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[Clarke]

WEARING

The wind whipped through her hair, causing the golden strands to knot into untamable tangles as she ran, her camera clutched tight to her chest. The device was heavy in her hands, and it felt far too hot as it slammed into her breastbone, as if the pictures inside were alive, warning her that she was about to cross a line that she could never come back from. She had been foolish to come here. It had been a reckless action, one that was about to cost her not only her career, but more than likely her life.

She had been blinded by the mystery that surrounded Harper Rock, the rumors that had circulated throughout the world. The promise of danger, action, and that taste of adventure that every photographer salivated for had been dangled in front of her, and like a staving rabbit, she had sank her teeth into it the second the opportunity had fallen into her restless hands. She had her plane booked before she’d even made it home, the excitement of finally making it out of Tennessee and creating a name for herself deafening her to the blare of alarms that were ringing inside of her head.

Her father’s lectures had fallen on deaf ears, and she had shielded her conscious from her mother’s tear stained cheeks as she tossed whatever she could fit into her worn down leather suitcase. It had taken her an hour and fifteen minutes to get everything together, sandwich herself in between her brother’s in Daniel’s old truck, and head for the airport. Within that hour, she had listened to every horror story, had buried her nose in every report, studied every clipping, and had thought herself ready.

God, what a fool she had been.

Rounding the nearest corner, she stumbled to a stop as she found herself within a darkened alley, her knees shaking before she collapsed onto the ground, the denim of her jeans soaking up whatever foul liquid had been carelessly discarded the night before. Nothing had prepared her for this. Hastily fumbling with the camera, she quickly unlatched the door to the SD card and slipped the small disc into her bra before she unsnapped the strap from her neck. “I really don’t want to do this,” she whispered, regret burning her eyes as she moved to her feet and dropped the camera into the trash.

I can’t believe he betrayed me like this.

Bowing her head, she pressed one hand to her chest as her lungs began to burn, each breath she tried to pull in heavy with the scent of stale perfume, raw meat and bleach. Her ears strained to catch the telling sound of footfalls behind her, her fingers gripping the edge of the dumpster as a fresh wave of anger replaced her fear. If it hadn’t been for Jackson, it wouldn’t have gone down like this. If he had just listened to her, and had stayed home like she had begged him to – if he had trusted her – she wouldn’t have had to run. She could have gotten more photographs, more proof. If he had left her alone, she wouldn’t have made this biggest ******* mistake known to a photographer. She wouldn’t have left the goddamned flash on. Gritting her teeth, she slammed her fist against the metal, her failing strength not even causing a scratch against the bin.

His interference had only been made that much worse when he had ******* ran seconds after the flash had lit up the cemetery like the Fourth of July. He hadn’t even waited for the man – no creature – no monster – to hiss. He hadn’t turned to check on her. He released his bruising grip on her arm and took off into the woods, leaving her to face the trio on her own. It wasn’t until the man that had emerged from the ground had bared his fangs and appeared before her, his blade cutting across her side and ripping open her skin that she had decided to follow suit – in the opposite direction. As much as her mind was telling her to lead them to her coward of a boyfriend, she couldn’t.

It wouldn’t have been the Christian thing to do.

Instead, she took off towards the city, the sound of her footfalls paired with the sound of the men behind her. With every glance she dared to take, she only saw the two that had dug the other from the ground, their faces hidden by the shadows – but forever caught on film. Now, with her hands clutching the dumpster, her slender form tucked between it and the brick, she heard nothing but silence. If they were still following her, surely she would have heard them by now, right? Shaking her head, she began to slide from behind the dumpster, her free hand falling to press to her side. Her jeans were soaked with her blood, and when she pulled her hand away from her burning skin, her palm was stained crimson.

“Well, that’s going to need stitches.” Her voice was hollow as she lifted her arm to inspect the wound. Where there should have been one single line to mark the attack of his knife, she found five jagged, vertical marks that mimicked tiger claws cutting across her stomach and curving down toward her left hip. Her adrenaline ebbing, she could feel every twinge, and she felt the bile rise up her throat as the first onslaught of felt agony cut through her nerves like a tsunami. Turning her head away before she added her dinner to the list of disgusting things that littered the alley, she cast one last forlorn look at the dumpster – and her camera – before heading for the mouth of the alley.

Each step she took sent another wave of painful nausea through her, and she curled her fingers against the blood soaked cloth of her shirt as her eyes searched frantically for a sign to lead her towards the hospital. Caught up as she was in her need for painkillers, she didn’t hear the man as he stepped behind her, nor did she notice the click of the safety on the gun before he pulled the trigger. She did, however, feel the pain of the bullet as it slammed into her shoulder, the force sending her to her knees as a cry tore from her throat. Pressing her hands to the concrete, she moved to all fours as she tried to find the strength to stand, only to have the man slam his boot into her back and push her down.

“Tell no one what you saw tonight, or Master will not show you mercy.”

[Harrison]

WEARING

The world was never a good place, as far as Harrison was concerned. War was inevitable; mankind would always battle with mankind, as if weapons were easier than words. It seemed petty, unusual even that two grown people could not sit down and come to some kind of arrangement.

There was a graphic novel Harrison had read as a child. It was called Watchmen. It was about heroes in a world that didn’t want them; a world gone to absolute ****, where even heroes could not inspire hope – only anger and negativity. In this world it was not a hero who saved the day, but a villain. Ozymandias, with a mind for Descartes, believed in sacrifices made for the greater good. An ‘alien’ was concocted, a huge creature made in a lab. A huge creatures killed in the middle of New York – a city turned into a crater with thousands, millions of deaths. A city, sacrificed for the good of the world. A city that, for all intents and purposes, looked like it had been destroyed by an outside enemy. Aliens. An enemy that all countries would need to join together, work together, to destroy.

It didn’t matter that the enemy did not exist. The result was the same. World peace.

Even thinking about that story now, Harrison knew that he was on Ozymandias’s side. A man of a God, a man who believed in kindness and compassion, he believed that he could do awful things to achieve peace for the greater number of innocents. Because nothing was ever black and white. Evil existed in everyone, just as good existed in everyone. And Harper Rock? Well, it was scraping the barrel where goodness was concerned.

Sure, there were plenty of god-fearing folk in the city. Plenty of regular punters going about their business, committing no sins but doing no good for others, either. Ordinary people, the common kind. But there were vampires, too. Vampires by the handful. Wild and masterless vampires in the sewers, the Lionelli in the castle that Harrison had visited only the once, out of curiosity. There were the creatures in Chalktown who’d sought to drown him, and other creatures besides – all that he assumed were possessed by some kind of demonic force.

The vampires, however – they were not possessed. They were the same people they always had been, but only amplified. There was goodness in them, with evil that could be tempered. But most? Most, Harrison would put down himself. Most, he would side with the Paladins on. Yes, he agreed that there should be some force, some… group that helped to keep the vicious and violent vampires in check and not because of some Masquerade. They should die, should be locked up, because they killed innocent people. Because they terrorized the occupants of this city. They did not deserve it.

In his meanderings of the city, away from his sire, Harrison tried to do as much good as he could. He was not yet strong enough to take on all of the bad vampires but he could take on some, when he came across them. In the mean time, he tracked the spirits and talked to them, night in and night out. Some needed more time than others; some he had to come back to, night after night. Most could be found in dark places, abandoned buildings, alleyways – the places of their deaths, lingering, unable to let go of the life they had lived.

It was toward one such alleyway the priest was headed; ahead, a woman was walking toward him. She looked lost. Harrison himself stuck to the shadows, for no other reason than to avoid the stares of those who would be concerned about his sickly pallor, the way death clung to him like a cloak. She was on the other side of the road, and behind her…

…Harrison stopped. The sound of the gunshot cracked through the still air. She collapsed and cried out and a short gust of wind carried the scent of hot blood toward the priest. There was no hesitation as Harrison stepped from the curb and crossed the road.

”Hey!” he shouted. He didn’t know the man was a vampire, yet. He had no idea what he was up against, and nor did he care. No one should be allowed to shoot a woman in the middle of the street and not come up against some obstacle. Harrison reached into his jacket and retrieved the gun he had holstered there. One he had crafted himself; and he knew how to use it.

”What’s going on here?!” he asked, Scottish accent thick. Stupid question. He didn’t think it would be answered. But at least it would buy him some time. Maybe. He reached the woman, risking a glance down to see if she would be alright for a few minutes, though loathe to pull his attention from the common enemy. His footsteps came to a halt behind the woman, putting himself between the enemy and the victim.

[Clarke]

Her vision swam as the bile she’d been swallowing back rushed forward with a vengeance. Mama had always told her it was unbecoming of a woman to spew chunks, but mama had never been shot before. The hot vomit tore from her lips and coated the concrete, the force enough to cause her to gasp. “****. That is disgusting,” her attacker groaned, some of the bravado failing him as he moved to cover his mouth and nose with a gloved hand. If she hadn’t been in such pain, she would have laughed. He could gun her down in the middle of the night, but he couldn’t deal with the consequences?

The grit of the concrete bit into her palms as she tried to lift herself up, but the weight of his boot kept her down, his words muffled as he dug the muzzle of the gun against her skull. “Where is the camera, *****? Master demands it. You will give it now, or I will blow your pretty head wide open.” His voice was harsh, despite the tremor as her body convulsed with another heave. Fortunately for him, she had nothing left on her stomach, and as her lips parted, nothing but a choked gag escaped. Using one hand to keep her upright, she pressed the other to her side, the blood from the gashes soaking her fingers as she felt the heat pour off the wounds. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, sugar,” the southener, defiance flashing in her dull eyes as she turned her head to glare at him.

She had faced down a bull maddened by pain when she was just twelve years old. She had run into a fire to save her dog when she as fifteen, and she had taken Devil’s Trail at 175 MPH when she was sixteen. She had survived all of it, and she had the blood of her father rushing through her veins. She might be terrified, and she might be dying, but she’d be damned if she let him intimidate her. She had come too far, had worked too hard for this – she wouldn’t be intimidated by a killer that couldn’t stand the sight of vomit. Her granddaddy would never let her live that down. “Wrong choic—“

Whatever threat he was about to snarl was cut short by another voice, the accent washing over her like the cool rain on a hot summer’s day. Relief made her arms weak, and had she not caught herself, she would have fallen face first into the stench of her own filth. It wasn’t until she felt the pressure of the gun lift from her skull that she allowed herself to move, her eyes first catching sight of clean shoes, before her gaze traveled up the path of his legs, to a muscled chest – and finally, his face. He was line an angel, and for a moment, he reminded of her eldest brother with that protective gleam in his eye.

When he moved to stand in front of her, his aim steady, she moved to her ***, her hands shaking as she clutched at her injuries. Even with her vision swimming as it was, she could make out the curl of her attacker’s lip, his eyes flashing with menace as he tightened his hold on the trigger. She wanted to scream for her hero to run, but instead, she watched as the man stumbled back a step. “Master wants what she has. If you know what the **** is good for you, you’ll leave her to us.” His voice was harsh as he aimed the gun over his shoulder, as if to shoot her regardless. “This has nothing to do with you. Carry on, and leave the girl to Master.” Anger ignited in his eyes, and she watched in horror as he suddenly moved, his free hand brandishing a dagger that was aimed for her hero’s throat.

"No!"

[Harrison]

Harrison respected Enver. As a vampire who knew a **** load more than Harrison did, as a man who had his morals in the right place (regardless of his ego), Harrison respected his sire. There were times when Harrison could call Enver ‘sire’, that single word predicating a high esteem of the one who’d saved Harrison’s life, and given him eternity. But never, ever would Harrison think of calling Enver ‘Master’. That would be far too much. And the Scot didn’t know anyone else who could ever be worthy of such pathetic subservience.

Curiosity got the better of Harrison, distracting him for better or worse. He wanted to know who this vampire was that he should so blindly follow the orders of another. Who deserved such devotedness? And he was also distracted by the woman on the pavement at his side; he’d not had the opportunity to check the seriousness of her wounds, nor whether she’d survive any dalliance on his part. A minister and a mere street scrapper beforehand, Harrison couldn’t say he was an expert at hand to hand skirmish, either, and too preoccupied was he focusing on the other’s gun that he didn’t expect the sudden flash of a blade.

It would have been easy enough to step back, to duck and swerve the arch of the blade, but Harrison was too slow. The tip grazed his neck and, though the gash wasn’t deep enough to sever wind pipes or slash the main artery, it was deep enough to cause disorientation, blood seeping slowly from where skin parted from skin.

Harrison’s eyes grew wide and, his immediate reaction was to squeeze a trigger. The shot went wide, bullet ricocheting from pavement, bits of cement flying. He was quick to regain composure, one hand slipping through the blood at his throat to clamp down on the wound while the other swung back into position, barrel of the gun aimed at his foe’s neck. Again, he squeezed the trigger. This time, his aim was true--the bullet pierced the trachea, ripped through spinal cord and came out the other side.

An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind, they say. Harrison would certainly disagree. There would always be one eye left, and Harrison was determined to make sure he was the victor.

”Leave! Go back to your fuckin’ Master or the next bullet goes between your eyes,” he managed, voice subtly damaged by the gash that refused to immediately heal. He held his ground, now firmly pushing himself between the girl and her attacker. Any bullet fired in her direction would have to go through Harrison first.

Dice Rolls:

• 1. Avoid attacker’s knife -- Failed
  2. Shoot attacker in the throat -- Succeeded

[Clarke]

Her warning hadn’t come quick enough, and she had to watch in absolute horror as her savior tried to dodge the attack that was far too quick for their eyes to track. With what seemed to be no more than a flick of the vampire’s wrist, he managed to separate the skin of the dark-haired man’s neck, coating his blade – and their skin – in blood. “**** you, darlin’.” she heard herself snarl, the sound foreign to her own ears as she tried to push herself to stand once again. It was all too much, and whatever grasp she had left on her sanity had snapped completely the moment she witnessed her hero stagger.

With what was left of her strength, she pulled herself unsteadily to her feet, her eyes narrowing as she watched the man waver with doubt as he faced the muzzle of the brandished weapon. There was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, and as the man before her snapped his command, she watched as the vampire took a step back, his own hand moving to his throat, fingers clawing at the skin as if he could pierce the flesh together with will alone. When he realized his failure, his eyes narrowed, the color darkening until they were nearly black as he worked his jaw, blood spilling from his lips. The would had been severe, and she could tell he wouldn't last much longer. He'd either attack - or flee from the wrath of the dark haired man. “He will come for her. Master will not be pleased that you intervened,” he warned, his voice steady and wet, despite the clouds descending within his ever watchful eyes. Despite the pain, she somehow managed to keep herself upright, one arm pressed to her stomach as the other reached out, her hand pressing to Harrison’s back.

“I don’t have what he wants.” The lie came easy, despite the fact that she could feel the small card against the pale skin of her breast. The plastic dug into her flesh, as if reminding her that it was there, that it knew the truth. If she handed him the proof, would he let them live – or would he carry out his threat without a second thought? Tipping back her head, she studied the lines of the man’s face, the stress around his eyes – and the thin set of his lips – as he watched her, as if Harrison no longer existed. If it weren’t for the blade he kept aimed for his throat, she would have thought he found her more of a threat than the man who came to her rescue. At least, in that, he was intelligent, because as the thought entered her mind, he tightened his hands on his weapons - both now aimed for the man, even as he spoke to her.

“You’re lying. You will die if you do not give him what he desires, as will your partner,” his voice remained steady, and as he shifted his stance, she watched his finger tighten on the trigger. Her fingers bent, nails pressing into Harrison’s shirt, as she braced for the agony. “He left me to die. He is not my partner,” she snapped, before turning her head to spit out the blood that had pooled within her mouth. It stained her teeth, and she found her strength wavering the longer she was on her feet. “Stubborn *****,” he snarled, and she watched as he came undone, the control he had vanishing in a moment.

The only warning she had before he lunged was the tension in his arms, and she found herself releasing her hold on her hero to stagger back, fear causing her to scream. She knew he wouldn’t reach her – not with the man standing between them, his gun at the ready. His eyes had been so sure, so calm, and she knew she was safe. It wasn’t until she heard the laughter on the wind that she realized the vampire had deceived her. He hadn’t made a move to attack them. Instead, he had disappeared into the night, leaving her alone with the man as the darkness suddenly descended on her mind, sending her crashing to the ground as she lost consciousness.

[Harrison]

With his fingers slipping through the blood at his throat and panic slipping in and out of his consciousness Harrison really couldn’t give two fucks whether he was on this guy’s master’s radar or not. Harrison wasn’t long a vampire; a sliced throat was something a human ought to worry about. It was a constant effort to remind himself that he was no longer human and that this wound would heal, and that it didn’t matter how much blood he lost. He could always get it back again. Somehow, over time, it would replenish.

He would have growled at the other vampire, would have told him he talked too much. Still! Even after a bullet had been shot through his throat, he talked too much. He sounded like a desperate man, a beaten man clutching at straws. At least, that’s what Harrison told himself. Neither he nor the woman behind him had anything to fear from this miscreant or his ‘master’. Though, the way Harrison’s finger squeezed the trigger when the vampire lunged as if to attack would prove that he didn’t fully believe that they had nothing to fear.

The bullet ricocheted off of brick wall, hitting nothing as the vampire disappeared. Behind Harrison, the woman screamed. A natural human reaction, he supposed, and for good cause. Who wouldn’t scream if they thought they were about to die? Harrison released the air from his lungs; it gurgled a little bit, and he was reluctant to remove his fingers from his throat.

As soon as he turned to inquire as to the woman’s wellbeing she crumbled, collapsed. Not because she couldn’t keep herself upright, per se, but because she had lost consciousness.

”****,” he said, peering into the shadows and left and right, east and west before holstering his gun. He didn’t want to be caught off guard. He dropped down to the woman’s side, brushing the hair from her face, eyes sweeping her body to assess the damage. Blood coated her jeans and blouse and, when he lifted the cloth he witnessed the jagged slashes across her gut. There was another stain at her shoulder, a bullet wound by the looks. Were the gashes deep enough to hit organs? Had the bullet hit anything important? Harrison couldn’t know, because Harrison was not a doctor.

Harrison did the first thing he could think of; he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialled the ambulance, standing only so that he could spot some street signs and a discernible landmark. The voice on the other end said they’d be as quick as possible, something about it being a busy night. Harrison crouched back down, bloodied fingers slipping behind the woman’s shoulder, squeezing reassurance even though she was not conscious to feel it. He only hoped that she’d passed out due to lack of blood, that it wasn’t as serious as it could be; that the ambulance would arrive in time.

[Clarke]

I got another confession…
… I fell to temptation.

There was no calculation as to how long she had remained within the abyss, the darkness chipping away at what was left of her soul. It was quiet within the realm of unconsciousness. She felt no pain; she had no worries, no doubts. It was a sanctuary away from the madness that went on around her. As she lay prone on the ground, her chest expanding with her shallow breathing, she recalled when her grandmother had passed. She had found her grandfather on the porch, her meemaw’s afghan clutched in his weathered fist. It had tore her heart in two to see the despair etched in the lines of his face, but when he had turned to find her there, tears streaming down her cheeks, he had smiled.

‘It’s alright, angel. She’s at peace now, no longer in pain, y’hear me? Stop that cryin’ and come here.’ When she had rushed across the porch to throw her arms around him, he had lifted her from the ground, settled her against his side, and told her about the light and God’s mercy. It was the knowledge that she would soon be with her that kept her calm, even as the pain came flooding back. Her eyes snapped open as the memory faded, her grandfather’s kind eyes disappearing beneath the concerned stare of the stranger as he ended the call for help. Swallowing thickly, she tried to lift herself to sit upright, but it was if there was a weight on her chest, keeping her pinned against the pavement. With a quiet groan, she brushed her tongue across her cracked lip, one hand moving to rest on her stomach.

She wasn’t going to make it, that much she knew. It was clear in the way he looked at her, in the unsteady way her lungs pulled blissful oxygen into them. If that hadn’t been enough of a sign, the sudden stuttering of her heart would have been, the way it slowed until she felt as if she were trudging through quicksand. “I’m dyin’, aren’t I?” Her voice was a quiet whisper, one that threatened to get lost on the wind. Had he not been a vampire, he wouldn’t have picked up on it, but she hadn’t a doubt in her mind what he truly was. It was evident in the fact he was still standing, no concern for his own wellbeing in his eyes, despite the blood that coated his throat.

A thousand questions rushed through her mind as she watched him, and yet that was the only one she thought to voice. It was the only one that mattered. She wasn’t usually a selfish woman. She had been raised right, her father teaching her to care about others above herself, yet as she died, she didn’t care about them. The memory card burned her skin, acting as a reminder to her selflessness – but she didn’t reach for it. She could have dug it from her bra and handed it to the stranger, but something held her back. For a moment, she thought to be selfish – for a moment, she thought to ask him to save her.

It was clear he could. He had the power. He had the ability to take away her pain and save her from fading away, from being another statistic, but she couldn’t bring herself to form the question. She wouldn’t ask him – she couldn’t. It was against nature. What he was… it was an abomination. He shouldn’t exist – none of them should. He belonged with God. Dropping her head back against the sidewalk, she closed her eyes again as she fought with herself. If God had a plan for her, was this is? If she died, was she giving up on Him? If she lived, would he turn his back on her? It was all too confusing, but as the seconds turned to minutes with no help in sight, she knew she was on her own.

She just couldn’t – wouldn’t – bring herself to make that choice for herself.

[Harrison]

Still so new to the vampire thing, Harrison hadn’t thought to stop, and to listen. Around them, he could feel the keening spirits of the dead; he could feel their eyes watching, curious, envious, hungry, sad. They all felt different, but they were drawn to death, somehow. They had a keen sense for death. They understood death. Here, in the hush, they knew they should be quiet. They knew they should not harass the minister; the priest who could help them cross over to the other side if only he had the time to listen to their woes. If only they could listen, understand, and accept. They formed a ring around him, a silent tribute to the fallen, as if they were waiting to accept another member into their ranks.

Harrison didn’t often get angry, and never at the dead. No, they had suffered enough, and his anger did not need to exacerbate their pain. But he was angry, now. Even as the woman in his arms woke, even as she questioned her own death, even as she grew weaker in his grasp, he told those spirits to leave.

”Get back!” he hissed at them, the depth of his eyes home to the incredulity that he felt, the fierceness for his need for respect. ”You leave her alone, give her space…!” he said. He’d look insane. He’d look like he was talking to no one. Could she even feel their presence? Did it matter, if they gave her space or not? Or perhaps Harrison was only asking for space for himself. He needed it, to think. When he turned back to the dying woman, he could see the spark in her eyes. She didn’t want to die. Instinct told him this. She didn’t want to die, and his hope for an ambulance to arrive in time was in vain.

Her skin was already growing cold, and her heart was about to give up. He’d never been witness to a spirit leaving its body before. Would she hang around, or would she immediately pass over? If she stayed, what would she do? Would she haunt him for eternity because he could not save her, because he had not been quick enough? He thought about his own death. He thought about… well, Enver.

Enver.

Harrison, though he had died, had been given a second chance. Blood was required. It had changed nothing except given Harrison and aversion to sunlight and a change in diet. Well, there were other things, too, but those were the main elements. Harrison lifted his wrist to his mouth and tore into the flesh of his wrist with sharpened teeth.

Don’t do it. She’ll regret it, she’ll hate you for it. We’ll take care of her… A spirit whispered in his ear. Was the dead man speaking from experience, or was it just jealousy because he himself had not been saved?

Love, she will haunt you for condemning her to this existence. It is torture. You must save her… whispered another. She looked like she could be Harrison’s mother. Except a kinder version, one who helped him rather than dismissed him. He’d hesitated only a moment before he nodded, awkwardly lifting the woman’s shoulders and head up onto his knee.

”Hey, the ambulance won’t make it,” he said. He hadn’t realised how upset he was, how nervous, until he heard his own voice crack.

”I can save you. You have to drink this. You’ll… you don’t have to, if you’d prefer to… to…” could she truly call it death, if she were stuck in this realm, unable to let go of life? He didn’t want to say the word. ”…but I’d like to save you…” he said. He said it as if he were just asking her to dance. As if he were telling her he’d like to buy her a coffee. The consequences, of course, were far direr.

[Clarke]

You did your best…
… or did you?

There came a time in everyone’s life where they had to make a choice. Be it in their relationship, their career, or in her case, their survival. It was a lesson she had learned at a young age, when she watched her brother clutch her mother in his arms, the service papers clutched in his bruised fist. He hadn’t had a choice, but she could see the struggle in his eyes as they sought her in the darkness of the kitchen. His face was grim, his lips trembling as he fought back the tears their mother shed for all of them. He had the heart of a lion, but when he had opened that envelope, he had become as fierce as a cub. She remembered her father shouting something to the moon before the crash of the screen door echoed through their home, the scent of whiskey following him as he headed straight for Samson.

He demanded that he make a choice; to tear apart their family for his honor, or to stay. They all knew that there wasn’t a clear path, but that night, she had watched her brother lose his light. She watched as he had untangled his arms from their mother, stepped back and placed the papers on the table. She wanted to run across the floor, shred those words to pieces, and pretend they had never been read. Yet, she didn’t. She had remained a coward, tucked under the kitchen table, her knees to her chest. Her face had ached from the tears she refused to shed, her throat burning with her need to scream for him as he turned his back on them. She knew from the tension in his shoulders and the way his head bowed, that he had made his choice. He was going with his pride, his honor, and he was leaving them behind.

When the door slammed shut behind him, she remembered hating him. She remembered finally screaming, the sound tearing from her throat with such force, that her mother had nearly collapsed. They hadn’t realized she had been there, tucked away beneath the table, the chairs blocking her from their view. It was only then that the anger in her father’s eyes had cracked as the pain took hold. She watched her family shatter, her hands clutching her hair as she screamed, unable to stop the sound. She didn’t understand pain until that moment, nor did she know the true meaning of fear. Even when her father had pulled her from beneath their table, his strong arms clutching her as Samson had done their mother, she didn’t stop screaming. She wasn’t silenced until her remaining brothers were called, their calloused fingers prying her hands from her hair and wiping the tears from her eyes.

She had thought she had known the pain of choices then, but it was nothing compared to now.

She could feel her life slowly ebb from her body, her eyes unable to remain open as she started to give in to the darkness that crept closer. Even as the man above her started to speak, his voice a maddened hiss as he demanded those she couldn’t see to leave, she felt herself slipping back into the abyss. The choice was there, laid out in front of her, begging her to take it. Live, a voice begged. Die, another demanded. Both were against her ear, soft whispers she couldn’t ignore, and neither was accepted. She couldn’t. How could she turn her back on the light? He had been there for her since she was born, his grace unforgiving and merciful. Day after day, he had proved his love for her, and now, she was faced with the choice of throwing everything he had done for her into the dark, or… dying.

Swallowing the heavy lump in her throat down, she tried to force her eyes open. There had to be another way, another path she could take, but even as the thought entered her mind – it was dismissed. There wasn’t another path. She either accepted his curse, or she died. She only had seconds now, and even still, she battled with the demons within her. She was going to die, and her faith refused to budge. The wind picked up, blowing golden strands across her face as the stranger tightened his hold on her, his words a soft, hoarse, broken whisper against her hair. He wasn’t forcing the curse, and in her sluggish mind, it confused her. She had heard the horror stories, the tales woven in the night about the monsters that forced others to be like them so they had a companion in their damned life.

Yet, she was laying dying on the cold concrete, help miles away, and he wasn’t taking advantage. He was offering, and she felt her mind sway toward the dark. Her soul screamed at her to stop, and yet, her lips parted, the cracked flesh bleeding as she almost gave in. When she was a second from taking the blood, she snapped her jaw closed and turned her head away. It was only then that the tears truly fell, the crystal-clear drops sliding down her paling skin. She couldn’t do it. She didn’t want to die, but she could turn her back on God. She wanted to live, but the darkness terrified her. She couldn’t make this choice, not on her own – but… she had to. What would happen if she died? Her family had nearly fallen to pieces when Samson had left for the war – what would happen if she died? They would never survive.

Her fingers curled into a loose fist against her stomach, and as her heart gave another stuttered beat, a second away from giving way completely; she turned her head one last time. Her lips parted, but only a centimeter. Even with her families pain her mind, even with the knowledge she was doing this to save them, she couldn’t bring herself to fully accept the consequences. If she were going to condemn herself to an eternity of darkness and despair, then this stranger, the vampire would have to meet her half-way, because she just couldn’t force herself to press her lips to his wrist.

[Harrison]

Harrison had known about vampires when he’d come to Harper Rock, but he’d not thought they were damned. In his meanderings through the streets, he was witness to both dark and light. The spirits he’d spoken to on a daily basis both loathed and loved the undead; they told him stories, not only about how they died but how they had lived, too. Yes, it was true that many had died at the hands of the undead, but many had witnessed miracles performed by them, too. The minister didn’t have a good or a bad opinion; he was steadfast that every person, living or dead, could be as good or as bad as they decided to be. No one was ever pure evil.

Enver Marshall had his demons, too, and Harrison hadn’t gotten to the bottom of the egotistical well that was his sire. At the end of the day, however, the movie star had pulled Harrison from that river and had brought him back to life. The light was on the horizon, and Harrison could have gone to it. He could have died; he wasn’t afraid of death. But he didn’t want to. Not yet. There was still too much he needed to do with his life. He had to make up for the youth he had misspent.

Given the nature of the opinion of vampires in this city of late, Harrison thought that he should do as much as he could to try and diminish the scathing review that vampires were hellspawn hellbent on slaughtering all humankind. Some, yes. But they didn’t speak for all. Some were good. Some held tight to their humanity; some became better humans as vampires than they were as actual humans.

It was all far too much to try to explain to this woman, now. She was so near death and reluctant to take the cure that Harrison was trying to give her. She didn’t want it. Why? Probably because of the things she’d heard on the news. Probably because she didn’t want to become a monster, as vampires were painted to be. She’d turned away and Harrison was ready to let her. If she wanted to die, if she’d prefer it, then that was her prerogative. He did not think that it was the right choice; it was not the choice that he himself had made. He’d wanted to live, to be saved. He’d thought CPR would have done it, but he’d been wrong. His body had been too badly damaged in his unconsciousness. He’d had no choice, and he didn’t have any regrets.

But, it didn’t last. She turned back, then, though still reluctant. Harrison was hopeful.

”It’s not bad,” he cooed. ”We’re not bad,” he added. She’d turned back and parted her lips. If that wasn’t acceptance, he didn’t know what was. His fingers clenched, wrist stretched to keep the wound open. He held it, gently, over the woman’s lips. ”I promise the curse only has as much power as you allow it,” he said. Was it a sweet nothing? Was it an empty promise? He didn’t think so, and he hoped she would take it to heart.