Chapter 1

Charlotte Sanguinite

"Sorry, sorry!" I push my way past the customers already lining up in front of the counter to get their coffee. "I missed the bus! I'll be with you in a minute, Jazz!"

I don't wait for my colleague's response, rushing into the back room and throwing open my locker. I stuff everything inside, running my fingers through my long, red curls before tying them up in a tight bun. I'm already aware of the prominent bags under my forest green eyes. No amount of ice or cold spoons has been able to get rid of them.

Fortunately, I was smart enough to put on my uniform before leaving home. Vampires can move fast, but while I'm of that species, aside from the blood I have to drink regularly to survive, I don't have any of their special attributes. Which is why running all the way from my apartment to the small coffee shop on Northeast 4th Avenue has me out of breath. I wheeze a bit before hurrying back out front.

Jazz, with her pink hair and bold, silver eyeshadow, has the customers eyeing her in blatant interest.

"Three lattes and two espressos, Charlotte," Jazz says, her voice throaty. I notice the red marks around her neck and press my lips together, trying to rein in my curiosity about what she and her boyfriend, Marcus, were up to last night. Jazz and Marcus have a similar style of dressing: outrageously bold hairstyles, dark leather clothes, and more often than not, spiked chokers around their necks.

The only reason Jazz works here is because her father recently bought this cafe. That's not to say that Jazz isn't a hard worker or a nice person. She looks intimidating, but she's a sweetheart.

"Gotcha." I tie the apron around my waist before calling out, "Sorry, folks. My bad. I'll have your coffees with you in a jiffy!"

"Did you work late last night?" Jazz asks, handing me another slip and bagging a muffin.

I yawn as I froth some milk in a jug. "Yeah. I was making the dough so Gina could get a head start on the croissants. Got home around two."

"Did you log your hours?"

"Yup," I grin. "Need the overtime."

"You also need sleep." Jazz gives me a sharp look as I hand her two of the lattes. "You look like death warmed over."

"You have such a way with words, Jazz." I roll my eyes at her. "New customer. Look out."

She gets back to taking orders and filling up the cash register while I keep preparing the early morning caffeine drinks that nearly the entire street drops by to purchase. Having a coffee shop located in such a busy business district of Portland has its advantages. I always wondered why the previous owner sold off this place. But Jazz's father, with his magic business touch, has brought new life to it. A wooden ambience that provides a romantic setting in the evenings and a comfortable workplace for freelancers in the mornings has brought a lot of customers here. Which means the tips are hefty.

It takes us more than an hour to get through the majority of the morning rush. At the end of it, Jazz stretches her arms over her head. "Man, I hate the morning shift."

"Why did you get assigned to the morning again?" I ask her as I prepare a vanilla frappe for her. I'm already munching on a muffin.

Jazz rounds the counter and sits down in one of the booths, stretching her legs over the seat. "Dad caught me sneaking out with Marcus for a concert. His plan is to work me to death, I guess."

I glance at her wrist. "From the look of it, you still managed to sneak out again last night."

She smirks and tries to rub away the stamp mark from the club she must have visited. "Marcus had his band playing there. I swear, if it weren't for the trust fund, I would have moved out the minute I turned eighteen, two months ago."

"Sure," I scoff. "And leave your old father alone in that mansion of his? With no one to look after him? I doubt it."

"I could do it!" Jazz tries to sound convincing, and I laugh, handing her the drink.

"Jazz, you love your dad. You're not going anywhere. He's just worried about you. You know that."

The teenager sips her drink. "Marcus understands me. I don't know why that's so hard for Dad to get."

"I wish I could help you in that department," I murmur as I look out the shop window, "but my father didn't care what I did."

"He threw you out, didn't he?" Jazz gives me a curious look. "Sorry, I heard Grace talking about it."

I shrug, warming my hands by wrapping them around the hot cup of coffee I've made for myself. "Yeah. When I was fourteen. Eight years ago, I guess. You're lucky to have a father who cares about you, Jazz. I always say people should count their blessings."

Jazz is quiet, her expression pensive.

I rarely talk about my past. I try not to think about my family or my clan. It doesn't help that the compound where my clan lives is on the edge of Portland. At times, I've considered moving away, but I guess I don't have those kinds of guts.

I see a man crossing the road, and my eyes widen fractionally. "Uh, oh, it's that guy. I'm going into the back."

"What guy?" Jazz straightens up and peers around the booth. When she sees him, the corner of her mouth tightens. "Really, Charlotte. What do you have against him? It's not his fault his face is scarred."

"It's not the scar," I say, starting to stand up. "I just don't want to talk to him."

Just then, a ringtone blares in the cafe, and Jazz reaches for her pocket. She blinks at the name on the screen before shooting me an apologetic look. "Sorry, it's my thesis supervisor. I gotta take this." I watch her reach for her backpack and bring out her laptop. "I'm going to need the back office."

Great.

I really didn't want to have to face this particular customer. Body tense, I slide through the gap to get behind the counter. The door opens, and an older man walks in. If it weren't for the terrible scarring on the left side of his face, he could almost be called handsome. His nose is a little crooked and his eyes a deep, cerulean blue. His dark brown hair is carefully styled, and he's wearing a gray suit that is covered by a long overcoat, a staple for the chilly autumn weather we're experiencing. I would put him in his mid- to late thirties.

But it's not his scar or his age that bothers me. Nor is he a rude person. What bothers me is what he is.

A wolf shifter.

Wolf shifters have always had a barely cordial relationship with vampires. But a couple of years ago, my father and my older brother, Clyde, got caught selling a drug to the shifters that had negative repercussions on the latter. The shifters were in cahoots with two Alphas, and at the end of it all, Clyde paid with his life. Ever since, Beruth Sanguinite, my father and the leader of the Nelo Clan, has not given up on his purpose: to drive out the wolf shifters altogether. Clashes have become more commonplace between shifters and vampires, and I try to stay away from the lot of them.

The scarred man approaching me is an Alpha, a prominent one. Alphas have a harsher energy about them. Vampires don't have a very keen sense of smell, but we can read energies. This man has a blazing form, and it's intimidating. Ever since I joined this coffee shop, he's been coming in daily, and I've been avoiding him. He must know of my existence, obviously, since wolf shifters can pick up even the slightest of scents, but he's never said anything, and he hasn't stopped coming here.

Nervous, I wait for him to approach me, a small knife in my hand under the counter. I know a knife isn't a sufficient weapon if he decides to reach over and rip my throat out. I don't even have the fast reflexes my kind typically has; I'm a defective vampire up against an Alpha.

Anxiety fills me as he gets closer.

"What can I get you, sir?" The words tumble out of me so fast that they're almost unintelligible.

He blinks at me, and I see him take a discreet sniff of the air.

My heart nearly crawls into my mouth at the sight.

"I—We have—We have a special of the day, th—the Halloween Pumpkin Frappe."

My hand is gripping the knife so tightly, the blade slices my skin.

The scent of my blood is thick in the air now, and the Alpha studies me, frowning. I'm going to hyperventilate. I know I am.

This is not how I planned on dying. I still have my laundry hanging outside on the balcony. Who's going to bring it in if I'm dead?

The thought is so utterly ridiculous that I blink, finding some sanity in the chaos building in my mind.

"Perhaps you should tend to your hand first," the Alpha says slowly.

The knife clatters to the ground, and I stare at the man.

His voice is husky, and it rubs along my skin in a way that has me suppressing a shiver.

"I—" I look down at my hand. The blood is dripping onto the floor from the deep cut in my palm. I don't have the normal vampire healing ability, and I'm beginning to feel a bit concerned.

"I can wait," the Alpha says calmly. "You can tend to your injury first."

I would rather serve him and have him leave, but I have to prioritize.

"Just give me a moment," I say hastily, crouching to the floor and reaching for the small first aid kit that we usually keep under the counter in case of emergencies. I have to put the box on the counter, and I fumble with the bandage. The Alpha gives me an odd look. I hurriedly wrap the bandage around my palm and slam the box shut before turning back to him.

"Sorry about that. What can I get you?"

I see his eyes linger on my hand, where the blood is spreading through the bandage. I close my fist, ignoring the stinging sensation. I can't help it; I've always been a bleeder.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine. What would you like to order?"

It's hard to keep my voice professional. After a few seconds of tense silence, the Alpha looks at the menu board. "I'll have a black coffee, plain, two chocolate muffins, three chicken sandwiches..."

He keeps going on and on, and I frantically try to keep up. Everything in the bakery case has been freshly prepared just a few hours ago, and the man empties more than half of it. Despite how anxious I am, my curiosity gets the best of me. "Is this all for you?"

The Alpha blinks, and then his lips curve into a smile so charming that I feel a light flutter in my belly, my toes curling. His smile lights up his eyes, and a dimple forms in his right cheek. He's not ridiculously handsome, but there is a boyish charm to him that makes my heart skip a beat.

"This would be my breakfast, me being a growing boy and all."

He's funny.

Oh, God, he's funny, too.

I lower my head, wishing I had never asked.

"I—Of course." I feel so flustered that I nearly drop one of the bags I'm folding over.

Most of the men I've dated have been human. Vampires don't want me, so human men have been my only option. I've never even looked at a wolf shifter with any sort of intention aside from keeping a ten-foot distance between us. This is the first time I've ever properly interacted with one.

And the moment I do, I end up thinking he's appealing.

Another reason why I should avoid this guy.

"Here you go." I hand him the three paper bags and his coffee. "That will be thirty-five dollars."

He hands me his card, and I glance at his name.

Robert Montgomery.

Why is that name so familiar? I've definitely heard it before somewhere.

I swipe his card, and he leaves. But as he walks out the door, I see him look over his shoulder at me.

I avert my gaze quickly.

Even if he's charming and funny, he's an Alpha. I need to steer clear of that man.

******

When I was thrown out of my home at the age of fourteen, the rejection from my clan and family had been devastating. And yet, there was relief. No more bullying. No more torturous nights where I would have to sleep with one eye open, trying to anticipate my younger sister, Arabella, and her friends breaking into my room and doing something to me.

I had to live in a women's shelter for a few months till I found a job as a waitress by lying about my age. I got myself enrolled in a local high school and finished my basic education. I managed to move into an apartment that was owned by an old man who just wanted company and was willing to let me stay there. When he passed away a couple of years ago, he willed his apartment to me. It's where I live now.

And these days, I support myself with a job that pays well and this volunteer position that pays me with free food for my one-eyed tabby at home.

I dim the lights of the front office of the animal shelter, knowing that at this late hour, nobody will be coming in. I start bottle-feeding one of the rescued kittens someone brought in. They need to be fed every three hours, and after feeding these babies, I'm going to head out. The rest of the animals have been fed, the cats have had their litter changed, and the dogs have been petted and cuddled and are now sleeping peacefully.

Animals have always liked me. And I've always been drawn to them.

They don't hurt me, and I find solace in their companionship.

I glance at the wall clock as I burp the little kitten. It's nearing midnight. I have to get home.

Ricky, the vet who stays overnight here, is supposed to take over after me, but he still hasn't arrived.

I put the kittens in their small enclosure in the back before returning to the front office. Yawning, I look at the dark street outside.

This past week has been a strange one.

After my interaction with the wolf shifter, I made sure to let someone else deal with him each time he came into the cafe. I've caught him watching me a couple of times, but he doesn't say anything. He's very polite, and the rest of the staff, including Jazz, likes him. He leaves a tip every time, and he buys us out of our baked items almost every morning.

His eyes, though… I can't stop thinking about them. They're the prettiest blue I've ever seen. And the way his cheeks creased, merriment dancing in his gaze… Each time I recall it, my heart beats in an unsteady rhythm. The stupidity of my reaction isn't lost on me. He's an Alpha, and I'm a vampire. Not only that, I'm much weaker than an ordinary vampire. Weakness is always eliminated. I don't know about wolves, but with vampires, a clan is only as strong as its weakest link. Which is why I was surprised my father let me stick around for as long as he did.

An Alpha like Robert Montgomery, with his playful smile and mesmerizing eyes, would look at me with nothing but disdain if he realized that I found myself inconveniently attracted to him. He might even consider it an insult.

It's not like I plan on saying anything, but a crush is a crush, and being aware of how I can't even compare to him is just another blow in a series of them.

Sighing, I get to my feet.

With nothing else to do, I walk out the front door to begin lowering the shutters partially. However, as soon as I step outside, the faint scent of blood hits me. I stiffen.

Looking up and down the street, I see no one.

This is not animal blood, nor is it human blood.

It's either vampire or wolf.

I hesitate and consider going back inside. I don't want to get involved with either kind of blood. As I'm about to turn, I see a figure stumbling down the road. It's a man, based on his build. He's gripping the wall for support, one hand holding his neck. The smell of blood is making my instincts sharp, and my stomach rumbles. However, I have managed to regulate my hunger for a very long time now, so even as my irises are undoubtedly turning red, I am still wholly in control of myself.

The man is bleeding badly. Whoever got to him did a number on him. I'm still standing by the door, one hand on the handle, telling myself to go back indoors. But something inside me finds the idea of leaving an injured being out here alone, possibly on the verge of death, reprehensible. But if I intervene, there will be consequences.

I have tried to remain invisible for years.

That cloak might be stripped off of me.

As the man walks under a street light, my eyes widen in alarm and shock.

I know who that is.

Robert Montgomery!