Carter

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 perfect.

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. Her long white hair cascades 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 revealed 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 backwards 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 is laced 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

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 comes 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 is 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... I am still 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 flitted 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.

Dahlia grew worried when I mentioned my plans to attend college. She is always warning me about the dangers of relying on an alternative means of sustenance. Still, my stubbornness prevails—I am determined to lead as human a life 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 captured 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 entwined 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, rising into a frantic cry until the air seems to vanish from my lungs, leaving me breathless and gasping.

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 coupled with an empty stomach spur on all my words.

The thick fog engulfing my mind blocks the words coming from the man’s blood-soaked fangs.

Glancing down, I watch a network of red veins spread across my fingertips, branching rapidly across my palms. I tug my sleeve up, revealing the veins snaking farther along my forearm.

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 holds me upright, 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 try to reach for my phone in my jacket.

Dahlia’s insight, I’m certain, surpasses his by far.

It feels like a freaking inferno inside me, so damn hot.

As I fumble, he draws me closer, one arm tightening around my waist until my chest is flush against his. His other hand slips in behind us, his fingertips grazing the curves of my body with deliberate slowness, as though he knows exactly what his touch is doing to me.

My breath catches, heat rushing through me at the unexpected contact. Before I can recover, his fingers disappear beneath the edge of my jacket, and he smoothly steals my phone. When I look up, that smug little smile tells me he enjoyed every second of watching me react.

There we are, entwined—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.

“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.