The hunger wasn't just a feeling anymore; it was a noise. A high-pitched whine in the back of Ted's skull that drowned out the sound of the wind rushing past his ears.He had run until his legs felt like lead, eventually collapsing near a gravel lot off the highway. Across the road, a neon sign buzzed with a dying flicker: Joe's Roadside Diner. The lights inside were being killed, one by one.Food, Ted thought, his rational mind trying to claw its way back to the surface. Maybe I just need calories. Maybe if I eat until I'm full, the burning stops.He stumbled across the asphalt. He reached into his pocket, but his fingers met only lint. The wad of cash from his tip jar must have fallen out miles back when he was running through the tall grass.He pushed through the glass door just as the lock was about to be turned. The smell hit him first—stale coffee, bacon grease, and bleach. To a human, it would smell like a diner at closing time. To Ted, it smelled like a slaughterhouse masked by chemicals."We're closed, kid," a voice boomed.A large man in a grease-stained apron—the chef—stepped out of the kitchen. He took one look at Ted—sweating, pale, shaking in a hoodie in July—and his expression softened from annoyance to pity."Please," Ted rasped, his voice sounding like grinding stones. "Anything. I just need... to eat."The chef sighed, wiping his hands on a rag. "Sit down. I got a patty left over. On the house."Ted collapsed onto a red vinyl stool. Minutes later, a plate slid in front of him. A burger, dripping with cheese and grease. Ted didn't wait. He grabbed it with trembling hands and shoved it into his mouth.He chewed, but there was no relief. The meat tasted like wet ash. The bun felt like dry sponge. He swallowed, hoping his stomach would accept it, but the organ revolted. The food sat there, a heavy, useless lump, while the other hunger—the one coiled in his veins—screamed in protest. Not this, it whispered. The other thing."You okay there, son?"The chef had come around the counter. He reached out a hand to steady Ted's shoulder.That was the mistake.The moment the chef's skin touched Ted's, the world narrowed down to a single point. Ted could feel the heat radiating from the man's wrist. He could hear the heavy, hydraulic pump of the man's heart. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. It was the loudest sound in the universe.Ted's vision red-shifted. The rational part of his brain, the part that was an architect and a son, was shoved into a dark closet and locked away. The Beast took the wheel."I'm sorry," Ted whispered, though he wasn't the one speaking.He moved faster than thought. Ted lunged, his hands gripping the chef's shoulders with the strength of a hydraulic press. He buried his face in the crook of the man's neck.The skin gave way like wet paper.The first taste was electric. It wasn't just blood; it was life. It was memories, warmth, and pure, unadulterated energy flooding Ted's starving system. He drank greedily, gutturally, the sound of his own swallowing filling the silence of the diner. The chef didn't even scream; the shock and the speed had paralyzed him. Ted drained him until the heavy thumping slowed, faltered, and finally stopped.Ted pulled back, gasping, his mouth stained crimson. The euphoria vanished instantly, replaced by a crushing wave of physiological shock. His body, overwhelmed by the sudden influx of power, shut down.He hit the floor before the chef's body did.Laura sat in the corner booth, swirling the last dregs of her black coffee. She had not noticed what was going onShe placed a ten-dollar bill on the table and stood up to leave, stepping over the threshold of the kitchen.A scream pierced the air. The young waiter, coming out of the back with a mop bucket, had stumbled onto the scene. She stood over the chef's gray, exsanguinated body, her eyes wide with horror.Laura sighed. "Messy," she muttered.She walked into the kitchen. The waiter was on the floor now, fainted from shock. The chef was gone. And the boy in the hoodie—the killer—was curled in a fetal ball near the fryer, unconscious.Laura looked down at him. She tilted her head, intrigued. "Well, aren't you a fresh disaster."The first thing Ted felt was the cold metal biting into his wrists.He gasped awake, jerking upward, but was immediately yanked back down. He was seated in a heavy wooden chair, his arms bound to the armrests by thick, rusted chains.He wasn't in the diner. He was in a room with peeling floral wallpaper and the smell of dried herbs and sulfur."Had a long nap, now did you?"Ted's head snapped up. Sitting across from him, legs crossed, was a woman. She looked to be about his age, with sharp features and dark eyes that seemed to hold too much light. In her hands, she held a strange object—an antique clock, but the face had no numbers, only symbols, and the hands weren't moving."Where... where am I?" Ted stammered, pulling at the chains. They didn't budge. "What did you do?""Unimportant," the woman said, her voice bored. "You have better things to worry about. Like convincing me not to turn your insides into outsides.""Please," Ted panicked, the memory of the chef crashing back into his mind. Tears welled in his eyes. "I didn't mean to... I don't know what happened. Let me go."He pulled harder, his vampire strength flaring. The metal should have snapped. Instead, the chains glowed with a searing white light. Ted cried out as the metal burned his skin, his strength evaporating instantly."Ah, ah," she chided, wagging a finger. "Those are laced with binding magic. Keep struggling, and they'll burn right through to the bone. I'm a Witch, darling. Did you really think I'd bring a rabid dog into my house without a leash?"Ted froze. Witch. The word felt ridiculous, but so did the fact that he had just drunk a man's blood. He slumped in the chair, defeated. "What do you want?""Answers." She held up the clock. "This is a truthteller. You lie, the hands spin backwards, and I kill you. You tell the truth, we keep talking. Simple?"Ted nodded, terrified."Question one," she said, her eyes locked on the clock. "Who turned you?""I don't know her name," Ted whispered. "Some woman. In an alley."The clock remained still."Question two," Laura continued. "When were you turned?""Four days ago."Laura's eyes snapped from the clock to Ted's face. Her mask of boredom cracked. "Four days?" she repeated. She looked at the clock again. It hadn't moved. "You're a fledgling? You should be raving mad. You shouldn't even be able to form a sentence."She regained her composure, though her grip on the clock tightened. "Question three. If I told you there was a cure... would you take it?"Ted didn't hesitate. The image of the chef's lifeless eyes flashed in his mind. "Yes. God, yes."The clock hummed, a soft, harmonious sound.Laura stared at him for a long moment. Then, she stood up. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a simple silver band with a small, dark blue stone set into it.She walked over to Ted, took his left hand, and slid the ring onto his finger. With a wave of her other hand, the chains fell away, clattering to the floor."Get up," she commanded. "We have to go."Ted rubbed his wrists, looking at her with bewildered eyes. "You're... you're letting me loose? Just like that? Aren't you afraid I'll run?""Two reasons I'm not worried," Laura said, walking toward the heavy oak door. "One, the clock proved you didn't choose this life and you don't want it. That makes you a victim, not a monster. Yet."She paused, hand on the doorknob. "And two, there's a containment barrier over this entire property. You couldn't leave if you tried. You'd just bounce off the air."Ted scrambled to his feet, but stopped dead as she opened the door. Bright, blinding morning light poured into the room."I can't!" Ted yelled, shielding his face. "The sun... it burns!"Laura rolled her eyes. "Look at your hand, idiot."Ted paused. He looked at the silver ring."It's a Daylight Ring," Laura explained. "Standard issue for the accidentally damned. As long as you wear that, the sun is just sun."She stepped out onto the porch. She muttered something under her breath—a string of guttural words that made the air shimmer like a heat mirage. "Barrier down."She turned and looked at him expectantly.Ted took a breath. He stepped toward the open door. He extended one hand into the beam of light. No smoke. No pain. Just warmth.He stepped out fully. The morning sun hit his face, warm and golden. He closed his eyes, feeling the heat soak into his cold, dead skin. For the first time in four days, he didn't feel like a monster hiding in the dark. He felt like Ted."Coming?" Laura asked, walking toward an old beat-up Jeep in the driveway. "We have work to do.""I'm coming," Ted said. And for the first time, he followed not because he was hungry, but because he had hope.
TO VE CONTINUED...