Can I come in?

FAY

In my head, I hear my poor mother's voice ringing my bell, 'Never open to strangers, Fayra!' and I regret not hearing it before twisting the knob.

In front of me is a tall figure wrapped in a black cape, a hood covering his face, and what is left uncovered is dressed in a burglary-style black mask.

I immediately shut the door, but as it's about to close for good, this weirdo blocks it, a solid hand holding it.

A voice, silken and dark and deathly cold, heavy with infinite grit, traverses my soul like a ghost. "Fayra..."

A chill spreads through my body at the express mention of my name. By no means do I want to be affiliated with this... being. And to the mere possibility that he could have a grasp of my identity is enough to turn my blood into ice.

"Is this Fayra..." There's a pause, and I'm beyond frosting now. I don't know the guy! "Jinksovan?"

"No!"

There's a chuckle, playful and sly.

What's so funny?

Not only is it sly, but it seems breathily unaffected, despite him subtly pushing the door broader, no matter how much weight I put on it.

"I'm sorry, but I've got to feed my-my..." Shit, Fay, say something! "Cat," I huff, mustering a strength I don't have.

While my slippers slide on the parquet, I dare ask, my nervous self surprised by my sudden temerity, "I'm sorry... Who are you?" It flies out of me in such an odd way, odder than the way I'm thoroughly attempting to shut the door in his face.

"I've got your bag and phone.Thinkyou lost it at The Restless..."

I forget I have bones or muscles, my arms turning into goo, and the door swings wide open.

As if on cue, the nagging chills currently residing on my spine decide to creep up my neck, and a shrug soon takes over me.

My eyes rapidly scan over this ominous silhouette, shades of dark unnaturally swathing his body. It's a brief eye flight for me, but it's enough to catch some pretty morbid vibes. Shadows are embedded in every fold and crook... It's as if these are alive, wavering over his every motion, even the shiest ones. Not only do I think I'm hallucinating, seeing this manifestation of darkness come alive, but I can also sense the darkness, as if slithering incomprehensible secrets into my ear. There's a tightening in my throat, and my eyes automatically slink down. This situation is starting to feel a lot like 'fuck'... This stranger emanates such a darkened aura that it permeates my composure, giving off strange energy riding inside my wings, straight up to the tips.

From what I'm looking at, he's one to be clean on himself, and perhaps he is not a thief from the choice of his shoes. Or perhaps, he is... and a good one. The truth is, I have no fucking clue.

Black Oxfords, polished and laced neatly. They could've been new if not for two little scratches lining the side of one of them. Somewhere, I don't feel like gliding my eyes up. Even more when my wings flicker briskly, betraying a fear alien to me. There's something about this presence; it hangs about my being as palpable and heavy as thick bat... wings.

Inevitably, my gaze streams up sleek ankles peeking out from tight leather pants, snugly fitted to this stranger's legs. Won't be able to see much of it, the hem of a cape soon conceals everything. It's a darn cloak, straightening up to the top of his hooded head.

As hands enter my vision, my purse in one clasp and my I.D. in the other, I swallow from those leather-gloved fingers... Very thin, slenderfingers—claw-like.

"By the way, your I.D. expired." I catch from under his leather mask, shielding his skin from nose to throat. He then cocks his head down and removes his hood.

His eyes, dark red, nearly black like old blood, glide up my body before any other motion of his. He's looking at me with this ravishingly dubious stare—one of a guilty wrongdoer who recently sinned—his chin slightly tucked in. Yet, how his eyes twinkle and curve into smirks make me believe he knows it and won't apologize for his crimes.

He hands me my belongings, which I hardly recognize taking, and unstraps his robber-style mask. "My apologies for being late the other night."

His face glows starkly pale against the corridor's light, and a stray glint goes winking from fang to fang as he steps closer, the smile that comes with them dangerously sharp.

"Excuse me?" I'm holding myself soferally, it's hard to breathe.

He chuckles again, but it's different this time. The sound is utterly satisfying for a reason beyond understanding.

"It's Vym."

I inhale and hold my breath, keeping it until I can't anymore. Eventually, a stream of 'fucking no, please' air whistles down my body as I pluck my gaze to my slippers.

"Can I come in?"

My eyes flash up, and the clock stops. Deep, ruby-colored eyes throw me into unwanted Tenebrae, a distant near eerie howl echoing against walls that aren't here...

"Fayra, can I come in?"

Dizzying into a senseless mess, I can't seem to hold on to a single thought.

Vym's pupils suddenly constrict, and a mad rush kicks in with an almost unbearable intensity. My throat seems undecided about what words to voice out, my tongue numbing as I struggle to get my bearings. Everything is spinning so fast...

"Yes?" echoes somewhere against the cage of my brain. It's savage, mindless, and nowhere close to a question. "Yes, come in..."

I close the door.

Some objects slip from my hands to my feet. Whatever these are, I'm too worn out to look down. There is a great deal of confusion in my mind—like a bloody level-100 migraine, actually. It's light bolting in my brain at every hushed breath I take. Against the door, I press my forehead, waiting for it to pass.

What just happened?

"Is everything all right?"

"Shi—" I swallow the 'T' as I jump to find a man on my right, placing a hood back over his head, the hem soon lower than his eyes. It covered him so quickly, obscuring even the slightest detail of his face, that I failed to catch a glimpse of it.

"Who are...? I mean, for how long? How did you get in!?" Fright hits me, wings running wild, springing me a good five feet away from him. Almost tumbling to a halt, I bump against the side of this miserable kitchen island, the edge striking at least two vertebrae and creasing my left wing.Gods, the shit fucking hell!

"Ms. Jinksovan, please do not get agitated. Your kindness allowed me to enter. Have you forgotten?" this tall silhouette says in an arrogant toss of his strained, rusted voice. He can cock his head; I don't find it the least adorable.

"I don't recall, no. Who are you?" I say, licking the dry fear off my lips, one hand rubbing my abused back, the other gripping the counter with purpose.

There's a gun in my bedroom left drawer—a little gift from Tyke. Though, there's a slight issue. The masked guy in the cape is standing right in the middle of the passage.

"Would you mind closing the curtains before I introduce myself?"

Now, he's tilting to the left like a psychopath, analyzing my every move. I feel his hidden eyes run over me like a beer-fueled truck. He doesn't even bother to conceal his deep, satisfied sigh. I turn toward the living room window. I can't see the sky, but from the intense sunrays spearing the room, I'd say it's a nice sunny day...

"Vampire?" I'm pulling out aQaren, the scrunched-up face, a cross-legged posture, same with my iron-tensed arms, and let's not forget the hissing bitchy voice that always comes with it.Honestly, it's never been so legit.

"Ms. Fayra Jinksovan, I insist you close the curtains."

He is...

He's a vampire.

I glance furtively at him. Leather gloves, sharp studs covering the back of the hands up to the tip of the fingers, all ten tipped with metallic claws. My gaze levels up to his face, and I notice a silver-like cross swinging shyly in the darkness of his hood.Earring...My fists turn into hard rocks when I land on lips redder than blood, a canine edging from underneath. There is a blueish tint to his skin, small veins roving away from his marble-like chin. He looks so young... like all of them, I guess.

This sharp mouth curls into a lunatic-hungry grin. Right now, I'm attempting the impossible—to blend into the granite and become one with it.

"Close the curtains." A growl, low and heavy, threatening. After deliberation, I think I like Mondays. In fact, I'm ready to have a row of them if that means skipping Tuesdays!

With a gun in mind, I thrust myself toward my bedroom door.

My wings haven't begun lifting me, and the man snatches my wrist. "You have to know, I sense fear like no other, Ms. Jinksovan." Other fingers slither around my neck, claws lightly rushing over my rapidly pulsing throat. "I..." his deadly deep rasp lingers, his digits slowly dancing over my skin as he brings his lips closer to my ear, "am no threat."

I manage to step out of his hold or whatever it is. "Okay," I reply with as much enthusiasm as I can muster, which is, by the dry sound of it, close to nil.

"Now, please, be a darling and shut those curtains."