Page 4 of The Gloaming

I kicked out, struggling for oxygen as she tightened her grip. Her lashes lowered as she shifted me higher and bit her lip almost seductively, eyes lingering on my pulse.

I thought fast. My dagger was still in my boot. Bracing one foot against the wall behind me, I jammed my knee into her middle, raising my leg enough to grab the hilt. Before she could work out what I’d done, I forced it between her ribs, straining my wrist to twist the pale steel. Blood spilt over my hand and arm, sticky and almost black in the half-light. As I slid the blade from her chest, she released me, staggering back into the other side of the alley.

The sight of her bleeding left a sour taste in my mouth, and I gulped down oxygen, trying to clear my head. My dagger clattered to the ground, and I stared as blood bubbled andspilled from her lips. She almost seemed surprised as she slid down the wall and went still.

The prickling sensation beneath my skin lessened as her life – or whatever it was – ran out. I pulled my clean hand through my hair, still panting and trying to recover my breath as I took a peek out of the entrance to the alley. There was no one in sight.

Behind me, the blonde stirred. I imagined her waking up – with me, still standing over her. She’d probably run for it when she saw what I’d done to her friend. I wasn’t sure how comfortable I was with that.

I should finish her and leave. I knew it – hell, she probably knew it – but I hesitated. The fire in my veins still ran hot, but the blood on my hands felt dirty.

Get your shit together, Erin, for crying out loud.

I swallowed. It felt wrong to kill her while she was semi-conscious. Not even a vamp deserved that. The brunette was thoroughly dead, yeah – I’d got the kill I was craving, in the end – but it hadn’t made a blind bit of difference. The knot in my throat was as unbreakable as it had been when it showed up alongside the police.

I sighed. The gold inlay on my blade glinted on the floor, and I scooped it up, shoving it back into my boot without cleaning it. My sleeve and hand were bloody and stained, and I wiped them as best I could on the lining of my coat. It would have to do for now.

Cheery voices floated through the air from the bar four doors down, interrupting my musings. No raised voices, though. No alarm. No one had noticed a thing.

Pulling my hood up over my face, I headed onto the street at a fast walk, leaving the blonde with her hair splayed across the damp ground, the brunette sprawled beside her.

I reined my senses in as I hurried along, shutting down each sensation, desperate for the numbness it would bring. I didn’t want to feel any more.

Here and there, stragglers loitered in the doorways, smoking and chatting, most of them still drinking. A few called out as I passed, but I ignored them, though the aroma of stale beer followed me.

Violence hadn’t helped. I’d been an idiot to think it would – so I guess the vamp had been right about that, at least. The fire in my blood could burn through just about anything, but not this. The truth was, my best friend was dead. Nothing was going to bring Jon back.

My breath condensed into soft white clouds as I picked up the pace. I was so bloody tired. Tired of tonight. Tired of this life. Tired of thinking about death. Twenty-five years of obsessing – I’d been four when I realised I couldn’t escape it – and I still hated that it followed me everywhere I went. Sure, I’d done what most people would and pretended it wasn’t happening for a while – but when you can sense vampires, they can usually sense you, too.

I crossed the road, leaving the hum of the city behind as the shops and restaurants petered out and turned into houses. Most people were heading home, or already tucked in, but every now and then voices reached my ever-sensitive ears from streets away, squeezing every moment of life from the night.

A shadow across the street caught my attention, almost human as it darted behind a fence. My skin tingled for a second and I froze, before the shape transformed into a small tabby that trotted out and into the road at a run. One by one, I released my taut muscles.Jumpy much?

It wasn’t like I thought it was a ghost or anything. I’d never seen or talked to spirits. As far as I knew, it wasn’t even possible. Vamps were the only thing that went bump in the night, and my talent for spotting them was fairly specific. I sensed them stalking their victims: the quick and the dead. And I took it as a sign that it was my job to stop it.

Obviously it hadn’t been enough this time.

Jon was my oldest friend. And let me tell you, when you weird the other schoolkids out for talking about undead people that follow you home, friends are hard to come by. So, for years, he’d been my only friend – the one person who could convince me of the truth when I wanted to pretend I wasn’t a hunter. Then we’d met Tom, started the coffee shop… and things had been good. I’d dropped my guard.

The inferno in my veins was receding now, and the cold crept in through the heavy wool of my coat. I shoved my hands more deeply into my pockets, speeding up.

It hadn’t even occurred to me to worry when Tom had dropped Jon off at the train station a few weeks ago. He’d announced he was taking a trip to Edinburgh – something about visiting an estranged uncle, he’d said. I don’t think I’d even said goodbye.

Then earlier tonight, the police had knocked on the door.Tom answered it, while I panicked and hid. I’d assumed they wanted to speak to me – it wouldn’t have been the first time. It was still a blur, trying to get it straight in my head. One minute we were playing cards, the next…

Dragging my mind back to the now, I turned onto my street, a long row of Victorian terraced houses. I lived alone, but Tom would probably still be there, ready to guilt trip me since I’d run off without a word. My fingers were stiff with cold as I tried to fit the key into the lock.

The hallway was dim, the earliest light of dawn behind me. Tom was asleep on the sofa, his long legs and arms dangling under my blanket. The air was tinged with the clean scent of soap and pencil shavings that always seemed to follow him – familiar and quietly grounding. His usually tawny skin looked ashen in the shadow, short black hair sticking up in all directions. He looked at peace, though I knew that wasn’t the case.

When he’d opened the door to the police, I’d listened in through the open kitchen window. The officer’s tone set my teeth on edge; way too solemn to be anything good. They said they’d found Jon in his hotel room. That his uncle had identified the body. When they called it a suicide, I’d almost burst through and kicked off – it was total bullshit. But as I watched Tom catch hold of the hall table to steady himself, I knew it didn’t matter what they called it. The result was the same – Jon was gone. Moments later, I’d run.

I shook off the memory, though it was only an hour or so ago. The air was warm in the living room, perfumed with thecomforting scent of coffee and vanilla. Careful not to make too much noise, I laid my coat on the armchair and stretched, my joints popping in protest. Stray strands of my tangled auburn hair caught the dawn light as it filtered softly into the room, and I pushed them aside with my left hand. Crusted brown blood still stained my other hand, so I kicked off my DMs and padded into the kitchen. Tom stirred through the French doors that separated the rooms.

“When did you get back?” He blinked at me as he appeared in the frame, not quite awake.

I shrugged. “A couple of minutes ago. The sun’s barely up.”

Tom yawned and rubbed his eyes before turning to tidy his blanket away. I turned on the cold tap and washed the blood from my hand, wincing as the water stung my raw knuckles. Without another word, I prepped the coffee machine, grinding beans and pressing them into the portafilter without seeing what I was doing. Behind me, Tom switched on the old radio by the oven. Slow, melodic piano music floated through the room, and my hands stilled. It was one of Jon’s favourites. Tom nudged me aside and took over.

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