Thirty minutes and ten bucks later, I’m standing on the doorstep to Jonah’s home trying my best to support his bleeding, unconscious form while I search his pockets for the keys.

The cabby who drove us home slams the trunk on the taxi and makes his way up the front walk, setting my numerous shopping bags down at the base of the stairs.

Under the glare of the porchlight, I can see his brow crinkle as he takes in Jonah’s state.

“Are you sure he’s gonna be alright, miss? Should I take you to the hospital instead?” When he speaks I can hear the slight accent that hints at his Latino roots.

“It was just a bar fight,” I remind him, still on the search for the keys. “It looks worse than it is.”

The cabby eyes Jonah skeptically before turning his skeptical gaze on me.

“He’ll be fine! Really!” I try to make the look I give him as reassuring as possible, but then my hand finds what I’ve been looking for in Jonah’s front left pocket. “Aha! Found them!”

The cabby shakes his head and reaches down to pick up the bags as I turn to unlock the front door and shuffle Jonah through the doorway. The cabby follows us in and sets my bags on the floor just beside the door.

“Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it,” I say, and I mean it.

He nods politely, then reaches for his wallet, removing a small card which he then sets on the dining table next to where I’ve tossed the keys.

“The name’s Gari. That there’s my card. If your boy finds himself in any more,” he glances at Jonah before looking back to me, “’bar fights’ and you find yourself in another pickle, you be sure to give me a call, alright?”

“Yessir, I’ll be sure to do just that.” I smile, and he gives me another nod before turning and making his way out the door, closing it softly behind him.

I exhale a huge sigh of relief.

With the cab driver gone I can focus on Jonah without worrying that his identity as a supernatural will be discovered.

There is a community of us who are aware of the existence of the Order, but for the most part, the general population remains ignorant of the red-eyed demons that live in the shadows.

Which, I personally think, is for the best.

I can only imagine what the Order would do if it thought humans were a threat to the existence of revenant kind. Just thinking about it gives me shivers.

I continue my awkward shuffle; dragging Jonah’s limp frame down the hall toward the bedroom.

After struggling a moment with the handle, I manage to get the door open and hit the lights before pulling Jonah across the room to sit him gently on the mattress. While I did take the time before we’d left to clean up the orange juice from the floor, I’d left the bed unmade, which actually proves to be a blessing in this moment.

Holding Jonah upright with one hand, I use the other to pull the blankets as far down the bed as I can manage without jostling him too much. With the blankets mostly out of the way, I fluff a pillow and lay Jonah’s head upon it before bending down to lift his feet under the sheets.

Under proper lighting, I can see why the cabby was so concerned.

Jonah looks a wreck.

I mean like, even worse than he did a half hour ago.

There’s blood everywhere: his face, his hands. His shirt, which was a navy blue when he’d put it on this morning, is covered with large black splotches where blood has soaked in, discoloring the fabric. His broken nose has swollen hideously, and his right eye sports a glossy shiner which is probably really painful but also kinda looks pretty badass.

“Jonah?” Gingerly, I lift a hand to his shoulder and apply a light pressure where I hope to god there’s no injury. “Hey, Jonah.”

His eyes open slowly, and he blinks a couple times before he manages to focus on my face. “Where are we?”

I can’t help but smile with relief that he actually comes to. “We’re at home. Are you going to be okay?”

He tries to sit up but, judging by his grimace, realizes that’s not a possibility yet and instead relaxes back into the pillow, closing his eyes to concentrate on his breathing.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay in a few hours.” He grimaces against the pain. “I just need time to heal.”

His mention of healing brings me back to the conversation we’d had last night. He’d said that without blood he’d only be able to heal small wounds. But the injuries he sustained tonight going against that revenant, even as young as Ken was, are far more serious than ‘cuts and bruises.’

I look Jonah over again thinking maybe I’m overreacting, but seeing how shallowly he’s breathing, as if doing so hurts, and noting the pallor of his face, I know that my initial instinct is right—he’s seriously injured. So why—

A wave of guilt moves through me as I realize exactly why Jonah is lying to me about his injuries. He told me last night that he’d used his last blood pack rescuing me from the revenant two nights ago.

With no other blood in the house, I’m the only source he has.

He needs my blood.