JERICHO

Seeing it though, the plain house with a single detached garage, had made me ache with longing the first time I drove by. I nearly cried. How can such a small building hold so many memories? All those late-night study sessions, or the times I’d slept over to wean off a hangover. The long conversations we’d shared, pretending to have our lives figured out. The movie marathons on his lumpy thrift store couch. Evan used to tease me about my obsession with foreign films, yet through the course of our friendship he’d memorized a few of them right along with me. For four years, I spent hot summer nights on his front porch, bonding over cheap beer and microwavable popcorn.

Those days feel like a lifetime ago now. An eternity.

When I reach his house, an unfamiliar blue SUV is parked in the driveway, the windows slightly steamed as though the engine had been turned off only a few minutes ago. My senses go on high alert when I see two figures silhouetted behind a sheer curtain, their stiff postures and jagged movements laced with tension.

I slow the van to a crawl, trying to stay out of sight. I can’t afford to be seen. Or rather, he can’t.

Keep moving, Jericho. You can’t be here.

But I can’t abandon him either. If he’s in trouble…

I wait, taking in every sound, every flash of movement. When one of the men takes a swing at the other, I throw the van into park and run to the front door, opening it with enough force that one of the hinges pops free. Two men whirl around, and my heart sinks at the blood on Evan’s beautiful face. He’d been on the receiving end of that punch.

Instantly, my lips pull back, and I bare my teeth. A guttural roar lodges in my throat as I stalk over to the stranger. Slamming him to the ground, I close a hand around his throat, stopping just shy of crushing his windpipe. He smells of stale beer and peanuts.

I turn to Evan. “Do you want him to live?”

My friend gapes. “Wh-what?”

“He hurt you.” As if that excuses my behavior. “Do you want him to live, or can I rip his throat out?”

Evan doesn’t reply. Just stares at me with those stunning blue eyes of his. God. I’ve missed that unique shade of blue.

When his gaze drops to my mouth, I don’t bother retracting my fangs. It’s too late anyway. He would’ve seen them. And if he hadn’t, my speed and force would’ve been a dead giveaway that something is different about me now.

He blinks wildly, taking it in. I can practically see the pieces clicking together in his head as the truth hits him.

This is why I'd ghosted him.

This is why I'd cut him out of my life all those months ago, why I’d avoided all of his calls.

Because I’d been turned into a vampire.