On The Run With A Vampire

2. Raven

CHAPTER 2

RAVEN

SEVENTH BODY FOUND WITH STRANGE NECK INJURIES AND BLOOD DRAINAGE

The discovery of yet another body, the seventh in just two years, has sent shockwaves through the community. Authorities were called to a secluded area on the city outskirts late last night, where they found the lifeless body of a so far unidentified young woman bearing the hallmark mysterious markings on her neck that have become disturbingly familiar. Initial investigations suggest a significant amount of blood loss, leaving residents gripped by fear and speculation as to the nature of these gruesome murders.

“I promise, I’m perfectly safe.”

I turn onto a busy main road and pull my phone away from my ear as my mother wails out an impassioned, “Seven bodies, Raven. Seven!”

In the background, I hear my father mutter, “Seven that we know of,” which only triggers another round of wailing.

Thanks, Dad.

I don’t remember if my parents were always like this, or if it was something that triggered inside them the first time my heart stopped, but it’s becoming a little bit annoying. Mum remains perpetually afraid that I’ll die at any given moment and is constantly messaging and calling to check I’m not doing any death-defying stunts such as:

Driving a car

Walking across a bridge

Going to the gym

When I hit eighteen and announced that I was moving far, far away for university, she actually Googled whether it counts as kidnapping to lock your adult child in a room for three years. (Spoiler alert: it does).

And Dad?

He seems to be in a permanent state of bracing himself for my untimely death, which has resulted in him developing quite the morbid personality.

Never mind that I haven’t had an episode in four years and I’ve become quite good at sensing when one is about to happen. In my parents’ minds, I’m still the little eight-year-old who collapsed at school one afternoon.

I guess it doesn’t help that now they actually have a genuine reason to be worried. You know, aside from the whole heart thing.

The seven incredibly gruesome and barbaric murders in my city have finally made national news. Everyone, not just my parents, is on high alert. It’s why I’m currently taking the long, very well-lit, and busy way home to my apartment, instead of catching a train or climbing into a taxi after work like I usually do. The police have no leads on the madman who has been terrorising our city for the last two years, and I’m not taking any chances.

Despite my parents' lingering beliefs, I do have some sense of self-preservation.

“Wouldn’t you rather come home and know that you’re safe?” Mum continues.

“There’s crime everywhere,” I point out. “Didn’t you just tell me that the Harrisons down the street got burgled last month?”

“Someone broke in and stole their new 85-inch TV. They didn’t stab them in the neck and drain their blood, ” Mum says, the hysteria in her voice rising with each word. “There’s a difference, Raven.”

“Tomato. Tomato.”

“Raven.”

I sigh as I come to a halt at a crosswalk and join the throng of people waiting for the light to change. “Mum. Dad. I’m twenty-six years old. You need to start trusting me to live my life. And you need to live yours .”

A familiar pang of guilt hits me square in the chest.

“But—”

“I’m serious, Mum,” I say. “I’m fine . I live in a safe area, I take precautions. You don’t have to keep worrying about me. I promise. Nothing is going to happen.”

It’s at that exact moment that a large pick-up truck angrily honks its horn and swerves sharply into the intersection, the screech of tires cutting through the air. Everyone waiting gasps, and I watch, eyes wide, as the truck careens towards a tall, blond man inexplicably standing in the middle of the crosswalk.

Before I can even register what’s going on, the man takes one smooth step to the side, his long black coat billowing behind him like a cape in the wind. The truck swerves again, narrowly missing the man, and crashes into a nearby street lamp with a deafening crunch of metal.

“Raven? What was that? I heard horns. Was that a crash? Are you ? —”

I end the call, my entire focus on the man. For some reason, he looks strangely familiar.

Chaos is erupting all around me, but the man doesn’t look at all bothered. He’s still standing in the middle of the intersection, completely unscathed, his expression unreadable as he surveys the wreckage. Then, as if he hasn’t caused a potentially deadly road traffic accident, the man shrugs and continues making his way across the intersection.

Someone angrily approaches him, waving their hands frantically in the air and pointing at the crashed truck off to the side—as if he could possibly have missed it. The man spares him the briefest of glances, then lifts a dismissive hand in the guy’s direction. Instantly, the guy stops angrily shouting and swivels around before marching off in the opposite direction.

I glance around, checking if anyone else saw that bizarre interaction, but everyone is too preoccupied with gasping and gawking at the pick-up truck driver across the street.

No one else even seems to notice the tall stranger making his way over the crosswalk. And they certainly don’t seem to notice that he’s walking directly towards me .

I stand frozen on the spot as a memory forcibly shoves its way to the forefront of my mind.

Halloween, two years ago.

Tall, blond, handsome.

Snarling at a group of kids on the train.

Asking me a handful of random questions.

It’s him. It’s definitely him. Two years have passed but I don’t think he’s changed at all. His blindingly blond hair is still perfectly mussed, the dark circles under his eyes are apparently a permanent fixture, and, for some bizarre reason, he’s still wearing those fangs.

I know this because he’s smiling at me. Or, at least, I think that he thinks he’s smiling. It’s more like a grimace than anything else, but I get the impression he’s trying to seem friendly.

“Ms. Hartley,” the man says, giving me a curt bow. “I know this is a little unorthodox, and I appreciate I could have done this with more…” He pauses for a second, clicks his tongue, and then gives me a wry grin. “With a little more subtlety . But I require your assistance.”

I’m still frozen on the spot. Every single nerve in my body is pleading with me to turn and run, to disappear into the still-growing crowd and get as far away from this man as possible. But I can’t move. Because one question is drowning out the alarm bells ringing in my mind.

“How the hell do you know my name?”

Maybe Mum’s right and I don’t have any sense of self-preservation, because everything about this man screams DANGER, and I’ve just snapped at him.

He blinks at me. Once. Twice. And then his grin-slash-grimace widens into something that sends a shiver down my spine. “Come now, Ms. Hartley. Let’s not play coy. I’m sure you’ve been keeping tabs on me too.”

I take a step backward into the crowd and raise a hand in front of me, as if that’ll do anything to stop him. “Listen. I have no idea who you are, or how you know my name, but you need to?—”

“We don’t have time for this, Ms. Hartley,” he says, a hint of irritation clouding his otherwise weirdly polite tone. “Unfortunately, I’ve recently run afoul of the S.B.E.F., and I’ll need your aid and hospitality for at least a week or two while I recuperate.”

The S.B.E.F.? My hospitality? Recuperate? What ?

“I concede that it’s not ideal,” he continues, oblivious to the fact that I still have no idea what’s going on. “But, regretfully, you are the only one in the vicinity I can turn to in my time of need.” He pauses and rolls his eyes. “Please never let Mother know I’ve admitted this, but perhaps moving so far away wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had.”

Enough. I’ve entertained this for far too long. Clearly, this man is going through some sort of mental crisis.

“Look,” I say as kindly as I can manage. “The police are probably already on their way to deal with that mess behind you.”

He glances over his shoulder and hums with disinterest, as if he’s already completely forgotten about the traffic accident he just caused and the poor truck driver who is currently being pulled out through his windshield by some helpful onlookers.

“Why don’t you just wait here, and I’m sure they’ll be able to help you when they arrive.”

He lolls his head back towards me and gives me a penetrating stare. “Ms. Hartley, I understand that you’re just posturing for the benefit of the humans around us. Perhaps we can retire to your abode where we can speak more plainly.”

Despite everything, I can’t help but laugh. “Oh yeah, sure. That sounds great. You can come right on up.”

“Excellent,” he says, beaming so wide I can see the tips of the plastic fangs he’s still wearing. “Please lead the way.”

Apparently, he’s never heard of sarcasm before. But there’s no time to dwell on that now. Sirens start to wail in the near distance and a wave of relief floods through me. Just a little longer and this guy won’t be my problem anymore.

The incoming threat of police triggers a renewed sense of panic in the crowd forming around us. The crowd surges forward and someone rushes past, bumping into the stranger with enough force to send him stumbling.

He staggers forward, his hand instinctively reaching out to steady himself against a nearby streetlamp. “Fucking humans ,” he spits out, whirling around to snarl at the person who jostled him.

I should be taking this moment to run. To take advantage of his distraction to slip into the crowd and disappear. But once again, I’m rooted to the spot.

Because there’s something lodged in his back.

Deep.

It looks like a thick piece of wood—at least five inches wide. It’s wedged into his flesh so snugly that it seems like it’s become a part of him, as if his body has accepted the intrusion without protest.

There’s no blood, though.

He turns back to face me. Panic surges through me like an electrical current.

Why is there no blood?

“As I was saying,” he says, his voice strained but steady. “Your help right now would be greatly appreciated.”

“You need medical help. ” My voice cracks on the word “ help .” I sound like Mum. Borderline hysterical. “You need urgent?—”

A black car swerves into the intersection and skids to a halt, scattering the crowd surrounding us. Two people burst out of the car before the wheels have even stopped moving.

One of them, a woman, is brandishing what looks like a crossbow .

A fucking crossbow.

“Nobody move!” she shrieks.

Of course, upon seeing a strange woman burst out of a car and begin erratically waving around a crossbow, everyone moves.

If I thought there was chaos before, this is nothing but pure pandemonium. People are screaming, shoving each other, pushing and stumbling in a frantic attempt to get away from the madwoman with a crossbow.

Myself included.

I take advantage of the mayhem and let the crowd push me away from the man. He looks frantically between me and the two newcomers before sighing and shaking his head.

“Fine,” he shouts over the noise. Even as the crowd pushes me further down the street, putting some much-needed distance between us, he holds my gaze. “Ms. Hartley. We’ll reconvene later.”

An involuntary shiver wracks through me again and I finally turn away.

We’ll reconvene later.

No, we most definitely will not .

“So he’s like, what?” Daphne takes a bite out of her apple and chews for a few seconds. “Stalking you or something?”

“He must be,” I say, nervously peeking through my blinds before snapping them firmly shut. “I mean, he knew my name.”

Daphne’s frowning face fills my iPhone screen. “Tell me again why you haven’t called the police?”

I pause, guilt creeping up on me again.

The thing with developing a rare heart condition as a child is that it didn’t only upend my life, but my parents’ too. I roll my eyes and complain about it often, but it hasn’t escaped me that they’ve spent the last eighteen years living in a constant state of fear and panic. That both of them have turned down opportunities and experiences in favour of staying home and keeping an eye on me just in case something happens. That their lives have effectively been on pause for the last eighteen years.

That’s a heavy burden to rest on an eight-year-old’s shoulders, and it’s not gotten any lighter over the years.

I shove the feeling of guilt into the deepest, darkest corners of my mind where it belongs and force a grin. “I’m probably just overreacting.”

Daphne’s brows shoot up into her hairline. “Raven. Are you for real right now? A stranger knows your name. A stranger , can I just add, who you’ve had two encounters with now.”

“It’s a small city,” I say with a shrug. “We were bound to bump into each other again.”

“There are like five million people in this goddamn city. No, the fuck you were not.” She shakes her head and takes a deep breath. “Listen to me, Raven. You being safe isn’t bothering anyone.”

A lump forms in my throat. Daphne’s always had a knack for knowing what goes on in my head without me having to say anything.

“Never has been. Never will be. Not with me anyway. Got that?”

She waits for me to give her a nod before continuing.

“And if this guy really is stalking you, then it’s not just your problem—it’s everyone’s problem. You don’t have to deal with this alone. Matter of fact—” Her camera shakes suddenly as she pushes herself out of her seat. “You’re not going to deal with this alone. I’m coming over and we can figure it out together.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

Daphne’s job is a nebulous thing at the best of times. Seven years of friendship and I’m still not entirely sure what she does for a living. All I know is that she rakes in the cash, has signed more NDAs than I can keep track of, and absolutely hates her mystery boss.

“Pretty sure he either sold his soul to the devil, or he is the devil,” Daphne joked once back when she first was hired and I was in awe over the hours she was expected to work and the accompanying paycheck that came with working such unsociable hours. “Not sure which is worse.”

Daphne waves a nonchalant hand in front of her phone screen. “Mr. Devil is away on one of his weird business trips . Probably won’t be back until tomorrow at the earliest. As long as I keep my phone on me in case something comes up, I’ll be fine.”

“Honestly, you don’t?—”

“Give me thirty minutes,” Daphne says, ignoring my interruption entirely. “And then we can figure out our game plan.”

She cuts the call before I can protest and I’m left staring at my reflection in the dark screen.

Gratitude flows through me like a river. I’m not sure what my life would look like right now if I had never met Daphne Summers during my first week at uni.

She’s the only person in my life who’s always treated me like me. She’s not constantly glancing at me from the side, nervously waiting for me to suddenly collapse or drop dead. She doesn’t sugarcoat anything and doesn’t handle me with kid gloves.

When it comes to Daphne, what you see is what you get and there aren’t too many people like her around.

I disappear into my room and start peeling off my work clothes while I wait for Daphne to arrive. I have enough time for a shower before she gets here, so I strip down and step into the warmth of the water. Tension I didn’t even know was clinging to my bones ebbs away with each scalding drop that hits my skin.

Today has been a day .

Not only did I have to deal with my own annoying boss—not quite the devil, just an asshole—laying into me because he thought I hadn’t delivered a report before the deadline when I had . But also…

My mind drifts back to the crosswalk and the stranger. The way he seemed to materialise out of nowhere. How he picked me out from the crowd like he’d been looking for me the whole time. The piece of fucking wood wedged into his back.

Weird.

So fucking weird.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been in the shower dwelling on the events of this evening, but the sound of the front door creaking open snaps me back to reality.

I turn off the faucet and poke my head out of the shower, listening as Daphne’s footsteps shuffle up my small hall.

“I thought you said you lost your spare key?” I call as I reach for my towel. “Where’d you end up finding it?” I tuck the towel tightly around me, slip my feet into my slippers, and pad towards the door. “Were they at the bottom of your purse? I bet they were. I keep telling you, you need to clean that thing out at least once a mo?—”

I yank open the door and, I swear, it’s nothing short of a miracle that stops me from dropping dead right now. My heart leaps into my throat and all the moisture in my mouth evaporates.

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

Because it’s not Daphne standing in front of me right now.

It’s him.

My vision blurs. My legs start to wobble. I think I’m about to puke.

He grins down at me, his fangs glinting in the moonlight shining in from a nearby window. “You, Ms. Hartley, are quite the difficult woman to pin down.”

I take a step backward, my hands fumbling for the door handle behind me. How quick would I have to be to get back in the bathroom and lock the door before he can grab me?

“Right,” he says brusquely, his grin not fading for even a second. “I’m sure we both have better things to be doing with our evenings. So if you could just…” He turns around slightly and offers his back to me.

The piece of wood is still sticking out of him. In fact, it looks like it’s been pushed in a little further. Still no blood, though.

“Just give it a good pull,” he says almost cheerfully. “Don’t worry about hurting me. I’ve been through worse.” He chuckles like that’s some kind of inside joke I’m supposed to be aware of.

When I don’t make any move to reach for him, his grin finally drops. He turns back around and takes two large steps forward, closing the small gap between us. He peers down at me, his thin blond brows furrowing tightly in the middle.

This is it.

This is how I’m going to die.

Oh God. Mum was right. Moving to the city was a terrible idea. She’s going to be insufferable at my funeral, isn’t she?

He opens his mouth and I catch sight of those fangs again. This close, they don’t look like the plastic caps I’d placed over my own teeth two years ago on Halloween.

They look disturbingly real.

Just the sight of them sets my fight-or-flight response into overdrive. If I’m going to die here, he’s going to have to work for it.

Before he can utter a word, I slam my hand into his chest and shove him backward as far as I can. Sadly, my hand connects with what feels like an iron wall and he barely moves an inch. But the action is enough to startle him. His eyes widen and I spy specks of gold amongst the dark green of his irises.

“What are you?—”

I take advantage of his momentary surprise to dart back into the bathroom, shouting, “Get the fuck out of here!”

As I try to pull the door closed behind me, an irritating sense of déjà vu washes over me as his foot wedges itself between the gap. I push as hard as I can, but he doesn’t budge.

“Ms. Hartley,” he drawls. “This is quite unnecessary.”

“Out!” I shriek. I pull the door back a fraction and then slam it back onto his foot. “I don’t know who you are, but you need to get out and leave me alone .” Each word is punctuated by another slam on his foot, but he doesn’t so much as wince.

I can just about make out his face through the gap in the door, and he looks almost bored .

“I understand I’ve run afoul of our territory agreement. But these are extenuating circumstances, Ms. Hartley.” He grunts suddenly and shoves open the door, sending me flying. “I’m sure you understand.”

A jolt of pain shoots through my body as I collide with the hard porcelain of my bathroom sink. Tears blur my vision as the broken tile grinds against my flailing arms, leaving angry red scratches as I sink to the floor.

He steps closer, his presence looming over me like a dark shadow. “There’s no need for such hostility,” he says, his voice smooth and almost soothing. But it still makes my blood run cold. “We can come to an?—”

He cuts himself off abruptly. His eyes widen, his nostrils flare, and something in the atmosphere changes between us.

He’s staring intently at my arm, and I follow his line of sight. The angry red scratches from the tiles are deeper than I thought, and there’s a thin trail of blood slowly meandering down my arm.

“Ms. Hartley,” he says through gritted teeth, gaze still locked on the red line trickling down my skin. “Are you bleeding?”