Chapter Two : Bloodlust

The bonfire roared. Sparks flew up into the black sky, mixing with music and shouting. The people of Ashford Cove partied — laughter, cups clinking, bodies pressed close in the heat.

Jake was standing at a spot with his drink in his hand, watching summer school students kiss and do naughty stuff in the shadows past the light. He wasn’t really watching. Just killing time.

Then Sarah made her way through the crowd, carrying a tray of drinks. She moved quickly, dodging people. Jake’s eyes caught on her bare wrist.

Where’s your jewelry? He asked, stepping in front of her before she could pass.

Sarah froze. “Not your business,” she said, trying to move past him. Her sleeve was pushed up. No gloves. No bracelet. Skin bare.

“You always wear it in class, even under the hot weather,” Jake said, tilting his head. “And now you aren’t wearing it. So I’m trying to put two and two together.”

Sarah stopped and looked at him with a pissed-off face. “Walk away, Jake,” she said, voice low.

“Nah,” Jake said, and sipped his drink.

Before Sarah could utter the next word, Jake started coughing. Hard. He doubled over, drink sloshing onto the pavement.

Sarah watched him with concern, tray wobbling in her hands. “Jake—”

Jake dropped the cup on the pavement and suddenly ran into the dark towards the river. No warning. No balance. Like something was pulling him.

Sarah couldn’t see him anymore. The trees swallowed him whole.

Then a human figure, came out from the place Jake disappeared into. It stood there for a second — shape shifting, translucent, catching the bonfire light like it was glass.

The human figure turned into water and flowed into the river. No splash. Just silence as it merged with the current.

Sarah’s heart skipped.

“It’s him,” she said.

***

At school the next day. Mid-morning light cut through the classroom windows.

Sarah watched Jake from her open backpack as he was reading from his English manual. He was hunched over, finger underlining lines, completely focused.

Sarah slid into his seat. Jake looked up at her

“So what happened yesterday? You just disappeared,” Sarah said.

“I don’t know,” Jake said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “It was like someone poisoned my drink.” He added.

Sarah laughed. “Who would want to poison you?”

“By the way, you look thirsty,” she said and brought out Jake’s water bottle.

She had earlier sneaked a full pack of salt into his water bottle. If he was whatever she saw last night, the salt would prove it. She needed to know what he was.

“Thank you,” Jake said as he collected the water and gulped it down. One long pull, no pause.

Sarah watched him close. Eyes locked on his face. Waiting for the burn. Waiting for him to recoil.

“What the hell?” Jake spat, coughing. “Why is the water so salty? Did someone pee in the cooler?” He shoved the bottle away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Sarah was surprised. No burns. No injury. No scream. Just a pissed off boy wondering if the city had a plumbing problem.

“Huh,” the surprised Sarah wondered. She stared at Jake like the math suddenly didn’t add up.

“Huh, that’s what I get?” Jake said, still wiping salt off his tongue. “You tried to poison me and huh is all I got?”

Sarah stood, chair scraping against the floor.

“Did you poison my drink at the bonfire yesterday?” Jake wondered, squinting at her.

“No,” Sarah replied, already turning to leave. “I just want to figure out what you are,” she said in between breaths.

“What do you think I am?” Jake asked, leaning back in his seat, arms crossed.

“I don’t know — yet,” Sarah said, not looking back.

“A mermaid?” Jake wondered, grinning again.

Sarah stopped and turned to look at him. “Something worse,” she said.

The sun was already shining by 11am. Summer school PE meant the 'fun' sports, and today was girls’ football. Cleats scuffed against the sidelines, water bottles sweated in the heat.

Jake stood by the fence, hands in his pockets, pretending he was just waiting for his next class. But his eyes kept drifting to the field — specifically to number 7, Sarah, tying her ponytail tighter before kickoff.

The ref blew his whistle and motioned the teams to line up. Then he paused, squinting at Sarah.

“Hold up,” he called, jogging over. “Number 7.”

Sarah turned, already winded from warmups. “Yeah?”

He pointed to her hands. “Glove and bracelet. You gotta take those off. No jewelry on the field — league rules, safety thing.”

Sarah glanced down at her fingerless glove and the thin bronze bracelet on the glove. “It’s just for grip. And this—” she touched the bracelet, “I never take it off.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the ref said, not unkindly. “If it comes off during a tackle, someone could get hurt. Or you could. Rules are rules, even for summer school.”

From the fence, Jake shifted. He knew that bracelet.

Sarah bit her lip, then nodded. She rolled the bracelet backwards making it seat directly on her hand, then she took off the glove. The bracelet took longer. Her fingers stumbled on the knot, and for a second she looked like she might argue.

Jake almost called out “It’s just one game,” but stopped himself. Not his place.

Sarah’s fingers stumbled on the knot, delaying. She bit her lip and finally slid the bracelet down, just a little bit past her wrist.

Jake’s eyes caught it instantly — a small, raw burn on her skin, red from the sun.

Sarah winced, and in one quick motion she shoved the bracelet back up her wrist, and the burn cleared

Without a word, she walked straight to the referee and looked him straight in the eyes.

“You are gonna let me play with my glove and bracelet on,” Sarah said softly.

The referee, who's eyes was locked with Sarah's, replied, “I’ll let you play with your glove and bracelet on.”

“Perfect,” Sarah said, and jogged back to where she was standing.

“Sarah, you can play with your glove and bracelet, it’s fine,” the referee called out.

Sarah smiled as she put on her glove back and slid the bracelet back on over the glove. Every other person saw the whole thing as normal, but Jake sensed something. He looked from Sarah to the referee, and from the referee back to Sarah.

In the girls’ locker room, the door thudded shut behind the last girl, leaving the room hollow and humming with fluorescent light. Only Sarah remained.

She took a deep breath, like she was trying to push something back down. She splashed water on her face, wiped it with the heel of her hand, and looked at the mirror.

Jake’s reflection was standing behind her. Close and still.

She spun around quickly, her heart slamming against her ribs. Fear flashed in her eyes before she could bury it.

“What do you want,” Sarah asked, her voice flat, trying to cover the shake in it.

“What did you do to him?” Jake asked. His voice was low. Sharp. Demanding.

“Did to who?” Sarah asked, playing dumb. She shrugged, but her fingers tightened on the edge of the sink.

“The referee,” Jake said, each word deliberate. “Why was he all of a sudden willing to let you play with your glove and bracelet?”

Sarah let out a short, humorless laugh. “Maybe he had a change of mind,” she said mockingly. She turned back to face the mirror, like she could dismiss him with her back.

Jake’s hand shot out. He grabbed her wrist hard.

His grip was firm, but not hurting her. His eyes were locked on hers.

“I know you made him change his mind without any persuasion,” Jake said, and then he let go of Sarah’s hand. “I don’t just know how you did that.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Sarah shot back, her voice jumping a pitch. Defensive.

Jake exhaled, a short, cold sound. “You are the one trying to figure out what I am, when you’re something yourself,” he said.

The words hit. Sarah felt uneasy, like the air in the locker room had suddenly gone thin. Her pulse was in her throat.

Jake moved close to her., Close enough that she could feel the heat coming off him. “Watch your back,” he said, quiet and even.

Then he left the locker room. The door clicked shut, and the silence rushed back in.

Sarah turned and angrily threw a blow at the mirror. The glass didn’t stand a chance — it went shattering on the floor, loud and jagged.

Sarah let out a deep breath, chest heaving, staring at the fractured pieces of herself scattered across the tile.

***

The thirst hit Sarah like a fever.

It started behind her teeth. A dry, metallic ache that spread down her throat and into her chest. Her heart wasn’t racing — it was slow, heavy, like it was pumping syrup instead of blood. Everything smelled sharper. The damp earth.

She didn’t want it. That was the worst part. But her body was already moving before her mind caught up, dragging her toward the river like a current.

Down by the bank, a boy sat with his legs in the water, laughing. His girlfriend was a few feet away, grabbing towels from a backpack, her back turned. They were normal. Sun-drunk. Careless.

Sarah stopped at the tree line. She looked around. No joggers. No fishermen. No observers. Just wind in the reeds and the low gurgle of the river.

The thirst pulled. Her vision tunneled. Her fingers curled into claws before she could stop them.

She sprinted.

It wasn’t a run — it was a launch. Silent. Fast. The distance collapsed in two seconds.

The girlfriend heard something. A shift in air. She turned, frowning. “Hello?”

Nothing behind her. Just trees.

She turned back toward the water —

And Sarah was standing right there. Inches away.

“Sarah?” the girl called, tilting her head. “You wanna join us?” She asked, smiling. Friendly. Oblivious.

Sarah didn’t say a word.

She just moved to the girl — one smooth, gliding step. No sound. She looked her in the eye, and the girl’s smile faltered. Sarah’s face was still, hungry.

Then Sarah opened her mouth.

A set of fangs slid down, sharp and ivory, catching the late sun.

The girl froze in shock. Her breath hitched and died in her throat. She couldn’t move, couldn’t scream. Sarah leaned in, tilting the girl’s head back, and proceeded to drain blood from her neck —

There was a shout from the river.

Ragged. Tears. Panicked.

Sarah stopped inches from the girl’s neck. The thirst screamed at her to finish, but the sound ripped through it.

They both turned to look at the river.

The boyfriend was thrashing in the water, arms flailing, but he wasn’t swimming. Something invisible was dragging him into the river. The water frothed around his waist, then his chest, pulling him down like hands around his ankles.

Seeing this, the girlfriend screamed — raw, broken — and hurried to save her boyfriend. Her feet slipped on the wet grass as she ran.

Sarah sprinted to the river in a split second. One blink she was by the girl, the next she was knee-down beside the water, grabbing the boy’s hand. His fingers were cold, slick, clawing at her wrist.

The girlfriend was still running to the river, sobbing his name.

Sarah tried pulling the boy out of the river. Her jaw clenched. Muscles locked. But whatever was holding the boy was stronger. It wasn’t current. It was intent. Like a fist around his leg, yanking.

Sarah lost the war.

The boy’s eyes went wide. Then he was dragged into the water with a violent suck, gone under the surface without even a bubble.

That was when his girlfriend got to the river bank, crying. She didn’t stop. She tried to jump in too — pure instinct, pure grief —

But Sarah caught her mid air. One arm around her waist, yanking her back onto the mud. The impact knocked the wind out of both of them.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Sarah asked, her voice low, rough.

The girl was shaking. Her whole body trembling, tears carving lines down her dirty cheeks. She couldn’t speak.

“Going in there won’t save him,” Sarah said, softer now. She grabbed the girl’s phone where it had fallen in the grass. Thumb already moving. Dialing.

“911, what’s your emergency?” A voice asked from the phone, clipped and professional.

Sarah put it to her ear. Her eyes never left the black, still water.

“Another river incident,” Sarah said.

***

There was a light knock on the door. Quiet. Hesitant.

A middle-aged woman opened the door. Her eyes were tired, the kind of tired that doesn’t come from lack of sleep. They landed on Sarah and didn’t warm up.

“Hi,” Sarah greeted.

“Hi,” the woman responded. Flat. Guarded.

Sarah shifted her weight. “Uhm, I’m looking for Bonnie,” Sarah said.

The woman sighed, and the sound seemed to pull her shoulders down an inch. “She’s in her room,” the woman said. She glanced past Sarah, like she expected someone else on the porch. “Since she was brought back by the police she hasn’t come out of her room,” she added.

“Can I see her?” Sarah requested. Her voice was careful.

“Sure.” The woman turned, facing the stairs. “Bonnie,” the woman called out. Her voice went up the stairwell and died. There was no response. Just the hollow silence of a house holding its breath.

Sarah tried to enter the house but she couldn’t. It was like hitting a wall of cold air right at the threshold. Her foot stopped mid-step.

The woman turned back, frowning at the pause. Her eyes flicked to Sarah’s feet, then her face.

“Please come in,” she said to Sarah.

And just like that, the invisible barrier vanished. Sarah stepped into the house.

She found Bonnie’s door cracked open. No knock. She just pushed it.

The room was dark. Curtains drawn. The air smelled like salt and unwashed blankets. Bonnie was curled on the bed, knees to her chest, staring at the wall like it might answer her.

She didn’t look up when Sarah stepped in. But her whole body went rigid.

Sarah closed the door behind her. Soft click. “Bonnie.”

Bonnie flinched. “Get out.” Her voice was raw from crying. “I told my mom not to let anyone in.”

“I know what you saw,” Sarah said. She didn’t move closer. She didn’t need to. “At the river.”

Bonnie finally looked at her. Eyes red-rimmed, wide, terrified. “You— your face. Your mouth. And you moved. No one moves like that.”

The thirst was quiet now, but the power that came with it wasn’t. Sarah felt it coiled in her chest, waiting.

“Listen to me,” Sarah said. Her voice dropped, low and even. It wasn’t a request. It vibrated in the air between them. Bonnie’s pupils dilated.

Sarah stepped to the edge of the bed. “You didn’t see fangs today.”

Bonnie’s breath hitched. Her lips parted.

“You didn’t see me run. One second I was by you, the next I was near the water. That didn’t happen.”

Bonnie’s eyes glazed. Her hands unclenched from the blanket.

“You saw me try to save him,” Sarah continued, holding Bonnie’s gaze. “I was fast, because I was scared. That’s all. You were scared too. That’s why things looked strange. But there were no fangs. No impossible speed.”

A tear slipped down Bonnie’s cheek, but her face was slack. Empty.

“Say it,” Sarah whispered. “There were no fangs.”

Bonnie’s mouth moved, sluggish. “There… were no fangs.”

“Good,” Sarah said. The power uncoiled, settled. “Now sleep. When you wake up, it’ll just be a bad day. A tragedy. Nothing more.”

Bonnie’s eyelids fluttered. Then closed. Her breathing evened out, deep and dreamless.

Sarah stood there a second longer, watching her. Then she turned and left, closing the door as quietly as she entered.