Chapter 10
1559 Words
The sound of the front door splintering downstairs wasn't just a noise; it was a vibration that traveled through the floorboards and up Chloe’s spine. In the quiet of a Boston midnight, the violence of that entry felt like a gunshot.
Cassius didn't hesitate. He was across the kitchen in a blur that left the air whistling in his wake. He didn't head for the door; he headed for her. His hands, now significantly warmer and infused with the strength of the blood she had provided, caught her by the waist. Chloe let out a sharp gasp, her feet leaving the floor as he pulled her into the narrow shadows of the hallway, away from the direct line of the windows and the front door.
"Silence," he breathed against her ear. His grip was firm, a physical reminder of the power he possessed, but it was no longer the frantic, crushing hold of a dying man.
"Cassius, my neighbor—" Chloe started to whisper, her mind darting to Mr. Henderson downstairs.
"If he is wise, he will stay behind his bolts," Cassius interrupted, his gaze fixed on the apartment door. "These are not men of peace. They move with the rhythm of soldiers, but their hearts beat with the cold intent of the gallows."
Heavy, rhythmic footsteps began to ascend the stairs. They weren't running. They didn't need to. There was a terrifying confidence in the slow, deliberate thud of boots on the carpeted steps. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Chloe’s breath was coming in shallow, jagged hitches. She reached out, her fingers curling into the rough fabric of Cassius’s stolen hoodie. She was terrified of the men on the stairs, but she was equally unnerved by the transformation in the man beside her. The vulnerability he had shown in the bathroom, the grief-stricken widower, had been replaced by a lethal, predatory stillness. He looked ready to tear the world apart to keep the darkness at bay.
"Behind the heavy wood," Cassius commanded, gesturing toward the bedroom. "Do not emerge until the air is still."
"I'm not leaving you," Chloe whispered, her voice cracking. It was a foolish thing to say—she was a nurse with a suture kit, and he was an ancient vampire—but the thought of being alone in the dark while the sounds of a struggle erupted was more than she could bear. "I’m the one who brought you here. I’m part of this now."
Cassius looked at her, and for a fleeting second, the crimson in his eyes softened. He reached out, his thumb grazing her jawline. "Thou art a creature of too much heart, Chloe. It will be thy undoing."
The footsteps stopped outside her door.
There was a moment of absolute, suffocating silence. Even the wind through the broken kitchen window seemed to hold its breath. Then, a voice drifted through the wood—not a shout, but a calm, professional tone that sent a fresh wave of ice through Chloe’s veins.
"Mr. Cassius. We know the transition from the fourteenth century can be... disorienting. But we are here to facilitate your integration. And Ms. Chloe? You’ve been very helpful, but you’re currently interfering with a high-value asset."
Chloe’s blood ran cold. They knew her name. They knew his history. This wasn't just a random encounter or a wandering monster; this was a calculated operation.
Cassius’s lip curled, his fangs fully unsheathed. "They speak the tongue of my home, yet they carry the stench of the new world's machines. They are the 'Hunters of Hunters' I told thee of."
The lock on the door didn't break; it simply ceased to exist. A small, controlled charge blew the mechanism inward, and the door swung open on its hinges. Two men stepped in. They weren't wearing the tactical gear Chloe expected from movies. They wore dark, well-tailored suits that allowed for easy movement, and in their hands, they held slender, metallic devices that hummed with a low-frequency vibration.
"Step away from the girl, Cassius," the lead man said. He was middle-aged, with salt-and-pepper hair and eyes that looked like they had seen everything and felt nothing. "You’ve already caused a scene at the hospital and a noise complaint downstairs. Let's not add 'homicide of a civilian' to your file."
Cassius stepped forward, shielding Chloe with his body. The veins beneath his eyes flared into dark, jagged maps. "Thou speakest of files and assets as if I am a ledger in a merchant’s shop. I am Cassius of Carcassonne, and I have seen empires fall while thy ancestors were still tilling the mud."
"And yet, you’re hiding in a third-floor walk-up in the South End," the man countered, raising the metallic device. "The world has changed. You're a relic, and relics belong in a controlled environment."
The man pressed a button on the device. A high-pitched whine erupted, a sound so sharp it felt like a physical needle piercing Chloe’s eardrums. She cried out, clutching her head, and collapsed to her knees.
But for Cassius, it was a thousand times worse. He let out a roar of agony, his hands fly to his ears as he fell against the wall. The sound was designed to disrupt the sensitive nervous system of a vampire, a weapon of pure science used against a creature of pure myth.
"Cassius!" Chloe screamed through the ringing in her head.
The second man moved toward her, reaching out a gloved hand. "Come with us, Ms. Chloe. You’re clearly under a form of hypnotic suggestion. We’ll get you to a safe house and clear your head."
The word "hypnotic" snapped something inside Chloe. She wasn't under a spell. She was a nurse who had seen a man hurting and had chosen to help him. She looked at Cassius, who was writhing on the floor, his eyes bleeding from the pressure of the sound.
She didn't think. She grabbed the heavy glass lamp from the side table and swung it with every ounce of strength she possessed. It shattered against the man’s temple. He didn't fall, but he stumbled, the surprise on his face giving her the second she needed.
"Cassius! The window!" she shrieked.
The sound device flickered as the lead man looked at his partner. That split second of broken concentration was all Cassius needed. He lunged from the floor, a blur of red and black. He didn't go for the throat—he went for the device. His hand closed around the metal, crushing it into a useless ball of sparks and wires.
The high-pitched whine died instantly.
Cassius didn't wait for them to recover. He scooped Chloe up, his movement so fast it felt like the world had simply shifted around them.
"The leap will be jarring," he whispered in her ear.
"Wait—"
But they were already moving. They went through the shattered kitchen window, flying over the fire escape. For a terrifying moment, Chloe felt the weightlessness of the fall, the cold night air rushing past her face, and the distant glow of the streetlights spinning in her vision.
They hit the pavement of the alleyway with a heavy thud that should have broken every bone in her body, but Cassius absorbed the impact, his knees barking as he rolled to his feet without losing his grip on her.
"They will follow," Cassius said, his voice urgent. He didn't look back at the building. He started to run, his feet barely touching the ground, heading deeper into the labyrinth of Boston’s backstreets.
Chloe clung to him, her head buried in his chest. She had no home. She had no job. She was a fugitive with a nine-hundred-year-old widower, and the people who knew her name were still behind them.
As they turned a corner into a darkened wharf area, Cassius suddenly stopped. He set her down, his hand flying to his side. The dark hoodie was soaked through with a different kind of red.
"The device," he gasped, sliding down against a rusted shipping container. "It was not just sound. It was... silvered shards."
Chloe knelt beside him, her professional instincts screaming. She pulled back the fabric to find a jagged piece of metal embedded in his side, humming with a faint, residual light.
"I have to get it out," she said, her voice shaking.
"No," Cassius groaned, his eyes fluttering. "Look."
He pointed toward the water. From the darkness of the harbor, a small, sleek boat was approaching, its lights extinguished. And on the dock, waiting for them, was a woman. She was tall, dressed in a sharp grey coat, her hair pulled back into a severe bun.
She looked exactly like the photos Chloe’s mother kept on the mantelpiece.
"Chloe," the woman said, her voice cool and familiar. "You always did have a habit of picking up strays. But this one is a bit above your pay grade."
"Beatrice?" Chloe whispered, her world tilting.
Her sister wasn't in California. She was standing on a dock in Boston, and she was holding a gun pointed directly at Cassius’s head.
- Writer
