Please be there, Jonah. Please don’t go. Please.I exited at Columbus Circle and walked at a brisk pace. I checked my watch again. I was 20 minutes late. I swallowed.As I walked, just a few blocks away, I suddenly felt a pang in my stomach. I stopped, taken aback by the intense pain.I bent over, clutching my stomach, unable to move. I’d never experienced anything like this before. I struggled to catch my breath.People passed quickly by on either side, but no one stopped to check if I was OK.After about a minute, I finally, slowly, stood back up. The pain began to subside.I began walking again, heading in the direction of the café. But I now felt completely disoriented. And something else….Hunger. It wasn’t a normal hunger, but a deep, unquenchable thirst. As a woman walked past me, walking her dog, I noticed myself turning and staring at the animal. I found myself craning my neck and watching the animal as it walked past, and staring at its neck.To my surprise, I could see
“Jonah, I am so sorry that I am dressed like this,” I said. “I meant to change before I came, but….Did you say we have five minutes?”He looked at his watch, a flash of concern crossing his face.“Yes, but—”“I’ll be right back,” I said, and before he could answer, I raced through the restaurant, heading for the bathroom.I burst into the bathroom and locked it behind me. I tore open my gym bag and yanked out all of my nice clothing, now rumpled. I yanked off my clothes and sneakers, and quickly put on my black velvet skirt, and a white silk blouse. I also took out my faux diamond earrings and put them on. They were cheap, but they worked. I finished the outfit off with black, high-heeled shoes.I checked the mirror. I was a little bit rumpled, not as bad as I would have imagined. My slightly open blouse displayed the small, silver cross I still wore about my neck. I had no time for makeup, but at least I was dressed. I quickly ran my hands through the water and dabbed my hair, pu
“Of course not,” I said. “You brought me here. That’s all that matters. This is awesome.” Jonah and I were directed by another usher into a small door, which opened up right into the concert hall. We were up high, maybe 50 feet, and in our small box area there were only 10 or 15 seats. Our seats were right on the edge of the balcony, flush against the railing.Jonah opened the thick, plush chair for me, and I looked down at the massive crowd and at all of the performers. It was the classiest place I had ever been. I looked out at the sea of gray hair, and I felt 50 years too young to be here. But thrilled all the same.Jonah sat, and our elbows touched, and I felt a thrill at the warmth of his body beside me. As we settled in and sat there, waiting, I wanted to reach over and take his hand, and hold it in mine. But I didn’t want to risk being too bold. So I sat there, hoping that he would reach over and take mine. He didn’t make any move. It was early. And maybe he was shy.Instea
As I sat there, getting lost in the music, wondering how long I could make my date with Jonah last, it happened again. The pain.It hit me in the gut, like it had on the street, and it took all of my willpower to keep myself from keeling over in front of Jonah. I gritted my teeth silently, and struggled to breathe. I could feel the sweat break out on my forehead.Another pang.This time I squealed out in pain, just a little bit, enough to barely be heard above the music, which was reaching a crescendo. Jonah must have heard, because he turned and looked at me, concerned. He gently placed a hand on my shoulder.“Are you OK?” he asked.I was not. Pain was overwhelming me. And something else: hunger. I felt absolutely ravenous. I had never been so overwhelmed by such a sensation in my life.I glanced over at Jonah, and my eyes went straight for his neck. I fixated on the pulsing of his vein, tracked it as it went from his ear down towards his throat. I watched the throbbing. I cou
{DETECTIVE GRANT’S POV}“Detective Grant! There are reports that Sergei was killed by a wild animal. Is that true?”New York Homicide detective Grace O’Reilly opened the doors to Carnegie Hall and knew right away that it was going to be bad. Reporters were 10 deep, and unusually aggressive.“Detective!”They screamed for her repeatedly as she entered, the room filling with flashes.At 40, muscular and hardened, with short black hair and matching eyes, Grace was tough, and used to pushing her way through. But this time, it was not easy. The reporters knew it was a huge story, and they weren’t going to give. This was going to make life much harder.A young, international star murdered at the height of his fame and power. Right in the middle of Carnegie Hall and right in the middle of his American debut.And now this. Murdered. In the middle of his goddamn performance. Right in the hall where he sang just minutes before. Several reporters shoved microphones into her face.“W
{DETECTIVE GRANT’S POV}Detective Grant was shocked not because the crime scene was particularly bloody. Not because some horrific violence had taken place. It was something else. Something surreal.It was too quiet. Everything was in perfect place. Except, of course, for the body. He sat slumped backwards in his chair, his neck exposed. And there, under the light, were two perfect holes, right in his jugular vein.No blood. No signs of struggle. No torn clothing. Nothing else out of place. It was as if a bat had descended, sucked his blood perfectly clean, then flew away, without touching anything else. It was eerie. And outright terrifying. If his skin hadn’t turned completely white, she would have thought he was still alive, just taking a nap. She even felt tempted to go over and feel his pulse. But she knew that would be stupid.Sergei Rakov. He was young. And from what she’d heard, he’d been an arrogant prick. Could he already have had enemies?What in hell could have done
{KYLE’S POV}Kyle walked down the red carpeted hallways, strutting through the thick crowd. He was annoyed, as usual. He hated crowds, and he hated Carnegie Hall. He had been to a concert here once, in the 1890s, and it had not gone well. He did not release a grudge easily.As he marched down the hall, the high collars of his black tunic covering his neck and framing his face, people made way for him. Officers, security guards, press agents – the entire crowd parted ways.Humans are too easy to control, he thought. The slightest bit of mindbending, and they scurry out of the way like sheep.A vampire of the Blacktide Coven, Kyle had seen it all in his 3,000 plus years. He had been there when they killed Christ. He had witnessed the French Revolution. He had watched smallpox spread across Europe—and had even helped it spread. There was nothing left that could surprise them.But this night surprised him. And he did not like to be surprised.Normally, he would just let his usual
I woke to burning pain. My skin felt on fire, and when I tried to open my eyes, a stabbing pain forced them shut. It exploded into my skull.I kept my eyes closed, and instead used my hands to feel around. I was lying on top of something. It felt soft, yet firm. Uneven. It couldn’t be a mattress. I ran her fingers along it. It felt like plastic.I opened my eyes, more slowly this time, and peeked down at my hands. Plastic. Black plastic. And that smell. What was it? I turned my head just a little, opened my eyes a little more, and then I realized. I was sprawled out, on my back, on a pile of garbage bags. I craned my neck. I was inside a dumpster.I sat up with a start. The pain exploded, my neck and head splitting with pain. The stench was unbearable. I looked around, eyes open now, and was horrified. How the hell had I wound up here?I rubbed my forehead, trying to piece together the events that got me here. I drew a blank. I tried to remember last night. I used all my force of w