Carter’s POV
All I've known for twenty-six years as a dhampir is a relentless thirst for human blood.
As the sound of snow compressing underfoot marks my stealthy approach to the library, a place where I am certain I will find my next meal. The hush murmurs of students and the soft flutter of paper from within streams out, heralding their presence to my keen senses.
Why are humans so ignorant of our existence?
Baring my fangs, I crouch low in the shadows, my eyes glowing as I prepare to strike.
I notice a woman with cascading black hair exiting the library, her arms overflowing with a precarious stack of books. As she fiddles with her car keys, she makes her way to a silver sedan, battling to open the door without sending her literary load crashing to the ground.
She’s fucking prefect!
My hunger gnaws at me, a harsh counterpoint to my rampant thoughts, as I shadow near her car. Before her hand even grazes the door handle, I envelop her from behind—one arm securing her, the other hand stifling her screams of terror.
Her resistance was fierce but futile against my unyielding grip. I lean in, my breath a sinister hush against her ear, assuring her that all resistance is pointless. With a murmur of my will, I invoke a deceptive calm within her. She stops resisting, yielding to the inevitable as she succumbs to her fate.
I press my lips to her neck, my mouth watering with anticipation. As I sink my teeth into her tender skin, a warm gush meets my tongue. She gasps—a sharp intake of breath from pain and surprise—but before long, her body yields, softening into the comfort of my caress.
Just as I am polishing off the last bites of my meal, a piercing scream shatters the air before me. The jarring sound rips through my reverie, drawing my gaze to a woman whose long white hair cascade over her skin as pale as a delicate rose.
I thought her lips were sealed by fear, but then, between her fingers, a pair of razor-sharp fangs reveal themselves.
Her eyes, once a muted gray, shift into a luminous crimson. It’s obvious she’s not a human. And to make matters more dire, a ravenous hunger in her gaze.
As I gaze at her, every ounce of my being pulses with an undeniable certainty.
After what she did, she has the audacity to show her face?
With the taste of blood on my tongue, I offer, “Hey, wanna try some? Or do we pick up where we left off?”
She attempts to utter a word, yet silence prevails. The fervent glow in her eyes betrays her desire—for the very thing I am consuming. Her patience is withering away.
Before I have the chance to confront her once more, she strides toward me, eyeing what I regard as my dinner. She looms behind the younger woman, her lips hovering just above the disheveled nape.
She wasn’t like this—the unsettling presence she now is—during our prior encounter.
As Dhampirs, we just take whatever we want, whenever we want, however we want. That’s just how it is, always has been.
Her clear hesitation, despite her voracious hunger, piques my curiosity.
Why is she resisting? Is she fucking with me?
Without warning, she stumbles backward and topples over. I push the lifeless body aside, rushing to catch her before she hits the ground.
Our faces mere inches apart, I can hear the faint pants of her breath. With just one look from her shy eyes and blushing cheeks, she draws me in.
Does she have to be so damn attractive?
Her voice breaks the silence.
“No, I cannot drink. I refuse.” Her voice is frail but determined, plucking at my heartstrings.
Our eyes meet, and I search for a glimpse into her thoughts. Fear and uncertainty are etched deep within her gaze, gripping her soul. Her appearance has transformed; there’s an undeniable change.
“I don’t fucking believe you. Just take a bite!” My tone lacing with bewilderment.
A sharp gasp escapes her as blood-red streaks twist around her like fiery tendrils, engulfing her in a ferocious dance akin to a wildfire. Her eyes, wide with dread, lock onto mine, pleading for rescue.
I can't leave her in this condition.
Rena’s POV
With the fading echoes of my classmates’ footsteps, I close my eyes and embrace the serene silence, clearing my scattering thoughts.
I straighten the stack of textbooks on my desk before me. Their academic importance now weighs against a personal hunt that seems infinitely more pressing. As I stand up, the chair makes a soft creak, intensifying my growing sense of awareness.
As I zip my coat, I feel the burden of my mother’s death pressing upon my chest like a leaden vest. My breath coming out in measured puffs, attempting to dispel the anxiety creeping into its rhythm.
Behind me, a soft shuffling announces a lingering presence. Turning, I find my professor, gathering his papers, his gaze meeting mine with a perceptive keenness.
“Ms. Florea, everything alright?” His voice a blending of scholarly concern and genuine curiosity.
“I’m hanging in there, Mr. Thorn.” Leaning against the desk. “Just... I don’t know if I belong here.”
He nods in understanding, his eyes the color of weathered parchment softening.
“Change can be a relentless tide. Especially here, in the whirlwind of academia. But remember, everyone’s an outsider at some point.”
His words, meant as comfort, plumbing the depths of irony.
I’m more than just an outsider.
What the heck am I saying? No, scratch that—I still am human.
Or at least, that’s what I must project. Everything else is too monstrous to reveal, even to me.
The soles of my shoes tap a steady rhythm against the concrete as I trudge back to my dorm room. Shadows dance along the sidewalk, mirroring my lonely stroll.
With each step, a wave of recollection washes over me—the vibrant laughter of my sister echoes in my ears and the warmth of my mother’s embrace envelopes me.
My fingertips trace the healed scar on the nape of my neck, the lone mark of my father's betrayal etched into my skin.
As I trace the scar, memories come flooding back—the night screams tore through our home, the cold press of fangs against my flesh, the fiery thirst that now burns within me.
Upon entering my dorm lounge, the absence of my usually bustling roommates became starkly clear to me. An odd mix of freedom and loneliness washes over me as the heavy silence engulfs the room like an unwelcome visitor.
With a sigh, I mutter to myself, “Seriously, it’s a mess in here!”
My gaze flit to the cardboard city rising in the living room—a testament to the transient life we lead.
With a tinge of bitterness flavoring my thoughts, I make my way towards my room. Closing the door behind me feels momentous, signaling the end of one chapter and the silent beginning of another.
It’s been strange living with Dahlia. But she’s all I got.
She always cautions me about the dangers of using an alternative method of sustenance.
Yet my stubbornness prevails—I want to maintain a life as human as possible.
I’m not ready to make friends yet. It’s as if my soul recoils from their presence, as though I’m an intruder in a world where I’ll never belong.
My sister, my only friend, is gone.
For years, I’ve searched for her—scouring missing persons databases, contacting foster care offices, and asking police for any leads. I hardly know any of my relatives, so my efforts have been pointless.
Do they even know I exist? What’s mom and dad’s family like?
As I drop my backpack next to my desk and drag myself to my bed where I collapse back flat against the mattress. I glance up, my eyes tracing patterns on the blank canvas of the ceiling. My thoughts go crazy and make me relive memories I’ve been trying so hard to forget.
After a brief nap, I make my way to the library, a sanctuary, to get away from everything. Being a Dhampir means constantly grappling with the conflicting desires of my human side and the vampire world.
Here, among the towering shelves of books, I can find a moment of peace.
As I arrange my laptop and books on the table, I lose myself in study.
Five hours pass in a blur as I complete assignment after assignment.
I stretch with a satisfied sigh. I glance around and notice the library has grown dim; the sun slipping below the horizon. I’m the last one here as usual. With a yawn, I gather my things to leave.
As I left the library, a scent captures my attention—a peculiar blend of sweetness and bitterness.
I realize the scent is unmistakable.
Following my nose, I hurry down the stairs, straining to catch more of the alluring aroma. It leads me to the parking lot where I stumble upon a couple entwine in a passionate embrace. The aroma is enticing, bordering on overwhelming. My pulse quickens as I watch their peculiar dance.
Upon closer inspection, I realize the man is biting deep into the woman’s neck, leaving a pool of fresh blood in the snow.
My scream pierces the silence, escalating into a frantic cry until the air itself seems to escape me, leaving me breathless and gasping for breath.
The visceral sight of the blood is staggering. Despite the vampiric strain in my veins, I’ve managed to abstain from human blood; not a single drop has crossed my lips.
Jealousy gnaws at me as I watch the man indulging in each crimson drop with an insatiable, ravenous pleasure.
Despite my very existence being tethered to the act of drinking blood, the idea of inflicting pain upon a human utterly abhors me—now and always.
I’ve been able to endure the gnawing hunger by consuming the blood of animals, a grim suggestion offered by Dahlia. Though it fails to quench my thirst, it is a sufficient means for me. Nonetheless, the scent of blood stirs something within me.
A burning desire to mutilate this woman.
The man’s questions blur in the background as the hunger within me dulls my focus, rendering his words useless. As I inch closer to the girl, I come to an abrupt stop, nearly three inches from her neck.
I can’t do this, right? I’m so close... it’s right there. I want this. I want to do it.
Struggling to emerge from my daze, I attempt to retreat only to be drawn into the firm embrace of a man. Within the depths of his gaze, I perceive an unwavering decision: to him, my safety surpasses the significance of the human.
My aching throat coupling with an empty stomach spur on all my words.
The thick fog engulfing my mind blocks the words coming from man’s blood-soaked fangs.
Glancing downward, I see a network of red veins beginning to crawl across my hands, rapidly branching out towards my elbows and snaking up my arms.
Struck speechless and gasping for breath, I find myself collapsing further into the stranger’s chest.
He struggles to keep me steady, his voice full of urgency, “Whoa, are you okay?” Concern and suspicion battle within his gaze.
Once I regain my breath, I splutter out, “No... what’s happening to me?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never seen anything like this before,” he says, his gaze closely scanning my arms and hands. He scrutinizes each detail, searching for understanding.
“What the hell?” The words claw their way out of my throat, drowning with pain. Nausea churns in my belly, dizziness grips my senses like a vice, and with a desperate, ragged breath, I manage to gasp out, “I think... I need her.”
He draws me nearer, tenderly sweeping the strands of hair from my face, his voice soft with concern. “Who? Who do you need kitten?”
“Shit, I need to—” My jaw tightens as I struggle with whether to make the call, knowing it means swallowing my pride.
My hands tremble as I struggle to retrieve my phone from my back pocket.
It feels like a freaking inferno inside me, so damn hot.
Dahlia’s insight, I’m certain, surpasses his by far.
As I fumble, he draws me nearer by encircling my waist with one arm, while his other hand reaches behind me. With no forewarning, his fingertips brush against my butt as he snatches my phone.
My breath hitches, heat surging across my face in a fierce blush, and my pulse hammers an urgent rhythm against my trembling chest.
There we are, entwine—his arm securely holding my waist, mine delicately resting on his neck, our faces mere inches apart. With each exhale, his breath gently tickles my skin, electrifying my senses and leaving me tingling with anticipation.
With deliberate grace, he eases my phone from my pocket and gently presses it into my palm.
“For you,” he says, his smile radiating confidence, “to reach out to whoever you need.”
My eyes meet his, wide with astonishment. The tenderness in his actions ignites a warmth in my heart, stirring the very depths of my being. Words escape me as I simply nod, taking my phone back from the gentle cradle of his hands.
I power on my phone and immediately seek the lone contact in its memory.
Do I want to? Would she freak out? Yes, of course she would. We are practically like family, though not by blood.
I let out an agonizing sigh and finally dialed the number.
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