Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
The first man struggles in Valtu’s grasp, eyes bulging, face purpling.
“What are you?” he gasps, terror replacing the tough-guy façade.
Valtu smiles, revealing extended fangs. “The monster under your bed.” His voice carries the weight of ages, of the very legend that inspired his literary counterpart, before he buries his teeth in the man’s neck.
Meanwhile, I close the door behind us, surveying the damage to my apartment. They’ve been thorough—drawers emptied, furniture overturned, even floorboards pried up where I once hid Elizabeth’s diary. Goes to show they weren’t the ones who stole it in the first place.
“They were looking for something,” I say as Valtu finishes drinking from the man’s neck, the man slowly losing consciousness, before he drags the body toward the bathroom.
I grab the man’s feet, helping Valtu maneuver him into the bathtub. Then Valtu returns for the first man he killed, bringing the body into the bathroom as well, blood smearing the hardwood floors. I was smart enough to not have a carpet—I’d never get my insurance deposit back after that. But after the crack in the plaster, and the broken locks, I think that money is long gone.
With both men bunched up in the tub, Valtu pulls their arms over the side and bites into their wrists, tearing open flesh until blood starts flowing out. He places a bucket beneath to catch the red rivers. Suddenly I flashback to my hallucination from the other night, the blood running under the door. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had a premonition.
“We don’t know if anyone heard that gunshot, and obviously we can’t leave bodies for the police to find,” Valtu explains, collecting the blood. “And this…” he gestures to the flowing crimson, “this is survival. We can’t let any blood go to waste.”
I watch with a mixture of practicality and revulsion. This is who we are at the heart of it all, predators who feed on humans. Yet seeing it performed by Valtu, with the casual expertise of someone who has done this countless times across centuries, drives home the reality in a way that my own feeding never has, even after killing that child murderer the other week.
“We’ll need to dispose of them,” I say, focusing on the logistics to avoid dwelling on the gruesome scene.
Valtu nods. “The bathtub will contain the mess. I’ll drain them completely, then dismember the bodies. The pieces will fit in your freezer until we can arrange proper disposal.”
He says this so simply I nearly laugh. As if he hacks up people and puts them in his freezer on a daily basis. Perhaps he’s more like Dracula than I thought.
I give him all the knives he asks for, and then turn away, moving back to my bedroom to pack what I need into two suitcases: Clothes, jewelry, cash I’ve kept hidden. Photographs and keepsakes I can’t bear to leave behind. As I work, I can hear Valtu in the bathroom—the soft splash of blood, the sick thump of meat, the occasional crack of breaking bones. He’s even humming a tune. Bach, I think.
By the time I’ve finished packing and cleaned the floors, Valtu has completed his grim task. The bathroom is spotless, no evidence remaining of what transpired. The freezer in my kitchen is now full, stuffed with carefully wrapped packages I try not to dwell on.
“We should hurry,” Valtu says, wiping his hands on a towel. “More may come looking for these two.”
I nod, taking one last look around the apartment that had been my home for the past two years. All the hopes and dreams I’d come here with feels like another life, one I have to leave in the dust.
“Ready?” Valtu asks, picking up my suitcases while I take a bucket of blood, the lid firmly in place.
“Yes,” I say, straightening my shoulders. “Let’s go.”
“Mind if I stop in?” Valtu asks, pulling the car up alongside a wine store on Franklin. “Won’t be a minute. This the only wine store in town that carries anything older than ten years.”
“Sure,” I tell him, trying to give him an easy smile.
He squints at me. “Are you alright, kid?”
I put my hand on his arm. “I’m just a little shaken up, that’s all. But I’ll be fine. Go get your wine. Get me something sweet, while you’re at it.”
“Anything for you, love,” he says and exits the car. I watch as he strides gracefully into the store, then sit back in my seat and exhale loudly.
It all hits me at once. The chaos, the trauma, the exhaustion. The last twenty-four hours have been positively insane. It’s going to take a long time to wrap my head around any of it.
Callahan killed Marco.
Callahan is a vampire.
Callahan knows I’m a vampire.
Cohen’s cronies threw fucking acid in my face.
And more of his cronies are dead, their remains in my freezer.