Chapter 2

There weren't cars honking from below.

That's when Blythe knew something was wrong. She was engulfed by silence that should have felt peaceful but it wasn't. The freezing temperature didn't help matters.

Her run down apartment was never this cold in the summer, neither was it ever this quiet. On a regular day, the paper thin walls filtered in the sound of the daily 2:00 a.m parties, car honking from the streets that never seemed to sleep or the neighbors arguing next door.

The worst part? It was the scent that swamped her nostrils.

It wasn't a bad kind of scent... Just expensive. It smelled like fabric softener that was worth a whole week's worth of groceries.

Finally, she had the courage to peel open her eyes. 

She was expecting some kind of blinding light, but instead, woke up to a gasolier hanging from the ceiling.

Blythe sat up slowly, but the throbbing ache at the side of her head made it hard to concentrate. 

The room was large. It felt much larger than it needed to be, as it only contained a bed, a vintage vanity desk and the mirror which stood beside the unlit fireplace.

Her fingers found their way to the sore spots, but before her head could register what she was feeling, her eyes caught her reflection in a mirror that sat at the corner of the room, which was barely illuminated by the moonlight flooding in.

A bandage. It was wrapped neatly around her head, but still had a spot of blood seeping through.

The sight of blood was all she needed for everything to come crashing down on her at once. 

Mr Dawson. Murder accusations, and then the whole  bloody scene at the alley.

The sound of footsteps echoed outside the door, making her pulse skyrocket  as a wave of dread washed over her. There wasn’t much time to etch out an escape plan, so she darted into a wardrobe and crouched behind some clothes, while watching outside through a small opening. 

The door swung open, but Blythe  could only see shoes that belonged to two men. They stood by the doorway for the longest time, before fully letting themselves in. 

Breathing felt difficult, as the slightest bit of noise could easily give her hiding spot away.

“Are you sure she didn't get out of here? "A husky voice called out, turning to the second man.

"I'm certain, Ronan. There's no way she would have used the window.”

Ronan?

Just as she was wondering who was speaking, the door swung open. 

For a moment, she sat frozen as the gears in her head worked hard to comprehend when and how he had gotten to the wardrobe without making a single sound.

He wore a long black coat with a shirt that buttoned up to his neck.  A velvet cravat was wrapped around his neck, while every inch of him dressed like old money.

Blythe's temples began to pulse again as she wondered if she had been dropped off in a movie based in the 19th century. 

Her eyes traced up to meet his face. Something about his proportions were wrong in a way she couldn't name. They were too precise... Like whoever created him did so before humans were tainted with imperfections. 

Just for a second, she became aware of her own breathing as they both stared each other down, not saying a word—just observing. 

She tore her gaze away from his, looking over to the man at the door, and in an instant, her blood ran cold.

It was the same monster she had seen feeding off that woman. She was able to connect the dots and it didn't take being Einstein to know what they both were…Monsters posing as humans. 

Whatever bubble of shock she was trapped in, shattered in an instant.

Her fingers began trembling and her lips quivered as she spoke. 

 "P-please, just let me go. I promise I won't tell anyone what I saw tonight.” 

“There won't be any need for that. "He said calmly, stretching his arm towards Blythe. 

Her nails dug into her palm as beads of sweat rolled down her forehead.

This was it. She was finally paying for every evil deed she had done with her life.

His eyes fluttered open after a few seconds and met her terrified ones staring right back at him.

His brows furrowed in confusion, but then, he went ahead to repeat his actions, and each time, Blythe just stared back at him. This time, with confusion.

He shot up, passing the length of the room, while his subordinate looked at her with a calculated expression. Her eyes stayed trained on Ronan, just in case he planned to pounce on her.

“Could she be the one?” He spoke up, cutting through the silence.

Ronan stopped in his tracks, locking his eyes with Blythe, as the hardened expression never left his comely face.

“We have to confirm with the elders before jumping into conclusions.” He said, his tone unsure.

Even though the mere thought of being in the same room as these two made her stomach churn, being thrown into a lion's den with no plausible explanation made a myriad of questions sit at the tip of Blythe's tongue.

“What am I one for? What are you guys? ”She forced out, keeping her voice firm. “I saw him kill-”

“Silence!” The man boomed, catching her off guard.

Blythe had dealt with people whose names silenced the room before their presence was felt, but whoever this man was, was different.

His feet carried him back to Blythe, but this time, he crouched down to her level with his face dangerously close to hers.

Blythe on the other hand stayed frozen in her spot. She should have pulled away, at least from fear, but instead, she found herself examining his features like he was the most interesting thing at that moment.

“Don't step out of this room,” he warned in a menacing tone. “If you try using the window, you'd fall 80 feet to your death. Got that?”

She nodded in affirmation.

“You,” he called out, turning to the other man, before rising to his feet. “Follow me.”

The man and his subordinate mute their way out of the door, but then he turned back to gaze at her as if etching her face into his memory, then he shut the door with a click.

A sigh escaped Blythe's lips once the man took his domineering energy out of the room with him.

She looked towards the window and thought about his words earlier. Then she remembered all she had seen in the alley, and imagined what would happen to her.

Finally, she came to a conclusion about the place: 

If she messed around, she'd find out what could get her killed.

And one thing Blythe Gibson doesn't do, is staying long enough to mess around.