Chapter 8
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The chime of the phone was still ringing in Chloe’s ears when the second sound came—a heavy, rhythmic pounding on the floorboards from the apartment below. It was Mr. Henderson, a man who lived for his 10 PM bedtime and his collection of vintage jazz records.
"Hey! Shut it up up there!" his muffled voice boomed through the floor. "I'm calling the super! I’ve had enough of the furniture moving!"
Chloe froze, her hand still hovering over her dropped phone. The reality of the shattered window, the blood on the floor, and the ancient vampire standing in her kitchen crashed down on her. She looked at Cassius, who was already coiled to move, his eyes darting toward the floor as if he could see the man through the wood.
"He is coming," Cassius hissed, his voice dropping into that predatory rasp. "I should silence him before he alerts the watch."
"No!" Chloe whispered, moving fast—though nowhere near as fast as him—to grab his arm. She felt him flinch, his muscles like cables under her touch. "He’s just my neighbor. In this world, you don't 'silence' people, Cassius. You just... you make excuses."
She scrambled to the kitchen, her heart in her throat. "Stay in the bathroom. Do not make a sound. If he sees you, I can't protect you."
Cassius looked at her, his paranoia warring with a strange, burgeoning trust. He vanished into the bathroom just as a heavy knock rattled her front door.
Chloe took a breath, smoothed her hair, and opened the door just a c***k. Mr. Henderson stood there in a tattered bathrobe, his face a map of irritation.
"Chloe, look, you're a nice girl, but what the hell is going on? It sounded like a wrestling match in there. And is that... is that glass?" He squinted, trying to peer past her.
"I am so sorry, Mr. Henderson," Chloe said, her voice trembling slightly, which luckily looked like embarrassment. "I... I was trying to move the bookshelf and it tipped. It hit the window. I’m a mess, I’m so sorry. I’ll have it fixed first thing in the morning."
The old man sighed, his anger deflating into a grumble. "You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. You’re shaking."
"Just a bit shaken up by the glass. I'll be quiet, I promise."
Once the door was closed and the deadbolt turned, Chloe leaned against it, her eyes closing. She felt like she was drowning. She walked back into the bathroom, where Cassius was sitting on the edge of the tub. The three gashes on his shoulder were still weeping that dark, sluggish fluid.
She didn't speak. She just opened the cabinet, pulled out a suture kit she’d "borrowed" from the hospital months ago, and knelt between his knees.
The air in the small bathroom was thick. Cassius watched her with an intensity that made her hands shake as she cleaned the wound. He was so cold, a literal block of ice in the shape of a man, yet as she worked, she felt a strange, magnetic pull toward him.
"Thou art a healer of the broken," Cassius murmured, watching her thread the needle. "But why? I am a creature that should be burned, not mended."
"I'm the middle child, Cassius," she said, focusing on the stitch. "My older sister is a genius, my younger sister is the golden child. I was the one who patched up the scraped knees and kept the secrets. It's just... what I do."
She looked up, her face inches from his. For the first time, she noticed the faint, silver scars on his neck—not from a vampire, but from the fire he had mentioned.
"Who sent that text, Chloe?" he asked, his voice low. "The one who knows thy secrets?"
"I don't know," she whispered. "But whoever it is... they were watching."
As she pulled the final stitch taut, Cassius reached out, his cold fingers tilting her chin up. He didn't move fast this time. He was slow, deliberate, giving her every second to pull away. He didn't kiss her, but he leaned in until his forehead rested against hers.
"Then we are both hunted," he breathed.
- Writer
