THE COUCH WAS old, the kind that sagged in the middle and squeaked under the slightest of movement. Its faded green fabric had seen better days, frayed at the seams with a few mysterious stains that no amount of scrubbing would ever remove. It smelled faintly of dust and something vaguely herbal but I didn’t mind, it was comforting in its own way.

  I sat curled up on one end, freshly showered with springs uncomfortably digging into my back as I hunched over a steaming bowl of two-minute noodles that were balanced precariously in my lap. Across from me Ana sat with her legs tucked beneath her, nudging her floppy noodles around with her chopsticks.

  A few half-unpacked boxes sat to the side, the last remnants of our moving effort. We still had plenty more still in the hatchback and trailer, but that was a problem for tomorrow. Along with everything else, such as unpacking, cleaning, and figuring out how to exist in a place that held too many ghosts—the ones I couldn’t quite decide if I wanted to chase away or cling to.

  “We’ll need to do a food shop tomorrow,” I murmured aloud, half to myself. I lifted a forkful of hot noodles and blew on them, watching as the steam

  curled into the air. “Maybe check for any job openings.”

  Ana hummed in acknowledgment, still pushing her noodles around in the bowl, not eating. She seemed a little flat, quieter than usual. I didn’t comment on it. Sure, she could eat food, but it didn’t satisfy anything for her, unlike blood. It had been a long day. Hell, it had been a few, long weeks. I was unsure if she was dwelling on the move, about Ophelia, or was tired.

  “If I don’t find anything, I might have to check the next town over,” I went on, trying to keep the conversation moving and keep my thoughts from sinking into places I didn’t want them to go. “I just want to keep myself busy, you know?” I told her, plopping the cooled noodles in my mouth.

  Ana finally looked up at that, arching a brow. “I doubt there’s much to keep busy with here. Saltgrove isn’t exactly booming with opportunity.”

  I swallowed the food in my mouth. “Well, if all else fails, I can always take up sheep herding,” I told her, unserious.

  Ana blinked at me before her lips twitched upward minutely. “Sheep herding?”

  “Yeah, I mean, there’s a sheep farm on the way in. I’m sure I’d be a natural at it.”

  Ana let out a breath of laughter, shaking her head. “Seriously? You’d be terrible at it.”

  “Uh, yes, seriously! I’d be excellent at it, thank you very much,” I sat up straight, mock-offended. I placed my chopsticks in the bowl and used my free hand to hold onto my chest. “I’ll have you know that I have a very deep connection with animals.”

  “You screamed when a raccoon ran across your foot last year,” Ana deadpanned.

  I held up my index finger. “That was a momentary lapse in judgment.”

  That earned a snort from her but the amusement quickly faded when her gaze landed on the untouched meal in her lap.

  “You’re really not going to eat?” I finally prodded, frowning.

  She shrugged, twirling a few strands of noodles around her chopsticks in disinterest. “I can… it just doesn’t do much.” She placed her bowl on the coffee table and balanced the chopsticks on top before sinking back into the couch with crossed arms. She stared at me from her spot. “On a real note, is there even a hospital around here?”

  “Well, no, not exactly. It’s more like a clinic. The kind that has one doctor and a nurse on shift at any given time. It belongs to one of Grandma’s old friends, Beverly. Her husband is the main doctor.” I returned to my bowl of noodles, slurping up a few strands with a satisfying gulp before continuing,

  “In a place like this, connections matter more than qualifications. If she vouches for me, I might have a shot.”

  Ana tilted her head, considering my words. “I guess that makes sense.”

  “Besides, it’s better than the alternative,” I added.

  Her brows furrowed in confusion. “What alternative?”

  “Sheep herder, remember?” I sniggered.

  She laughed, a soft, tinkling sound that echoed lightly like wind chimes intermingling in a gentle breeze.

  My smirk grew more pronounced. “I can already hear the job listing. ‘Seeking farmhand. Must be willing to wake up at the arse crack of dawn. Low pay, high chance of stepping in something unpleasant.’”

  “You forgot the part about charming the livestock,” Ana teased, playing along.

  “Oh, true. I’ll have to brush up on my sheep whispering skills.” I finished the last of my noodles and set it aside next to Ana’s full bowl. “How many blood bags do you have left, by the way?”

  Ana went still.

  There’s a beat of silence. Then, without looking up, she answered.

  “None,” she winced out.

  “When did you run out?” I questioned, the lightness in my tone fading at the shift in mood.

  Ana hesitated. “…Two days ago.”

  My stomach twisted in guilt. “Two days?” She avoided eye-contact, directing her gaze to her nails. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Vampires couldn’t die from starvation—not really. At least that’s what I assumed. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t dangerous. Without blood, they would slowly grow weaker, drained of their strength until they could barely function.

  Ana had always been careful never to let herself reach that point. She had always known where her limits were and made sure to feed before the hunger could claw its way too deep in her mind. But I had seen her push herself before, let the thirst stretch on longer than it should.

  It wasn’t like she couldn’t feed, but that she wouldn’t. Although blood bags were her preferred method, it felt wrong to her, taking medical equipment that was meant to save lives. And feeding off people? That made her feel even more like a monster, though I could see the conflict in her eyes every time she did it. She hated it, but a part of her craved it, loved it even, and I think that’s what scared her the most. Herself.

  When it got really bad it was easy to tell.

  The change in her was like night and day. Dark circles would appear beneath her eyes, deepening with each passing day, and her breath would come in shallow gasps when she thought no one was paying attention to her. The effortless grace she generally exuded would be long gone, replaced by stilted, almost sluggish movements as if she was dragging her limbs through molasses.

  She’d brushed off my concern, of course, offering a smile that never quite reached her eyes. She’d rather run herself into the ground than confront the truth of what she truly was.

  “You were busy,” she said, still not looking at me.

  I wasn’t sure if this was another attempt to push her limits or just her way of avoiding drinking from me altogether. Either way, it didn’t sit right. I knew she hated how it made me feel after, and trust me, I hated it too—but for an entirely different reason. I liked it far too much.

  I levelled her with a stare. “Ana.”

  Her jaw tightened, her gaze flicking away like she could avoid the conversation if she just refused to meet my eyes. “I’m fine,” she muttered.

  I exhaled sharply through my nose. “You’re not.”

  She sat stiffly, arms folded like a locked door, like if she just held herself together tight enough, the hunger wouldn’t break through the cracks. But I saw it. It was in the way she refused to breathe too deeply, like even inhaling would remind her of what she was denying herself.

  “Well, come on then.” I shifted on the couch and tilted my head, tossing my dark hair back and baring my neck.

  She cast a meek, sideways glance in my direction. There’s a beat of silence and then she spoke, so soft I barely heard it, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You won’t. Now, Bon appétit.”

  Ana’s frown deepened. “You know I hate it when you say things like that.”

  “Well, technically, I am a meal, so…” I gestured vaguely at myself. “Bon appétit.”

  She hesitated, her light brown eyes flickering to my neck. Her throat bobbed hungrily and her fangs, which she usually kept hidden, slipped down slightly in temptation.

  Another beat passed.

  “Are you sure?” she asked, deliberating.

  “Yes,” I said, sincerely.

  She was hesitant as she stood, her movements careful as she took slow steps toward me. Even though we’d done this before, she still looked at me like I might change my mind. She kneeled beside me on the couch, unsure.

  “Eden—”

  “Come on. We both know it’ll make you feel better.”

  The sight of my bare skin and what it offered proved to be too powerful. The veins beneath her eyes darkened, creeping like cracks across porcelain as her fangs extended to their full length. As her teeth neared my neck, my heart pounded with a tangled mix of anxiety and anticipation. I hated feeling the latter, but no matter how much I resented it, I couldn’t ignore it. It was a dirty weakness I couldn’t shake.

  Her breath was warm against my skin for half a second before she bit into me, hard. I gasped at the sharp flare of pain. But the discomfort was only brief, quickly replaced by pure and utter bliss. A rush of euphoria flooded every nerve of my being. It was overwhelming, intoxicating and all-consuming. My body hummed, my head spinning as warmth pulsed like liquid gold through me. My fingers curled into the couch, and a slow, breathless sigh slipped past my lips.

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  This was perfect.

  She pulled away far too soon for my liking.

  Her worried eyes immediately flickered to my face to assess me. “Thanks… how do you feel?”

  I blinked dazedly at her, the lingering buzz of her bite leaving me lightheaded, almost giddy. A lazy, lopsided smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it.

  “Mhm.” I swallowed, trying to ground myself, but my head felt like it was floating. “I’m good.”

  Actually, more than good. But I wouldn’t dare say that aloud. I let out a quiet, breathy laugh at that thought. My body sank deeper into the couch. It felt like I was melting.

  Ana wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve, her expression tight. “I should find you something to eat.” She moved from her position on the couch toward the cardboard boxes like a mother hen, determined to find me something with actual nutritional value. “Two-minute noodles aren’t going to cut it. You need something with sugar or protein.”

  I waved a sluggish hand, my limbs heavy with the aftereffects of the bite. “There might be an energy bar in my backpack,” I offhandedly informed her.

  She shifted toward the worn-out bag slumped by the boxes. I shut my eyes, content to let the world fade away, only to be dragged moments later by something strange.

  Silence.

  My eyelids fluttered open to find Ana frozen in place, one hand buried in my bag and the other clenched at her side. Her attention was fixed past the back sliding door, where the dark pressed against the glass.

  Something was wrong.

  “Ana?”

  Her gaze was distant, but sharp. Focused on something far away.

  “I smell blood,” she said grimly.

  A cold prickle skittered down my spine, dousing the remnants of warmth left behind from the high. I followed her gaze out the window.

  “Mine?” My voice was barely more than a whisper.

  She shook her head. “No.”

  I pushed myself upright, but the moment I did, the world tilted sharply as if I had just stepped onto a rocking boat. I squeezed my eyes closed, waiting for the fuzziness to settle, but it clung to me like a second skin, stubborn and unrelenting. I took a deep breath and forced my uncoordinated limbs to move. I pushed off the couch and grabbed the armrest to keep my wobbling legs from collapsing.

  Ana’s gaze flicked to me for half a second, but she was still listening intently. “It’s a man.”

  “Where?”

  Ana tilted her head slightly, her ears tuning in. The house was silent except for my heavy breathing, but she was hearing something I possibly couldn’t. Another sharp inhale. Another pause.

  “I can hear him down by the beach. He’s hurt. Get the medical kit.”

  Then, she was gone.

  A gust of cold air whooshed past me, the back door left ajar in her wake. I shook my head, shoving past my light-headedness as I stumbled toward the kitchen. I dropped to my knees and rummaged through the cupboard with clumsy, impatient hands. When my fingers finally closed around the familiar case, I yanked it free.

  I had barely managed to stand upright when Ana reappeared.

  And she wasn’t alone.

  An unconscious weight was draped over her shoulders, limp and heavy. She maneuvered her way through the doorway with unnatural ease, her strength making the task seem effortless. It would have been comical if the situation weren’t so dire. She went to the couch and lowered him onto it.

  “I have good news and bad news. The good news is that he’s not suffering from secondary drowning. He was still conscious when I found him.”

  “If he was conscious when you found him, then why isn’t he alert?” I questioned her, confused.

  “That’s the bad news. He saw me and freaked out and well…” she trailed off, pointing to his face. “I knocked him out accidentally.”

  I blinked at her. “How do you knock someone out accidentally?”

  She winced as she spoke, “I panicked?”

  I let out a heavy breath, pushing aside my exhaustion and looked down at the stranger. He was sprawled awkwardly, his bulky frame taking up the whole couch as one arm dangled over the side. He looked young. Late twenties, maybe? His damp, brown mousey hair clung to his forehead in tangled strands and a nasty looking bruise darkened his cheekbone. He could thank Ana for that. His split lip had long since stopped bleeding, dried blood cracking against his olive skin. His clothes were soaked, and his boots were caked with dried mud, as if he'd been running through the woods.

  “Where’s the wound?” I asked her, knowing full well that it’s not just a split lip ailing this man.

  Her jaw tightened. “Waist.”

  “Help me with his jacket, please.”

  It took longer than it should’ve, but we eventually pried the tattered leather from the heaviness of his uncooperative body. I muttered a curse when my eyes caught sight of the blood.

  The left side of his shirt was drenched in it, the cotton dark and glistening, the crimson stain still spreading. I peeled up his sticky, wet shirt and sucked in a sharp breath.

  A gash stretched across his side, deep enough that arterial damage was a serious concern. Blood seeped slowly from the wound, staining his skin red.

  “It needs to be stitched up,” I swallowed, diverting my concerned eyes to Ana who stood above me silently assessing. “We need to get him to a hospital.”

  “No. Not the hospital.”

  The unfamiliar voice was weak, barely more than a rasp, but it cut through the tension in the room like a knife. My breath stilled and my head snapped to his face. Glazed, warm-amber eyes cracked open, pupils dilated and unfocused. His hand shot out, fingers latching around my wrist in a vice grip. A surprised yelp escaped my throat at the suddenness.

  “Please—” his desperate plea is cut short.

  THWAP.

  The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed in the room. His head jerked to the side from the unexpected impact, and just like that, he was out cold again. I blinked, my mind scrambling to catch up with the blur of events. His large hand fell away from my arm, lifeless.

  My mouth fell open in shock and I gaped up at Ana in disbelief. “You did not just—”

  “I panicked again!’ she whisper-yelled, looking mildly horrified with herself. She eyed her clenched fist warily, as if it had a life of its own, then slowly relaxed it, though the tension still radiated off her “He woke up and grabbed you and it was my first instinct.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, inhaling deeply to calm the knot of nerves tightening in my chest. I needed to keep in mind that the aftermath of feeding left her brimming with raw energy, her emotions amplified and her reflexes sharp. “Right. Okay.” My mind spun as I tried to process the situation. “Just… we need to somehow manage getting him to the car without aggravating his wound.”

  Ana hesitated. “Eden…”

  I glanced up at her, but she wasn’t looking at me. Her attention was locked on the injured stranger.

  “What?” I asked, sensing her uneasiness.

  “I don’t know how I didn’t catch it before, “she said, her voice low. “Maybe the fresh blood was overpowering but there’s something off about him…” she trailed off, inhaling slightly, then grimacing. “His blood smells wrong.”

  “His blood smells wrong?” I repeated back to her. That was a first. “Wrong how?” I frowned.

  I ran my eyes over him. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. His skin was cold, sure, but not lifeless. If I focused long enough, I could hear the faint hitch in his breathing, like his body was clinging to consciousness even while he was out.

  “The scent of death lingers on him but it doesn’t make sense. He’s alive.” Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “Look, I know it doesn’t make sense, but he doesn’t feel right.”

  I pressed my lips together and glanced back at the wound. I trusted Ana’s instincts but right now, we didn’t have the luxury of trying to decode her sixth sense. He was bleeding.

  That was real.

  “Ana, he’s injured. He’s not—” I stopped myself before I could say something dismissive. Instead, I sighed. “We have more pressing concerns than… whatever weird vibe you’re getting off him.”

  “It’s not just a vibe, Eden,” she said firmly, but she didn’t push. Instead, she crossed her arms and stared down at him with a wary expression, like she expected him to sit up and start swinging.

  Ignoring the unease curling in my stomach, I patted down his pant pockets, searching for some form of identification. I even checked his jacket, but alas, I come up empty-handed. No wallet. No phone.

  “Nothing?” Ana questioned.

  I shook my head, sitting back on my heels. “Not unless he’s hiding a passport in his sock.”

  Ana huffed in exasperation, brushing a hand through her locks. “Weird. Who goes around without a single piece of I.D.?”

  “Someone who doesn’t want to be found.”

  The words had barely left my lips before my mind flashed back to his voice, raw and desperate.

  No. Not the hospital. Please.

  His voice had been strained, adamant, like the idea of it was worse than bleeding out on a stranger’s couch.

  I shot Ana a pointed look. “Too bad we can’t ask him why he didn’t want to go to the hospital.”

  Ana scoffed. “Oh, come on. He grabbed you first.”

  “Maybe next time try not to break someone’s face before they can explain themselves.”

  She rolled her eyes at me. “Yeah. Yeah. Fine. Whatever. Next time, I’ll ask politely before defending you.”

  I shook my head disapprovingly and turned back to the unconscious man. I take note of the peppered bruises marring his skin, the split lip, the nasty gash and the exhaustion worn into his body. Something had put him in the state. And he didn’t want help for it.

  What kind of trouble was he in?

  Normally, taking someone in would be the logical and ethical thing to do. But the hospital meant records. Even without I.D., they’d enter him as a John Doe. If they needed to, they could check his fingerprints and run them through the system. And if someone was looking for him…

  It could place him right in their hands.

  I pressed lightly around the wound. No excessive swelling. No obvious signs of internal bleeding. But that didn’t necessarily mean he was in the clear.

  Entertaining the idea of keeping him here and stitching him up myself was reckless. It was risky in more ways than one.

  “I could get into trouble for this,” I grumbled, dragging a hand down my face.

  This wasn’t exactly a controlled setting. I was a nurse, not a doctor, and stitching him up here, without proper equipment, without knowing the full extent of his injuries was dangerous. If anything went wrong and if something happened to him under my care, it wouldn’t just be a moral failure. It would end my career.

  “I mean, if anything goes wrong, this could be deemed as negligence. Malpractice.” I elucidated. “I could lose my license, Ana.”

  My words sobered her for a second. “You’d really get into trouble for helping someone?”

  “If he dies on my couch? Yeah. And if something worse happens because I didn’t get him proper treatment? Absolutely.”

  I didn’t like any of this. Not one bit. I rubbed my temple, feeling a headache creeping its way in.

  “Do you think this could be linked to Ophelia?”

  Ana’s abrupt question hit me like a wave crashing into the shore. It was a damning thought, one I didn’t want to entertain, but there it was. Existing. Undeniable.

  We didn’t know who he was, why he was out there, or what he was doing to end up behind the house, washed ashore like some stray piece of driftwood.

  Ana wasn’t being paranoid. No. She was being cautious, drawing parallels between Ophelia’s strange demise and what was currently unfolding before us. There were too many questions with no clear answers.

  “Maybe…” My voice faltered, not quite ready to commit to the thought. I ran a hand through my hair, staring at the man. “I don’t know. It’s hard to say.”

  “So, what’s the plan? What are we going to do?”

  Uncertainty gnawed at me. I couldn’t shake the weight of his words from earlier, nor the suspicious origins of his injuries. There was something off about his desperate need to stay hidden and the way Ana had wrinkled her nose, saying he smelled wrong.

  “I’ll stitch him up here,” I decided for us, my voice steadier than I felt. “But if something gets worse —if he spikes a fever, if there’s any sign of internal bleeding—we’re taking him straight to the hospital.”

  Ana didn’t argue. She just stepped back, giving me space.

  I took a steadying breath and got to work.

  We’d have to watch him carefully because whoever he was, whatever he was caught up in, we had just dragged ourselves into it, too.