38. 37

37

Serina

One Week Later…

T he night embraced me like an old friend as I trailed the narrow path in the park. I had gotten used to staying in the shadows.

The guys have had looking into Witches here recently, but apparently Witches and Vampires had a longstanding history of not being the best of friends.

I wasn’t too worried about it; I was sure I could get Brielle to help me.

Over the last week, Bastian, Nox, and Thorne had poured their centuries of knowledge into me—how to move unseen, how to listen to my surroundings, how to quell the thirst.

They thought I was ready, and I clung to that belief as I tailed the jogger, my current prey.

He was a mere smudge of warmth in my newfound vision, his heartbeat a steady drum that called to the hunger gnawing at my insides. I could do this.

Victor believed me to be dead again, or at least that was what the guys were hearing from others, and I didn’t want to wait anymore. This time, my appearance truly would come as a surprise.

Thorne had argued it was too soon for me to venture out alone, that the bloodlust would make me too eager. But I was tired of waiting, of being the student. I was a Vampire now, and tonight, I would prove it not just to them, but to myself.

My father's cabin had been our refuge since what happened at the warehouse. But I still hadn’t processed being in my dad’s cabin again. Instead, I had done my best to stay busy with learning.

It was where we planned, where we healed, but it was also where we were hiding, and I was done with hiding.

I measured the distance between me and the jogger. The air was crisp, carrying his scent to me. This was one of the last tests—a stranger's blood coursing through me without taking his life.

It was one thing to drink from Sam, who knew what I was and had offered herself willingly to test my restraint. It was another to pull a living, breathing human into the shadows and taste their lifeforce on my tongue.

The jogger's pace began to wane, his breaths turning to ragged gasps that echoed through the stillness of the night.

Seizing the moment, I darted forward with a swiftness that still startled me. The rush of predatory speed was as intoxicating as the hunt itself. In one fluid motion, I yanked him off the path and into the concealment of the woods.

Before he could even register a grunted protest, my fangs found the throbbing pulse at his neck. My senses flared to life as I drank deeply, the warmth of his blood cascading down my throat. A low hum vibrated in my chest, a sound of pure, primal contentment.

This wasn't just sustenance, it was raw—rich and complex.

It was only the second time since… since everything changed.

Sam had been brave, offering herself up for my practice, trusting me to pull back from the brink.

But this? This was the real test. Feeding from a stranger, someone who didn't know the monster lurking in the shadows, someone who didn't sign up to be my dinner.

And God, did his blood sing to me. It was a melody that filled the hollow ache within, a euphoria that danced along my nerves and set my heart racing. I could feel every nuance of his essence, a connection so intimate but fleeting.

For a moment, I was lost in it, riding the crest of an exquisite high that made me forget.

In that instant, I wrenched myself away, my breaths coming in ragged gasps that mirrored the pulse of the man crumpled at my feet.

He was dazed, eyes wide with a fear that sent a shiver down my spine—not of him, but of myself, and the monstrous ease with which I'd taken what I wanted. I crouched in front of him.

“Go home,” I breathed out, the command weaving through the air between us as he held my stare. “Eat, get some rest, and forget this ever happened.”

His gaze clouded over, and he nodded slowly before staggering to his feet and shuffling away, leaving me alone.

The walk back to the cabin was a blur. My hunger was sated, the beast within lulled into a satisfied silence, but the guilt… the guilt clawed at me with every familiar sight that greeted me as I opened the door to the house.

Dad’s recliner was just where he'd left it, the leather creased and faded from countless afternoons spent buried in books of lore or nodding off to the drone of some old movie. I walked over and let my fingers trace over the worn armrests, half expecting to feel the warmth of his presence, to hear the chuckle in his voice as he'd call out, There's my girl.

I hadn’t let myself really see this place since we’d been here; I had been keeping myself busy with training and moving. I had always kept moving… but now, as I stopped to look around, everything was just as he left it.

Pictures lined the walls, snapshots of a life that now felt like someone else's story. The ache in my chest twisted tighter as I spotted the little Bluetooth speaker on the kitchen counter, a layer of dust on top of it. I could almost hear the melodies we used to sing along to while he cooked and danced, the laughter that filled the room, the smells of coffee and spices and the warmth of the oven. Even his bourbon glass was still sitting where he left it.

A glass clinked softly against the bottle as I poured his favorite bourbon into my own cup, the amber liquid swirling before settling. I leaned back against the counter, legs giving way until I was sitting on the cool tile floor, the first tear breaking free as the glass touched my lips.

The burn of the liquor was a welcomed pain, a stark reminder that I was still capable of feeling something other than anger…

I should let myself feel something other than anger… so I did.

The man who'd guided me and taught me how to stand strong, to fight back against the darkness and give second chances… he couldn't guide me through this.

My vengeance had always propelled me forward, but here, surrounded by everything I hadn’t allowed myself to drown in, I realized I hadn't really mourned him. The dam I had carefully constructed began to crack.

Would he have understood the rage? The mistakes I made? Could he have accepted Bastian, Nox, and Thorne?

They were everything he'd warned me about and everything I never knew I needed. My father might have seen their strength, their loyalty, but would he have looked beyond their nature to see the men they truly were?

My heart ached with unanswered questions, with the impossibility of ever knowing if he could have embraced this twisted, fucked-up fate that had become my reality.

Hell, would he have accepted me now that I was a Vampire?

If only his life hadn't been cut short, maybe our paths would've crossed under different circumstances.

Maybe love would have found me anyway.

The thought was a small comfort, but it was quickly overshadowed by the weight of loss. The emptiness in the cabin was palpable, every corner filled with ghosts of the past, whispering of a life that should have been mine.

He should still be here. We should have died together that night. Why did I make it and he didn’t?

You’re a survivor, Serina. Remember that, sweetheart. His words echoed in my mind, and I had to swallow my sob as the knot in my throat kept growing and growing no matter how hard I tried to force it down. Tears fell freely.

“Why are you sitting on the floor, in the middle of the night, with bourbon?” Nox's voice pulled me from my thoughts, the soft concern in his tone wrapping around me.

I glanced up to see him standing in the doorway, his mechanics gloves stained with grease as he peeled them off, evidence of his own way of coping when something was on his mind.

“Didn't anyone ever tell you that the best parties always happen on the floor in the kitchen?” I forced a smile, my words coming out broken and blubbering as I attempted to mask the turmoil within me. But it felt to hollow, even to my own ears. “Or bathroom floors, those are the ones where you really pour your heart out.”

Becoming a Vampire seemed to amplify everything—each emotion was more intense, each sensation sharper.

Even now, as I grappled with the pain of loss, it felt as though my very soul were being torn apart, each ragged edge raw and exposed. Nox didn't need to say anything; the understanding in his eyes was enough.

Nox gave me a weak smile. It was a fragile thing in the dim light of the kitchen, but it reached his eyes, those deep wells of shared sorrow and understanding. He shuffled over to the counter, bypassing the glasses, and took the bourbon bottle in his hand with a familiarity that spoke of many nights just like this one.

“Mind if I join your party then?” he asked, voice low, as though he was too afraid to ask what was wrong. Instead, he opted for being my silent support.

All I could do was nod, my head feeling heavy from the crying already. Nox slid down beside me, the bottle passing from his hands to mine. I tipped it back, feeling the burn slide down my throat, not quite feeling the alcohol taking the edge off yet.

It would take far more now to tamper down the hurt. Vampire constitution was both a blessing and a curse.

The backdoor creaked open; Bastian and Thorne had returned from wherever they had run off to.

They stepped into the room, and Bastian didn't even pause, rushing over to me and lowering himself to the floor, his warmth immediately seeping into the chilled spaces between us. Thorne wasn't far behind, and there I was, suddenly enveloped by them all.

“What's wrong, love?” Bastian's voice was tender, and those words, that question? Completely shattered me.

The dam I had meticulously built within myself crumbled, and the tears began to free-fall, fast and relentless. Each drop felt like a piece of my soul escaping, a release of the pain that had been festering since the night everything changed.

I missed my dad with a ferocity that threatened to consume me.

“Shh, Serina,” Thorne murmured, his arm wrapping around me, as if he could shield me against the onslaught of my grief.

It was absurd—a monster hunter who hunted Vampires for vengeance was now turned into a Vampire and was weeping on the kitchen floor, flanked by the three Vampires she had fallen in love with.

How fucked up was that?… But in that moment, none of that mattered.

Thorne's question pulled me back from the edge, his voice a gentle prod that sought to unravel the knot of anguish in my chest. “Was it the hunt? Did something go wrong?” His concern was palpable.

I shook my head, feeling the brush of Bastian's thumb across my cheek, wiping away streaks of tears. I was sure I looked like a raccoon from my mascara running. Nox's grip on my hand was steady and reassuring.

I took a deep breath, letting their silent support anchor me as the words tumbled out. “It's not the hunt. It's just… this place is full of memories. Memories of him, of us, when we were a family.”

In the hushed quiet, Bastian's voice cut through the sorrow with a softness that made my heart flutter. “What's your favorite memory? Would you like to talk about him?”

The invitation cracked open a door I'd kept shut for too long, and I stepped through it gratefully. Words began to flow, halting at first, then with growing warmth.

I spoke of summer days spent fishing with Dad, laughter echoing off the lake's surface. I spoke of Mickeys, hunts with the whole family, Sam, Brielle, our little getaways, how Mom would scold us for tracking mud into the cabin, her eyes dancing with mirth all the while.

As the night wore on, we traded stories, the weight of grief lifting with each shared memory and every burst of laughter.

Time blurred, the darkness outside softening to the gray light of pre-dawn. My eyelids drooped, heavy with exhaustion and the pleasant fog of too much bourbon.

“Come on, love. Let's get you to bed.” Bastian's arms enveloped me, lifting me as if I weighed nothing. His strength was a balm to my weary bones, and I nestled against his chest, the steady thump of his heart a lullaby.

“Kitchen floor parties are always the best,” I mumbled drunkenly, the words slurred but heartfelt.

Nestled in the cocoon of Bastian's embrace, I allowed myself to be carried away from the kitchen, from the grief of the past, and into a refuge with the three men who had become my unexpected anchors.