It feels like a lifetime has passed since I last encountered a rogue vampire, and now that I am far too weak to even stand tall, I am to face one. I will never survive, not without help, for a powerless witch is no greater threat than a human.
I was beginning to think my reputation preceded me, keeping rogues away from Darkhaven once and for all—and maybe it did. But that was before. That Ava—strong and stubborn, powerful beyond her years—died the very night I cast that spell. Powerless, I am forced to fight a superior predator with nothing but my fingernails, which have been chewed down to stubs.
The rogue vampire is charging forward now, and as he steps out of the shadows and into the moonlight, I can see him more clearly.
Wearing only pants, the skin of his torso is smooth and pale. His hands are dirty, his jeans scuffed. His head is shaved, his face scarred from cuts he must have sustained during the many years before he became a vampire. The faint white lines scattered across his skin are all that betray his age.
His eyes are sunken, his irises burning red. His nose was broken once—again, back during a time when he was not such a monster—and the bone never set properly.
His lips are pale and dry, and his teeth are stained by years of bloodshed. My gaze falls to his fangs. They are long and come to fine points, and as he charges toward me, he exposes them, growling like an animal.
His bare feet slam against the frozen ground, the force radiating through the earth and up my legs. He sinks into the depths, but it never slows his pursuit. The muscles in his legs, though hidden by shreds of fabric, are more than strong enough to tear through the frozen tundra that separates us.
My spine vibrates as he draws closer. My arms shake so viciously, I can barely grasp the handle now.
I am still struggling to open the door, yet frozen by the image before me, as the rogue emerges from the tree line. I scream as he crashes through the wrought-iron fence, not bothering to use the gate door.
Dozens of black metal spears shower down, all conveniently missing the rogue. He effortlessly glides around them, unconcerned that one might pierce his chest, penetrating his sternum, tearing through his heart.
The creature before me is like no man and no vampire. He is hideous, with darkness practically dripping from his fingertips like streams of blood cascading from a gaping wound. As he charges forward, the darkness encircling him swarms, coming to life, buzzing all around like happy bees. The sound grows louder the closer the rogue becomes, and it muffles my shrieks.
I turn my back to the rogue vampire, frantically trying to open the door, to escape inside the manor, where I have stupidly convinced myself he cannot go—if only vampires truly did require an invitation to enter.
The door is locked, and no matter how hard I grip the handle and twist or how much I shake it in my hand, it never gives way to my request.
Desperate for entrance, I ball my hand into a fist and slam it against the dark wood door again and again. Surely, the vampires must hear me. From my screams to the constant banging, something must wake them.
I slam my fist against the door again, and my wrist screams for me to stop. But I ignore it. I cannot stop. Each second that passes is one second closer to an encounter I am determined to avoid.
I freeze when I hear his footfalls. I do not need to face him to know he is only feet behind me now.
I am screaming inside, my gut begging me to get inside. Sanctuary and protection are just a step away, but I cannot seem to get there.
Suddenly, the air stills. The night silences. I am breathing loudly, and that sound is all I hear. Looking down at the doorknob, which I still grasp, my hair falls to the side—by accident or force, I am not sure. I am shaking so violently, the entire door seems to be clattering beneath my grip.
I feel his breath on the back of my neck. He breathes as loudly and as heavily as I do. I understand that he is taking deep, steady inhalations as he consumes my scent—just like a predator does to its prey.
The rogue hums as he exhales after indulging in my scent. When he mumbles his approval, he blows loose strands of my hair even farther to the side, revealing even more of my flesh.
I picture his teeth—all razor-sharp and pointed, more like a demon from a book than a vampire in real life. Something drips onto my skin and slides down my back. I gag at the sticky substances, knowing it is likely drool.
I am crying. Tears steadily drip down my cheeks, soaking my T-shirt. The moment he touches my skin, by wrapping his hands around my arms, I take my balled fist and slam it as hard as I can against the stained-glass window in the front door. The glass shatters, sending colorful shards into the foyer.
From the doorway, where I stand with my assailant still holding on to me, I search the manor, praying to find the vampires inside, but I do not. I can see straight through the foyer all the way to the dining room at the other side. The house is not only silent and still, but it is also empty. The furniture is gone. The walls provide no protection. Not anymore. Not without the vampires inside.
“You are alone,” the creature says, seething. I picture him smiling, enjoying my loneliness.
I tremble as I try to maintain my composure. I squeeze my eyes shut, silently reminding myself that this is a dream. This is a nightmare. This creature only exists in my mind. I must remember that I am safe.
The porch creaks as the monster pushes his body against mine. I cower beneath him and suck in a sharp breath as he grips my arms so tightly, I am certain he will break bone. He does not. He releases me, but I still feel his touch, as if he has left his imprint on my body for all to see.
“This is a dream. This is only a dream,” I whisper. With my arms dangling at my sides, I scratch my nails against the palms of my hands, trying to force myself to wake. It does not work, but I refuse to give up.
“But I am real,” he whispers. His breath is cool against my lobe.
“Just wake up,” I whisper, voice quivering, but I soon find my strength. “Wake up!”
He grabs on to me again, and I jerk upright as he digs his fingers into my flesh. I cry out, but he only laughs at my agony.
“I am no dream,” he says. “I am your nightmare.”
He leans against me, sliding his tongue across the length of my neck. I squirm within his grasp, desperate to free myself, but he is a solid slab of muscle pinning me in place.
“And I am coming for you, Ava,” he whispers.
I open my eyes, jolted by the reality that this monster knows my name. No longer outside, I am in my room, tucked safely beneath my sheets. Still, I do not feel safe. My skin crawls. I can still feel his body pressed against mine, his breath against my neck, his tongue… I shudder, trying to forget this nightmare ever transpired.
The ceiling fan above my bed is swooshing overhead, sending bursts of air down on me. I sit up, looking around, making sure I truly am alone. The room is dark, and I shiver as the breeze cools my damp skin.
Still feeling uneasy, I yank the covers off me and stand quickly, breathing frantically as I scan the room, certain I am not the only person in my bedroom tonight.
I walk backward, only stopping when I collide with someone else. I scream, spinning around and thrashing feverishly at my assailant. I slam my fists against him, wanting him to feel the same fear and pain he just forced upon me.
“Ava, stop!” Jasik shouts.
He grabs my fists, clutching his hands over my own. Just his voice is enough to settle my nerves. I blink repeatedly, clearing my vision until his frame fully forms before me.