Page 7 of Ophelia's Vampire

It’s a familiar feeling, a drive that’s kept me moving forward these last few years.

One foot in front of the other. Forward, always forward, on to the next.

The end of my run is in sight now, and I push myself to the edge of those limits. Flying, fearless, like I might leave the ground behind entirely as I reach a small mid-century rambler on a quiet tree-lined street and come to a trembling, victorious stop in the driveway.

Hands braced on my knees, I savor the drag of breath in and out of my lungs. Burning, vivid, alive, it reminds me everything I’m capable of.

I steady myself with a hand on the exterior wall of my sister’s house and stretch my quads, my hips, my back, take a few pacinglaps from the driveway to the walk-out patio to cool myself down.

“Is that you, Lia?” Cleo calls from inside.

“Yeah,” I call back. “I’ll be right in.”

Stretching my arms over my head, I walk back to the driveway, where I’ve had my camper van parked for the last few weeks. I rarely stay so long in one place, but the temptation of indoor plumbing and laundry and the electrical hookup I pay Cleo for has been too good to pass up.

Inside the van, I sift through a few drawers until I find a clean set of clothes and my shower kit. I carry it all inside, the smell of something savory and Italian wafting out from the kitchen and an undeniable sense ofhomewashing over me as soon as I walk through the door.

Stephanie—formerly known as the beautiful redhead Cleo would have followed to any club in Boston, now known as my sister’s bloodbound partner and wife—greets me as I walk into the kitchen.

“Good run?” she asks from her seat at the island, glancing up from her laptop.

“It was alright,” I tell her with a shrug.

Cleo turns from the stove to face me, brow arched. “That good, huh?”

“I might have PR’ed.” I scoot around the island, grabbing a hunk of bruschetta and popping it into my mouth.

Cleo huffs a laugh and Stephanie shoots me a warm smile as I continue on to the guest bathroom to freshen up before dinner.

I know I’ll have to stop imposing on their hospitality and get back on the road soon enough, but tonight I’m more than content for a warm shower and a home-cooked meal with my half-vamp sister and her human bloodbound.

The two of them are pretty much ultimate goals for a happy, stable couple, and a shining example of just how much has changed in the last few years to make their relationship possible.

The paranormal and human worlds have always existed more closely than most humans could fathom.

Paranormal folk, walking amongst the mundane. Wearing glamours or in shifted forms, or keeping to tightly knit communities hidden by wards that keep the uninitiated away.

And, of course, there have always been humans who’ve known.

In secret societies and shadowed underworlds, in mated pairs defying the odds to spend centuries together, humans and the paranormal have always seemed to find a way to each other.

Hell, there’s even a coven of witches in upstate New York who’ve been making deals with demons for centuries, and a haunted house in the Midwest run entirely by paranormals who’ve been entertaining guests for decades with spells and enchantments meant to keep up the illusion and spectacle.

And those are just a few examples.

All throughout history, paranormal folk have been here. Though they’ve gone unseen for most of that time, their history is ours, their world is ours, and as bumpy as things might have been to get the Paranormal Acts passed, I’m of the firm belief it’s for the better.

Not that everyone would agree with me.

There’s still a small, vocal minority who wishes the world would have stayed how it was, who can’t get out of their own asses long enough to see how much better things are now.

But sentiments are shifting, and the world is moving forward—humans and paranormals making their way forward together.

Or, in my own family’s case, making their way into the light and the freedom to be who they are.

Cleo and I share a mom, but while my father is down in Texas with the family he made for himself after things didn’t work out with my mom, Cleo’s dad, Samuel, and mom are still going strong.

They almost didn’t end up that way. Mom met Samuel before she met my father and had me. And it wasn’t until weeks after their brief affair ended that she realized she was pregnant with Cleo. Samuel had left without a trace, convinced he was doing her a favor by keeping her out of the paranormal world he inhabited.

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