The Blood Incident

A high, ragged shriek cut through the lunchroom noise.

Trays clattered against laminate tables. Plastic forks froze midair. Every pair of eyes in the crowded hall turned toward the center aisle, where Piper was already bolting for the double doors with tears streaming down her blotchy face.

Her pale yellow cardigan was ruined. A dark, thick splatter of crimson dripped down the front of her chest, soaking into the knit cotton and trailing down her jeans. Behind her, standing beside an overturned tray, Declan Vance gripped an empty medical-grade fluid pouch.

He didn't look sorry. A small, cold smirk curled the corner of his lips as he tossed the plastic pouch onto the table.

My knuckles turned white against the edge of the bench. That was the third time this month. Declan liked to pretend it was an accident—a clumsy elbow, a slick wrapper, a slip of the wrist. But vampires did not have clumsy hands. They possessed reflexes like striking vipers. Declan threw blood on Piper because he knew the sight of it made her hyperventilate. He did it because two months ago, Piper had discovered his little secret and ended their two-year relationship on the spot. He was bitter, vindictive, and bored.

Five years ago, humanity learned we were not alone at the top of the food chain. The Great Revelation cracked the world open like a rotten egg. Overnight, creatures from childhood nightmares stepped out of the shadows and demanded driver’s licenses, tax brackets, and voting rights. Werewolves formed legal packs. Ghouls unionized in morgues and sanitation wards. Vampires registered their blood supply chains with the Department of Health.

Society put on a brave face. Politicians claimed integration was progress. Last November, the state even elected a werewolf as governor, plastering his grinning, canine-toothed face across every billboard on Interstate 95. Human news anchors praised the dawn of an equal era.

It was a lie. Underneath the polite smiles, normal people lived in quiet, suffocating dread. We shared classrooms with predators who could snap our necks between class bells, and we were expected to say excuse me when they bumped into us in the hall.

For most kids at Crestwood High, that terror ended when the final bell rang and they went home to human families.

I didn't have that luxury.

My nightmare had a bedroom down the hall from mine. Six months ago, my mother fell in love with a vampire named Julian. She bought the whole dark-romance fantasy hook, line, and sinker, blind to the sharp edges underneath his polite manners and expensive suits. When they married, Julian brought along his eighteen-year-old son, Kaelen.

Now, every night was a quiet war of survival. I kept my bedroom door locked with a deadbolt I installed myself while my mother was at work. I hid rolled-up twenties and crumpled fifties inside a loose floorboard beneath my dresser. Every dollar from my part-time shifts at the library went into that stash. One day, I would have enough to pack our bags, drag my mother out of that hollow mansion, and buy two tickets to an offshore sanctuary where fangs were banned by law.

A wet, sickening crunch snapped me out of my thoughts.

I glanced over my shoulder. Two benches behind me, a sophomore werewolf was tearing into a thick cut of raw, unseasoned beef. Blood leaked between his fingers, smearing across his knuckles as he tore off a tendon with his teeth. He let out a low, guttural rumble of satisfaction with every mouthful, chew marks visible in the flesh.

My stomach rolled. I pushed my half-eaten sandwich away, grabbed an apple, and slung my backpack over one shoulder.

I shoved through the swinging cafeteria doors and jogged down the west corridor toward the girls' restroom. The tiles smelled like bleach and copper.

Piper stood over the middle porcelain basin. The tap was cranked to full blast, sending cold water splashing over the porcelain. She scrubbed frantically at her sweater with a wad of brown paper towels, but the blood had already dried into the knit, turning a dark, rusty brown.

Her breath came in ragged, wheezing gasps. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen.

"Piper." I crossed the tile floor and placed a hand on her trembling shoulder. "Hey. Stop scrubbing. It's just setting the stain."

She dropped the shredded paper into the sink and buried her face in her wet hands. Her shoulders shook with silent, wretched sobs.

"I can't do this anymore, Brynn," Piper whispered, her voice muffled against her palms. "He knows what it does to me. He knows I can't look at it without feeling like I'm choking. He sat right across from me, looked me in the eyes, and squeezed the pouch until the seam popped."

I pulled a dry paper towel from the dispenser and pressed it into her trembling fingers.

"He's a miserable coward trying to get a reaction out of you," I said. "Look at me, Pip. We have ten months left. Ten months until cap and gown. The second we get those diplomas, we're getting on a plane to Oahu. No night walkers, no shifting packs, no blood bags in the cafeteria vending machines. Just sun, salt water, and normal people."

Piper lowered her hands, sniffing hard as she wiped her wet cheeks. Her lower lip quivered.

"What if there's no safe place left?" she whispered. "They're everywhere now. They run the councils. They own the banks. What if we run all the way to an island and find them waiting at the airport?"

"Then we keep running," I said firmly. "We keep moving until we find somewhere they aren't allowed to touch us. But you can't let Vance see you break like this. That's what he wants. He wants you begging him to leave you alone."

Piper leaned back against the counter, her gaze drifting to the red-tinted water swirling down the drain. Her expression softened, the sharp edges of panic melting into something far more dangerous: longing.

"I hate that I still remember how he used to be," she murmured. "Before the laws changed. Before he dropped the act and showed me the fangs. He was sweet to me, Brynn. We grew up on the same street. We built treehouses together."

I reached out and gently nudged her arm.

"He spent ten years lying to your face while waiting for the law to make it legal to scare you," I reminded her softly. "That isn't love."

"I know," Piper sighed, running wet fingers through her bangs. "I know you're right. It's just... I miss the boy he pretended to be. But the blood... God, the smell of it makes me sick to my stomach. I can't take the smell."

"You don't have to smell it," I said, unzipping my bag. I pulled out an oversized gray hoodie I kept for cold classrooms and held it out to her. "Put this on. Toss the yellow shirt in the trash. I'll go back to the lunchroom and grab your notebook before fifth period."

Piper took the hoodie, clutching it against her chest like a lifeline. A tiny, tired smile tugged at her lips.

"You're too good to me, Brynn."

"Go wash your face," I told her, turning toward the restroom door. "I'll handle Vance's mess."

The hallway was quiet when I stepped outside. Lunch period had ten minutes left, leaving the lockers silent under the pale hum of the fluorescent lights.

Then came the heavy thud of athletic sneakers and a burst of arrogant laughter from the corner.

My spine stiffened. Four boys rounded the hallway intersection, shoulder to shoulder, taking up the entire width of the corridor.

Crestwood High called them the Golden Boys. The student body treated them like royalty, part worship and part blind terror.

On the left walked Jace, an incubus whose skin had an unnatural, airbrushed glow that made human girls trip over their own feet in the halls. Next to him was Brody, a ghoul built like a brick wall, cracking his knuckles with a dull, hollow pop. Hayes, the werewolf track captain, trailed slightly behind them, his golden eyes darting around with hyperactive focus.

And right in the center was Declan Vance.

His dark hair fell across his pale forehead in loose waves. His pale blue eyes were bright with smug satisfaction, his hands shoved casually into the pockets of his designer bomber jacket. He looked sleek, dangerous, and completely untouchable.

Most human students would have tucked their heads, shrunk against the lockers, and let the predators pass without making eye contact.

I stepped into the dead center of the floor and planted my boots.

The laughter died down as the four of them slowed. Jace raised an eyebrow, a lazy smirk spreading across his handsome face. Brody crossed his massive arms.

I didn't look at them. My eyes stayed locked on Declan.

"Declan," I said, my voice echoing off the metal lockers.

Declan stopped three paces away. He tilted his head, flashing a grin that showed off the pointed tips of his upper canines.

"Well, well. If it isn't the bodyguard," Declan sneered. "What can I do for you, Brynn? Did Piper send you to fetch her homework, or did she send you to cry on her behalf?"

"I told you last week what would happen if you spilled your drink near her again," I said, keeping my tone dead and steady.

Declan rolled his eyes, turning toward Hayes with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"The girl jumped at her own shadow," Declan said, scoffing. "I dropped my lunch. It was an accident. Piper is a fragile little wuss who needs to get used to the real world."

I stepped forward until I was standing inches from his chest. I brought my hand up between our faces, spreading three fingers wide in front of his pale eyes.

"That was three," I said. "Three times you tripped, three times you slipped, three times you ruined her clothes with donor blood. If there is a fourth time, Declan, I won't go to the principal. I will take the wooden cross from under my mattress and drive it through your sternum. Let's see how fast your dead heart heals around white oak."

Declan’s smirk vanished.

The air between us grew cold. His pale pupils contracted to tiny, needle-sharp points, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. He knew I wasn't making empty threats. Vampires heard heartbeats. He could hear mine right now—fast, steady, and completely devoid of surrender.

Behind him, Brody stepped forward with a growl rumbling in his throat, but Declan held up a sharp hand to stop him.

Declan looked down at me, his eyes dark with venom. He didn't say a word. He stepped to the side, brushed his shoulder against mine with deliberate force, and stalked down the hallway toward the gym. His three lackeys followed behind him, Hayes shooting me a wary, animal glare over his shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

I let out the breath I had been holding. My hands were shaking, but I forced my fingers into tight fists and shoved them into my pockets.

I hadn't lied to him.

The cross was real. It was eight inches long, carved from dense oak, with a tapered tip that I had spent three weeks sharpening with sandpaper in my bedroom. It stayed tucked beneath my pillow every single night, right beside my ear.

My stepfather Julian had noticed the scent of the wood the first week he moved his things into our home. He had smiled that placid, hollow smile of his over dinner, telling my mother that I seemed to have an quaint interest in vintage woodwork. Mom had laughed, completely oblivious to the warning Julian was sending across the table.

Julian was patient. He acted like an aristocrat who had conquered his primal instincts centuries ago.

It was his son who kept me awake at night.

Kaelen didn't bother putting on a gentle face. Ever since the night my mother brought them home, Kaelen had watched me like an eagle tracks a field mouse in high grass.

He didn't speak much during family dinners. He would sit across from me, his long, pale fingers resting against his water glass, his honey-brown eyes fixed entirely on my throat. Not on my face. Not on my eyes. Always on the pulse fluttering at the base of my neck.

I spent hours lying awake in the dark, listening to the creak of the floorboards outside my bedroom door, wondering what ran through Kaelen's head when he stared at me. Was he calculating the pressure needed to tear the artery open? Was he wondering if human blood tasted different when the host was paralyzed by panic? Or was he just waiting for the day my mother turned her back long enough for him to feed?

I hated him. I hated the silent, predatory grace of his stride. I hated the way he smiled whenever he caught me flinching at a sudden noise.

One year.

I turned back toward the cafeteria doors to retrieve Piper’s bag.

I just had to keep breathing, keep saving, and keep my head down for one more year. Once I graduated, I would turn eighteen. I would take my mother, take Piper, and leave this blood-soaked town in the rearview mirror forever.

I just had to survive Kaelen until then.