"It's this one."

"Here?"

"Yeah, stop."

I hop off the back rack of his bicycle as we pull up in front of a grey-paneled, four story apartment complex sandwiched between two identical buildings in brown and tan.

It's taken us twenty minutes to bike from his house to mine, but the demon isn't even breathing hard despite the weight I've added to the trip.

Given my own weakened state, this irritates me more than it probably should.

Brushing off the backside of my jeans, I throw another glare over my shoulder, then gawk as he stoops to lock the bike to the mailbox pole.

"What do you think you're doing?" I ask, incredulous.

"Walking you to your door?" He raises an eyebrow, like it's obvious. Like I should've expected the demon to be a gentleman.

I suppress a frustrated groan. I don't want him walking me to my door, I want him to go home and leave me alone. But I also don't know why the Order is keeping me alive and I'm not going to push my luck.

So, fine.

The demon can walk me to my door.

Then he can GTFO.

Turning sharp on my heel, I stomp up the front walk, push through the front door, and make my way up the four flights of stairs to my floor. He trails after me in observant silence.

Stopping in front of my apartment, number 404, I turn to face him with a positively forced customer service smile.

"Here we are," I announce enthusiastically. "My door! Now you can go home."

Without waiting for his response, I spin back around and reach for my door. His hand on my wrist stops me immediately.

Irritated, both at how easily he deters me and how weak I feel because of it, I smack his hand away. "What're you doing, you needy—?"

"Do you normally leave your front door open when you're not home?" he asks, eyes fixed on the door handle.

I track his gaze. That's when I notice the brass knob hanging loosely from its screws.

If I were to guess, the door was kicked in. The wood, as well as the frame that holds it, is brutally splintered.

I click my tongue in dismay. No doubt all my stuff is gone.

I'd just bought that new TV...

I move to push the door open, but hesitate when his arm shoots out in front of me. I look from the offending appendage to the demon himself, but he's not looking at me. In fact, he ignores me entirely to push past me to the door first.

I suppress another wave of irritation, and the only reason I let him secure my home for me rather than doing it myself is because I'm still recovering.

The only reason.

He moves slowly, cautiously as he eases the door open wider, glancing around to see if whoever had broken the door down is still inside, possibly waiting around to break my face in too.

I fold my arms across my chest and watch him as he surveys the scene beyond. I can't see past him. He's too tall, his shoulders broader than they looked on that bicycle. And between him and the door, the view is completely obscured.

But after about ten seconds, I've had enough.

I push angrily past him and through the broken door, knocking it farther off its already warped hinges, then wince when the damaged metal lets out a pitiful whine at the added stress. My anger sizzles out completely, though, when I stomp to the center of my tiny loft and find everything destroyed.

The drapes. My bed spread. Even the shower curtain is in visible tatters through the ajar bathroom door.

Everything that is shreddable is in tatters.

Down my antique dresser are huge claw marks, which are mirrored down the front of the fridge. In the small kitchen alcove, all my dishes are smashed on the floor—

as is my TV, to my utter dismay.

I bend to stroke the mangled form of my new flat screen mournfully. "My landlord is going to kill me..."

"I didn't think they'd find you so quick," he says. "That revenant you took on last night must have been someone pretty important if they came looking for you right away."

He stands in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets, his gaze tracking across the destruction with mild concern.

"They probably followed the address on your ID. Damn."

I look up at him. "...What?"

He gestures to his neck. "The revenant, he must have been pretty high up in the Order to merit this kind of retaliation."

I blink. My mouth falls open in a question that never fully comes.

Isn't he from the Order?

Why else had he been watching me all night and following me around all afternoon?

When I don't respond, he glances at me curiously, and suddenly everything clicks into place.

How did I not see it before? It's literally staring me in the face! Of course, his skin isn't pallid and waxy. Of course, he has no aversion to the sunlight. Of course, he is as confused as I am.

He isn't a recently turned revenant.

He's not a revenant at all!

I gasp, stumbling to my feet. The shattered remnants of my dinnerware crunching under my boots as I attempt to back away from him.

At my unexpected reaction his expression instantly changes from curious to concerned. "What? What is it?"

My foot slips on a piece of glass, and I stumble back into the counter, steadying myself against it without taking my eyes off him.

"You... I know what you are," I say, a little breathless.

I didn't think it was possible, the myths said they'd all died out long ago.

His concern melts, replaced by immediate skepticism. "You do?"

He hasn't moved. And where he stands, the light comes in through the high windows of the loft apartment and bathes him in the muted gray-tones of overcast glare. The dust motes dance in the air around him, sparkling like glitter.

"You're..." My mouth goes dry, the words evaporating on my tongue.

His expression is stone. "Say it."

I swallow. My breath feels caught in my throat.

"Say it," He says.

"Vampire."