Night had fallen by the time they reached the outskirts of the city. The sleek sports car Reggie had left at the cabin—hidden beneath a weathered tarp in the old shed—roared through the darkness, its headlights cutting through a fog that seemed too thick, too unnatural.
Blake drove while Rose sat rigidly in the passenger seat, her fingers tracing patterns on the window as she stared at the changed landscape passing by. Five years. The thought hammered in her mind with each mile marker they passed. Five years away from Celena.
"The road’s different," Blake noted, slowing as they approached what should have been the southern bypass into the city. Where once there had been a simple two-lane road, now stood a massive concrete barrier with a single checkpoint.
No cars waited in line. No guards manned the station.
"Something’s wrong," Rose whispered, leaning forward. "Where is everyone?"
Blake pulled up to the unmanned booth, the engine’s purr echoing in the unnatural silence. A faded sign hung from the booth: "AUTHORIZED ENTRY ONLY - CURFEW IN EFFECT 7PM-6AM."
"Curfew?" Blake frowned, checking the car’s digital clock. 11:43 PM.
Rose’s hand found his on the gearshift. "Drive through," she said. "Whatever’s happened, Celena is on the other side."
Blake nodded, pressing the accelerator. The barrier lifted automatically as they approached, its mechanics groaning from lack of maintenance. They passed beneath it, entering what had once been the bustling metropolis they called home.
This 𝓬ontent is taken from fгeewebnovёl.co𝙢.
The city was a shadow of itself.
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Streets that should have been alive with late-night traffic sat empty, the asphalt cracked and sprouting weeds. Storefronts were boarded up or abandoned, their signs faded. Streetlights flickered irregularly, some dead entirely, creating pools of darkness between islands of sickly yellow illumination.
"My God," Rose breathed, her vampiric vision picking out details human eyes would miss—dried bloodstains on sidewalks, claw marks on walls, the occasional glint of eyes watching from alleyways. "What happened here?"
Blake drove slowly, navigating around abandoned vehicles and debris. "I don’t know, but we need to get to Nana’s. Now."
The car turned onto an Avenue, once the city’s vibrant downtown strip. Now the buildings loomed like tombstones, their windows dark and vacant. Not a single human moved on the streets. The bus station they passed was a gutted shell, its benches overturned, schedules still posted but yellowed with age.
"Blake," Rose said suddenly, her voice tight. "Pull over."
He glanced at her, saw her nostrils flare, and immediately steered the car to the curb. Rose was out before the engine died, moving with preternatural speed toward a narrow alley between buildings.
Blake followed, his own senses coming alive. Blood. Recent.
They found a young woman huddled behind a dumpster, her clothes torn, her neck bearing the unmistakable puncture wounds of a feeding. Not the clean, careful marks of a disciplined vampire, but ragged tears—someone who had fed with violence, with abandon.
The woman’s eyes widened when she saw them, her pupils dilating with terror. "Please," she whimpered. "I already gave tonight. I’m not due again until Thursday."
Rose crouched before her, keeping her distance. "We’re not here to hurt you," she said softly. "What happened to you? Who did this?"
The woman stared at Rose in confusion. "Are you... new?" she asked. "You don’t have a district badge."
Blake knelt beside Rose. "We’ve been away. For a long time, it seems."
The woman laughed, a hollow sound devoid of humor. "Away? Lucky you." She pulled her collar up, trying to hide the wounds. "Look, I’m not supposed to talk to unregistered ones. Just... just go. Salvador’s enforcers patrol this sector every hour."
At the mention of Salvador, Rose and Blake exchanged a look.
"Duncan Salvador?" Blake asked carefully.
The woman’s face paled further. "Don’t say his name out loud," she hissed. "They might hear you."
"We need to get to Crescent Hill," Rose said. "Is it safe?"
"Crescent Hill?" The woman’s eyebrows rose. "That’s Reserved Territory. High-level nest houses only." She looked them up and down. "You really aren’t from around here."
"Please," Rose pressed. "My daughter is there."
Something in Rose’s voice—desperation, raw maternal need—seemed to reach the woman. Her expression softened fractionally.
"Take Riverside Drive," she said quietly. "Avoid the main roads. The patrols are heavier there, especially during curfew." She hesitated. "And if you have a human with you, hide them. Unregistered humans are... collected."
Blake’s jaw tightened. He had been human once, before Rose had turned him to save his life. "Thank you," he said, reaching into his pocket and offering the woman a small roll of cash—emergency money they’d grabbed from the cabin.
The woman stared at the money as if it were a foreign object. "What am I supposed to do with that?" she asked.
"You can’t buy things?" Rose asked, confused.
The woman shook her head slowly. "We use blood credits now. Cash is worthless." Nevertheless, she took the money, tucking it away. "But I know some who might trade for it. Collectors."
Blake stood, helping Rose to her feet. "Get somewhere safe," he told the woman.
She laughed again, that same hollow sound. "Nowhere’s safe anymore," she said, but she rose and slipped away into the darkness of the alley, moving with the practiced stealth of prey.
Back in the car, they followed the woman’s advice, taking the winding route of Riverside Drive toward the affluent neighborhood of Crescent Hill. As they drove, the landscape gradually changed. The decay and abandonment gave way to maintained streets, manicured lawns, and homes with lights glowing warmly behind thick curtains.
"It’s like two different worlds," Rose murmured.
"Two different species," Blake corrected grimly. "Human and vampire."
Nana’s house—a sprawling Victorian at the edge of Crescent Hill—came into view as they rounded the final curve. Relief flooded through them both at the sight of it, seemingly unchanged. Lights shone behind stained-glass windows. The wrap-around porch was still lined with Nana’s collection of rocking chairs. A child’s bicycle leaned against the stone steps.
Celena’s bicycle.
Rose was out of the car before Blake had fully stopped, moving with vampiric speed toward the house. Blake followed close behind, his heart—pounding with anticipation and dread.
Rose reached for the doorbell but hesitated, her finger hovering over the button. "What if she doesn’t remember us?" she whispered.
Blake took her hand. "She will."
Before they could ring, the door swung open.