Chapter Text
“I can’t help you. I’m sorry,” Adam Martin says with a shake of his head, before he tightens his grip on the rickety wooden door of his townhome. “Please leave.”
And at that, the door slams with a resounding thud, dissipating the last sliver of light that came from the warm interior of the home and leaving Natalie with nothing but the dark, the cold, and the sinking feeling of failure in her chest.
“Are you fucking serious?” Natalie growls, hoping the anger in her voice will hide the tremors of rising panic she feels. “Adam, come on, open the damn door.”
There’s no response from behind the wooden door. Through the narrow slits of the window, Natalie can see the lights inside the house turn off — an unofficial way of telling her to fuck off.
Shit.
Feeling it an appropriate moment, Natalie kicks the door. “I know you’re listening, Adam!”
“Nat, stop,” Kevyn says weakly from beside her, putting a hand on her shoulder. Natalie jerks herself out of his grasp and gives the door another resounding kick. “It’s no use.”
“No, fuck this,” Natalie spits in return, the words tumbling out of her chest with sharp, exhausted breaths, the two harsh kicks she gave the door already enough to wind her. Shit. She’s weaker than ever, now — she can feel it. Her legs are trembling, her skin is clammy, there’s sweat matting her forehead, and underneath it all, there’s an undercurrent of something ever-omnipresent: hunger .
The look Kevyn gives her hardly hides the concern. “Nat... you don’t look so good.”
“I’m fine,” Natalie bites, before returning her focus to the shut door in front of them. “Fuck this guy. How many jobs have we done for this him? How many times have we busted our ass running errands and killing feral bloodsuckers, only for him to shut us out when we need help? He’s a coward.”
Natalie then turns and yells towards one of the upstairs windows. “You hear that, Martin? You’re a fucking coward!” It's loud, and probably enough to alert the neighbors, but whatever. He better be embarrassed. Prick.
“Natalie, stop,” Kevyn says in a sharp whisper, once again grabbing her by the shoulder, but this time forcefully pulling her down the street. “What'll we do if he calls the cops?”
“They can’t do anything to me. I’m a hunter.”
“Ex hunter.”
“They—" Natalie cuts herself off with a sharp inhale, before continuing: "They can't know that. A badge is a badge.”
Kevyn frowns, and through the flickering light of the streetlamps, Natalie can see him give her a look that can only be described as pity. Kevyn would never say it out loud: he knows there’s nothing Natalie hates more than pity. But it’s there nonetheless, and Natalie tries not to let the hurt make her bitter.
“It’s not worth the risk,” he says quietly. “You know that, Nat.”
And, shit. She balls her hands into fists, feeling her ragged and overgrown nails press deeply into her palms to the point of drawing blood, and tries to will back the frustrated tears that threaten to well in her eyes.
“Yeah, okay. I know,” she replies bitterly, and deep inside her, something breaks at the admission.
Because... fuck. Adam Martin was their last chance at getting some money. As vampire hunters, Natalie and Kevyn have spent their lives doing odd errands and the feral vampires that threaten local areas. (Well, Natalie did. Kevyn watched.) The vampires she took on were never large threats — usually weak, solo ones, separated from their covens or with dead sires, who prey on farmers’ livestock and whatever poor victims they can grab out of alleyways.
It isn't as though she can't take on bigger cases. In theory, at least. Natalie is, in the Hunter Association’s words, a ‘once in five-hundred-year talent’. Whatever that means. A lot of people had big expectations for her — told her she'd be something big, something special.
And as always, Natalie disappoints.
It's fine. To her, hunting vampires is more like... putting down dogs. When they go rabid or threaten the lives of humans, they should be put down. But up until that point, Natalie is content to let vampires and humans each live their own respective lives. Preferably, away from each other. And even when she does kill, she makes a point to ensure it's as quick and painless as possible.
After all, even the eldest of vampires were human, once.
The Hunter’s Association hadn't taken to her pacifist attitude very kindly.
Still, Natalie is — was, fuck — too valuable an asset to let go. It’s Kevyn who had served as the limiting factor, or, in the Association’s words, ‘a damning rein on her talent’. Kev is, well… uh. He can at least hold a knife? Swinging and slashing isn't really his style, and blood grosses him out. If Natalie can be considered an ‘A-Rank’ hunter, Kevyn would be solidly in the ‘D-Minus’ tier, right beside the middle-schoolers and the legally blind.
So... yeah. Kevyn seriously limits the level of job they can take at times. But Natalie doesn’t mind — she doesn’t want to be a world-class hunter, taking down vampires ten times her age and basking in the glory. She’s content in the life the two of them have built for themselves, and she wouldn’t give up Kev for the world.
Besides, her relative skill usually meant that they’d be paid a little extra, their clients happy to have the skills of a high-level hunter for the price of a low one.
Adam Martin was one of those clients, once upon a time. A discreet man, quiet and brooding and not a regular smiler, sure, but he paid well and never asked questions. Natalie has been doing work for him since she was, like, eight years old, an entire decade. He's never been overly friendly, but she'd thought—
She thought that maybe he cared, at least a little.
Clearly, she was wrong.
Kevyn brings the two of them to an empty alleyway and slides down the wall, Natalie following suit with a grimace and a muttered swear under her breath at the exertion the action takes. Damn. Unfortunately, this is the kind of exhaustion the gym can't fix. Briefly scanning the alley for cameras, she lets out an exhale of relief when her search comes up clear.
This is what their life is, now. They have no home anymore. Instead, they sleep through the days and spend their nights visiting every connection they have in search of work. So far, the effort has yielded no results, and as of tonight, they're officially out of people to ask. Adam Martin was their last damn hope.
Welcome to the pitiful life of the unemployed, she thinks to herself bitterly.
No job means no money. No money means no food.
And Natalie is so, so hungry.
Kevyn reaches into his pocket and pulls out a mostly empty pack of cigarettes. There’s only one left inside, now. They've been trying their best to save it for when they needed it — considering the circumstances, Natalie supposes that now is a better time than ever.
“Got a light?” he asks tiredly.
Pulling the lighter from her pocket and handing it over, she watches as Kevyn fumbles with it for a few moments before he’s able to get the cigarette to catch. The fire creates a small glow, the only light against the relative darkness of the alleyway.
It’s late at night, now; maybe three or four in the morning. It’s always nighttime when they move. Daylight is too dangerous, and Kevyn needs that time to sleep. The truth is, Natalie doesn’t feel the urge for sleep anymore — guess vampires are weird, nocturnal freaks who apparently don't need rest. But still, she does so anyway, if for no other reason than to cling to a sense of routine.
Kevyn takes a couple of puffs from the cigarette and then passes it over to Natalie, who takes it gratefully. They sit there in silence for a minute, while the cigarette burns down and down, closer to their fingertips with every passing second. Eventually, it’s Kevyn who breaks the quiet.
“...My offer still stands, y'know,” he says, his voice a near-whisper. He looks to her as if expecting an immediate answer, but she doesn't respond. Not that she needs clarification or anything — she knows perfectly well what he means.
And a part of her resents him for even asking. Still, apparently not getting the hint, he continues:
“I’d let you do it: drink from me.”
“No,” Natalie shuts down immediately, already feeling beyond frustrated. This is a conversation they've had many times before, and she'd hoped that twenty plus arguments (and still counting) would have been enough to dissuade him from asking.
Apparently not. Instead, as always, he pushes further: “I’m serious, Nat. You haven’t fed in... god, it's probably been over a month. You’re starving.”
“I’m fine,” she says for the second time that night, willing the rising feeling of hunger in her gut to disappear. God. Sickeningly, his words call to something deep inside her: something new and primal and drooling. It's a new feeling. Dark and dangerous temptation, and she viciously beats the feeling down into some tiny corner of her brain.
Kevyn gives her an incredulous look. “No, man, you're not. Look, you could die at this rate. I’m not saying you have to— to bleed me dry, or something. Just take, like, a little.”
Natalie bites the inside of her cheek. “I’m not a vampire, Kev.”
“Natalie,” Kevyn says, and this time he’s not even bothering to hide the pity in his voice, “be serious. You vomit every time you eat solid food, you can’t stay more than five minutes in the sun without severe burns. I mean, fuck, I think your teeth are turning into little fangs. ”
“I told you I’m not a vampire, okay?" Natalie barks, voice rising against the quiet of the alleyway. "Just— fucking drop it. Please.”
He doesn't.
In fact, there's anger in his tone now as he narrows his eyes. “You’re not thinking straight.”
“I’m thinking perfectly clearly," she sneers, the cruel expression feeling incredibly foreign on her face. "You’re the one not thinking.”
“Oh. I’m the one not thinking, huh? No. You know what I think, Nat?” Kevyn asks lowly. “I think you should stop lying to yourself.”
“I’m not lying to myself.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m not. ”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Grow up, Natalie!” he finally yells. In response, she can feel something inside her snap, a voice in the back of her head whispering you don't have to take this, you don't have to take shit from anyone. Feeling the anger grow, she yells back:
“I’m not a fucking vampire!”
“Just fucking drink!”
Their shouts echoes down the alleyway, and after a moment Kevyn bursts into coughs, the volume too raw on his throat after the cigarette. Although her initial instinct is to grab onto him in worry, she holds back for a few seconds, instead allowing him to work through the coughing fit himself. After a couple of minutes, he regains his breath. She thinks he might yell again, but instead... he puts his head in his knees.
And there they sit, in silence. Time passes, and passes, the moon curving its arc through the sky, and as the late hours of night fade into the early hours of morning, Natalie feels her anger fade into something hollow.
“...I just don’t understand what you’re waiting for,” Kevyn eventually whispers.
It hurts. The two of them have never been this out of alignment before. They disagree about hunting sometimes, and less serious stuff (like him always putting the milk before the cereal), but never anything like this. She's never had to explain her feelings to him, and vice versa — they’ve always just... she doesn't know. Understood. As if when she breathes in, he breathes out.
Now, though, there’s a fracture; a tear. For the first time, he can’t understand the reasoning behind Natalie’s actions, and the truth of it hurts so, so badly. While she spirals internally, he continues:
“The Hunter’s Association isn’t going to take you back, now. We can’t find work anymore. This… thing we have going won’t work.”
“...I know.”
“So what are you waiting for then, Nat?” he asks quietly, gently.
Natalie feels a rush of love for him in her chest, for this boy. Her best friend, her brother in everything but blood. Anyone else in his position would have dropped her without a second’s hesitation; but he stayed. Even when Natalie became the very thing they’ve sworn to fight all these years, he stayed. Unlike Natalie, who's indifferent enough to vampires to even have a few as friends, Kevyn holds nothing but hatred for them in his heart for the creatures. It has something to do with what happened to his parents, she thinks. Killed, maybe. But she doesn’t know. She doesn’t ask, either. There are some memories they mutually agree are better left unvisited.
Still. It's for that reason that she expected once she'd been—
Not turned, she reminds herself. Assaulted.
—Once she had been assaulted, Kevyn would leave her behind. At worst, maybe he would even try to kill her.
But he didn’t. He stayed, just like he always had. And for that, Natalie feels herself compelled to be honest:
“The bite was incomplete,” Natalie says after a long period of silence. Beside her, Kevyn turns his head in shock. Well, she can't blame him. All of the details of her turning, she's been content to keep secret thus so far, hoping to pretend that none of it was real. But... he's right. She can't hide from the truth forever.
She's already hid the truth from him long enough.
“What do you mean?”
“After I was… bitten,” Natalie says with an uncomfortable shift, drumming her fingers against her leg in a grounding rhythmic pattern, “I immediately stabbed her — it — with a silver stake and ran. I don’t think the, uh, venom or whatever had very long to sit.”
A lie, another lie. Always fucking lying. The details of her escape are... not something she's ready to share. The rest, though, she tells honestly: “It’s incomplete, I think. The turning. So, like… if I reject the stupid animal instincts long enough, maybe I can… I dunno— reverse the process?”
He doesn’t respond at first, but he does give her a look. Thankfully, it isn’t pity, this time. Natalie nervously pulls at the drawstrings of her hoodie and adjusts the hair around her neck, a compulsive habit she’s picked up since the bite to hide the marks. Nothing will change by her actually admitting that she was bitten — she knows it won't. Still, she feels tense as she waits for Kevyn to respond, as though hearing her say it out loud will change his mind and send him running for the hills.
Finally, he responds:
“Are you sure?” He asks, softly. “If you’re wrong, you’ll die.”
Natalie averts her eyes and swallows. The immediate instinct is to tell him yes, trust me, believe me — that if she holds out just a little longer, the curse will break, and she’ll return to being human like some sort of Beauty and the Beast type of fairy tale. The truth is, though, that she knows nothing.
Her voice, when it comes, is small. “...No. I’m not.”
Fuck. Watching, his face twists into something almost like grief, and she momentarily allows herself to fear that he may be already mourning her — the human version of her. The version of her with a heart that still beats, the one he grew up with. It’s a dangerous thought: and therefore, one she doesn’t allow herself to dwell on for long.
“We can’t keep going like this,” Kevyn says, his voice pained.
“I know,” she responds quietly. There's a painful second where she considers saying nothing more, but eventually she continues. “You… you should leave.”
The look he gives her is startled. “What? No, Nat— that’s not what I meant. I’m not leaving you.”
“...You’re not?” Natalie asks, hating herself for how pitiful the words sound.
In response, he puts his hands on her shoulders and locks eyes with her. In the depth his gaze, Natalie can see an ocean of love and care so deep the feeling is almost overwhelming. She’s sure that, in his perspective, he’s seeing an equal reflection of those feelings through his own eyes.
“Of course not,” he whispers, face twisted painfully, as though Natalie believing for even a second that he might leave her is causing him physical distress. He leans forward and places his forehead against hers. It’s close. Intimate, even, and maybe romantic-looking for any outsiders, but it isn't. “You’re my family, Nat. Nothing— and I mean nothing — will ever change that.”
“Even if I turn?” she asks miserably.
“Especially if you turn,” he replies. “I... I would never leave you to deal with that on your own.”
And... she wants to be believe him.
But she can feel so, so many things. Like his hair tickling her forehead, and the asphalt ground of the alleyway against her feet, or the cold stone of the concrete wall behind her. She can feel the intent behind his words, his determination and care.
But more than anything, she can feel the pounding of his heart beneath his chest. The slick blood coursing through his veins. The drumming pulse through his neck, thump, thump thump, and the drool in her mouth, and all the rage and disgust and fear and hunger, hunger, hunger.
She swallows. “I could hurt you.”
“That’s okay,” Kevyn replies quickly.
“No. Listen, Kev.” Her fists are clenched again, nails imbedded in her palms so deeply that blood drips from her closed hands. “I could kill you.”
“Okay? I’ve known that all along, Nat,” he says. “If that’s what happens, then... I guess it happens.” Then, he pulls back, separating their foreheads and once again looking her in the eyes, eyes shining with determination. “I’d do anything for you. And when the time comes, I’ll kill that fucking bastard that turned you.”
And at that, Natalie’s blood goes cold.
The voices in the back of her head scream. Gritting her teeth, she gently removes his hands from her shoulders and pushes him back.
“No,” she says, a tone a bit too suspiciously like desperation hidden beneath her voice. “You can’t.”
“Why not?” Kevyn bites back challengingly.
“This— this isn’t a threat you can beat, Kev. They’ll do worse than just hurt you. And— they…” Her voice trails off, unwilling to say the last part. They matter to me. Even if I hate them. Even if I hate her. .
“Please, Nat,” he pleads. “Just tell me who the fuck turned you. Was it a lone vampire? A coven?”
“I— I can’t,” she says, biting her lip and averting her eyes. “Just— know that they’re powerful. Okay? Really fucking powerful.”
“Fuck, Nat. What— what should we do? Do we need leave the country?”
Natalie takes in a sharp inhale. “I— um, yeah. Yeah, that's a good idea. We should.”
“Okay, great. Amazing. That’s a start. Where should we go? Canada? Lithuania? Please, don't say Britai—”
Natalie interrupts his rant. “It's not gonna be that easy. There’s, um... a good chance the borders may be sorta-kinda compromised.”
“The borders are compromised?” he repeats incredulously, disbelief on his face. “Hold on, pause. This group is powerful enough to shut down the goddamn borders?”
“Not shut down,” Natalie says quickly, defending herself. “It's more like… um, watch? Like... surveillance? Fuck, man, I don’t know.”
Well, lovely. The sun is beginning to rise, which means the two of them are going to have to wrap their conversation up quickly and find shelter sooner preferably than later.
“Shit, Nat,” Kevyn finally with a wet, humorless chuckle, staring at the sun encroaching on the alleyway. “Can’t stay out of trouble, can you?”
“S’not my fault,” she mumbles.
Quickly, they make their way deeper into the alleyway where it's darker, putting distance between them and ever-invading sunlight. Beside her, Kevyn seems to be deep in thought. God. She wishes she could read his thoughts. Kev is the smart one, after all. It'd be nice if, just for a day, she wasn't so stupid.
“There’s really no one else we can ask for help?” he eventually asks, pleadingly.
Natalie goes to shake her head, but then thinks of something that gives her pause. As soon as the thought arrives, though, she dismisses it. Nope. Absolutely the fuck not. But unfortunately, the brief moment doesn't go unnoticed by Kevyn. Sharp bastard.
“What? Who is it?” he pries.
Natalie frowns. “...You aren't gonna like it.”
“In case you haven't noticed, we’re sorta out of options here, Nat. I can handle it.”
“No,” Natalie says again, slower this time. “I mean, you really won’t like it.”
“Who—” Kevyn begins, before realization dawns on his face. “Oh. Oh no.”
“Oh. Em. Gee. Natalie, it has been too long!”
There are many mysteries in this world, most of which Natalie has accepted that she will never solve. Of them, though, there is no mystery more confusing than one Misty fucking Quigley.
“Heya, Misty,” Natalie says with a weak smile. “Um. Sorry I haven’t called. I’ve been... busy.” That's an understatement.
Thankfully, Misty beams. “It’s okay-do-kay! I understand.” Then, she bumps Natalie’s shoulder with a playful grin. “I knew you’d seek me out again eventually.”
Okay. Yeah. Whatever that means.
Natalie shifts uncomfortably. They’re at a bar, an upscale one dead in the center of downtown. She’s spent the past month sticking to the cheaper, grungier areas of town, eager to avoid crowds, but if there’s one thing Misty doesn’t do, it’s cheap. So, here they are, at one of the bougie-est hotspots in the city, and Natalie feels distinctly out of place in her plaid pajama pants and ripped up hoodie-jacket.
Her hood is pulled up, as it always is these days. Outside, the sun hasn’t yet completely set, the evening casting a glow that leaves Natalie feeling slightly weak and shaky. Misty, on the other hand, clearly doesn’t suffer from any of the same issues. She’s dressed well — a bit oddly, sure (what else would you expect from Misty?) — but very clearly expensive, designer brand.
Misty Quigley is an anomaly.
A solo vampire who lives among humans; a rare thing, but not impossible. Some vampires, particularly powerful ones or ones from large covens, can be granted contracts with the human government that allows them to live and work among humans so long as they remain documented. Often, these vampires are wealthy and hold powerful positions in government or business.
Misty, Natalie assumes, must belong to this class of vampires, but she doesn’t know any of the details. Really, Natalie doesn’t know anything about Misty — what coven she belongs to (if any), what her job is, or, fuck, even how old she is.
But appearance wise, she’s about Natalie’s age. Eighteen.
The thought makes Natalie’s stomach turn. An eternity of being eighteen years old.
What a nightmare.
Personality-wise, too, Misty fits the part of an eighteen year old. She’s bubbly, and energetic, and often a bit too much for Natalie to handle. A bit more like a puppy than an ancient creature, to be honest.
For whatever reason, Misty is especially attached to her. She ran into Misty for the first time several years ago, when she found her crying on a park bench. Unfortunately, Natalie has a damning quality to not pass by someone in trouble; and between the pitiful expression that was on Misty’s face, or the way everyone had seemed intent on staying as far away from the crying girl as possible, Natalie had no choice but to stop that day and ask what was wrong.
Misty had explained that she lost her pet parrot, Caligula, and against Natalie’s better judgement, she had offered to help find the bird.
What followed was a painful twelve hours of chasing down a goddamn parrot. Evil fucking bird. He pooped on her twice. It was grueling waste of time, time that Natalie could have been using to hunt and make money, but by the time they caught the bird, Misty was a grinning ball of excited energy, and she couldn't help but feel a bit satisfied.
Afterwards, Misty had treated Natalie to dinner at the nearest diner. The food was cheap and greasy, and Natalie was still covered in bird poop, but she was too tired and hungry to care. Surprised that Natalie was willing to help her despite the fact that she was a vampire, Misty had asked for her name. And contact details. Appropriately, Natalie responded by passing out face-first into her pancakes.
When she woke up, Misty was gone, but her number was in Natalie’s work-phone. Since then, Natalie’s done the occasional odd job for Misty, like shooing away a few sporadic, overambitious hunters who thought Misty would make a good target, or getting her groceries. More importantly, Misty pays Natalie triple the average rate, and almost always treats her to dinner afterwards.
Maybe she was just really grateful that Natalie found her bird.
Or maybe she just wanted a friend.
In the present, Misty leads Natalie to the barstools. Misty is shorter than Natalie, but she easily hops up onto the tall stool without breaking a sweat. Fucking vampires. Meanwhile, Natalie struggles to swing her leg over the excessively tall seat — like, fuck, seriously, was this bar made for basketball players? Lebron James? Beside her, Natalie can hear a faint giggle.
“Need help?” Misty asks with a chirp.
“Fuck off,” Natalie bites back.
The vampire laughs at her words. It’s... kind of weird. Most vampires have serious issues with humans being disrespectful, but Misty doesn't really seem to mind, which is good because Natalie doesn’t think she’d be able to stop herself from cussing even if she tried.
After a moment's struggle, Natalie is able to find her seating on the tall-ass barstool. She looks around. The bar is mostly empty, with only a few staggered patrons mulling about and murmuring to each other quietly. Natalie wonders what rich people do in places like this. Are they talking about business? Politics? How to cheat on their spouses?
Eh. The last one, probably. Assholes.
Above her, quiet chatter releases from a flatscreen TV probably worth more money than Natalie’s ever had in her life. There’s nothing important on the news, it seems. Just mindless statistics and the weather.
Turning to face Misty, she doesn't bother wasting any time. “Thanks for meeting. I was wondering—”
“Ah-ah,” Misty interrupts with a somewhat patronising tut. “No business before drinks!”
She snaps her fingers to call the bartender over. The bartender is old, probably in his sixties or seventies, and he gives Natalie’s clothes a once-over with a disapproving glance. Okay, fuck you. Natalie scowl and fiddles with the drawstrings of her hoodie.
“Hmm, what to get… Oooh! I’ll have a lemon drop martini! Extra lemon.” Misty slides an ID over the counter and then turns to Natalie. “What do you want?”
Preferably, Natalie wants whatever will get her drunkest the fastest. “Uh, a shot of whiskey, please. Neat.”
The bartender is still looking at her with a wrinkled face, like he's smelled something particularly foul. Unfortunately, it's possible that he did. Piss off, showers are a luxury for her these days.
“ID?” He asks her. Oops. Well, great. Not only does she not have an ID, but she’s both underage and a currently wanted woman. Three strikes, she’s out.
“I, uh, don’t have it on me,” Natalie says awkwardly.
The bartender frowns. “No ID, no drink.”
From beside her, Misty clears her throat. The bartender turns his attention to her. Misty gives him a wide, somewhat unsettling smile, one that shows off her teeth, and more importantly, her fangs, which glint against the lights of the bar. Natalie felt sweat bead on the back of her neck. God. She'd forgotten how fucking big Misty’s fangs are — a sign of age. Roughly, larger fangs indicate an older vampire, although it's not a hard and fast rule.
The bartender clearly notices the fangs at the same time as Natalie, because he pales and quickly scribbles down her order before taking off to the back. Natalie feels some amount pity for him, since he really is just doing his job, but he’s also kind of an asshole, so like... not too much pity, y’know?
Instead, she props her elbow up on the bar, hiding an amused smile behind her hand. “Helping a minor commit a crime? Didn’t think you had it in you, Quigley.”
Misty lets out a bright laugh. “What can I say, Nat? You bring out the rebel in me.”
“Rebel?” Natalie scoffs light-heartedly with a raised eyebrow. “Please. The only rebelling I can see you doing is, like... having breakfast for dinner or wearing mismatched socks.”
“Aw, you know me so well” Misty coos, her hands up in a mock-surrender.
The bartender comes by to deliver their drinks. Damn. That was fast. Guess people move extra quick when they’re afraid for their life. It's not as though she doesn't understand their fear, to an extent — vampires are strong, much stronger than humans. Not only is Misty assuredly powerful enough to kill him if she wants to, but she’s also likely powerful enough to get away with it with little more than a slap on the wrist.
Realistically, the proper reaction to a vampire should be fear. Natalie supposes she’s an odd case, though. To begin with, her fear of vampires is much more muted than most peoples. Product of being a hunter.
In the case of Misty, Natalie thinks she might have feared her ever-so-slightly, once? But if she did, it was a long time ago. Now, all she feels is a quiet hum in the back of her head, a reminder to be on her guard. Besides... although she started doing jobs for Misty for the money, somewhere along the way Natalie had begun to almost enjoy Misty’s company.
Almost.
Obviously.
Natalie is not going soft.
“So,” Misty begins, interrupting Natalie’s thoughts. “How've you been?”
“Fine,” Natalie responds, potentially a little bit too quickly.
Misty huffs. “I know you’re lying — you’re pale.” Then, Misty reaches forward to press the back of her hand against Natalie’s forehead, her mouth turning into a scolding frown. “And cold.”
Natalie bats Misty’s hand away, pulling the drawstrings of her hoodie tighter so that the hood covers more of her face. “I’m fine, really.”
Wow. That makes, like, four times she's had to say 'I'm fine' today. A new record, perhaps. Across the table, Misty makes a disappointed face at being pushed away.
Ah. Right. The one thing Natalie doesn't miss about her. See, Misty is, well… touchy. Natalie doesn’t do touchy.
Most of the time.
“Listen,” Natalie starts, a bit uncomfortable at how narrow Misty’s attention is, as though she’s the only person in the universe, “M'sorry I can’t catch up for long, but I’m in a bit of a hurry.” She pauses. “I’m, uh. I'm sure you can guess why.”
Misty hums consideringly. “Well, I’ve have heard some pret-ty interesting rumors.” She pauses to take a sip from her martini, giving a delighted purr at the flavor, before turning her attention back to Natalie. “You’ve made yourself a rather valuable target!”
Chewing on her lip, Natalie shifts uncomfortably in her seat. She knew that it was likely Misty would already know about her predicament, but it's still a bit creepy to hear it confirmed out loud.
“I know,” Natalie says, feeling her voice turn pleading: “What do you know?”
“Wellllll,” Misty begins with a long drawl of her words, “I know a lot of things. You’ll have to be more specific.”
Natalie grit her teeth. “Them, Misty, about them! Please, I don’t have time for games.”
Misty laughs, and the carefree tone in her voice is more frustrating than anything in the world. God. People like Misty don't understand. She’s powerful — she can just buy herself out of any trouble, and if she can’t buy her way out of it, she can fight. Natalie can’t do either of those things right now, and every second she wastes is another moment back into the predator's jaws.
“Well, I’ll tell you what I do know,” Misty finally says, and thank fuck. The feeling of relief is short-lived, however, as her face shifts into something almost like amused pity. “Things are about to get a whole lot harder for you.”
Then, Misty’s gaze travels to the TV above them, and Natalie allows her own eyes to follow. Once she sees what's on the screen, her stomach immediately drops. There, on the screen, is a familiar face — Jackie Taylor. Jackie Taylor, who never makes public appearances anymore. One of the most famous, and not to mention powerful, vampires on the entire fucking planet.
Shit.
For a moment, Natalie can't help but stare. Nothing has changed. Jackie is as beautiful as ever — permanently poised, and collected, and elegant.
Terrifying.
Misty lets out a low, long whistle. “The Yellowjacket Coven, huh?”
On the TV, the subtitle reads: “YELLOWJACKET COVEN AND HUNTER’S ASSOCIATION FORM FIRST ALLIANCE IN 500 YEARS.”
Shit. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Feeling her heart sink, Natalie has to suppress the urge to vomit.
“No, no, no, no, no,” Natalie mutters. Beside her, Misty takes a sip of her martini, carefully watching Natalie’s reaction. “No, that can’t be real.”
“It’s a powerful coven you’ve attracted the attention of, Nat,” Misty says with an entertained hum. “I might argue the most powerful. In my perfectly unbiased opinion, that is! I don’t think I’ve seen Jackie Taylor on the TV screen in, oh… a hundred fifty years, give or take.”
Even better.
This is bad. An alliance between the coven and the Hunter’s Association means that there will be eyes everywhere. Forget returning to the Association, Natalie doesn’t think she can even be in the goddamn United States anymore.
Against her will, she can feel tears of frustration well up in her eyes. “Please, Misty. You've gotta help me.”
The smile on the vampire's face doesn't change. She doesn’t seem particularly disturbed. If anything, she looks almost… triumphant. Distantly, Natalie wonders if Misty just likes it when people need her for something.
“I’d like to,” Misty says with a hum, “but it’s not a very good idea for me, y’know? What good would come out of making an enemy of the Yellowjacket Coven?” Her eyes narrow, and Natalie is suddenly reminded that Misty is very old, very powerful, and that in this moment, they are completely alone together. In Misty's hand, she twirls her martini in circles, letting the liquid slosh around the glass. It's a slow, controlled motion. “If anything, I should turn you in.”
A chill goes down Natalie’s spine, but she forces her back to straighten, trying to will away the anxious jitters and the voice in the back of her head telling her to turn tail and run.
“You won’t,” Natalie responds assuredly, hoping that Misty can’t hear the uneasy wobble in her voice. She probably can. Super-hearing, and all that. Fucking vampires.
“Oh?” Misty says with interest. “Why not?”
“You won’t,” Natalie repeats, placing her bets on her next words, “...because you’re a good friend.”
Across from her, Misty goes entirely still. She stops spinning her glass. For a second, Natalie tenses her legs, uneasy at Misty’s reaction and ready to bolt if needed. Before she can do anything, though, a delighted smile overtakes Misty’s face and her eyes glaze over.
“A good friend,” Misty repeats, a distant look in her eyes. “Yeah, I am a good friend.”
Then, she reaches forward as fast as lightning to pull Natalie into a tight hug. Flincing violently at the sudden action, Natalie tries to jerk away, but Misty holds her tight. Oh, god. Misty is hugging her.
“You’re right,” Misty says, and Natalie feels a bit like a dumb stuffed animal with how tight the hold is. Then, all at once, Misty’s focus returns, and she narrows her eyes into something unbelievably intense. “I am a good friend. You’re the only one who sees that, Nat.”
Natalie winces. “Okay, yeah, great. Boundaries, Misty.”
The hug goes on for a few moments longer. Typical. Vampires never want to listen to her, or take her wants into consideration. Eventually, after Misty evidently decides she's had enough, she pulls back and straightens in her seat. There’s a distinctly pleased look on her face. Typically, Natalie would snap and chastise her for the lack of space, but she doesn't feel like stirring the pot any more than it already has been.
“I won’t turn you in,” Misty says sweetly. Oh. With a wave of relief, Natalie goes and opens her mouth to thank her, but Misty continues before you can. "But. I’ll still need something in return for the favor.”
Natalie whines. “What? Please, Misty. I’ll do anything.”
Misty’s eyes glow.
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
Misty leans back in her chair. Its a barstool, so there’s nothing to lean back against — just pure core-strength keeping her up. She brings her hand up to stroke her chin in a pondering manner, like an ancient Greek philosopher or something. She's enjoying this, clearly.
Misty lets the moment linger as though she’s deeply considering what she wants from Natalie, but Natalie gets the sense that Misty already knows. In fact, some part of Natalie, the part of her that runs on survival and instinct and reason, tells her that maybe this is what Misty’s wanted all along.
A favor.
And Natalie fell straight into it. Hook, line, and fucking sinker.
“Two things,” Misty finally says. Natalie blanches.
“Two things?”
Misty smiles. “Don’t worry, they’re easy.”
Natalie fidgets. Her initial instinct is to tell Misty in no uncertain terms to fuck off, but she also knows that she doesn't have many options. At the very least, she can hear Misty out. “Fine. Okay. What’s the first?”
“First,” Misty says, holding up a long, pale finger. “First, I want to see your mark.”
The response comes quick. “No.”
Misty's smile drops. “No?”
“No.”
Misty’s eyes fill with something like disapproval, and she shakes her head. “Well. Sorry, then! No mark, no help.”
“Fucking— are you serious?”
“A deal’s a deal,” Misty says with a shrug. Evil, manipulative woman.
Natalie is trapped, and she knows it.
“...Why the fuck do you want to see my mark?” Natalie finally asks weakly.
Misty takes a long sip from her drink, finishing it. Next to it, Natalie’s whiskey shot sits untouched. Taking a quick glance around, Natalie notices that the bar has emptied out — when did that happen?
“I’m just curious,” Misty says with a blank quality to her voice, cooler than Natalie’s ever heard her speak before. A part of her wonders if Misty ever has to deal with people telling her no. “Indulge an old vampire, will you?”
Natalie’s eyes narrow. “I don’t even know how old you are.” In fact, she’s reminding herself that she doesn’t really know anything about Misty. Fuck. This was a bad idea.
Misty gives a tight, closed-eyed smile. It's different from her usual smiles. This is careful, practiced. Restrained, even. “Old.”
Natalie uncomfortably glances towards the exit of the bar. Should I just leave?
Or, more importantly:
Will Misty let me leave?
In the end, it doesn’t matter. Natalie is out of options, and Misty is her only lead. She rocks back and forth in her stool for a moment before she gives a jerky nod and quietly grants permission:
“Fine.”
And then at once, before she can even take a breath, Misty is already there, pulling Natalie’s hood down and pushing aside her tangled hair with inhuman speed. It happens faster than Natalie can blink, almost as though Misty has been waiting for this moment, barely holding herself back, and Natalie’s permission was the last thing she needed to pounce.
“Hey—!” Natalie flinches, instinctively leaning back and pulling away. Before she can, though, she feels Misty’s cold hand reach around and cup the back of her neck, tenderly grasping her throat and holding her still.
Natalie freezes.
Her body goes stiff. For a moment, she stops breathing; like a prey animal in the grasp of a predator. Suddenly, she feels very aware of the fact that, in this position, Misty can snap her neck without a moment’s notice. The cold fingers (and fuck, they're cold, the tell-tale sign of a vampire) aren’t cruel or tight in their grip, per se, but they do hold her firmly in place as Misty turns her head to the side to get a better look at the mark. Natalie can feel her pulse hammering in her ears.
Once Misty spots the twin pinprocks on her neck, her eyes darken. For a second, there's something on her face that almost seems like displeasure, but the moment doesn’t last long before her gaze is overtaken, melting into something almost awed, or reverent.
“They’re small,” she murmurs.
“Weren’t in me long,” Nat whispers in return.
Misty’s voice stays low, her eyes locked on Natalie’s neck. “How long has it been, now?”
“About a month.”
“Hm.”
Misty’s other hand travels up to Natalie’s neck, and Natalie can feel the pad of Misty’s thumb begin to trace the marks, slowly and deliberately. Natalie stiffens. “Don’t—”
The grip on her neck tightens. It's an ever-so-slight difference, but enough for Natalie to fall completely still. Every muscle in her body locks up. She can feel the adrenaline racing in her veins, her heart pumping faster and faster by the second.
Natalie has never feared a vampire like this before.
Aside from the Coven, that is.
In this moment, she becomes hyper-aware of how fragile she is. Of how easily vampires like Misty can simply take what they want.
Vampires don’t ask often. After all, they don't need to.
Misty presses her thumb against one of the punctures, causing Natalie to stiffen further, her breathing turning shallow like a prey animal caught in a snare.
“When’s the last time you drank?” Misty hums.
“I haven’t,” she forces out.
Misty stills. For the first time, she moves her gaze from Natalie’s neck to meet her eyes, but her expression is unreadable. “You haven’t drunk at all?”
“I’m not a fucking vampire,” Natalie snaps.
To that, Misty's face goes scarily blank. There is no emotion in her eyes, no reaction, anything to hold onto. It's...
Fuck. It's creepy.
“...No,” Misty agrees after a moment's silence. “You aren’t a vampire. Not yet.”
“Not fucking ever,” she spits.
Misty doesn’t deign her answer with a response, instead returning her thumb to tracing the puncture wounds. It's after another painful minute or so of this that she finally speaks up, her voice nothing more than whisper, almost as though she’s speaking to herself more than anyone else.
“...You’re so beautiful, Nat. You’re almost perfect.” Her voice is silky, almost hypnotic, but there's the slightest tinge of mania in her eyes. It's a look Natalie's seen once before. “You would be perfect if you were a vampire.”
At that, Natalie uses all of her strength to rip herself free of Misty’s grasp, tumbling to the floor of the bar. Quickly, she stumbles back upright. “What the fuck is your problem? Don’t say that shit to me.”
Misty doesn’t move at first, continuing to stare at the stool where Natalie once was. Every muscle in Natalie’s body thrums with anticipation, with instinct. Fight or flight, Nat. Which will it be?
Instead of attacking, though, Misty’s face morphs back into her familiar smile after a few more seconds, and she raises her hands, laughing lightly. “Okay, okay, calm down — jeez Louise, Nat. It was just a joke!”
Okay. Then it wasn't very fucking funny.
In response to her scowl, Misty awkwardly raises her hand to the back of her neck, rubbing it in an ashamed manner. The motion... looks real. Fuck. Natalie can’t tell anymore. Is it practiced? Or is it fake? Which Misty is the real Misty? The smiley, awkward doofus she’s known this whole time? Or the blank-faced, calculating vampire she just saw?
“Okay, I took it a bit too far,” Misty says, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. It’s just vampire instincts, y’know?”
“Vampire instincts made you choke me and caress my neck?”
“It’s not like that,” Misty whines. “I was turned at eighteen. Most other vampires are turned at like, thirty or forty. I just got a bit carried away imagining what it’d be like to have a friend my age.”
“But I’m not your age,” Natalie reminds her. “I’m eighteen, and you’re old as the dinosaurs.”
Misty shakes her head, frowning. “That’s not how vampires work and you know it. We can grow older, but emotionally, we're sort of… stuck at the age we were turned.”
Natalie cringes. “And you want me to be fucking stuck eternally at eighteen, too? Fuck you.”
Misty tilts her head. “It wouldn’t be so bad, you know: eternity. It would mean no more pain, no more hunger. No more sleeping outside or killing for money. You wouldn’t have to work for scraps anymore, Nat. You could have power. Safety. Family. ”
Natalie shakes her head viciously. “I don’t need any of that shit. Power, youth, those things are useless to me. I already have everything I need." She glares, continuing on with a sentiment she's sure Misty could never understand: "Pain is what makes me human. I’d rather live a shit life and die young knowing I’m alive than live an empty life without a fucking heart.”
Then, Natalie’s voice cracks slightly.
“Besides, I already have a family.”
Misty doesn’t respond at first. Her face has returned to the blank look from earlier. She watches Natalie for what feels like a long time, completely unreadable, before finally quietly speaking: “Hm. Is that so.”
Natalie straightens, letting a bit of her tension disappear at the fact that Misty hasn't, like— attacked or flipped out or something. But only a bit. “Okay. Well, I showed you the mark. Are you going to uphold your deal and help me out of the country, or are we fucking done here?”
“Ah-ah, not so fast,” Misty chirps. “I said two things. That was one.”
Shit. That's a problem. Greed is a sin, she wants to say but smartly doesn't, instead saying: “What else do you want?”
Misty hums for a moment, closing her eyes as Natalie’s nerves rise. What will Misty want? Labor? A contract? The fucking soul of her firstborn son? When she finally opens her eyes again, Natalie tenses, prepared to have to sign away her soul to the devil and—
“I want…” Misty begins, flinging her arms open dramatically: “your phone number!”
Right! Exactly, she wants...
Uh.
Pause. What?
Natalie gives her an incredulous look. “My… phone number?”
“Yup.”
"But… you already have my phone number.”
“Your real one, dummy, not your work phone!” Misty says with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.
Natalie blinks, confused. “What difference does it make?”
“Well! One is your work phone, and one is your personal phone!”
“...That’s it?”
Misty beams. “Yup!”
Natalie looks at Misty suspiciously, waiting for the catch, but Misty just smiles back at her. And so, deeming it an acceptable price to pay for freedom, Natalie slowly pulls her phone from her pocket. After unlocking it, she goes to put Misty’s phone number in, but Misty interrupts her.
“Let me put the number in myself,” she demands rather than asks. There’s a weird gleam in her eyes.
“Uh. Sure.”
The vampire frowns as she takes the device and makes a side comment aobut how poor the quality of Nat’s phone is. Not everyone is rich, asshole. It takes a moment, longer than Natalie expected, but eventually Misty hands the phone back to her. The contact name is saved as “#1 Bestie” with a string of cat emojis.
"...Really?"
Misty grins.
And with that, they make their way outside of the bar. It’s fully dark outside, now, but Natalie still pulls her hood back over her head. There are too many things she’s trying to hide — puncture wounds and bleach-blonde hair are two dead giveaways as to her identity. Maybe she should probably dye her hair black.
“So, what’s the plan?” Natalie asks, trying to calm her nerves from the earlier situation and remind herself that she needs Misty in order to get out of the country.
“Well, I’ll need maybe... hm, three days to prepare?”
“Three days? For what!?”
Misty frowns with fake-disapproval and crosses her arms. “It’s not easy to sneak people out of the country, you know! Have some appreciation!”
Natalie stares for a moment, then lets out an incredibly pained sigh. “Fine.” Then, she remembers one other, important detail. “Oh, yeah, Kev is coming along too.”
At that, Misty’s face sours. “What? Why?”
“Fuck you mean, ‘why’?” Natalie glares. “Did my ‘I already have a family’ not process earlier? The two of us are a pair. I won’t leave without him.”
The vampire looks vaguely displeased, but she doesn't protest, nodding her head after a moment. “Alright. Then, keep your phone on you at all times. I’ll text you with details. Until then, lay low.”
Nodding, she stuffs her hands into her pockets, making to leave. Before she can fully turn away, though, she shifts her head back into Misty’s direction.
“Misty?” Natalie says quietly.
“Yeah?”
“Uh… thank you.”
Misty’s eyes seem to glow in the moonlight.
“No, Natalie,” she says. “Thank you.”
“I can’t believe you actually made a deal with Misty fucking Quigley.”
Natalie groans. This is the third time he’s said that in the past hour. “Come on, Kev, she’s our only hope at getting out.”
“Misty Quigley, Natalie! A vampire! And not to mention, Misty!”
“I’m not seeing any other options!”
They’re in a shitty motel. Technically, they didn’t pay for the room — just waited until night-time to see which rooms were empty and then broke in through the window. Criminal? Yes, but Natalie doubts the owners will notice. Predictably, Kevyn had been waiting for her to return. They’d argued before she left to meet with Misty, and now they’re arguing again.
He paces the room back and forth while Natalie sits on the bed, before spinning to face her. “Any option is safer than MFQ!”
“You don’t know that,” Natalie retorts, rolling her eyes.
“We don’t know anything about her!” Kevyn exclaims. “Her age, her coven, her goals. You have no idea what her agenda is.”
Natalie crosses her arms. “Maybe she doesn’t have an agenda.”
Kevyn stops pacing for a moment and lets out a huff of laughter, but there’s no amusement in his tone. “Yeah, right. Nobody sneaks someone out of the country for free without an agenda.”
Natalie allows herself to briefly feel defensive of Misty, which is weird, right? Especially after what just happened at the bar. Still... she's helping them, right? One way or another, Natalie and Kevyn really do owe her, and although an uncomfortable experience, Natalie had gotten off shockingly light.
“Or maybe,” she challenges, “We’re just friends.”
“She’s a vampire, Nat,” he immediately shoots back. “Vampires don’t have friends.”
Natalie feels a slightly bitter feeling enter her chest. First of all, that's not true. And second... “Yeah, well, in case you forgot, Kev, I’m part-vampire, now.”
Nearby, his eyes widen, and he immediately opens his mouth to interject, but Natalie doesn’t let him. She continues:
“What’ll happen if that bite was a success, huh?” She asks, and a part of her knows that she’s being unfair. He's already proven himself to be beyond loyal to her. Still, distrust and anger is an old friend of hers, and it returns to her easily. “Would we stop being friends?”
“You know that’s not what I meant,” Kevyn bites out, an awkward expression on his face. “You’re— well, you’re different, Nat. C'mon. You know we can’t trust vampires. They— they don’t have hearts; they act only on pleasure and displease and whatever personally benefits them in the moment.”
Natalie looks down.
“Believe me,” she says quietly. “I know.”
The truth is, she’s afraid — afraid of what’ll happen to her if she actually turns. What if… what if she becomes like the rest of the vampires, cold and calculating and selfish? What if it changes her? Will she still be… herself?
She continues, softly. “She’s our only chance, Kev. If we stay here and do nothing, I’ll get caught and you’ll die.”
There’s silence for a moment, before she sees his feet enter her peripheral vision at the edge of the bed. He sits, but she doesn’t look up yet.
“I know,” Kevyn admits gently. “I’m... I'm sorry I’m getting angry. Again. I’m just worried about you.”
There’s shifting as Kevyn lays back on the bed; she doesn’t turn to look at him, but she does allow her eyes to shift in his direction.
“...It’s still not too late for you to leave,” she says, the words like broken glass in her throat. “You shouldn’t have to risk your life for me.”
There’s an exasperated snort, and then a huff.
“Yeah,” he says, “I shouldn’t have to. But I will.” Natalie finally turns to look at him, and she finds him smiling up at her. The smile is crooked and imperfect, and tinged with a bit of fear and unease, but he’s smiling nonetheless. “That’s what best friends are for, Nat. You’d do the same if our roles were reversed.”
For a moment, Natalie lets herself be stunned by his warmth. Warmth is getting rarer these days, as her body grows colder and colder. How did she manage to find such a person in her lifetime? Revisiting her words to Misty from earlier, Natalie finds that they feel more true than ever: there's no need for anything like power, or fame, or eternal life. She doesn’t need a cold, vampiric family: everything she needs is right here, in front of her.
She regrets ever looking elsewhere.
“Well, it’s a good thing our roles aren’t reversed,” she quips after a few seconds. “You can’t hunt for shit.”
Kevyn sputters. “Uh— okay, fuck you, I could totally hunt. Like, if I needed to. And at gunpoint.”
“Pfft. Yeah, right.”
“Wow. Ye of little faith.”
"Oh, c'mon. You’re the brain and I’m the brawn.”
Kevyn raises an eyebrow. “Y’know, usually people call someone ‘the brawn’ as an insult.”
“Naw,” Natalie grins. “The 'brain' just means you’re both weak and nerdy. Two strikes, you’re out.”
“Can’t we both just be the brawn and the brawn then?” he whines.
She hums consideringly. “How about I’m the brain and the brawn. You can be some weird third thing.”
He grabs her and wrestles her onto the bed, before grabbing a pillow and beating the shit out of her with it; shrieks of laughter fill the room. Their pillow fight goes on until there’s a sharp thud from the room beneath them.
Whoopsies. She looks at Kevyn with a guilty, toothy grin, whereas he shrugs and mouths 'pricks', pointing downwards, before flopping back onto the bed and rolling over to turn off the lamp.
“Goodnight,” he says.
Natalie isn’t sure what the next couple days will hold: what'll happen when they meet with Misty, or if they’ll make out okay, or if she'll snap and go feral.
But right now, in this moment, Natalie already has everything she could ever need.
“Night, Kev,” she replies, and the room goes dark.