On The Run With A Vampire

9. Raven

CHAPTER 9

RAVEN

I am not attracted to a vampire.

Absolutely, 100% not .

Something coils tightly in the pit of my stomach as I glance sideways just as Lucien takes another gulp from what is, essentially, a Capri Sun carton filled with blood.

Okay. Perhaps I am a tiny bit attracted to a vampire. Just a little.

I watch as Lucien’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he hungrily gulps down the blood like his life depends on it. Though, thinking about it, it probably does.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Because knowing that Lucien’s life depends on him draining some poor soul of all the blood in their body should have me running for the hills. I absolutely shouldn’t—repeat: shouldn’t—be sitting next to him, surreptitiously squeezing my thighs together and wondering what it would feel like to have those lips—those fangs—on my neck.

And yet, here we are.

Lucien drains the carton and lets out a quiet, obviously pleased groan. He lolls his head back against the sofa as he runs his tongue along his fangs, swiping away the last droplets of bright red blood.

I can’t help it. The image of Lucien running his tongue along the base of my neck, lapping up at pinpricks of blood he’s just made, crashes into the forefront of my mind.

I squeeze my thighs a little tighter.

God. What does this say about me that I’m having fantasies about being bitten by a vampire while sitting directly next to said vampire?

Clearly, I have issues. But can you blame me? My entire life has been turned upside down in the space of one short evening.

I roughly stab at a button on the remote control, more as a way to distract myself from Lucien’s irritatingly distracting jawline. The screen skips from an episode of The Simpsons to the news and, for the second time tonight, I see my face plastered across the screen.

It’s only for a moment though, because the newscaster quickly introduces his colleague and then something much, much worse is on the screen.

“Thank you, Edward,” says the journalist. She’s standing on a street that looks vaguely familiar, though I can’t dedicate the brain power to figuring out why right now, because she’s also not alone. Standing beside her, with an absolutely shit-eating grin on her face, is Lacey Adams.

My stomach drops.

“I’m here with Lacey Adams, a childhood friend of Raven Hartley, one of the suspected killers.”

“Childhood friend, my ass!” I yell at the TV before I can stop myself. In my periphery, Lucien turns to me and cocks his head to the side.

“Miss Adams,” the journalist says, shoving her microphone under Lacey’s still-grinning face. “Can you tell us anything about Raven that might shed light on these horrific crimes?”

“Well, Tina,” Lacey starts, her grin not dropping for a second. “For all of us who grew up with Raven, this isn’t a surprise.”

Tina, the journalist, lifts her brows. “Really? Can you elaborate?”

“She’s been obsessed with vampires since we were kids. She’s got this, I don’t know, this weird heart thing?—”

Tina nods, and I belatedly realise that my medical issues are probably public knowledge by now.

“—And I guess that’s why she started getting obsessed with vampires.”

I’m shaking. I am literally shaking with rage.

“She’d run around the playground pretending to be a vampire.” Lacey leans into the microphone and lowers her voice like she’s doing ASMR. “Threatening to suck our blood and all that. Just weird stuff. I tried to get her to stop, you know? Tried to be her friend and get her to see that she was alienating a lot of kids, but—” Lacey shrugs and adopts a sad expression. “It never stuck. Like I said, she was obsessed.”

“Ms. Hartley?”

I snap away from the TV and find Lucien staring at me warily.

“She’s lying,” I say quickly. For some reason, I feel a very strong desire to let the literal vampire know that I am not, in fact, a vampire fangirl. “I’m not?—”

“Obviously I wish I’d tried harder with her,” Lacey continues with a loud sigh. “Or told a teacher. A responsible adult. Someone. If I had, maybe—” She lets out a dramatic sob. “Maybe her victims would still be here today.”

“Victims!” My voice comes out strangled. “My victims?”

“Is she…” Lucien is still staring at me warily. “Is she a friend of yours?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then why?—”

I sigh deeply and then launch into the whole sordid history. By the time I finish explaining, Lucien is glaring at the TV screen like he’s the one with an eighteen-year-old beef with Lacey.

“What an unpleasant woman.”

A jolt of glee shoots through me, and I bite down the urge to smile. “Yeah, well, she was an unpleasant kid, so it’s not all that surprising.”

The interview with Lacey thankfully comes to an end, but instead of cutting back to the studio and the eternally grim-faced Edward, the camera stays on Tina as she hurries through an increasingly familiar street.

Dread pools in my stomach as soon as a house comes into view and I realise why the street looked so familiar in the first place.

My parents’ home is dark. Quiet. Every curtain is pulled shut, but their car is still parked in the drive.

“I’m here outside the home of David and Janice Hartley,” Tina says, coming to a halt outside my parents’ gate. “They’ve remained tight-lipped about the whereabouts of their daughter, causing some to wonder if they’re harbouring the fugitive themselves.”

If what I felt when Lacey was on the screen was anger, what I’m feeling now is pure, unbridled fury.

“How dare they?” I seethe, barely listening as Tina the journalist launches into another speech about my alleged crimes. “My parents haven’t done anything.”

“ You haven’t done anything,” Lucien points out.

I glare at him.

“I only mean,” he says hurriedly. “Clearly the authorities and media aren’t operating on logic here. You can’t expect them to behave in a manner that makes sense.”

“I don’t expect them to?—”

The door to my parents’ home is thrown open, and my father comes storming down the pathway, closely followed by my sobbing mother.

Oh God.

“Get off my property!” Dad roars, looking slightly crazed. “You are on my property, and I won’t stand for it.”

“Mr. Hartley,” Tina says, completely ignoring Dad’s demand. “Is it true your daughter has always held a morbid fascination for all things supernatural, particularly vampires?”

A vein appears on Dad’s forehead. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Get. Off. My. Property.”

Tina isn’t deterred. She throws the microphone in Mum’s face. “And Mrs. Hartley, is it true you and your husband do know where your daughter is hiding and you’re refusing to cooperate with the authorities?”

“No,” Mum sobs, her voice cracking in a way that makes my heart ache. “I have—We have no idea where she is.”

“Janice,” Dad says, a note of warning in his voice. “Let’s go?—”

But Mum doesn’t listen. Her eyes are bloodshot, her cheeks wet with tears, and her voice quivers as she reaches for Tina’s microphone and stares directly down the lens of the camera. “Raven, please come home. I don’t know what’s going on, but you need to turn yourself in.”

“Janice,” Dad says through gritted teeth.

“Whatever you’ve done,” Mum continues, “we can help. It’s not too late. You won’t be in any trouble.”

“Mrs. Hartley,” Tina says, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “Your daughter is accused of murdering at least seven innocent people.”

Mum breaks out into a fresh round of hysterical sobbing.

“Enough,” Dad barks. He swipes the microphone out of Mum’s hand. “I’m not going to ask again. Get off my fuck?—”

There’s a loud beep before the camera screen turns to static, and then we’re back in the studio with Edward again.

“They think I did it,” I murmur. I’m staring at the TV, but my gaze is blurry and unfocused. “They really think I did it.”

The weight of everything suddenly crashes down on me—Mum and Dad being interrogated on national news, Lacey’s smug face, the relentless accusations, and, worst of all, knowing that just about everyone believes I’m a murderer.

A sob wracks its way through me, and I fold in on myself, my shoulders shaking.

I hear a flurry of movement to my side and then?—

Lucien pulls me into his chest. His arm snakes around my waist as he tucks me in close and lets me ride out the wave of tears. He doesn’t say a word, just runs his hand up and down my side. His presence is strangely comforting despite everything—despite what he is—and it makes me feel a little less alone in this nightmare.

“I’m so sorry.” I try to pull away, but he doesn’t let me. He just holds me even closer, his hand still running a soothing path up and down my side.

“You have nothing to apologise for, Ms. Hartley.” His voice is soft and even. “If anything, I should be apologising for getting you mixed up in all of this.” He shifts slightly, allowing me to lean back just enough so I can look into his eyes.

He looks sad.

“It seems all I’m good for is causing trouble for innocent people.”

I frown. “What do?—”

“But now, Ms. Hartley, you need to rest. You’ll feel better after it.”

I try to protest, but he waves a hand in front of my face, just like he did to Melody and Todd back at my apartment.

“Sleep, Ms. Hartley. Sleep.”

I try to fight it, but my vision quickly goes cloudy. The last thing I see before everything goes black is Lucien gently lowering me down onto the sofa.

And then I sleep.

I have, without a shadow of a doubt, the best sleep of my life. It’s like my brain has been reset to factory mode, blocking out all the noise, anxiety, panic, and fear I’m feeling to give me a perfect, dreamless, uninterrupted night of sleep.

Just pure, blissful nothingness.

I hadn’t even realised the stress I was carrying was so heavy until I wake and feel a thousand times lighter. Even as my memories start flooding back to me—Melody and Todd tearing up my home; my face plastered across the news; Mum sobbing as she begs me to turn myself in—I don’t feel that same sense of overwhelming despair as I did last night.

Don’t get me wrong, I still feel like shit. But there’s a little bit of hope peeking through. It feels like I’m still stumbling through a dark, long tunnel, but now there’s a light at the end of it. It’s tiny, barely a pinprick on the horizon, but at least I can see it now. At least I have something to reach toward.

Lucien was right. I did need to rest.

Though, speaking of Lucien… He definitely used his mind control powers to put me to sleep last night, and while I appreciate the result, the execution leaves a lot to be desired.

I sit up quickly and glare at him, but the rant on the tip of my tongue dies in my throat when my gaze lands on him. It’s hard to tell with the whole ‘walking dead’ thing and the fact he doesn’t need to breathe, but I think Lucien is sleeping.

Eyes shut tight. Head tilted slightly to the side. I half expect to hear a snore slip through his lips, but he’s as still as a statue.

Fast asleep.

I wonder if he’s regretting not making room for a bed now. He at least laid me out on my back so I could stretch across the sofa and sleep, but he’s bundled up in the corner still sitting upright. It can’t be comfortable.

Or maybe it is.

Maybe this is just how vampires like to sleep on the rare occasions they do. It’s definitely the better alternative to waking up and finding Lucien hanging upside down from the ceiling like an overgrown bat.

I take the opportunity to peer around Lucien’s home, my gaze lingering on a slightly ajar door I hadn’t noticed before. Curiosity piqued, I tiptoe over and push it open gently.

Personal hygiene and vampires are two concepts I’ve never linked together in my mind, but here I am, standing in Lucien’s meticulously clean bathroom.

The sink and mirror above it gleam, completely void of any stray hairs or toothpaste smudges. There’s a neatly folded stack of towels on the first row of a small wooden shelf, and on the other two rows, I can spy an array of toiletries. The shower is equally spotless, filled with more stolen toiletries.

Under the sink, I discover even more unexpected items: cleaning supplies neatly arranged in a basket, spare rolls of toilet paper, and, still in its packaging, a spare toothbrush tucked away in the corner.

I can’t help but huff out an amused snort.

It’s hard to reconcile the image of Lucien the vampire doing something so mundane, so human, as organising his bathroom and stocking up on everyday necessities. But here we are.

By the time I leave Lucien’s bathroom, I feel refreshed. He’s still fast asleep on the sofa and doesn’t so much as twitch as I drop back down beside him. I lean back against the soft cushion, intending on resting my eyes for a little bit longer, but then something vibrates suddenly and I jump. It sounds louder than it actually is given the silence in Lucien’s spacious home.

Another vibration.

And then another.

It takes me a second to recognise the rhythm of the vibrations, but then it hits me. That’s a phone. A ringing phone.

My own phone is still back at my apartment, forgotten in all the mayhem, which means this must be Lucien’s phone. I don’t know why, but the idea of Lucien having and using a phone is mildly hilarious to me. He just doesn’t seem the type. When you think about vampires, you don’t really think about them keeping up with the latest advancements in modern technology, do you?

But—and it takes me a few seconds of digging around in the sofa cushions to find it—Lucien does have a phone. A fairly new iPhone, actually, which, for some reason, amuses me even more.

It’s still vibrating as I pull it out from behind the cushion it’s wedged itself behind, and I stare at the screen.

MOTHER is calling.

I blink at the phone in my hand as the call suddenly cuts off, leaving a flurry of notifications on the screen.

Mother

Missed Call (27)

Blaine

the S.B.E.F., Luc? Really? REALLY?

Thank you for providing me with the next two decades' worth of material for roasting your pale ass.

Truly, I could not have asked for anything more for my Sire Day, which you FORGOT, by the way.

But I will endeavour to forgive you given the circumstances.

Seriously though, Mother wants to speak to you. Pick up the phone.

She’s blaming ME for YOU not picking up now.

凸(｀⌒′メ)凸

PICK UP THE PHONE, LUCIEN.

Also… who is the girl?

Blaine’s messages to Lucien go on for a while, alternating between laughing at the situation and scolding Lucien for ignoring Mother’s calls.

Blaine must be his brother, I guess? Between the texts and the Vampiring for Dummies book, they definitely seem to have a sibling-esque kind of relationship. Again, it’s just something you don’t expect from a vampire.

Despite Lacey’s lies, I’ve never had much interest in learning about vampires or anything supernatural. The amount of supposed vampire lore I know could fit on a Post-it note and mostly comes from watching Buffy reruns, passively absorbing the Twilight series as a kid, and, thanks to babysitting a distant second or third cousin once a few years back, Hotel Transylvania . It seems none of them are particularly accurate when it comes to the real thing.

Though, I’ve not seen Lucien in the sun yet. Maybe he will sparkle.

The phone vibrates again.

Mother

Lucien.

I wait for another text notification to come through, but it never does. Apparently, ‘Lucien’ is all Mother has to say.

Ominous. Incredibly ominous.

I know if I had 27 missed calls and a one-word text message from my mother, I’d be shitting my pants. But I don’t have time to worry about the peculiarities of Lucien’s family life right now. He can deal with that later.

I swipe up and let out a quiet sigh of relief when Lucien’s phone unlocks without needing a passcode. I guess having someone snoop through your phone isn’t high up on the list of things a vampire needs to worry about.

A small voice in the back of my mind notes that I’ve become alarmingly chill with the whole vampire thing, but I shove it to the side.

Lucien’s phone is practically fresh out of the box. He hasn’t downloaded a single app, hasn’t taken even one photo or video, and the only three contacts in his phone are Mother, Blaine, and someone called Warren.

I don’t know why, but a wave of loneliness washes over me as I swipe through Lucien’s phone. Is it really worth living for an eternity to live like that? Alone. Cordoned off from the world. No trace of anything that might spark any sense of joy in him.

He says he doesn’t sleep often, and I can’t help but wonder what a typical night in Lucien’s life looks like. Does he lie awake, counting the seconds as they tick by in silence? Does the stillness gnaw at him, or does he like it? Does he crave it? Is that part of what becoming a vampire means?

A shudder wracks through me. I’ve spent the majority of my life fighting for something more than what my parents and my janky heart were willing to give me. I can’t imagine giving up the small slice of freedom and joy I’ve managed to carve out for myself for this.

An eternity of silence and loneliness.

It sounds miserable.

I shake my head. I’ve got bigger things to worry about now. Namely... Maybe Dad was right and I should have taken the time to memorise a few phone numbers in case of emergency. Because this is the biggest emergency of my life, and I don’t know a single phone number off the top of my head.

But then again…

In thirty short seconds, I open up the App Store, download Instagram, sign in, and grin as my feed appears on Lucien’s screen. I open up my chat with Daphne—always at the top of my inbox thanks to an endless stream of reels we send each other—and hit the call button without hesitation.

It rings, and rings, and rings, and then—just as I’m beginning to give up and wonder if Mum might answer even though she hasn’t logged into Instagram since she first opened the account six years ago—Daphne picks up.

“Raven. Jesus fucking Christ, is that you?”

Warmth flows through me at the sound of Daphne’s voice. She sounds pissed, but at least she’s alive. I didn’t want to admit that I’d been holding onto the fear that Melody and Todd might have done something to her.

“It’s me,” I say breathlessly.

“What—” I hear the sound of a chair scraping roughly against the floor and then hurried footsteps, the sound of a door closing, and then Daphne’s voice is muffled and low when she speaks again. “Explain.”

I frown. “Are you okay?”

Daphne’s answering laugh sounds strangled. “Am I okay? Am I okay? You cannot be serious.”

Panic starts to creep up on me. “Answer the question, Daphne! Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“I’m fine!” Daphne snaps, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard her this mad before. “Of course I’m fucking fine. Why are you worrying about me when you’re the one who got kidnapped and is currently God knows where being forced to go through God knows what, and—And—” Her voice breaks and I realise it’s not anger I hear in her voice, but worry. “Are you okay?”

My stupid, ridiculously slow heart just about cracks in two. “I am. A little bit hungry, but I’m fine.”

Daphne sniffs. “What is happening? The police were at my apartment. They questioned me for hours and they kept accusing you of the most horrible things.”

“Are they still there?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a detective sitting by my front door. They said it was for my own safety.” Daphne snorts. “But I think they’re just hoping you’ll show up here and do the hard work for them.”

“Can they hear you?”

“No,” Daphne says. “I mean, I don’t think so. I’m in the bathroom right now. But enough questions from you, I need some answers. What the hell is happening, Raven?”

I hesitate. “It’s—It’s complicated.”

“No shit,” Daphne snorts. “What about the guy? Your stalker?—”

“I wouldn’t say stalker?—”

“Is he still there? Cough twice if he is.”

I roll my eyes. “He is, but it’s not what you think. It was all just a misunderstanding.”

“He’s dangerous, Raven,” Daphne says incredulously. “I don’t know if you’ve been keeping up with the news, but they’re saying he’s a murderer. And not just a normal, run-of-the-mill murderer either. He’s into some creepy shit.”

“They’re saying I’m a murderer too.”

“Yeah, well, that’s obviously bullshit.”

“You don’t think I did it?”

There’s a pause and then—“Sorry, I was just staring at my phone in utter disbelief that you would ever ask me such a stupid question. Of course I don’t think you did it,” Daphne says, and I can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “I know you, Raven.”

Tears have started to well up in my eyes, and I hurriedly blink them away. “Thank you.”

“Now that we’ve got that minor bout of insanity out of the way,” Daphne says. “We don’t have much time. Tell me where you are and we can figure out a way to get you out of there and away from him.”

“You’re not listening,” I grit out. “I’m not in any danger. Trust me, Lucien isn’t going to hurt me.”

I shouldn’t feel so confident saying those words, but I do because it’s true. If Lucien wanted to hurt me, he could’ve done it ages ago. He could’ve torn me limb from limb as easily as tearing through paper and then sucked me dry, but he hasn’t.

In fact, he’s gone to remarkable lengths to keep me alive and well.

“Lucien?” Daphne screeches. “Since when are you on a first-name basis with your kidnapper?”

“I keep telling you, he’s not my kid?—”

“Stockholm Syndrome,” Daphne says, cutting across me like I never even spoke. “It’s the only solution. Oh God. He’s really done a number on you.”

“He hasn’t done anything to me. In fact, Lucien’s the only reason I’m alive right now.”

“Raven—”

“I just wanted to call and let you know that I was safe,” I say. “I’m sorry you had to get involved at all, and I’m so, so sorry I put you in any danger, but this will all be over soon.”

Daphne inhales sharply. “That didn’t sound suspicious at all. What’re yo?—”

I cut the call and flop back against the sofa just as Lucien stirs beside me.

“Is everything alright?” He blinks a few times and then zones in on the phone still in my hands. “Is that my phone? Where did you?—”

I toss it across the sofa and it lands in his lap. “Your mother called.”

Somehow, Lucien seems to go even paler.