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  She took his money, cast her spell, and Jonathan left her residence full of joy at having finally gotten what he had dreamed about for so long; his own death. I discovered what he had done too late to prevent it, and when I broke into his apartment I found him in his bedroom, staring into a full length mirror, watching himself age before his very eyes.

  His back hunched over, his copper hair thinned and faded to grey, his eyes drooped and his skin wrinkled. Jonathan watched his body transform with an expression of absolute happiness on his face. I had never seen him look more fulfilled than in that moment, as his once youthful body rapidly declined. There was nothing I could do to save him, and he died moments later, no more than a shrivelled corpse.

  I suppose the moral of this tale is that a long life can be just as much of a curse as a gift. When you spend centuries alive, death can seem like a welcome respite, the only way to achieve true peace. But new things, oh new things, feeling that sense of wonder at something you have never encountered before, these are what keep us going. For when the world no longer holds anything for us to desire, what point is there in going on living?

  These meandering, morose thoughts consume me as I settle the final matters of the night and assist my staff in closing up the club. A young employee of mine by the name of Judy makes her best efforts to tempt me into spending the night with her. She is human and thinks she is being subtly seductive, she has no idea how obvious she is. I have had to endure her flirtations since hiring her as a barmaid, sometimes I think I would do better to simply fire her. It would be less hassle.

  I drive home alone, I share my house with my sister, but she is elsewhere tonight. I pull into my driveway and slam the door shut. The moment I step out into the fresh, chilly night air I am propelled backward. Someone drags upon me, a metal chain tight around my neck. I should not have allowed my mind to wander to my past, as it left me open to attack by these blasted slayers. I have somehow been on their radar for the past few months since I opened the club. I have to fend several of them off almost every second night now.

  One drags me across the smooth pathway at the front of my house, while two others advance on me, both with stakes gripped firmly in their hands. Yes, a simple wooden stake to the heart can end my life, yet not many humans are capable of overcoming my speed in order to get to me. Unfortunately, these sneaky bastards have caught me unawares, the metal chain is constricting around my throat as the slayer behind me pulls on it ever more tightly.

  One of the two in front of me laughs. “What's that bloodsucker? Cat got your tongue?”

  I choke excessively, gasping for air, and my fangs jut out as my body goes on high alert. I grip a hand onto the chain around my neck and pull on it. The human slayer won't be strong enough to pull harder than I can, I already feel his grip slackening against the force of my pull. The expression of the slayer who'd run his mouth at me sobers a good deal as he notices the shift in the struggle.

  He lunges at me, stake in hand, aimed directly for my heart. I twist my body to the side swiftly and his stake meets the hard concrete ground instead of my body. The movement causes the slayer behind me to momentarily lose his grip on the chain and I rip the blasted thing from my neck. The third slayer approaches me from the side, I dodge him and twirl back around, punching down hard on the crown of his skull. He falls to the ground, mostly likely dead from the blow. It would surprise me if I did not crush his skull with that hit.

  “No!” The slayer who had wielded the chain on me wails, as he realises his comrade is no more.

  I have no sympathy for him, for he would have killed me in a moment if he had half the chance.

  He comes at me in anger and grief, pulling out out a gun and aiming it directly at me. I cannot die from the wound of a man made bullet, but that does not mean it doesn't hurt tremendously to be shot. I rush to the slayer before he has the chance to pull the trigger, unfortunately he manages to get a shot in before I rip the gun from his hand and throw it away. He got me in the side, perhaps in the kidney, pain rips through me but I suck in a steadying breath. The wound will take several hours to heal, my black/red vampire blood stains my white t-shirt.

  I decide to make use of my sharp canines as I grip a hand on either side of the slayer's head, tilting it back before I sink my fangs into his throat. As a vampire, I can consume blood as fast or as slowly as I wish. Normally I enjoy taking my time, but when I am defending myself from an attack I can drain an entire body of blood in a matter of seconds. A moment after I have pierced his skin I have drained him completely, and I shove his body away from me.

  I look around, ready to take care of the final slayer, but it seems that he has fled. Perhaps he realised there was no way to survive going up against me. Or maybe he was simply in too much fear after watching me take out his two friends. One way or the other, I am under no illusions that he won't return at some point in the near future with reinforcements. I'll be ready for him when that happens though. Of all the attacks I have endured in recent weeks, tonight's was the closest those slayers came to actually killing me.

  I hadn't anticipated that they would wait for me at my home, normally the slayers will avoid going very far past the Hawthorne river and into vampire territory. This city is divided in two, the South side of the river belongs to the vampires and the North belongs to the slayers, the dhamphirs and of course the magical families, of which there are twelve. Tribane is unique in this sense, as there is no place like it on earth with such a divided political system between hidden folk. Hidden folk is a term we sometimes use to refer to ourselves, because we are hidden from the general human population. Our world is known as the hidden world.

  I wince as I feel my body work hard to heal itself, the flesh knitting back together, tissue by tissue. I walk out onto the street and glance up and down the road to make sure that the slayer really has left and isn't lying in wait to attack me again. I can't hear a heartbeat anywhere close by, so I assume he has truly fled. I can only sense those in the houses nearby, fast asleep in their beds.

  It is only four in the morning, I don't normally turn in until six or seven, when the sun has fully come out. I am a nocturnal creature as a result of the fact that the sun is unbearable for me. It does not consume me in flames, as is often believed about my kind, however it does weaken me and I cannot tolerate going out in it. It is the biggest weakness of vampires. The damage caused by one moment in the sun would take several gallons of blood to repair.

  I drag the bodies of the two dead slayers out to my back garden, dumping both of them in my shed before making a call for Lucas to come and collect them. Lucas has his talents, getting rid of bodies so that they are never found again being one of them. I pray for rain tonight, so that it will wash away the blood stains from my front driveway. Although, if any human police come sniffing around I will simply compel them to believe that my driveway is as clean as a whistle.

  As a precaution, I decide to sit out and wait for a while, just in case more of those DOH bastards come invading my private residence again. I wander to the side of my house, grabbing a light hold of the drain pipe and hoisting myself up, I jump to a window ledge on the first floor with expert balance. Then I reach up to a further window ledge above me, and swing myself to the next one. One more floor and I've successfully scaled my roof.

  I often like to sit up here when I'm in a thoughtful mood. Tonight I can kill two birds with one stone, as I'm thoughtful but also watchful. Death has been a concept on my mind this evening, yet I never considered it could be waiting for me on my very own doorstep. These slayers are getting far too big for their boots, I will have to think of a way to show them that they cannot continue to venture so far past the river without severe repercussions. The next time they decide to attack I will show no mercy, none of them will get away or have the chance to flee. I will kill them in such a manner as to portray the fact that I am not a vampire to be messed with.

  I stretch my legs out and lean back, raising my arms above my head and placing
my head upon my clasped palms. I stare up at the starless, deep black sky. Black like Tegan's raven tresses. I check my jeans pocket to ensure that her phone number is still there, the paper crumples beneath my fingertips. I wonder if her sensitive human morals would be appalled by the killing I took part in tonight. Then again, if the smell of death lingering in the bathroom of her own apartment is anything to go by, death is something that she is not unfamiliar with.

  I sit and allow my thoughts to linger on her, and about a half an hour passes before I hear somebody shuffling around in my shed. It's only Lucas, removing the bodies. He has various methods of disposing of them, sometimes he digs a hole then fills it up, other times he sinks them to the bottom of the ocean with the help of several bricks. I ponder which option he will go for on this occasion.

  After Lucas has left I spend my time simply enjoying the silence. I try my best to be meditative, but I am too filled up with nervous, excited energy. I find my fingers twitching as I think about seeing Tegan again tomorrow. I will be the perfect gentleman and ask her out to dinner, over which I will quiz her about her life and see if I can piece together some clues as to why she smells like the sun.

  For humans, the sun does not have a scent, but we vampires can smell it, taste it, feel it. Perhaps it is a survival mechanism, for we must sense its approach in order to avoid it. I know instinctively when sunrise is on its way, there are no earthly scents to assist me in describing it, all I can say is that it smells exactly like Tegan, if you were to take away her basic human scent underneath.

  I hear somebody's approach moments before Delilah's red hair pops up over the edge of the roof. She climbs up gracefully and settles herself down beside me.

  She is silent for a full minute before she says, “There is a good deal of human blood staining the driveway, brother.”

  I turn my head to her only slightly. “Three slayers were lying in wait for me when I arrived home. Two I killed, the other one scampered away.”

  Delilah sucks in a breath. “They are getting more and more brave by the week. I wouldn't have thought they would come to your house like this.”

  “I intend to remedy their bravery the next time they attack. Pamphrock needs to get the message that I am not to be trifled with.” Delilah nods her head but doesn't say anything. Siegfried Pamphrock is the three hundred and fifty year old dhamphir who created the DOH. It is now a worldwide organisation, but its headquarters remain here in Tribane. This is why the animosity between the two sides of the city is so intense, there are too many vampires and too many slayers all in one place. Neither side is willing to give up and surrender their territory to the other.

  “I would like to talk to you about the woman at the club tonight,” says Delilah, breaking the period of quiet.

  “What about her? I have secured her phone number and I now know where she lives, I will call on her tomorrow.”

  “And what are your intentions with her?” Delilah asks, raising an eyebrow in my direction.

  “To discover what she is, of course.”

  “That is all, is it? Do not try to fool me Ethan, I have seen the look on your face when you gaze at her. Feeding on humans is all fair and well, but developing feelings for them is another matter. It will end in disaster, you mark my words.”

  “Do you speak from experience, dear sister?” I question her.

  Delilah goes still as a stone, then shakes her head, perhaps to sort through her own memories. “When I was a young girl, no more than sixteen years of age, I fell in love with a human. His name was Cyryl and he was a soldier. I had been living with our father in Poland when we first met, we had been staying in a large country home and Cyryl lived in a nearby village. It was the year 1939. We spent one wonderful summer together, but then when September came and the Germans invaded, Cyryl had to go to war. Needless to say, he never returned.”

  “I am sorry, Delilah. You never told me this story before.”

  “It was so long ago, what would be the point in reliving the pain I felt back then? I am only telling you now because I think you need to keep your head on your shoulders when it comes to this girl. She could do untold damage to you. I was young when I felt my first heartbreak, so it was not so difficult to heal. But you are older, and you have never loved a human before, who knows how it might change you.” She goes silent for a moment, contemplative. “Still, perhaps it was for the best that Cyryl died in battle, for what would have happened if he had returned to me? He would have died an old man and I would still be young and pretty and have to live on without him. This is why it is a bad decision to love a human.”

  I shake my head in exasperation. “Who said anything about love? You of all people should know that it is not something I aspire to. There is no need to worry, as you said, I am far older than you had been when you met this Cyryl, I will not fall so easily.”

  As I say this a heavy raindrop splats onto my palm, several more splash onto the top of my head. I smile and look up at the dull, brightening sky. Day break is coming swiftly upon us, but the rain is a blessing, considering my driveway needs a wash. I decide to take it as a good omen. My sister will not deter me from venturing to uncover the mystery of the woman who smells of the sun.

  “Come on, it is almost day time,” says Delilah, ushering me down from the rooftop and into my house. My blackout blinds have already been rolled down, so as to keep out the daylight. As a dhamphir, Delilah does not hold an aversion to the sun, yet she abides by the darkness inside of my house all the same. She retreats to her room and I go to take a long shower.

  Once out, I lay down on my bed in the dark and shut my eyes. Normally day sleep comes upon me quite quickly. But not today. My head is filled with visions of pale skin and bright blue eyes.

  Hours pass, within which I have tossed and turned and paced the expanse of my bedroom many times over. I pick up the jeans I had been wearing last night and retrieve Tegan's phone number. It must be at least the middle of the day by now, perhaps it would be a good idea to call her.

  Before I pick up my phone though, I feel the sudden urge to glance out beyond my blinds at the sun. I step up close to the window and grip the edge of the material with my fingers. Rapidly I pull it back and a blinding ray of light shoots into my room, causing my vision to momentarily blur. I push the blind back into place and sit down on the edge of my bed, my phone now in my hand. The sun is symbolic for me on a number of levels, it is something I can never have, it is the unknown, it is blinding, debilitating, damaging, mysterious, beautifully bright, wonderful...Is this what Tegan might be too? All of these things, but much more easily within my reach?

  I pick up the crumpled piece of paper and dial in the numbers. The phone rings out a moment before her voice fills my ears.

  Read the full story in

  Tegan's Blood: Book One in the Ultimate Power Series

  and

  Tegan's Return: Book Two in the Ultimate Power Series

  About the Author

  L.H Cosway is a self-employed writer, editor and proofreader. She has a BA in English Literature and Greek and Roman Civilisation and an MA in Postcolonial Literature. She lives in Dublin city. Her inspiration to write comes from music. Her favourite things in life include writing stories, vintage clothing, dark cabaret music, food, musical comedy, and of course, books.