Sands.

To the windy rooftop where he reunited with Elias.

To the disorienting hallways of the House of Vegasyn.

To the stark white room where he watched Brock die.

“Maybe your … father has his reasons,” Kyle finds himself saying, at once not wishing anyone he cares about to discover that dark and deadly underworld he experienced mere days ago. Has it been only days? It feels like months. Years.

“Yeah, sure, reasons,” echoes Jeremy, miserable.

Kyle puts a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder, gives it a squeeze, encouraging him. “Don’t lose hope. Hey, once upon a time, I thought my fate was to live and die in a small Texas town, to be invisible, forever lost under my former best friend’s shadow, lurking under my significantly more successful and smarter younger brother’s achievements, shriveling away inside my own unforgivable … averageness. But now?” He smiles. “My life is so much bigger.” He reconsiders. “Well, sort of.”

Jeremy nods. “Fine. I’ll take that to mean you’re planning a secret trip for me.”

Kyle squints at him. “Say what?”

“You’re making plans to sneak me out on a cool midnight trip to Vegas someday. I knew it.” He snaps his fingers. “Hey, you basically just pinky-promised it.”

“But you’re underage!”

“So now I’m gonna hold you to it! Oh, but only if Layna can come, too. Speaking of, I’d better check if she’s here yet.” He pats Kyle on the shoulder, satisfied, then strolls right out of the kitchen, the door left swinging at his back.

Leland snorts at the sink, mutters, “Can’t deny the birthday boy what he wants,” then starts whistling to himself.

Kyle shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. He will have to pitch different places to Jeremy. Grand Canyon. Somewhere fun in California, on the coast. Even Antarctica is a better option.

And likely far less deadly than Las Vegas.

Or more specifically: the Vegasyn domain.

Kyle heads to Cade’s office, giving the door a light knock before poking his head in. “Evening. Just letting you know I’m here. Nice decorations, by the way, livens up the place.”

“Huh?” She looks up from a mess of books and an opened laptop on her desk. “Oh, right, thanks, hope it isn’t too much. Hey, have you by chance ever heard of Winona Norwood? Or the Norwood Coven? Or, um … something to do with—wait, what was it?” She flips over a book and drags her finger across the back, reading, then shuffles over a pile of paper to fish out a single pink sticky note, at which she now squints in confusion. “Can’t read my own handwriting. The hell is this here?”

Cade took over the bar when her father became ill. No one would know she hated it at first, considering how pleasant and warm she usually is. The bar was a burden, and her hands were full with raising Layna. Now, she’s a woman with everything under control—except perhaps for the mess covering her desk at the moment. Clicking away on her laptop with one hand, she runs the other through her long tight braids, pulling them over a shoulder to reveal her snake tattoo winding up the right side of her neck, the ink striking and artful on her deep mahogany skin. Frustration creases her forehead as she squints wearily at the screen, scrolling through articles, looking for something.

Kyle takes a step back. “Doesn’t ring a bell, either of those names. Didn’t mean to interrupt. Just came to say hi. I’ll go and relieve Becks now.”

“Hey, hey, not so fast.” She slaps shut her laptop and peers up. “Sorry. Did you say something when you first came in? Oh, the decorations! Yeah, it’s Jeremy’s birthday. You see him?”

Kyle smiles. “Sure did.”

“Good. Layna’s on her way. She’s fixing some cupcakes. I sure hope she doesn’t burn down the kitchen. I did leave her in a state of duress, and she would not take my help. She’s at that age, know what I mean? The ‘let me do it, Mom!’ age.” Cade lets out a sigh, shakes her head, then gives a swat at her books. “So that leaves me coming in early to sit here at a desk and pretend I’m a private eye who has any idea how to hunt down my own family history.”

Laughter and cheers are heard in the bar. Kyle glances out the door, taking note that Layna has arrived with said cupcakes, joining a number of others at one of the tables. Then he slowly eases the door closed and smiles at Cade. “Seems your daughter arrived safe and sound, baked goods included.”

“Do you think I’m being foolish here?”

Kyle lifts his eyebrows. “About what?”

“All of this?” She gestures at the catastrophe on her desk. “You know what I’m doing, right? You’re the only one I told.”

A rush of bubbling heat courses into Kyle like a fever. It’s Cade’s prickling doubt and desperate need for her suspicions to be validated. She has seen many peculiar marvels from her gran, and just before she died, she told Cade a secret, that she had a “gift”. Ever since, Cade has toiled with the possibility that the gift might have passed down to her or her daughter. Back and forth she’s gone, believing in it, then casting the notion away outright, thinking it ridiculous. Kyle senses all her worries.

And he suspects his own truth has now rekindled Cade’s.

After all, if something like Kyle can exist, why not women imbued with special powers?

“No,” Kyle finally answers. “I don’t think you’re foolish at all. Not one bit.”

Cade’s leg bounces in place below the desk as she gnaws on her lip, thinking. Then she leans forward. “Kyle, I swear to you, I’m not going crazy, but … I had a dream last night, and … and I think you were in it.”

“Really?”

“Come closer, sit down.”

He does, taking a seat in a folding chair by the desk.

She swallows, gathers her thoughts, appears to change her mind, then decides at once to go for it. “I dreamt of a burning house with a family inside.”

Kyle stares at her.

The air leaves the room.

As if an enormous living flame just took a great big breath to feed itself.

The sound of crackling wood and shattering glass.

“And in that house,” Cade continues, “I heard … I heard a shout. Like a boy’s shout. I felt like I was right in the middle of it, in the middle of that house. The boy cried out. He was on the floor, and … I saw him. He was …” Her face scrunches up in discomfort. “He was calling what sounded like your name.”

“My name?”

“Your real name. ‘Kyle … Kyle …’ That’s what he said. He had your eyes, too. I thought it was you at first … a teenage version of you, until I realized it was your name he was calling. Does that …” She winces. “Does that mean anything to you?”

It seems to be an everyday thing lately. Remembering that painful night when his second life had been thrust into motion. When Tristan took control of it all, took him away from his life and ran into the eternal night. What did Kyle’s last full sunrise look like that final evening he was human? Does he remember the color? Did he even bother to watch it? All of it fades away into that terrible night like a dream of his own. The only color that remains is the blood red that covered his kitchen.

His dead parents … and dead little brother.

Tristan said he took care of it. Burned everything down. It was all relayed to Kyle secondhand in newspaper articles. It was a small enough story that it only seemed to make local news. If there was much else to say about it, Tristan spared him. Kyle was already a mess about everything else. Why would he need to ask about the fire?

He still thinks about his letterman jacket in the dumpster. What items he might have left behind at school. What really happened to Brock in that locker room.

“Oh, your face … I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”

Kyle snaps out of it. “No, no,” he quickly insists. “It’s fine.”

“You totally went somewhere just now.” She reaches for his hand across the desk, takes it, squeezes. “Hey, I’m just a lonely person with too much time on her hands, who has to make up things to occupy her time. I’m no damned magical forsooth or, or, or psychic medium, whatever I’m deluding myself into … please just forget it, forget everything I said.”

“Cade …”

“I have an imagination. That’s what my gran told me, every morning when I’d share my dreams … And look at me now! Nothing much changes. Just forget what I said.” She lets go of his hand and instantly starts closing up books and stuffing away her notes. “Maybe she made it all up, too, sending me on this wild goose chase for who-knows-what …”

Kyle puts a hand on top of Cade’s, stopping her.

She looks up.

Kyle’s mind remains transported as he speaks. “There was this old psychic lady I went to when I was a kid. I was thirteen. It was Halloween. Was supposed to be taking my little brother out trick-or-treating, but we went there instead with a buddy of mine—Brock, the guy you met here a few nights ago.”

“Oh, that loud, obnoxious drunk?”

Kyle smiles wryly. “The psychic … she told me I would live a long, long life. She told my little brother he would live long, too. She said my buddy would have a wife, a son, and a best friend … and abandon them all.”

Cade makes a face. “She said all of this dark shit to a bunch of kids? What kind of fucked up fortune teller is this?”

“Two of those three things came true. I’m living a long life. Brock … has a wife and son, and if I can be so bold as to assume I’m the best friend … then yes, he’s abandoned them all. Maybe it’s a coincidence, but I’m telling you, I felt something from her. I still wonder if she might’ve been real. What I’m saying, Cade, is you shouldn’t be so quick to doubt stuff we can’t explain. Can we explain the magic of the stars? Of gravity? Of life itself?”

Cade shrugs. “Actually, yes, it’s called science.”

Kyle squeezes her hand. She must see the sincerity in his eyes, because all humor flees her face. “Please don’t give up on looking for answers. Keep reading those books. Keep being the private eye on your own life. Cade … I believe in you.”

She is visibly struck.

Her emotions become a musical instrument, a harp, and a perfectly pleasant chord has just been expertly strummed, the notes ringing out with clean, perfect harmony.

“Keep dreaming,” says Kyle. “I may never understand the full reality of what I am … or what I can do with my own gifts. But every day, they get better, they become more focused. You will, too, Cade.”

“Just stop, you’re gonna make me cry.” She lifts a hand to shield her eyes, then lets out a sudden laugh. “Oh, Kyle. Your heart is so full. There is a reason … a reason I have always felt such a connection with you.” She drops her hand and takes his, her eyes watery and happy. “Never doubt your own humanity, Kyle. No matter what anyone in this world calls you, no matter what you call yourself. Remember this moment when you made me cry.”

Kyle smiles as appreciation fills the cozy office. Is it just his own emotions, or both of theirs, that his Reach is sensing?

In moments like these, he wonders how he could possibly have thought he had no one in this world. This dusty, dry town of Nowhere has proven over and over how good life can be.

Then the office door flies open. Kyle turns to find the stiff, uniformed Juan Rojas standing there—Jeremy’s dad, the police chief. He is a man of few smiles whose presence in any room is noticed immediately, with his keen, ruthless eyes, harsh facial features, and permanently creased forehead. He shuts the door, then zeroes upon Kyle. “We’re talking about it. Now.”

Cade sighs. “Juan, really? At your son’s birthday party?”

He eyes her. “We’re doing this so we can continue having birthdays at all.” Then he turns onto Kyle. “I’ve been generous, haven’t I? To let you be your happy carefree self for a few days? Kick back here at the bar with your big criminal boyfriend? To pretend like nothing’s wrong?”

“Juan …” sighs Cade, annoyed.

“Problems don’t magically go away because no one wants to talk about them. A man named Patrick still sitting in my jail twiddling his thumbs is proof of that, and he sure isn’t happy or carefree. I cannot sit on this man’s paperwork forever. Actions need to be taken. I’ll be questioned.” He comes up to the front of the desk, standing over Kyle’s chair. “Time to talk.”

The chief’s impatience is prickly and hot, but Kyle can feel an undercurrent of genuine worry wriggling beneath like some kind of tortured earthworm.

Cade still isn’t having it. “Can’t we all enjoy a slice of pizza at least before we do all this? Leland put in a delivery for ten larges from that place you like … five supreme, five pepperoni, should be here any minute. Even got one with Canadian bacon all over it just for you, Juan.”

The chief doesn’t even hear it. “Tell me what happened in Las Vegas, Kyle.”

Kyle faces the chief. “I went on a mission to find Elias—”

“At the Scarlet Sands in Las Vegas, I know, with your old loudmouth friend who saw you in the viral video and came running to find you. I do not need a play-by-play, Kyle, don’t test my patience. Get to the point. What’d you find instead?”

Kyle takes a breath. “For your own safety, I think it’s best I don’t tell you what I found, and instead, tell you what the result of my trip was.” He puts on a pleasant smile. “We will be left alone. All of us.”

“Left alone by whom? Them ?”

“Yes. They forgave the video. All traces of it were removed from the internet somehow—don’t ask, don’t know—and I was allowed to come back here with Elias. We won’t be touched or harmed. We’re safe and sound, left to live in peace and quiet.”

“Peace and quiet?” The chief sneers. “That’s it? All happy ever after? Peace and fucking quiet?”

Like bugs crawling up his neck, Kyle feels Juan’s distrust. “Yes,” he states with confidence anyway, driving in the half-truth as best as he can.

“Bullshit,” barks the chief.

And rightfully so.

“Sir …” starts Kyle.

“So you found a ton of other bloodsuckers in Vegas? Is that what I’m to understand? Bloodsuckers in power? Who did you speak to? Their king? You spoke to fucking Dracula?”

If only he knew how close to the truth that joke lands. “His name isn’t important, and yes, he … is in a position of power,” Kyle decides to say, “but isn’t that even better? Others listen to him. He wants us to be left alone. Forgotten. We’re okay.”

“Think I was born yesterday, Kyle? A deal like that from goddamned Dracula doesn’t come without conditions.”

Cade sighs. “Juan, please …”

“What are the conditions, Kyle? What did you agree to, on behalf of all of us here, without our fucking consent? What deal did you strike with the goddamned Devil?”

Despite Kyle’s confidence crumbling within, he keeps his face as light and reassuring as he can. So many years’ experience hiding partial truths make him an expert at smiling in the face of doom. “I think he only expects us to keep to ourselves, which is exactly what Elias and I plan to do. No more disturbances, no more viral videos. Everything’s fine.”

“You’re telling me Dracula was powerful enough to get rid of all traces of the video?” the chief presses.

Kyle wonders if Markadian would find it amusing or totally insulting to be referred to as Dracula. “Yep.”

“The video of your crazy ass almost draining the blood out of that man I’m keeping in a jail cell? The one Cade’s daughter recorded on her phone camera, putting herself in danger, too?”

The chief has seen it. He’s only grilling Kyle to make him feel more guilty than he already does. “Yep, showing the man robbing the pawn shop and holding your son at gunpoint before I came and saved the day, yes, that video, all gone.”

The chief takes a step forward, towering over Kyle. “You don’t think he wiped that video out of existence for a reason? It exposed you. It exposed your kind. It threatens him.”

If only Kyle had the ability to stop clever, detective-wired minds from working so efficiently. “It’s gone now, so he—”

“He doesn’t want anyone to know about you. But he isn’t a moron. He knows everyone in this town is aware of exactly who you are. What you are.”

“Well, yes, but he—”

“And that’s the condition,” concludes the chief with a harsh snap of his fingers. “You’ll be left alone only if no one opens their mouth again. It’s not just you who’s sworn to secrecy. It’s every last fucking one of us here. We’re all in danger.”

“Sir, wait …”

“That’s fifty-odd people who heard your confession at the bar that night,” he fumes on. “Add to that the mayor, all the children who stayed home, anyone on the planet that might have been told, distant family members … for fuck’s sake, that’s a promise you just made that’s impossible to keep.”

Cade comes around the desk, rushes to the chief’s side. “It’s a lot to take in, I know,” she says, “but please, stay calm, think it through. We all keep to ourselves here. Nothing will happen.”

“Nothing will happen …?” The chief’s eyes blaze with fury and disbelief as he turns upon Cade. “You’re just … You’re just as deluded as Kyle here.”

Cade steps back, hurt. “Juan.”

The chief turns his glare back onto Kyle. “You did this to our town, you remember that when all kinds of bad descend on us for sport. Can you even trust this Dracula fuck? He’ll pick us all off one by one until no mouths are left to spill any secrets. We’re fucking dead. No,” he says when Cade tries to reach for his arm. “Go ahead, have your party, celebrate my son’s final birthday.” He points a finger in Kyle’s face. “No one else here seems to want to hold you accountable for shit, let alone the lazy mayor himself, but I will. I will hold you to blame until my last breath.”

With that, Chief Rojas departs the office, for a moment letting in the sound of buoyant laughter and celebration as the door opens, then cutting it off with a slam.

Kyle stares at the door, heavyhearted. Despite everything he might say in his own defense, what if the chief is right? Was the deal with Lord Markadian doomed from the start? Is he still caught in a game the Lord of Vegasyn is playing with his life and all the lives of Nowhere hanging in the balance?

Has Kyle been lying to himself?

“I swear,” mutters Cade flippantly. “He was fine with you last week, and now he’s your enemy again. Can the man make up his mind on whether he hates you or not? Hey, let’s forget this and grab a slice of pizza before the kids gobble it up.” She adds: “In truth, I got the Canadian bacon for myself.”

A moment later, Kyle is standing in a crowd of joyful faces, Elias by his side with a beer in hand, Jeremy and Layna sitting in front of a brightly decorated tray of cupcakes, half-snuggled together, Leland and Becks singing badly by the jukebox, an air of warm conversation and laughter filling the room. No one seems to have a heavy thought on their minds. They certainly don’t have heavy feelings in their hearts, Kyle senses. He is among his only family and friends in the world.

The only heaviness existing in the room is in his own heart. His own mind. All of these joyful faces … is this temporary? Is his presence here a constant threat to these innocent people he has come to love and care for?

“Want some dipping sauce for that last bit of crust?” offers Jeremy, sliding a tiny container in front of Kyle.

“Nah, too much garlic,” says Kyle with a shake of his head.

Everyone draws silent and looks his way.

Kyle blinks. “Uh, no, not like that. I just don’t like garlic.”

The silence persists a moment too long.

Then: “Me neither,” admits Cade with a scowl. Everyone laughs, relieved. The party resumes. Kyle stares down at the sliver of dry crust hanging from his greasy fingers.