The desert never seemed to cool at night. Even now, under a slivered moon and a sky dusted with stars. It was quiet. Almost too quiet for the chaos it held.

You press your palm against the rough stucco wall of your father’s spralling estate, the edge of the back courtyard bathed in shadows from the cacti. The air is thick with the scent of dry earth and sand that is still hot from a sun that has long since vanished beneath the horizon. The silence around you feels unnatural. Not the kind that comes with peace, but the kind that hums with those invisible wires, surveillance cameras, and secrets unspoken. 

The wind kicks up, stirring up a few pieces of loose hair your ponytail was not able to hold back. You held your breath, listening as you paused alongside another rough stone wall. You are anticipating the sound of an alarm or footsteps. There was an occasional patrol your brute of a father had roaming around the premises. No sound spoke in your ears, nothing but the sound of your own heartbeat drumming away. Small sounds of a cricket chorus nearby followed by the electric buzz of a floodlight too far away to touch you fill your senses.

Your heart thundered in your chest from the adrenaline as your long plan to escape was finally coming to fruition. The thought of what your father would do to you if you were caught…no, focus..

You slip past the final archway that leads into the cactus-lined backyard, your black lace up boots silent on the red gravel beneath the soles. By the gods you were thankful for it. The landscaping here is manicured with surgical precision not even a stone out of place, desert sage trimmed into neat mounds, towering cacti spaced evenly along the stone wall and moonflowers blooming with ghost-white petals that only open at night. They glow faintly in the dark like they’re mourning you and your history here. Mourning your poor deceased mothers history, the cruel blood of your father that is mixed with her flowing through your dainty veins. 

You make a sudden move toward the furthest edge of the property where the well manicured property bleeds into wilderness. Here the land becomes raw and wild again, untouched by your father’s money and greed.

The fence looms ahead. Tall. Barbed. A silent reminder that freedom is not but a dream. But you had planned for this dream, planned enough to make it a reality. 

You kneel beside a small patch of gravel near a small gardeners shed, your fingers brush away the smooth sand and stones that border a decorative succulent bed. Your nails scrape against the ground, digging up sand that seemed oddly out of place in the desert until your nails scrape the edge of a gardening tile that was hidden under the churned earth. The one you had buried above a small hole you’d dug with persistence over a month ago. 

You lift it, and there it is: a ziploc bag with a passport, ID and a couple hundred in cash and a small burner phone. Months of planning, waiting until the perfect night when you knew your father would be busy enough to not pay any attention. Those trials and tribulations of going behind your father's back who was the head of a well known Mafia in Tucson who had eyes everywhere. Yes, even in the back of his head. 

You let out a sigh of relief clenching the small bag tight in my fist and wiping a bead of sweat from your forehead. Your heart rattles against your ribs once more as you move toward the weakest point in the fence. The break is barely visible unless you know where to look. A spot where the ends bent and twisted just wide enough to fit your body through if you turn sideways and suck your stomach in. 

You had been working on this fence for months as well, since the thought of escape grazed the forefront of your mind after you learned of your fathers cruel intentions to sell you off as some prized brood mare.  With a stolen wire cutter you had found in the garage one day that you had been storing the tool under a loose floorboard in my room and using the excuse of needing space to take a walk late at night. You were able to work a break in the fence. 

Thankfully, this was the one thing your father was too busy to question and after you had kicked one of the body guards he had assigned to follow you around in the balls,  no one else would take up the job of “babysitting”. You thankfully were finally left alone.

A sound catches behind you, a soft metallic click and you freeze for a moment, petrified. This is it, this will be the death of me…I had imagined it so differently, many times..

Another motion-activated light by the back patio flickering to life, illuminating nothing but sand, gravel and the beady eyes of a fox nearby. You move faster now with a little more determination, you’re almost there, you can taste the free air on your tongue. The adrenaline sharpens everything. From the crunch of gravel underfoot, to the rough edge of the metal snagging your sleeve as you slip through the break, the distinct taste of fear in your dry mouth.

You fully slip through the break in the fence with a quiet grunt, a slight cut to your left knee appears as the fabric of your jeans tear slightly against the wire. You land hard on the other side as a result but now in the open desert. The earth here is cracked and broken, dry like the desert should be. Unmanicured.  You swear the air really does smell different on the other side of that damned wire fence. 

There’s no path here. No lights. Just the sound of your breath and the crunch of your boots as you break into a sprint. This feels like the first breath of real air you’ve taken in years.

And still, your father’s voice echoes behind your ears like a ghost you can’t outrun from the conversation that decided your fate for you. 

“It’s already done,” he had said, smoke billowing from a Cuban cigar. 

The haunting memory of the way he sat behind the desk, framed by backlit bookshelves and heavy curtains. A glass of scotch in his other hand and that arrogant smirk playing on his lips that he reserved for his enemies, even you, his only daughter. 

He didn’t look at you when he said it, when he told you he was selling you off for marriage like a pawn in his game to none other than Luciano Martelli. The estranged son of another mob family with more blood on his hands than a butcher and a cold hearted reputation.

“You will marry him and you will not protest,” your father had muttered like it was a mild inconvenience.

“You belong to the bloodline. You belong to me. And you will honor me at the altar.”

You still begged, pleaded. Reasoned. Screamed so hard your throat had torn and bled. You remember gripping the arms of the chair so tight it had bent your manicured nails back, the pain not as noticeable as the one that tore your chest wide open with. You protested for your own freedom. And yet he wouldn’t meet your eyes. He was always too much of a damn coward. You carried your mothers soft eyes. To which  was his only kryptonite in his otherwise steel armour he wore. His stare was glassy and detached as you had begged and tried to reason. He looked at you like you just another thorn in his side. The room smelled like power that day, not just cigar smoke. And your knees crumbled before you were dragged out of the room with a wave of his hand. 

It was this day as you were thrown into your room and heard the deadbolt lock latch from the inside that you decided you had no other choice but to make your own freedom. Even if it meant your life was on the line. 

Now, you run. And you run and you run.

Through scrub brush and dry weeds, whipping past tall cacti. Your throat burns as you gasp for air. Through brittle sand that crumbles beneath my boots and makes you sink with every step. Past a rusted fence post and an abandoned tractor half-buried in the dirt, forgotten. You run until the highway lights appear in the distance, glimmering hopes of flickering halos of orange and yellow and the silhouette of the Greyhound station begins to rise like a mirage along the paved asphalt.

You don’t stop moving until you finally reach the bus stop, thankful it was only a few miles away from your fathers estate. Wide eyes of those around you meet yours as you slow to a stop and gasp for air. You’re clearly out of place, and your damn asthma isn’t helping as you dig for the inhaler in your pocket,  taking a deep breath to help slow the burning in your lungs. 

When your breathing steadied you took a deep breath through your nose. The air reeked of diesel fuel. Now that’s actually the smell of freedom. You pick yourself up off the wall you had been leaning up against and walk along the concrete platform passing a stranger who was wrangling with a broken vending machine, pounding their fist upon the front rang through the air as you lifted the hood of your sweatshirt up, your  identity now hidden to the best of your ability. You hoped that you would remain unbothered during your trip. 

The buzzing line of flickering fluorescent lights overhead from both the electricity and the bugs adds a small sense of comfort as I settle onto a long bench and exhale. You pull the gallon ziplock bag out of your middle hoodie pocket and begin rummaging through it. The passport comes out first, with a fake name and obviously fake photo that looks like it was taken by a child. The name Evelyn Rhodes is just something to match the bus ticket your Aunt Mira had helped you purchase some time ago as a birthday gift. Funny how your escape was a birthday gift this year.. 

Your fingertips landed on a little folded photo in the bag, your mother’s ring hiding safe and sound in between the folds. The photo was old, it was of the two of you laughing in the  swimming pool the last summer before her death, before she disappeared. Before the closed-casket funeral. Before my world became shadowed in your fathers obedience and your fear.

On the passport you kept your first name the same because your mother told you it meant little bird. And little birds needed to fly the coup as they grew older in search of their freedom. But the last name had no meaning to you, it was better than carrying the weight of your fathers surname.

You board the Greyhound just after midnight.

The driver doesn’t look at you twice. You hand over my ticket with a nod and step onto the stale-smelling vehicle.The air inside is a sharp mix of exhaust, a lemon cleaner, and a dampness.

You choose a seat near the back where the darkness outside can hold you in its arms like a comfort blanket. Your body folds in on itself, instinctively trying to take up less space and make yourself as small as possible to not draw unwanted attention. You curl toward the glass and feel the engine rumble beneath your feet as the bus pulls away from the curb and into the open road. 

No one looks at you as the bus begins to fill. You don’t look at them. You are grateful.

Arizona fades behind you and the further you go, the deeper the breath you are able to muster into your lungs. The sharp claws of my father's world, his empire of blood and cruelty, are becoming smaller.

You feel yourself fully drop your shoulders for the first time in what feels like hours. Maybe days, months, years….

But peace doesn't fully come so easily to you.

Not yet at least.

The desert stretches endlessly out the window, painted in navy blue and florescent lights from the highway, shopping malls and grocery stores.

Your forehead presses against the cold windowpane.

You reminisce on memories of your mother, the happy memories, the ones of you and her finding refuge you didn't yet know you needed in New Orleans with your Aunt Mira. Memories of her smiling and laughing in the kitchen as she rummaged around in the spice cabinet, looking for that perfect addition to a meal.

Lilliana. 

You miss her. The way she used to hum Beatles tunes happily. The lavender perfume she wore in springtime. The way her eyes always seemed to carry a softness in them that never faltered no matter the cruelty that surrounded her. She always made it a point to make you feel safe. Plaster on a smile and pretend all was well  as if she knew you would never be safe in the world she brought you into.

You hated her funeral. It was an utter injustice to the woman who birthed you, who taught you to be strong but never let anyone dim your heart. The ugly brown closed casket that held the absence of her favorite flowers. No photos of her, no one sharing warm memories that they had of her. You were only eight years old. You didn't dare to shed a tear. Not because you weren’t sad, but because your father stood beside you with a hand on your shoulder like a man preparing to sculpt something out of stone his grip tight enough that it left bruises under your dress.You think back on that little girl, how she had to be strong at such a young age. Someone who didn't dare express any emotions on the outside in fear she would be punished. 

You wish you could hug her and tell her everything would be alright. 

You never got to say goodbye. You never knew what happened to her truly, you still don’t. The stories of her death changed over the years until your father eventually forbade you to ask of her any more. Her memory grew dim and it was as if she never existed in the house. You were grateful you had pieces of her left, even if it wasn't much. 

The bus jerks into a rest stop somewhere outside of El Paso, Texas pulling you from a light slumber. 

You blink, disoriented, your neck stiff. The lights of the small building flicker ahead, a low squat gas station with dinky signage and a leaky ice machine out front. 

The driver announces a twenty-minute break.

You step off the bus and stretch your legs and you glance around. Most of the other passengers are chain-smoking, waiting in line for the bathroom or grabbing snacks and drinks from inside. You catch through the dirty window how overwhelmed the attendant already is.

Cool air hits you inside the station which felt welcome compared to the stale air on the bus that was supposed to pass off as A/C. The floor tiles are cracked as you walk along and theres an invasive scent of incense hanging in the air meant to mask all the other scents but only amplifying them further. You head toward the refrigerated drinks first, grabbing a bottle of water and an energy drink. As you wait in line behind another one of the patrons who was picking an argument over the price of a small pack of gum, your gaze drifting toward the plexiglass case behind the register.

The cigarettes.

You’ve never smoked a day in your life.

Your father said your body was to be left untainted from these types of vices. Not with alcohol, not with smoke, and not with anyone’s hands but people he had carefully selected and sent to your room late at night. 

You stare at the little boxes of rebellion lined up like saints in a chapel. You step up to the clearly frustrated attendant, focusing your eyes on one particular box

“Can I get a pack of Marl-boh-roo?” you ask, surprising even yourself with how calm your voice sounds even when you know you are butchering your name.

“Which ones, sweet thing?” The cashier's attitude shifted almost instantly from annoyance to an attempt of saccharine dripping from his at the sight of you in front of him now. 

Ugh, men.

“Uh,” you feel that anxiety bubble up in your chest again as a smirk cracks across his face. “The gold ones?” 

“You sure about that baby?” His eyebrows raise. 

You nod rolling your shoulders and adjusting your posture to hopefully sport a bit of confidence that was waning pretty quickly. 

“Special blend? Lights? 100’s? Regular?” He smirked as he pulled a chewed up toothpick from in between his cracked lips, tossing you a smile with very yellow teeth.

Oh he was definitely fucking with you.  

“Just grab me a pack, I don't fucking care what it is.” You snapped. 

“Shit, alright, no need to get charged up on me now!” The cashier rings you up and pretty much tosses the box across the counter before he pulls it back from your reach. “Give me a smile and Ill give you these here cig’rettes.” 

“Just give me the fucking cigarettes.” You go to reach for his wrinkled hand covering the box next to your two drinks. 

“Aht, aht..” 

You start to throw him a smile and as his hand eases up on the box you snatch it with the bottles as well and you throw him a middle finger as you exit through the door.  

Once outside, you sit on the edge of a chipped concrete parking barrier. With only a few minutes left on your break before the bus takes off again you stare at the little white box in your hand. Tearing off the plastic around it and opening the pack you stare at the white tips of the paper wrapped nicotine. 

This is your first act of real disobedience against your father. Not quiet plotting, not subtle rebellion behind locked doors. But the actual choice that you got to make. 

Dammit, you forgot a lighter..

There was no way you were heading back inside for one either. You stuff the little box in your hoodie pocket and make your way back to the bus in the parking lot. 

**************

You cross into Louisiana as dawn begins to bleed the horizon with colors of reds, pinks and purples. Mist curls over the swamps that you pass by and the wildlife starts to stir to life as the sun breaks into a new day. Your eyelids feel like heavy weight as they open more and your head slightly vibrates against the cool glass window. 

As the swamps break away to more populated areas, the city unfolds before you in layers.  Neon signs, balconies dripping with vines and baskets of flowers all in bloom with bright colors of pinks and purples to match the sky. The sounds of jazz are loud enough to hear over the drum of the wheels on the pavement through the glass windows. The red trolley’s pass along the streets. The nostalgia of being here with your mom when you were little floods over you suddenly. The memory of a vanilla ice cream cone in your hand, her lavender perfume acting as a blanket of comfort and a smile you both shared with one another. A happier memory in time. 

The bus hisses as it pulls into the station, brakes squealing and patrons begin to scramble for bags. The sun is just starting to rise above the clouds now, casting long, bleeding streaks of orange and rose across the pavement. The windows of the bus are already fogged due to the suffocating humidity in the Louisiana midsummer air blocking your view of the curb the bus had just parked against. You hesitate for a moment, the “what ifs” flooding your mind. 

‘What if your father knew where you were’

‘What if he had some of his men waiting for you when you got off the bus, to take you back to your imprisoned life to that man’ 

‘What if you –’ 

You shook your head trying to physically free yourself from the bubbling anxiety causing bile to unpleasantly rise in your throat. The moment your boots touch the pavement, it's as if something shifts inside you again. This is that feeling of freedom you have been chasing for God only knows how long is finally here, you've landed.

You blink back tears, but not from sadness. From relief. From the simple, staggering truth that you did it.You ran, and you made it and there's no one standing here to take you back to your fathers estate. 

“There you are, baby girl.”

You turn toward the voice coming from your left, smooth as meringue cutting through the thick air like a hot knife. She is leaning against the hood of an old gold Buick Roadmaster that’s as beat-up as it is still loved and cared for. One hand on her hip, the other holding a cup of corner-store coffee and a slim cigarette.

Mira. 

Your mother’s sister. Your goddamn lifeline.

Her red curly hair is pulled up into a high, messy twist, gold hoops swing as she moves peeking out from the wisps of hair that have fallen out of her updo. She’s wearing denim shorts and a deep purple tank top with a faded Led Zeppelin logo. Her eyes held enough eyeliner to make a priest nervous. Her sunglasses rest on top of her head and her grin is quick, wide, and utterly disarming to your nervous system. 

Mira was the opposite in stature and looks compared to your mother, probably due to the fact that they had different mothers themselves. But they carried the same soft eyes.

She crosses the pavement in long, purposeful strides and pulls you into a hug before you can utter even a peep.This was not a polite hug. Not a half-hearted pat-on-the-back. But a real rib-crushing, grounding hug. “I’m here. I’ve got you.” Mira whispers into your hair as she holds the back of your head.

You feel yourself fold into her body like a paper doll. Tears instantly pour down your cheeks hot and full of emotion, your body shaking with noiseless sobs. Your hands clutch the back of her tank top without thinking, and you breathe her in. She reeks of cigarette smoke and incense with that touch of lavender on her skin. You don't know if she's always sporting that scent but if not, you know why she picked it today of all days.

“Breathe baby girl, breathe,” she says quietly into your hair and she strokes it softly. “You’re safe now, sugar. You made it and that’s all that matters.”

You simply nod because you can’t speak, you don't trust your voice. Not yet. Not without crumbling further and causing a scene that would draw unwanted attention.

She pulls back and frames your face in her hands, studying you like she’s looking at a ghost and a miracle all at once. Her face softening fully, a slight pout to her lips as she wipes the tears off of your now blemished cheeks with her manicured fingers.

“Oh baby girl, you’ve got your mama’s eyes. That wild softness,” she murmurs, thumb brushing your cheek. “But you’ve definitely got that spark hidden in them. Stubborn lil’ thing.” She tuts and lightly pinches your cheek. 

You start to say something, anything but the words seem to fail making it past your throat. Mira waves it off with a smirk and a flick of her wrist as she notices the words fail you.

“Come on sugar,” she says, grabbing your bag off of your shoulder with one hand and slinging it over her shoulder. “Tony’s making us breakfast. Let’s get you outta this dingy bus station and into proper salvation.” 

The Buick roars to life with a cough and a shudder and the drive through New Orleans is short but electric. The city is starting to stir. Nightlife swapping shifts with the morning folk, more tame than the latter.  Church bells ring in the distance as you watch people sweep pavement in front of their shops, locals breezed by drunk tourists that are stumbling on the streets. You watch it all from the passenger seat like a dream. A small, genuine smile actually cracking across your face for the first time since your escape. The sun is now beaming in the sky adding to the heat outside that will take some time to get used to. There is Spanish moss hanging heavy from the trees you drive by, decorating the branches like tinsel on a Christmas tree. You decide here and now that it is your favorite piece about New Orleans thus far . 

It’s beautiful here. It feels like home already, somehow in some strange way.

Mira drums her fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of whatever song is playing through the old stereo. Another Virginia Slim held tightly between her pointer and middle finger, the smoke curling around the interior of the car escaping the small cracks in the windows. She hums along for just a moment as she turns down a side street. Her manicured fingers reach across to the stereo, turning it down a notch before she speaks. 

“Tony said the apartment above the bar is finally cleared out for ya baby girl,” she takes another drag from the thin cigarette before tossing it out the window. “The roof leaks a little when it storms and the floors rattle when the bar is full downstairs. But it's cozy and all your own, if you want it.”

You smile softly and nod, trying to not give away too much excitement all at once. 

A place of your own….you've never been able to have that..

Mira glances at you sideways, a smile breaking across her beautiful weathered faceas she takes another drag. “You don’t have ‘tah say a word, sweet chil’e. I’m just grateful ya here.”

“Me too, Aunt Mira.” 

With that, you lean your forehead against the cool glass of the car window and watch the blue of the streets bleed by. 

The Buick slows as Mira swings it into a narrow alley just off a cracked and uneven street in Marigny. You pass a sign barely clinging to life, its white faded letters spell out The Patrons Dive, missing half the “V” which makes a chuckle bubble in your throat. The building is dilapidated beyond hell and weathered. Yet the vibrant colors of the exterior bleed life into it. An old wooden and metal door propped open with an empty keg. Its wooden shutters are rotten and hanging off their hinges have seen better days. The awning in the front looks like one heavy rain will be its ending. 

You love it.

Arizona didn’t hold a character like this. At least the Arizona you grew up to know. 

Music filters out from the open door, the sound of Elvis Presley's voice carrying out into the street singing “Heartbreak Hotel.”

You follow Mira and step out of the car and are hit with the scent of beer, smoked meat and the heat in the air. Almost just as you remembered it here. 

Mira nudges you toward the door with her elbow. “Go on baby, check it out.”

Inside, the bar is dim and dilapidated yet full of life with odd signs hanging on the walls and hundreds of dollar bills tacked and taped to the ceiling. Old wood aged leather stools, shelves full of mismatched glasses and liquor bottles in every shape. There’s a faint scent of the same incense that was lingering on Mira's skin and clothes now just combined with the scent of booze and bacon.

A tall, broad-shouldered man stands outlined by a weathered doorway to the kitchen, arms tattooed and sleeves rolled to the elbows. His salt-and-pepper beard is scruffy and his bald head pouring with sweat from the heat of the grill in the kitchen, and he wears a t-shirt and an apron that reads 'Yes, I Own the Damn Place' in big bold letters. His reading glasses hang around his neck on a shoelace that's barely hanging on for dear life.

When he looks up and sees you, his whole face softens.

“Ah, good to see the package has arrived safe’t and soun’!” He says, wiping his hands on a bar towel as he rounds the counter. His voice is gravel, warm and worn. “Mira told me all abouts ya miss Y/N. Ya hungry?”

You blink, caught off guard by how genuinely kind he seems. You definitely judged a book by its cover. Though you have a feeling you still wouldn’t want to be on his bad side on a good day. 

“I—um,” your stomach answers for you as he brings a stronger scent of fresh bacon and pancakes into the bar area behind him.

He laughs, a booming hearty sound and nods. Tony places a steady hand on your shoulder followed by a few pats of his rough hand. 

“Why don't yeh go get settled first,” he says, then glances at Mira. “Upstairs is good to go. I fixed that damned leak in the roof to the best I coul’. No promises it won’t still leak during heavy rains.”

“Good,” she says, then looks at you. “Come on, sugar. Let me show you to your new home.”

Your throat tightens at the thought.  Home. The word feels like a foreign language bouncing around in your head. You follow Mira out a little side door and through another that opens to a  narrow staircase. The old wood of the stairs creaks beneath both of your footsteps as you climb. The walls are scuffed, the plaster peeling, and the railing is loose in places, but that character here speaks to your soul again.It smells, and looks like it harbors many stories it's dying to share with you. The building’s life story layered and lived-in painted here in this single stairwell in front of you like oil on canvas. 

At the top of the stairs, Mira unlocks the rickety door with a brass key and pushes it open with her hip, standing aside to let you walk past her. 

“Welcome home, baby girl.”

The apartment is small. Really small. A modest studio with a closet-sized kitchen. But it’s high-ceiling and has a bay window. The light from the window spills across the warped floorboards like honey.

There’s a twin bed in the corner, pushed up against a wall of exposed brick and plaster. The sheets look to be soft but mismatched with a floral quilt, a cotton throw, and one too-fluffy pillow. A crooked bookshelf leans against the wall, crammed with old books, candles, and a small vase of dried roses.A small table sits in front of the window with a single chair. The kitchen has one burner, a chipped sink, and a fridge that hums quite loudly but you know you will get used to it over time. At least the tiny bathroom is tucked away in its own space in the far corner behind a half-cracked door. Your heart thrums with excitement as your eyes catch the edge of a clawfoot tub.

You stand in the middle of the room and really take in your surroundings. 

You’ve never had your own space like this before. Not in your father’s house, where every room was designed for display, not comfort. There, even your bedroom wasn’t yours. The windows didn’t open. The doors were thin and listened through. The cameras that invaded your privacy.

But this?

This is yours to call your own.

You walk to the window pushing the small table slightly out of your way and push it open. The city hums below, coming to life even more as the sun tilts higher in the sky and a small breeze fills the area. 

You turn back toward the bed, and your gaze catches on the ring on your finger, your mother’s. A little black polished stone tucked away safely against detailed metal. You don't remember putting it on but you know somewhere along your journey you had pulled it out of its safe keeping in that old photo.

You sit slowly on the edge of the bed and stare at it, running your thumb over the silver as Mira chats away, something about clothes in the dresser next to the door. Wiping the dust off the singular kitchen cabinet and ‘tsking’ up a storm with Tony's name hot and heavy on her lips.

She would have loved this place.Your mother. Not because it’s perfect, but because of what it symbolizes for you. That’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it? Something real. Something not built from expectation or obedience. Something soft that matches you internally under the many layers of brick walls you have erected to protect yourself. 

Mira notices you haven't been listening to a word that has left her hot pink lips as she leans against that kitchen cabinet with her arms crossed.

“You okay, baby?”

You look at her now fully.  This woman who is a part of you that you had so many fond memories of. Of her and your mom laughing on a beach when you were just a tot. You feel your heart squeeze in your chest out of utter appreciation and sadness.

You nod. Just once. That’s all you can manage. 

Mira smiles. “Good. I’ll leave you to settle in.Take a nap, change into some different clothes, do whatever baby girl. Just don't settle too long otherwise Tony will come hobbling up those stairs to bang on your door.”

She closes the door gently behind her and you’re alone.

Not lonely.

Alone.

You lay back on the bed, your body sinking into the lumpy mattress, the ceiling fan rattling overhead. Your fingertips brush your mother’s ring where it rests on your left hand again.

The floor creaks under your bare feet as you move through the quiet of your new apartment. You dig through the dresser Mira had been talking about and pull on a pair of jean shorts and a faded tee, twisting your hair up loosely into a bun, and you stand at the top of the stairs for a moment before going down. The door to the stairwell is old, heavy, and painted a chipped shade of navy. 

The music greets you first as you descend. Faint but rising, Elvis on the jukebox again. The sound of voices in the kitchen arguing, no playfully bantering back and forth - about what exactly, you arent sure as the overwhelming feeling of hunger spreads into your bones. 

The Patrons Dive looks more alive now as a few people sit in a corner drinking beers with their scrambled eggs and toast on a plate, Mira swaying her hips in the corner to the music as she sweeps up a pile of dust.Tony is wiping down the bar, humming along to the music on the jukebox as well, watching Mira's hips sway at every chance he can. He glances up when you walk in.

“Hey there, sunshine.”

You smile, small and unsure, tucking your hands into your back pockets. “Hey.”

Mira turns around and tosses you a big grin as Tony disappears into the kitchen and returns with a plate stacked high with blueberry pancakes and slices of bacon. The golden maple syrup catches in the sunlight as she sets it down on the bar in front of where you're standing. 

“There she is,” Mira says as she walks towards you and pulls out two barstools so you both can sit. “C’mon and eat up now while it's hot!”

Your stomach gurgles at the reminder it has been awhile since you really had eaten anything sustainable, it's been ages since you even had a home cooked meal.

You run your hand along the worn edge of the counter as you take a seat and pick up the fork and knife that was placed in front of you, mouth watering.

Tony tosses the rag over his shoulder. “You gettin’ settled upstairs okay?”

You nod and take a bite of a pancake. “It’s perfect.”

He smiles, then pours you a cup of coffee from the pot behind the bar and slides it across to you like he’s done it a thousand times.

You wrap your hands around the warm ceramic and clear your throat softly.

“I… I was wondering,” you start, “if maybe I could help out down here. I need to make some money of my own, somehow.”

Tony raises an eyebrow and he and Mira share a quick glance at one another, but there’s no surprise in his expression.

“What were you thinkin’ baby girl?” Mira asks, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Just… cleaning. Stocking. Whatever you need, something that keeps me out of the eye of too many patrons,” you say quickly. “I don’t need much. I just want to earn my keep and save a few dollars in the process. I can’t stay here for free.”

Mira leans against the counter beside you, arms crossed loosely. “Sugar, you don’t owe us anything. You're family.”

“I know,” you say. “But I feel like I need to. I need to make my own way. Even if it’s just a little.”

The silence between the three of you is warm, not tense. Tony scratches at his beard and gives a thoughtful nod.

“Well, I ain’t gonna say no to a easy hire,” he says, deadpan then smirks when you laugh, just a little. “Truth is, I’ve been meaning to clean out that damned  stock room since last summer. You good at organizing chil’d?”

You stuff another bite of syrup soaked pancake in your mouth and nod.

“You’d be doing us a favor,” Mira adds. “How about we start slow? One, two days a week. A couple hours a pop. You get the lay of the land, meet the employees, the regulars, feel it out.”

“And we won't add you to the payroll,” Tony finishes. “Keeps them books clean, you safer.”

Your chest fills with gratitude.

“Okay,” you say softly. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

Tony lifts his mug in a quiet salute. “How about tomorrow night then. Just shadow Mira to start. She can show you the ropes. 

You smile again, a little wider this time. “You got it.”

Mira raises her coffee cup next. “To your freedom, baby girl.”

You lift yours last, the warmth of it seeping into your chest.

Your life feels like it is finally beginning.

***************

You spend the rest of the morning just existing.

The tiny apartment is still unfamiliar, but it’s already started to mold around you, your aura spilling into the space. 

You have had your mind on the clawfoot tub since you saw it peeking out behind the little doorway. It sits like a relic beneath a foggy mirror, chipped porcelain and tarnished fixtures, but beautiful in that worn and vintage way. You run your fingers along the edge of it, then twist the knobs. The water hisses and groans to life in the old pipes and it takes a minute to warm up.

You pour in a bit of rose-scented soap you found under the sink, clearly Mira’s doing, and slide into the water once it’s ready. Your muscles sigh. Your bones feel heavy in the best way. The water curls around your shoulders, fragrant and soft, and you allow your guard down. You soak until your fingers prune and your eyes begin to flutter closed. When you finally step out, you wrap yourself in an old scratchy towel you found hanging behind the door, swearing to yourself when you get your first payment from The Patrons Dive that you will use it to buy new towels. You collapse into the bed in nothing but a large t-shirt you found in one of the small dresser drawers and curl up on the old mattress. 

Sleep takes you whole as your body succumbs to its exhaustion. 

Your dreams are plagued immediately with darkness that threatens to swallow you up and spit you back out again. You’re running…bare feet against the cold earth. 

It’s winter. No. End of winter that is breaking into spring. Your fingertips grip the skirt of a white slim gown. Your mind is not your own, you don’t recognize the panic that swells beneath your breasts. 

“Come find me..” you call out to the wind softly as you pause to rest yourself against a wet tree trunk before sprinting off again. 

The feeling is unsettling. Are you being hunted? Or rather are you escaping your fate once more? 

You wake sometime after sunset in a startled sweat. Your chest heaves as you sit up on your lumpy bed and you take in the space around you. 

Your reality sets in softly. You’re safe..

The sky through the window is deep blue, soft with heat, and the room glows faintly orange from the streetlamp outside.

You hear the sound of the bar beneath you now louder than before and already assume it is the cause for your disturbance from slumber. Muffled laughter, clinking glass, the low thrum of a bassline drifting upward through the floorboards along with the scent of smoke.You stretch out across the bed, hot and slightly uncomfortable, you let the sound beneath you over you like ocean waves. It isn’t unpleasant necessarily, but it will take some getting used to.

You dress slowly, pulling on the same levi shorts from earlier and a worn white tank. You re-tie your hair back once more and your bangs are another story as you try your best to brush the wisps of hair off your already damp forehead. This humidity is no fuckin joke... You slip on sandals, slide your little flip phone into your back pocket, and take a last glance in the little dingy mirror by the door. Your forgotten pack of cigarettes lay nearby, a tempting feeling crawls into your throat. The ache for the burn of the smoke turns your mind into auto pilot as you pluck one from the pack. You take a moment to look at yourself again in the mirror as you hang the cigarette from your lips. 

A true act of defiance. You look good. You look alive. 

There’s something restless stirring in your belly, a hunger for adventure of sorts. You never truly had the freedom of not answering to a single person before, to be able to step out into the night without being watched or followed closely.

So you reach for a small over the shoulder bag that was hanging off the one kitchen chair and add a few 20 dollar bills to the empty inside, laughing at the thought. You let determination and curiosity lead you forward as the dream you startled awake from is now forgotten. 

The bar is practically overflowing now.

You slip through the hallway and push open the swinging door that separates the stairwell from the bar, and everything hits you at once. The heat of the room mixed with the overwhelming sound of chatter filling the small space. The tang of sweat and beer invading your senses, the soft burn of cigarette smoke floating in from the back patio door and curling against the neon signs.

There’s a different kind of magic here at night, and dare you say you love it? 

The lights are dimmed, casting golden shadows across tables and the glossy wood of the bar top. Loud laughter pours from many different corners of the space. There’s a woman slow-dancing with herself near the jukebox, a bottle of Coors Light heavy in her grip. A man in a backwards cap gathering up little shot glasses of whiskey to bring over to his buddies yelling his name in the corner. It's not fully packed, but each barstool and table is occupied with a few stragglers around. 

You weave through the crowd of patrons and slip behind the bar with ease, ducking into the back hallway where the office sits. It is a small room lit by a single overhead bulb and smelling faintly of bleach and must.

Mira’s in the middle of dragging a file box across the floor when you find her. She’s got her hair tied up with a scarf now, that same tank from this morning clinging to her back with sweat, and a half-drunk can of Diet Coke with a cigarette balancing on the top.

“You know you could start a fire in here with all of this,” you gesture to the can as you lean against the doorframe

“Jesus, sugar!” she yells, clutching her hand to her chest as she turns around to meet you. “Scared the daylights out of me. Clear your throat next time or somethin’.”

You smile and step forward, instinctively reaching out to help her shift the box to the side wall. “Sorry about that.”

Mira finally looks at you as she wipes away the sweat on her brow that sharp, assessing look that mothers wear. Her eyes flick down to your sandals, your tank, and the little bag hanging off of your shoulder.

“Didn't expect to see you again tonight, figured you wouldve slept the night through you tired little thing.”

“I slept most of the day actually, I think my body needed some movement.”

She snorts. “Good. You needed it. You looked like a ghost this morning.”

You grin.

“What are you doing?” you ask, motioning to the boxes.

“Oh, well, making room,” she says with a shrug. “Figured I’d clear out this space for you, get you a head start.”

You blink, surprised. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. But I wanted to.” She wipes her other brow now with the back of her hand, then gives you that signature Mira smirk that makes the tops of her cheeks bunch up under her eyes. “You look like you're about to be up to no good.” 

You nod slowly, that small ache of gratitude blooming again in your chest. You press your palm against the doorframe and shift your weight, voice quieter now.

“Just gonna go stretch my legs outside. Won’t be gone long.”

Mira nods, but her smile fades just a bit around the edges as she takes a drag of her almost forgotten cigarette.

“You’ve got the city at your feet, sugar, but be smart about where those feet take you. Don’t go wandering too far tonight. Frenchmen’s fine. Esplanade Ave..if you stay close to the lit streets. But don’t turn down any alleys you’s don’t know.”

You offer a small salute. “Got it.”

Mira eyes you once more, then tosses you something from the desk drawer. A little keychain sporting a small can of pepper spray lands in the palm of your hands, hot pink and bedazzled in rhinestones, of course.

“Take’s that too girl. Just in case.”

“Thanks, Mira.” You stick it into your little satchel. 

“Call me if you need anything,” she says, already turning back to the boxes. “Seriously. I'll come uh running.”

You nod, a lump rising in your throat. You don’t say thank you again, she’d swat at you if you did but you mean it.

With that, you turn, step back out into the low hum of The Patrons Dive, and head for the front door.

The heat and humidity greet you like a familiar friend now as you step out into the night. The city is yours for the taking tonight, and you're determined to have fun. 

You don't just walk. You practically float through the streets of New Orleans. 

The sounds hit you first, a rush of laughter from a group of girls around your age passing you by. The vibrant jazz music outside and inside bars and on the streets - trumpets, trombones, drums. Voices overlapping like waves on a restless sea. The quiet of the desert that you resided in the life you left behind almost seems to die the moment you cross the street. It’s loud here, in the way of blooming life. It’s a Thursday night in the city. The air feels charged as it prepares for a packed weekend. It feels like anything is possible. So you allow your feet and the crowds to guide you. 

Frenchmen Street pulses under your feet. The sidewalks are cracked and glitter-dusted. The neon signs flicker and hum above open doors. Theres dusty chalkboard signs boasting happy hour specials, rum flights, “$5 palm readings inside” and more. 

Everywhere you look, something’s happening. Couples stumble past you, arms wrapped around each other, drinks sloshing in those gaudy touristy to-go cups. A group of people spill out of one of the vibrant bars in front of you, apologies thrown left and right as someone bumps into you. Oddly enough, you haven't a care in the world over the matter. 

Above you, balconies drip with vines and string lights, casting golden spiderwebs of glow down onto the pavement. There's a sort of mischief that clings to the air as the sun finally sets and the sky bleeds from orange and pink to navy blue once more. New Orleans at night feels less like a place and more like a spell. And you are utterly spellbound.

The city doesn’t care who you are or where you came from, it only cares that you surrender to it and you are just another stranger with secrets under your skin it is dying to seep its claws into.

A man with a sparkling purple coat tries to stop you along your journey offering a sweet serenade. You smile and brush him off, dipping into a bar nearby, the cash in your bag practically burning a hole, begging to be spent. 

The bar is even more vibrant inside than out which you didn't think was possible. Neon pinks and purples combined with walls that are painted deep indigo, streaked with gold leaf patterns that catch and scatter the light like constellations. On one side, a long mahogany bar stretches the length of the room, cluttered with bottles of bourbon, tequila, and gin in every shape and color imaginable.Glasses hang upside-down above the bartender’s head, catching the glow from the neon lights. 

Tucked into the corner, a jazz quartet plays like they were born doing it. The trumpet glows silver in the spotlight, warm and loud. The upright bass thrums in your chest. The saxophone is slow and dirty, like a sinner's confession. The drummer doesn’t smile, but his hands move like they’re telling stories.The light on the stage is rose-colored, filtering through a red velvet curtain behind them. It paints their skin warm and golden. Their eyes are closed. The rhythm seduces you instantly. 

You take a seat near the back corner at the bar, and for the first time since you stumbled out of The Patrons Dive, you feel a sense of excitement. Your hands still shake a little as you tuck your hair behind your ear and lean forward on your elbows.The bartender catches your eye and strolls over with a rag in one hand, the other slung over the back of his hip. He’s young, maybe about early twenties and dressed to impress in a black button down, black slacks and a red tie. 

“What can I get you?”

Your mouth opens, but you hesitate. This is new to you, the bar setting, ordering drinks, choosing what you want. 

“I — um, I'm not too sure to be honest.” You half smile at the bartender. 

“Do you like sweet or savory?” 

You shrug, “Probably sweet. 

“Coming right up.” He says with a wink.

He returns shortly and places a frosted martini glass in front of you. As you pull the drink closer towards you, you send the twenty his way, he returns quickly with your change. 

You take a sip. The sugar coated rim kisses your lips. A sickly sweet flavor invading your taste buds at first followed by citrus lemon and married together with a finish of lavender. You groan as you allow the drink to linger on your tongue for a moment before the bite of the alcohol becomes too much. 

When you swallow it warms your insides instantly. As fate will have it, it reminds you immediately of the lavender lemonades you and your mother used to share when you were younger.  Your eyes focus back on the band before you think too hard about her and you let the culture consume you. 

It does not take long for the alcohol to make you feel fuzzy or for the yearning for adventure to return. You abandon the remainder of your drink and flow back into the warmth of the night.You pass an artist selling paintings on a crooked sidewalk, a man offering tarot readings with a crow perched silently on his shoulder, laughter rolling out of you as the alcohol flows through your veins. You almost lose track of time as you continue to wander, caught in the spell of the city one street blurring into the next, signs and scents and rhythm pulling you deeper.

Until you make a wrong turn.Iit happens so easily you are not aware of what has happened untl its too late.One left becomes another. Then another. You follow a flicker of color in hopes it will steer you back on the right track,a mural tucked into the side of a building. Then you’re somewhere you don’t recognize. You realize the light, the vibrancy, the music is all left behind and now all you hear is the wind in front of you.

The pavement shifts from cobbled charm to broken and chipped asphalt. The smell of the air changes to mold and mildew, decay, and you could swear on it, death.

You slow your steps and observe your surroundings. You’re alone.

There’s a low buzzing in your ears, a sense of danger beginning to blanket you. You spin on your heel, turning back the way you think you came, but the buildings loom closer now, leaning in like they’re watching your every move, waiting to consume.

You can’t find the light. A right turn, another left turn, your heart begins to thrum as you realize the mistake you've made. You feel that familiar sense of anxiety bubbling up in your throat. You reach into your back pocket and fumble with your phone, the cheap plastic of the flip model slipping in your sweaty palm as you open it and try to find Mira’s number.

Before your fingers can press call a hand wraps into your hair at the nape of your neck, another hand covers your mouth. You scream into the palm, muffled, desperate as your back is slammed against a wall, the breath knocked from your lungs.

The silver of a blade flashes in the darkness, pressed to the fragile hollow beneath your chin  and your skin grows cold. Colder than it has ever felt, even the abuse you've experienced never made you feel like this. You let your god damn guard down and now look at what happened. 

The hand in your hair at the nape shifts, gripping your jaw instead. Forcing your eyes up to meet his.

He smells like whiskey and something acrid beneath it, that decay you caught a hint of earlier. His face is close, too close to your own. Leathery skin stretched over sharp cheekbones, watery yellow eyes sunk deep. His teeth are brown and broken, and the words that leak from his mouth are slick with venom.

“Well, well. What do we have here,” he whispers, voice like gravel, his snake-like tongue licks a stripe along your cheek. “Ain’t you a pretty thing out here all alone.”

You try to jerk away, but the knife presses closer. A cold kiss against your pulse. One wrong move on your part and you know the blade will bite. Your legs tremble, your feet rooted in fear.

His breath hits your cheek still heavier than the summer air that engulfs you.

“Got somethin’ sweet in that purse for me? Or somethin’ sweeter between those legs?”

The words hit like bile. You choke on what feels like vomit rising in your throat, heart hammering like it’s a hummingbird caught in a trap, trying so desperately to escape.

“Bet you thought you were somethin’ real clever, wanderin’ out here. Lookin’ like that.”

Your mind races at a million miles. Move. Scream. Bite. Something.

But you can't. You're frozen. His sunken, hollow eyes seem to glint in the dim light like he caught a prize he's never had before. The knife nudges up, a threat, and now you can feel the sharp bite of the rusty blade. This is it, this is how it ends. 

Just when you are at the point of giving in fully and your lungs are about to collapse under the weight of it all, a voice, low and dangerous, cuts through the night sharper than the blade against your skin.

“Let her go.” The voice cuts through the air like a blade. Low, velvet-dark, and utterly unshakable. Commanding. Confident.

The attacker stiffens. You feel the unmistakable tremor in his hand, the sudden twitch of uncertainty. You can't see the voice’s source yet. Not with his palm still clamped around your jaw, his knife trembling just enough to press harder against your throat once more. But something in the old man falters as he looks over his shoulder in the direction of the thundering voice, causing the blade to lower.

“Mind your business,” the attacker snarls, his breath thick with panic and rot as he bounces his weight between his feet.

Then the voice comes again, deeper this time.

“This isn't up for debate, old man. I said let her go. Unless you wish to die tonight.”

The old man presses against you harder in an attempt to stake his claim to this stranger and then the hands on you are gone in one single violent jerk. You stumble forward, gasping, hands flying to your throat checking for any signs of wetness. The blade never cut the skin but it kissed too close for comfort. The world around you spins for a moment as your vision tries to focus and your mind catches up to the inhuman speed that man was ripped from you. One second ago, he had you pinned to the wall and the next, he’s being ripped away with such force that the sound of his back hitting the brick wall on the opposite side of you echoes through the alley and your stomach lurches as you hear his bones crack. It all happens in less than a few seconds.

As your eyes refocus and you lift my head, you see him.

He steps into the thin light slicing through the darkness, and for a moment, time hangs motionless. His presence doesn’t just fill the dimly lit space in the alleyway, it simply devours it.

Dressed in black from head to toe a rich, velvet jacket with soft embroidery is the first thing I notice as it accentuates his broad shoulders and muscular arms. His shirt is unbuttoned halfway, exposing a sculpted chest and layers of silver chains, each chain containing a silver coin of some sort. Your eyes land on one of them holding a deep, black stone that rests against his sternum. His dark pants sit tight on his body, yet non consuming, and his black boots are now soundless as he steps closer. 

Odd.

But it’s his face that steals the breath out of your lungs as your eyes trail upwards.

His skin is golden, soft and yet sharp in all the right places. High cheekbones, full lips parted just slightly as he exhales slowly through his nose. His jaw is set tight, tension carved into the elegant angles of his expression. A piece of his long, dark, wavy hair falls over his cheekbone and the rest tumbling in rich, tousled waves past his shoulders.

And his eyes…

Almost black. They're so dark it doesn't even look like the light can touch them without the risk of being sucked into a black hole. Sharp, alert, piercing in a way that looks predatory. His stare locks onto the old man, and you feel the temperature in the alley drop as a slight smirk breaks at the edges of those beautiful lips.

Your attacker tries to get up from the place he had crumbled to, wheezing, stumbling. But he doesn't let him.

He closes the distance in two long strides and presses his black leather boot into the man's wrinkled neck. His actions make it seem like he's amused, like he's playing a game of sorts. He smiles now, barring white teeth that seem to glisten in an unnatural way in the light. The old man is whimpering now, all his earlier filth and cruelty dissolving under the weight of something he can’t explain.

You can’t either. Not yet.

But fuck can you feel it, theres an electric pull in the air like static, that feeling before a thunderstorm barrels through the atmosphere. He leans forward now, applying more pressure on the edge of his boot. You swear you can hear the crack of a bone again and the bile in your throat threatens to spill over, yet you can't look away from the scene in front of you.

“Keep pushing your luck old man,” he growls, his voice rougher now. “I’m a moment away from tearing your throat out and letting the rats finish the rest.”

The man doesn’t respond. He just nods. Or maybe twitches. It's really hard to tell due to the lack of light in the alley. The mystery man lifts his boot releasing the pressure and hold he had on your attacker. The man scrambles to his feet, tripping on dilapidated asphalt as he flees into the dark, leaving nothing behind but a sour stench and the memory of his venom.

The air in the alley way grows cold against your skin again as you realize it's just the two of you now and who's to say this man has good intentions for you too. As he snaps those dark eyes over his shoulder at you, you instantly push yourself back, scraping against the ground until your back hits the brick wall again and your blood runs cold in your veins. 

The man doesn't move at first and you just stare at him, trembling. 

Adrenaline and fear fills your body. Something buried low in your belly that rises to the surface as this man slowly turns to face you. Your mind is screaming at you; he isn't safe! Run!

His voice comes again, softer this time. It surprises you a little.

“Are you hurt?”

You swallow hard, trying to form words through the fog.

“I… I don’t think so.”

He nods once and his eyes trace all over your figure. You feel as if he's disrobed you.

"You shouldn’t be out this late," he said, voice low and stern. “Not around here. Not alone.”

You blinked up at him, “What makes you think I’m alone?”

“Hush.” His jaw clenched. Your lie is falling on deaf ears apparently. 

There was cruelty in his tone, one that made it feel like he was scolding you like a petulant child and it annoyed you. He shook his head, lips tightening. “This part of town’s not what it looks like after midnight. You’re lucky I was nearby.”

The fear and adrenaline running through you bled into annoyance; distaste. Who the hell was he to be talking to you like you were fucking four years old? Granted, what the fuck was he doing out here this late, looking like this. 

“Lucky?” You sneered, standing from your spot on the asphalt and brushing off the tiny rocks pressed into your skin.

He raised a brow at your tone, the corner of his mouth twitching with apparent amusement and only spurring your brows to furrow further. He stayed still, gaze flicking from the curve of your jaw sweeping up to your eyes, he was intrigued?

“Yes,” he said flatly. “Lucky.”

You crossed your arms and scoffed. “I don't know if lucky is the right word.”

He stepped closer to you then, his confidence growing as your display of fear diminished into thin air in front of him. His voice dropped again, smooth as good bourbon.

“Fortunate actually, you’d be in a lot worse position if I hadn’t shown up.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What, you want a fucking gold star or something?”

His lip twitched and you caught another glimpse of his unnatural white teeth. “No,” he said simply.

Your jaw clenched at that. “And what exactly were you doing lurking in an alley after midnight?” you snapped. “Looking to play a hero? The ‘young vigilante saves damsel in distress’? Or was it just good timing?”

For the first time, something flickered in his expression, calculation maybe? He didn’t answer right away, and when he did, his voice was softer. Too soft.

“Fate,” he sneered, a wicked smile dancing on his full lips. “Call it that.”

You rolled your eyes, arms crossing over your chest. You weren't sure if you’d rather that man still have a knife pressed up against your throat or this infuriating man. 

This god damn handsome, but infuriating man. 

He looked at you now like he could see straight through every layer of heat and fear and defiance still clinging to your skin. And for some reason, you could feel some of your defiance slowly melting away. 

“Look,” he started as his eyes scanned the alleyway. “Let me walk you home. That way I can make sure you get back to where you need to be safely.” 

You scoff and blow a strand of hair that fell into your face, “And what? Risk you stalking me after you learn where I live? Not a chance.” 

You held your chin high though the chill under your skin lit like wildfire as he approached you a bit more, the heat of the air almost dissipating like his aura carried ice. And then it hit you out of nowhere, it seeped into your bones like the radiant sun. His cologne.

Warm verviter and musk, a small trace of clove. It was the kind of scent that wrapped around you before you could decide if you liked it, and then left no room for doubt once it did.You breathed in deeply without meaning to. God. It was heady and masculine, but not overwhelming. It didn’t just smell good. It smelled like pleasure. Like a dagger to your resolve.

And just like that, the pulse in between your legs betrayed you.

He was utterly intoxicating to you now. You wanted to taste the skin on his throat. Shit, you wanted him to taste the skin on your throat. It felt like you had to bite your lip to stop the involuntary moan that was about to spill from your lips as he came to stand in front of you now. 

The silence stretches again, even more charged than before. His gaze drops to the way your arms are wrapped around yourself, the subtle tremble in your fingers you’re trying to hide. The smirk now reaches his eyes.

“I’m not fucking asking. I’m walking you home.”

A demanding and handsome prick is still a prick nonetheless. 

You hesitate, your brain screaming and pleading to not let this stranger any closer. “Why?”

“Because I’m not allowing you to risk your safety again tonight.” he says, and there’s no room for argument in his tone.

Your stomach flips. Something about the way he says it, like he’s annoyed you were in danger. Like you had gone looking for it on purpose and it inconvenienced him.

“I don’t even know you,” your sass returning from your involuntary moment of weakness for this man.

He tilts his head slightly, his eyes rolling. “And we are going to keep it that way, mark my words. But that doesn't change the fact that I am walking you home tonight.”

Your mouth opens and then closes again. He did make the point to save your life tonight when he didn't have to, you suppose you owe him this much. 

There’s a beat of silence. He softens, however, just barely. “Just..please let me walk you home..”

You want to argue. You should. But weighing out your options once more, you suppose letting him walk you home wasn't going to be the worst decision you made this evening. You were curious about him anyhow, and a part of you, a very small part, wasn't ready to let him go just yet.

He steps beside you, his presence solid and strange, that heady cologne of his continuously casting a spell on you that turned your insides into mush. He presents an elbow for you to hang onto, that cocky smirk dancing on his face again as he looks down at you. You hesitate for a moment and then wrap your hand around his bicep. That hesitation only lasts a breath before your fingers curl around the offered arm.

And suddenly, the world feels tipped off its axis.

His bicep is solid under your touch, strong muscle that isn't just toned but almost hard as granite. The kind of muscle that doesn’t come from hours in a gym, but from some inexplicable, functional strength. If it wasn't for the noticeable warmth radiating off of him through the velvet jacket he was sporting you would've sworn he was carved of said granite. He doesn’t flinch or shift as you take hold and grip your fingers a little tighter. 

And as the two of you begin walking down the quiet shadowed street, you can’t help but feel like you’ve just welcomed something into your life you don’t fully understand but would consume every fiber of your being. You can't put your finger on the weird spark fluttering in your chest, curiosity blooming further that is mixed with an odd sense of comfort. He feels familiar to you all of a sudden and you can't put your finger on why. 

You continue to walk in silence for a while. Your footsteps echo on the pavement whereas his remains oddly silent. You steal a glance at his profile, focusing on his sharp yet soft nose, those pouty lips. The very apparent furrow in his eyebrows makes him appear like he's deep in thought, same as you.

He must feel your stare for he breaks the silence between you. “You should stop looking at me like that,” he says, his voice low, eyes still ahead.

“Like what?”

“Like you're trying to figure me out.”

You swallow. “Maybe I am. Maybe I want to know your story. Your name, the name of my savior.”

God, you sound like a lovesick teenager. You don't recognize the soft voice spilling from your lips. What kind of spell does he have you under? 

A beat of silence, a breath. Then, softly, he says, “That’d be a mistake darlin’.”

You round the corner and the lights of Frenchmen Street bleed into view, warm and golden in the distance. The Patrons Dive is just beyond the block now. You can almost hear laughter still floating in the distance.The Patrons Dive is completely dark now, the main door closed up and locked for the evening, the glow of the open sign now sitting dark and lifeless. The gold Buick was missing from where it was parked earlier and you hadn't realized how late it was until now.

He walks you right up to the side door, the entry into the stairwell up to your new home. His jaw flexed, tight, as his eyes scanned the streets around you. “Lock it. Don’t open it until the sun’s up. Not for anyone.”

“Wha– why..” 

“There are far more dangerous things around here than that man you met in the alley, it would be best not to stray again.” His gaze, sharp as he glances back at you.

You open your mouth, heart catching somewhere in your throat. “Wait…”

His brows lift in a silent question.

“…What’s your name?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just studies you for a long moment like he’s fighting an internal battle, hesitation, and then. “It’s Jake.”

“Jake,” You whisper it back, “Will I see you again?”

“Hopefully not anytime soon darling,” he said with a soft playfulness dancing on his lips, and then he was gone. Just like that, disappearing around a street corner like a goddamn wisp of smoke. 

You knew then that you had to see him again. 

You would throw yourself into the devils lair to do so. 

The house was quiet and still, save for the occasional flip of a page of the book. Having finished his various tasks of cleaning, Jacob retreated to the study where he relaxed into the leather chair and rested his head back. The house was quiet though he could hear the occasional flip of page indicating to him that Elaine was still reading.

Elaine, he still found, is vastly different. Not once in the two hours of his cleaning was he summoned to her side. She never called for him or sought him out. Instead she kept herself hidden away in the library reading. He had never seen a woman read as much as she has. The wives of the former Albanys would sit and read for only a minute or two before getting bored and acquiring Jacob’s attention. Even the young daughters hardly ever read.

Elaine must be a reader. He could see that about her. Her eyes beheld a curiosity and a thirst for knowledge, to learn more about the world around her and the tales that it holds. Jacob saw the peak of interest when he mentioned Dracula. The horror tale of a legendary vampiric creature, a story that has withstood the test of time and still inspires a multitude of generations and their fascination with vampires.

Jacob always found it interesting how people find them intriguing and fascinating, enthralled by the horrors and gore one holds, only to cower with fear when they come face to face with one. He chuckles to himself, relishing behind closed eyes of the gawking expressions of those who found him equally attractive as he was terrifying.

He recalled once in the 1940s during one of his days off from work, he seemed to have attracted the attention of a young woman in a lounge. She watched him all night and he knew she was. He kept his eyes focused elsewhere as he savored the harsh taste of bourbon. She was relentless, vying for his attention. Even so much as to approach him at his table and try to seduce him with her words.

He finally gave in to her wishes, swallowing the rest of the amber liquor and pulling her from the table and towards the back of the building. It started out with kissing and hands roaming. He had to admit, she was good. It was then that he revealed his true self to her. His eyes melted from the caramel color to blood red as his teeth grew. The fear in her eyes only intensified his hunger. He spoke carefully into her ear, soothing her trembling body until she relaxed in his arms. Her blood tasted of a mixture of iron and wine.

When he reached his fullest, he healed her and cleared her mind before sending her back out with a lingering kiss and ditsy mind.

The quiet grew even more as he climbed out of his memories. The page turning had stopped and for how long, he wasn't sure. He listened deeper until finally he heard the slow and steady sound of her pulse. She’s asleep.

Standing from the chair, he exits the study and walks down the hall to the library. Carefully opening the door, he keeps his steps light as he crosses through the room and over to the window. Jacob finds Elaine lying on the couch with the book resting against her chest. Her eyes darted side to side beneath her closed lids. He could only be curious as to what she might be dreaming about.

Her face was softened by the contentment of sleep. Her brows were creased ever so slightly. Her skin glowed beneath the light of the afternoon sun. While one hand held the book steady to her chest, her other hand hung over the side of the couch.

Carefully he removed the book, saving the spot where she had left off, and set it on the table beside the couch. He left momentarily and came back with a blanket to cover her with. He lingered for a minute longer until he found the will to leave her in her slumber.

Something within him stirred as he closed the library doors behind him with a soft click. Ridding himself of such a feeling, he starts to make his way back down the hall to the study when the sound of tires on the gravel drive grab his attention instead. He’s at the front door in a moment and pulling it open.

Parked outside and behind Elaine’s car was a sleek, black Chevy Impala. He only knew of one person who drove that car. He huffs a breath and steps outside, closing the door behind him.

The driver door opens and out steps a man dressed in black pants and converse paired with a half buttoned flannel. Jacob shakes his head when his eyes meet the brown irises that match his own.

“You picked quite the time to show up here.” Jacob comments as he folds his arms over his chest.

“Am I not allowed to come visit my brother?”

Jacob rolls his eyes and allows his brother to pull him in for a hug. “It's been a long time since we’ve seen each other.”

“I’m in the same place I’ve always been for the last two hundred years.” Jacob says when they pull apart. “Unlike you.. Tell me, Joshua, from where do you hail?”

Joshua chuckles. “Canada.”

“Canada, eh?” Jacob laughs when he earns an eye roll from Joshua. “Who is it?” He asks.

“He’s fantastic.”

“Ohh, it’s a ‘he’ this time.”

“I couldn't help it.. He was calling out to me like a wounded bird.” Jacob rolls his eyes again. “Do not judge..”

“I am not.. But you seem to be leaving quite the trail of dead bodies.”

Joshua shakes his head. “Not dead, per se..”

Jacob’s brows perk. “You did not..”

“Indeed I did. We had spent the better part of the last decade together and he asked me to. And I–” He pauses abruptly, shutting his mouth and narrowing his eyes at Jacob. “I smell a human.”

Jacob takes in a breath. “Leave her be. She is sleeping.”

“Woah, hold up. ‘She’?” Joshua says in a mocking fashion. “You have a female master this time?”

“Well when you say it like that..”

“Does she know about you? I mean, I assume she does if you’re working–”

“No..”

“No?”

“No.”

“She doesn't know that you’re…you know.”

Jacob shakes his head. “She is not Walter’s daughter. She is his estranged niece.”

"Niece?"

Jacob nods his head. “Walter never had kids.”

“So he left you and the house to her? And she doesn't know the truth?” Jacob shakes his head. “How?”

“Albert died when she was three and her mother took her. I never met her and her mother never told her the secret.”

“I’m assuming you won't?”

Jacob shakes his head. “I think it’s best that I don't. I don't want to scare her.”

“Fair..”

Jacob notices Joshua’s brows raise and his mouth spreads into a smile. “She’s awake.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Just one little–”

“No!” Jacob hisses under his breath. “You touch her, I will hurt you.”

“Oooo, protective.” Joshua chuckles. “I don't remember you being this protective of any of the others.”

“She’s…different.”

The two of them step inside the house just as Elaine comes walking down the stairs. She stops midway down the staircase when she sees Joshua standing beside Jacob. “Oh hello..”

Jacob clears his throat and steps forward. “Elaine.. This is my brother, Joshua. I hope you don’t mind him being here.”

“I don’t mind at all.” She says, walking down the rest of the stairs. “I completely fell asleep.. I’m probably the most boring person you’ve ever met.”

Jacob smiles and shakes his head. “No, I don't mind.” He says as he places his arms behind his back in his normal stance. “Do you need me to do anything? Get you anything?”

Elaine shakes her head and she steps off the last step. “Nothing that I can’t do. Go spend some time with your brother.” She gives them both a small smile before going in the direction of the kitchen.

Joshua turns to face Jacob and he grins. “Your thoughts betray you, brother.”

Jacob’s jaw clenches. “Get out of my head. You know that I hate when you read my thoughts.”

“Then maybe don’t make it so easy.” Joshua skips a step forward and turns back to face Jacob. “Shall we see what’s for lunch?”

⌔⌔

Jacob stands at the bottom of the concrete stairs as he watches his brother walk beside Elaine in the topiary garden. She asked him if he would like to join but instead he declined, keeping to his post with his arms still held behind his back. His eyes never left them, never left her.

Her smile captivated every inch of him, warming with the sound of her laughter. Her eyes sparkled in the sunlight, reflecting back the innocence that lay bare within her. He hasn’t felt something such as this for a very long time. Part of him wanted to walk beside her, making her laugh like his brother so effortlessly was doing. He wanted to wrap his arm around her shoulders, draw her in, and feel her warm skin against his cold skin.

Jacob knew where the line was drawn and he stood before it, tempted to cross it. She was his employer to put it clearly. He worked for her. But oh would he do anything she asked of him. Anything.

“I wasn’t expecting any of this, really..” Elaine spoke as she walked beside Joshua.

“Expecting what? Being left a mansion that comes with its own personal manservant?”

Jacob snarls low enough for only Joshua to hear. He catches a glimpse of a smirk appearing on his face as he glances in Jacob’s direction.

Elaine giggles. “Jacob, thus far, has been…pleasant.”

“Pleasant you say?”

"Yeah.. He’s been kind, attentive. He’s an excellent cook. Though he’s very reserved, quiet. He only speaks when spoken too.”

“My brother is old school like that.”

“He’s a breath of fresh air.” Elaine admits.

Elaine pauses by a bench and takes a seat to rest her feet. Joshua took a seat beside her and rested his hands in his lap.

"Truth be told.. I wasn't sure what I was going to do with this place. I’m just one person with nothing and no one. I come from a small bumfuck town in the middle of nowhere. My parents are dead and I was scraping by just to live.. Suddenly I’m being given a mansion that’s apparently been in possession of my family for years along with a random ass caretaker.”

Joshua snickers at her comment about Jacob. His eyes flicker in his direction catching a stonewalled look painting Jacob’s face but also seeing the glimmer of curiosity sparkle in his eyes.

“I had it all planned out that I would just sell this place, let Jacob live his own life instead of taking care of another.. But then I met him and suddenly everything changed. I was expecting some aged old man with wrinkles and a horrible English accent to be the caretaker but to see Jacob? Young and put together without a horrible accent.”

Joshua chuckles. “Give him time. It’ll slip. It’s his fun little personality he lets shine every now and then when he’s in a playful mood.”

Elaine smiles. “I’ve only been here for twenty four hours but it feels like I’ve been here forever.”

“What do you know about this place?” Jacob’s head snaps in their direction, his eyes solely focused on his brother now.

Don’t you dare. I’m warning you.

Joshua’s lips curl and he subtly glances in Jacob’s direction.

“Nothing really. Just that it’s been a family home for generations. I don't know my family. I never got a chance to know them before my mother ripped me from them after my father passed.”

“So no family secrets?”

I’m warning you.

Elaine shakes her head. “I know nothing. Why? Do you? Does Jacob?”

“You’d have to ask him.”

Jacob inwardly groaned, cursing his brother to damnation for putting the idea inside of Elaine’s head.

“But maybe I’m not supposed to know.. I do have questions but.. I’m not particularly interested in knowing them. Maybe she kept me away for a reason.”

⌔⌔

Jacob cooked dinner that evening. Joshua long gone after bidding his overly sweet goodbyes to Elaine and promising he’d be back to visit again. She agreed to it, saying he was welcome to come by at any time he chose to.

“Your brother is sweet.”

Jacob scoffs and turns from his place at the stove. “He’s annoyingly sweet.”

Elaine’s smile that spread across her face made the connection to her stronger. All he wanted to do was abandon the task at hand and kiss her. Let the food burn if it meant he could touch her the way she asked of him, kiss every inch of her body until she was covered in nothing but his sweetness. But he stood his ground, wiping his hands on the towel that he had draped over his shoulder.

“So what are you making tonight?” Elaine asks, rounding the corner of the kitchen island to come stand beside him. “Smells good.”

“I thought for a chilly night like tonight, you might enjoy some soup.”

“Smells delicious.” She says. “I’m surprised you didn't invite your brother to stay for dinner.”

Jacob returns to stir the soup. “I didn't think it was appropriate considering this is not my home to do so. Besides, he has places to be and other people to see.” Elaine didn't push the matter further. Instead she stood silently beside him watching him as he finished cooking the soup.

Noticing the signet ring on the middle finger of his left hand, she carefully reaches over and lifts his hand to get a closer look. He watched her carefully from his peripheral vision and allowed her to touch him. “This ring looks old. Family heirloom?”

“One could say that.” Jacob says as he moves his eyes back to the pot of soup in front of him.

“Sapphire?”

“Lapis Lazuli.”

He could see the confusion on her face and he chuckled. “It’s a blue colored stone that provides protection.”

“Protection from what?”

The sun so my skin doesn't melt off my body. “Negative energy.”

“Does Joshua have one?” Jacob nods his head. “Is your family super spiritual or something?”

Jacob shrugs his shoulders. “I guess you could say that.” He silently mourns the sudden absence of her touch when she sets his hand down and pulls away. He keeps his hand resting on the countertop, itching for her to hold his hand again.

“So, who taught you how to cook?” She asks, hopping up to sit on the counter top beside the stove.

“My mother.” He reaches down to lower the flame of the burner to allow the soup to simmer as he goes over to retrieve a couple bowls from the cupboards.

“Two?”

“You don't mind, do you?” He asks.

Elaine shakes her head and she smiles. “I don't mind at all. As long as you promise to converse.”

Jacob smiles, humming lightly, as he scoops up some soup in the ladle and fills the two bowls. “What do you want to talk about?”

Elane shrugs her shoulders. “You.”

His brows perk. “Me?”

Elaine nods her head. “If we’re going to share the space, I should probably get to know who resides in the cabin in the woods.”

Jacob huffs a breath. “Well what do you want to know?” He picks up the two bowls and carries them into the dining room.

“Where are you from? Why did you come here? How did you start working here? Do you have any other family? When’s your birthday? Favorite movie? Favorite color? I know your favorite book.”

Jacob sets the bowls on the table and pulls out her chair. “You have a lot of questions, don’t you?”

“Well.. Can you blame me?”

Jacob chuckles and goes around the table to sit down at the setting across from her. “Okay. Eat while I answer the bullets you just fired at me.” Fanning out his napkin, he lays it across his lap. “My birthday is April 23rd.”

“Spring baby.” Elaine mutters in amusement.

Jacob smiles and reaches for his spoon. “I’m from Michigan. I have two brothers. You already met Joshua, but there’s also Samuel.”

“Parents?”

Jacob clears his throat, casting his eyes down to the bowl of soup in front of him. “No.. They died a long time ago.”

“Oh.. I’m sorry..”

Jacob shakes his head. “Like I said, it was a long time ago. Uhh, what else did you ask? Oh. I came here seeking out something new, something different. You can handle so many corn fields for so long.” He says. “I met your uncle and he offered me a job after I offered my services to fix the shingles on the roof.”

“You really do everything.”

Jacob chuckles. “I like to have many skills. Comes in handy.” He takes a sip of the soup, despite not needing it to supplement himself. “Favorite movie? Gee, that’s a tough one. I’ve had a liking for The Princess Bride.”

“Oh, Westley and Buttercup. Iconic.”

“Now my favorite color.. Hmm.. It’s tied between red and green.”

“Very Christmasy.” Jacob snorts, shaking his head.

“What about you?” He asks. “Birthday? Movie? Book? Favorite color?”

October baby. That will be coming up soon. He made a mental note to find a good recipe for a dessert. Something small, nothing fancy. Her favorite color is purple. He tried to keep his eyes from rolling when she mentioned loving Beauty and the Beast.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Because that’s a kid’s movie.”

“Oh well I’m sorry,” Elaine says giggling. “It’s beautiful and a classic.”

“No.. A classic is Casablanca.”

“Not the same thing.”

“Both involve love.”

Elaine rolls her eyes. “Are you not fond of love?”

Jacob casts his eyes down to the table. “I can’t be fond of something when I have never felt it before.”

Elaine gently sets her spoon down and leans forward in her chair. “You’ve never loved someone? No woman ever fancied you?”

Jacob smiles softly but shakes his head. “No.. I have never been in love before.. Never met someone that has stirred those feelings within.”

“Can’t meet someone when you’re always here.” Elaine says as she leans on her elbows against the table. “Why don't you go out sometime?”

“I don't go out.”

“You should. Maybe go to a club or something. You never know who you might meet.” Elaine pushes her chair back and stands to her feet. “Tell you what.. I have plans to meet some friends in the city this weekend, why don't you tag along? Take a night off and just relax.”

“I really shouldn't.. That’s not part of my contract.”

“Well as your new “boss”, I am ordering you to take the night off and join me in the city.”

Jacob’s mouth fell open to object to her invitation, but instead he sighs and nods his head. “Sure, why not?”

“Great!” She exclaims.

⌔⌔

if you enjoyed this one, please like, reblog, and maybe share a comment if you'd like. hoping chapter 3 won't take as long to come out 😉

The grandfather clock ticked, filling the silence as he waited for Elaine to come downstairs. He fidgets with the cuffs on the sleeves of his shirt, completely nervous about going into the city with Elaine. He wasn’t so nervous to be tempted to feed while he was there. He can control it. He’s more nervous just being around Elaine, in a club, being so close.

He hadn't lied to her the other night when he said he never felt love before. He doesn't even know what it is. Could it be how he feels when he’s around her? Mourning her touch when she moves away from him. Melting just a little when he sees her in a peaceful slumber. His stomach twists in a good way when she smiles at him. His palms sweating just at the mere thought of her.

He had never been in love before. Love was foreign concept to him. He never loved, not even when he was buried so deep in another woman.

But with Elaine.

Maybe he was feeling what love is. What it could be. The only problem was that he was a vampire and she was a human. He would never grow old, never die a mortal’s death. Elaine would. Elaine would grow old and die a mortal’s death and he would be there, still trapped in the body of a thirty year old.

Her heels click on the second floor landing dragging Jacob from his thoughts. Her steps were careful coming down the stairs, legs slightly trembling like a baby deer. His eyes scanned her quickly but he memorized every single inch of her. She wore a black dress that stopped just above her knees. It hugged her body tightly. She wore no tights beneath, just her bare legs on display for anyone who dared to look at her. The cleavage of the dress is low enough to reveal more than what he’s ever been exposed to. Her hair, curled and falling along her back and shoulders.

“I haven't worn heels in such a long time,” She laughs. “If I fall on my face tonight, do not laugh.”

Jacob walks over to the stairs and holds out his hand, offering his assistance for the last couple of steps. “I can’t fathom wearing such things.” He says.

“Good thing you never will.” Elaine jokes.

⌔⌔

The car ride into the city was quiet. Jacob kept his hands glued to the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white as he fought off the temptation to reach his hand over to touch her thigh. She was rambling on about her friends, forewarning him about how crazy they tend to get when they’re wasted. He didn't really care about them, he mostly cared about her. He was the caretaker of the estate, therefore he was also her caretaker.

Arriving at the club, he offered to pay their entry fee despite her protests. The music was already thumping through the walls and through his body. Jacob stayed close to Elaine as they both maneuvered through the crowded hall and into the main room where even more people were mingling and dancing. Some pressed up against each other, hands roaming their bodies. Others holding drinks in their hands and shouting over the music to better hear each other.

Elaine squealed, grabbing Jacob’s attention. She yanked on his hand and pulled him over to a table in the corner where her friends stood around sipping on fruity drinks and laughing.

“Elaine!” One of them shouts as she rounds the table and throws her arms around Elaine’s neck. “You made it!” Elaine’s hand slipped from Jacob’s to hug her friend back. “And you brought a friend!”

“This is Jacob! The caretaker for my uncle’s estate that was telling you all about!”

She talks about me?

One of them was eyeing him up and down, her brows arched as a smirk played on her face. Her eyes were a light blue, the complete opposite of the dark and long locks that framed her hair. She scoffed lightly and lifted her drink up to her lips, not once breaking eye contact with him.

“That would be Erin.” He hears Elaine speak into his ear. “She’s single by the way.” Elaine shoots him a wink and nudges his side. “Go talk to her.”

“Oh um, well..”

“She doesn't bite.”

No, but I do.

Elaine leaves his side to join the other three on the dancefloor, leaving Jacob by himself with Erin. He tries to protest but Erin’s already approaching him. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I wish I could say the same.” He says as politely as he can as he frantically searches for Elaine amongst the crowded dancefloor.

“Do you want a drink? You look a little tense.”

Of course I’m tense. I lost Elaine.

“I’m just not used to being in a crowded place like this.”

“She mentioned you were by yourself. All alone in a cabin in the woods.” He feels her nails creep up his arm. “Said you’ve never been with another woman.”

Jacob’s brows creased and he tore his eyes from the dancefloor to look down at Erin. “What?”

“I don't mind a sweet and innocent man. They’re always the best. One who’s never been touched.”

“She told you I’m a virgin?”

“Well aren’t you? She said you’d never been in love before.”

She told them that? How much more personal did she get?

“Excuse me, please?” Jacob tears away from Erin and weaves his way back through the crowded dancefloor and through the entry hallway until he reaches the doors of the club, pushing past a couple of other people as he exits the building.

I can’t believe she told them that.

Maybe this is a sign that she can't be trusted with my true self. If she tells people about my love life, something so personal–how can I trust her with my secret?

Jacob didn't know Elaine was following him. Didn't know she was calling for him. He just kept walking down the sidewalk, so absorbed into his own thoughts, leaving her behind.

⌔⌔

Unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it off, Jacob rolls it into a ball before tossing it across the room. He started to unbutton his pants when he heard footsteps approaching the cabin. He pauses, studying the unknown human.

Female.

Vanilla.

Erin.

Secretly he hoped it would have been Elaine but he’d foolish to ever believe she’d come find him. But why Erin? Did she follow him home?

He’s at the door and pulling it open before she can knock. “Oh, hey..” She giggles. “I uh, I felt bad for how tonight went. I didn't know that what she told us was supposed to be personal. I could tell by the way your demeanor changed.. So I thought I’d come by and see if you were okay.”

“Oh.. You didn't have to come here.. I’m fine, really..”

Erin smiles and nods her head. “Well good. Then I’ll uh, leave you be.”

Hearing Elaine’s car pulling up the driveway, an idea strikes. Maybe he can show her that he isn't the innocent virgin she thinks he is.

“Do you want to come inside?” He asks.

“Really? Are you sure?”

Jacob nods his head. “I have quite the collection of alcohol, if you’re interested.”

⌔⌔

Elaine paced back and forth in her bedroom. Why did he leave so abruptly? What happened? Was he upset because she left him alone with Erin? Why did he completely ignore her as she chased him down the street?

Chewing on her bottom lip, she drops her hands from her hair to her thighs. Sliding on her slippers and her robe, she heads downstairs and slips out the back door. With her phone light lighting the pathway beneath her feet, she follows it all the way into the woods until Jacob’s cabin comes into view. A faint orange glow shone through the windows.

He’s inside.

She steps up to the door and raises her hand to knock. She pauses when she hears giggling from inside followed by a breathy moan. “Jacob.. Oh god.. Don’t stop..”

Her breath hitches and she quickly hurries away from the cabin. Her heart thunders against her chest when she makes it back to the house. She slams the back door shut unintentionally and leans up against the wall.

Little did she know that Jacob heard her the whole time. He had heard her footsteps, could hear her heart beating, even her breath as she gasped. He smirked against the warm flesh of Erin’s pussy. Maybe now Elaine will know that he isn't as innocent as she portrayed him to be.

⌔⌔

The following morning Elaine was the first to be awake and she begrudgingly made her way downstairs in search of coffee. Staring out of the kitchen window, she sees Erin sneaking up the brick pathway from Jacob’s cabin. So that’s who he had in there last night.

Much to her surprise, Jacob kept a tight lip when he entered the house just ten minutes later. He was dressed for the day in his usual casual attire. Black jeans paired with a billowing black button down shirt that was half buttoned exposing the top half of his chest. Today his hair was pulled back in a low pony tail with a few wisps of hair framing the sides of his face. He was quiet as he moved around Elaine who sat at the kitchen island and drinking her coffee.

“What happened last night?” She asks, breaking the silence that stretched between them. “You left so quickly..”

Jacob inhales, but shakes his head. “Got to be too much. Too many people. I panicked.”

“Jacob, I’m sorry.. I didn't know. I wish you had told me, I wouldn't have left you by yourself.”

“I should be the one apologizing. I left you there stranded.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Elaine says as she slides off the stool. “I can handle myself.” She sets the empty coffee mug into the sink. “I saw Erin leaving a little bit ago. You invited her over?”

“She actually came on her own accord. Wanted to see if I was alright.”

“Oh.. Well, good. I hope you enjoyed her company.”

“I did.”

“Good.” She gives Jacob a tight lipped smile before slipping out of the kitchen.

⌔⌔

Jacob stalked through the woods, listening intently for the familiar rush of a human pulse. His teeth grew as the scent of blood touched his nose. He followed the smell until he came up behind a hiker. She was slouched against a boulder and twisting a bandaid around her index finger.

He did what he always did. Pretend to be an unsuspecting stranger, making small talk and getting his next meal to lower their guard. That’s what he thought of them. It made it easier to feed if he thought of them as anything but human.

When her guard was lowered and she grew comfortable with Jacob, that is when he struck. Covering her mouth with one hand to muffle her cries as he sank his teeth into her neck.

It had been a while since he had sex, forgetting how much of his energy gets sucked out of him. No pun intended. He keeps a stash of blood in a locked freezer in the basement of his cabin, but he couldn't access it with Erin still wrapped around his body.

He hums at the thought of her.

Pulling away from the poor woman, he heals her wound and clears her mind of this event and quickly disappears back into the woods. His body still vibrated from the feed and with the thought of what occurred last night.

He wasn't expecting anyone to show up to his cabin. Not even Elaine. Even if she did show up at a bad time. Bad for her at least.

Stepping into the cabin, he pauses when he sees the aftermath. He simply chuckles when he spots the broken bed post. Erin’s moans fill his head and he tilts his head back, closing his eyes and relishing in the events.

He tossed her onto the bed, climbing over top of her and pushing her legs apart. Without hesitation, he pushes inside of her, earning a sharp gasp. He smiles and leans to press a kiss to her neck. He thrusts his hips harshly.

He was grateful Elaine was human and couldn't hear Erin’s cries, despite already knowing the context of what was happening. Even if she did, at least she’d know he wasn't the innocent man she seemed to perceive him as.

Coming back to the present, he begins the process of cleaning up, making a mental note to buy a new bed frame. Definitely went a bit too far last night, but he doesn’t regret the sex. He only regrets who he slept with. He couldn’t blame Erin. She just isn’t who he really wants.

His watch beeps indicating it was time to get back to work. He’ll worry about the bed later.

Walking back towards the house, he picks up on the sound of Elaine’s laughter. Then he hears a voice that stops him in his tracks. One he hasn’t heard for over fifty years. Sprinting towards the house, he pauses in the doorway of the back door when he spots Elaine standing in the foyer. His view of the visitor was blocked but he already knew who it was.

Elaine’s cheeks grew rosy red, blushing hard at the compliments he was spewing at her. Jacob inhales deeply, clenching his fists at his sides before calming himself and putting on a cheerful facade. Stepping out of the shadows of the staircase, Jacob enters the foyer and greeting the visitor.

“Christopher.” He says with a smile on his face. “What a surprise.”

“I had heard that you had someone new staying here.” Christopher says. “Thought I’d drop by to meet them.”

“Well it was nice of you to drop by, but I think it’s time you leave.”

“Oh no! But he just got here.” Elaine says. “I was just about to put together a snack before lunch, would you like to join me?”

Jacob’s eyes had never left Christopher’s piercing blues. The same ones trying to seduce his next meal. “I don’t think that’s such a good id-”

“I’d love to!” Christopher beams. “Jacob, be nice. When a beautiful woman, such as Elaine, invites you to eat, you accept.” He shoots Jacob a wink before holding out his elbow. “Shall we go prepare our food?”

Elaine giggles and happily accepts Christopher's gesture. “We shall.”

“Jacob, do you mind getting us some drinks?” Christopher says, glancing over his shoulder. “Maybe a sweet, red wine for Elaine and you know mine O negative.”

“O negative?” Elaine questions.

“He’s joking, he’s joking.” Jacob says as he races up to join the two as they enter the kitchen. “Little Halloween humor.” He awkwardly laughs before shooting Christopher a glare.

Christopher rolls his eyes and pats Elaine’s hand. “Yeah, “humor”.”

As Jake fixes their drinks, Christopher leaves Elaine to finish putting together a cheese plate and joins Jacob at the drink cart in the formal living room. “Does she not know that you’re a vampire?” He says, keeping his voice low.

“No… And I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Eventually she’s going to find out. Especially when she starts growing older and you don’t.”

“And you won’t tell her.” Jacob shoves a glass of negative blood into Christopher’s hand.

Christopher chuckles and takes a drink. “So are you and her like…you know..”

Jacob shakes his head. “I have rules.”

“Oh come on.. Tell me you haven't thought about it.” Jacob stayed quiet as he poured a red wine into a glass for Elaine. “Ohhhh you have.” Christopher snickers. “Well since you are deciding not to, do you care if I do?”

Jacob’s head whips around and his brows furrow. “Are you seriously asking me for permission?”

“Well..” Christopher shrugs his shoulders. “At least I asked.. I could have just snuck into her room later.”

Jacob rolls his eyes. “Do whatever you want. But if she says no..”

“I know, I know. But.. I don't think she will.” Christopher shoots a wink at Jacob before taking the wine glass from his hand and leaving the living room to rejoin Elaine in the kitchen.

Jacob shoots back a full shot of whiskey before pouring his own glass of blood to get him through the evening.

⌔⌔

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For over two hundred years, Jacob has been living the life of a servant, butler, handy man, mechanic, groundskeeper, housekeeper–whatever it is you want to call it. He was content with the jobs he’s had, not once ever complaining. Though he wasn't your typical worker, of course. From 1825 he was the right hand man to many generations, passed down after each human’s death, beginning with the very first one.

Isaac Albany.

He brought on Jacob first as a groundskeeper, later on seeing him with more potential. Albany knew who Jacob was at that time, having witnessed him feeding on a young servant girl late one night when he thought he was alone. He didn't kill her, much to Albany’s surprise. Most, if not all, vampires feed to kill, draining their victims of their blood and life. Jacob, however, was one of the few who did not. He simply feeds to keep up his strength. He let the girl go after healing her flesh wound and clearing her memory of anything ever happening.

He stared at Albany for quite a moment that night. Blood slipped down the curve of his lips and the length of his chin. His eyes changed from blood red back to his normal, brown irises. From then on, the secret of Jacob’s true identity was confided within the family. No one spoke it, no one questioned it.

This went on for years after that. When Albany died, Jacob was given to the eldest son of each new generation. He worked whatever task was given to him without complaint. Jacob never minded. He enjoyed the work, regardless of what it was. He learned new skills, adding to his extensive knowledge and experience.

Generation after generation, he worked for the Albany family. Son after son after son and so on. That is until this last one. Walter Albany. He didn't have any sons, never had kids at all. Jacob was uncertain of his future when Walter passed on. That time was approaching quickly and when it did, Jacob was prepared to have to find his own place in the world. What he wasn't prepared for was to be given to a relative of Walter.

Jacob read the will, but he still couldn't believe it. Instead of putting the house up for sale, it was written to be given to his niece, Elaine. Jacob had never met her before. He knew nothing about her. She was never around for the holidays when the family all got together. Other nieces and nephews and cousins he had met before, but never once having met Elaine. She was Walter’s youngest brother's daughter. When Albert died, her mother took her away from here. Jacob never got the chance to meet her.

Now three weeks later, he’s preparing for her arrival by getting the house cleaned and in order. He could hear the car driving down the gravel driveway, coming closer and closer until it parked outside of the house. Stepping up to the curtains of the study, Jacob pulls one back ever so slightly to catch a glimpse of Elaine.

The car door of the driver’s side opens and a young woman climbs out. Her dark is braided back behind her head, falling a bit down her back. Reaching back into the car, she pulls out a heavy winter coat and slips it on, shivering slightly from the cold. As she turns to face the looming house behind her, Jacob disappears from the window and begins to make his way down to the front door.

Elaine couldn't believe this whole property was now hers. She still can’t believe it as she stares at it, looming over her like a dark cloud. According to history, this place has been a long standing fortress since the 1800s. Trudging up to the house, she pulls out her keys and finds the one to unlock the front door. She didn't even get a chance to stick the key into the lock when it began to open before her. Lifting her head and dropping her hand back to her side, her eyes met those of a young man. His hair hung in loose waves around his shoulders and framed the sides of his face. His eyes, brown with a hint of gold, lock with hers. They shift slightly as his face crinkles, rising up into a smile.

“You must be Elaine,” he says. “I hope you had safe travels getting here.” His voice sounded like silk, soft to the touch and wrapping around her with grace.

“Y-Yes..” She stammers.

He steps aside to allow her inside the house. “I’m Jacob, the caretaker of the property.”

“The lawyers mentioned you’d be here.”

He nods his head slowly and looks back at her with a softness to his gaze.

“I can’t believe my uncle left me this place and…you.”

“I’m not sure if you mean that in a good way or bad,” Jacob chuckles.

“Depends,” She says, watching him carefully. “I just met you.” She slid off her jacket and he was quick to take it from her, draping it over his arm and flashing her a warm smile. “Soo.. You just come with the house?”

“Yes,” He nods his head before moving to the other side of the foyer to pull open a closet door. He hangs up her coat and turns back to face her.

“And that’s just…normal?”

He smiles and again nods his head. “For me, at least. I’ve been here for a long time now.”

“Why didn't he just leave the house to you?”

Jacob then shakes his head, placing his arms behind his back. “He tried, as have others, but I prefer to just serve rather than own.”

“Hmph,” She looks him up and down slowly. “I got a mansion and a butler. Might take some time getting used to. So what else do you do around here?”

“Everything.” He says. “Come. I will show you to your living quarters.”

“Living..quarters. That’s…interesting.” She doesn't see him smiling, but he is indeed as he walks in front of her, leading up the grand stairwell.

“There are seven bedrooms, one library, one study–that I tend to hibernate in most times–and eight bathrooms.”

“Yeah.. Definitely an upgrade from a shitty one bedroom apartment.”

Jacob brings her down a hallway and stops in front of a pair of dark oak doors. “This is your private quarters.” He pushes open the doors and steps to the side. “I cleaned in here yesterday so everything’s dust free with clean bedding.”

“Where do you stay?” Elaine asks after looking around the room.

“There’s a little house in the woods outback.”

“You live in the woods?” Her tone had him smiling again.

“Your uncle was generous and had one built for me to live in while I worked here.”

“What does it look like?”

“Nothing like this,” He says, shaking his head. “But I like it. It’s cozy..”

“You said you do everything. What exactly does that mean?”

“I clean, I fix things, I can bring you things. I mow the lawn–”

“That’s a lot of lawn out there.”

He scoffs, smiling again. “But you name it, I can do it.”

“And you’re just here by yourself? No one else works here?”

“The occasional maid if I need extra hands, but other than that, it’s just me. Always has been. Would you like a tour of the rest of the house?”

⌔⌔

“This place is old..” Elaine says as they reenter the foyer. “Any ghosts?”

“I’ll admit that I have yet to come across one.” Jacob leans against the banister of the stairs and folds his arms over his chest. “Still want to own this place?”

“Maybe.. Why? Do you want it?”

Jacob smirks. “Kind of already do.”

“Oh right,” Elaine playfully rolls her eyes. “Because you work here.”

⌔⌔

While Jacob carried in Elaine’s bags to place in the foyer for the time being, his hearing caught on to the tail end of a conversation. Judging by the grainy voice she was speaking with, he could only assume that she was talking to someone on the phone.

“Is he cute?”

“Gorgeous..”

His lips curved up into a smile and he scoffs to himself retreating back outside to carry in the last couple of bags from her car. There would be a moving truck coming within the next few days to deliver some more of her things, but for now this was all she had brought with her.

He swiftly moved about, bringing her things upstairs all the while she made the tea downstairs in the kitchen. He was done and hanging out by the bottom of the stairs by the time she was coming out of the kitchen with a cup of steaming tea in her hand. She paused when she saw the foyer void and empty of all of her cluttered bags.

“You finished already?” She asked, quite surprised.

Jacob nods his head. “Of course. Anything else you’d like for me to do?”

“No, no I think I’m okay for the night.” Elaine places a barefoot on the first step of the staircase and glances back at Jacob. “Why don’t you go rest for the night? I think I can manage.”

“I would, but I should probably get started on cooking dinner for tonight. I was thinking about roast chicken and some cooked vegetables?” He inquires as his brows peak ever so slightly.

“He cooks too?”

Jacob’s lips twitch as he fights the urge to smile. Elaine chews on the inside of her lip as she looks at him curiously. “Only if you join me and not stand in the corner like an actual butler.”

This time Jacob allows himself to smile. “Of course, Miss Albany.” He starts to walk away when she calls out for him. He turns back to find her own brows raised.

“It’s Elaine to you.”

Jacob bows a little. “As you wish.. Elaine.”

Later Elaine was drawn downstairs by the smell of the food before Jacob even had a chance to come find her. Though he didn’t really eat human food, he pretended to keep up the facade that he was this normal person. He sat across from her at the dining room table. Neither one of them wanted to sit at the head of the table.

The room was quiet, save for the crackling of the fire in the hearth and the steady beat of her pulse. He sipped on his stash of blood that he snuck in while he cooked dinner. It was cold but it would satisfy him for the time being. Anything to keep him from wanting to sink his teeth into her instead.

No.

He couldn’t do that. He wouldn't. Elaine had no idea that he was a vampire. It may have been a family secret but she wasn’t one of them, having grown up separate from all of this. Why? He was sure he’d never know the answer unless she gave it to him willingly. So his true identity has to stay a secret. She couldn't know what he was out of fear of scaring her, making her afraid of him.

When they’d finished, he sent Elaine off to bed while he cleaned up the dining room and the kitchen.

Stepping out into the cold air of the night, Jacob follows the brick pathway out to his cabin in the woods. He glanced back at the house only momentarily. He found her standing there in the window of the bedroom. Her eyes landed on him and she smiled faintly, giving him a gentle wave. He returned the gesture and disappeared into the darkness of the trees.

⌔⌔

By morning, Elaine woke up to a soft knock on her bedroom. Climbing out of bed, she goes to open the door expecting to find Jacob standing there on the other side. Instead she finds a tray of freshly baked pastries and a cup of coffee waiting for her on the floor by her feet. She looked down both ends of the hallway but saw no sign of Jacob. Carefully she picks up the tray and carries it back into her room, kicking the door closed with her heel.

Jacob had to admit she was by far the most interesting relative he’s worked for. Normally they’d eat breakfast quietly in the morning, either reading a novel or the morning’s newspaper.

Elaine?

A shower and music loudly playing. He could hear her feet padding against the floor in a rhythmic pattern. She must be dancing.

He tunes out his hearing and refocuses on the task in front of him.

Hunting.

His prey stands just a few yards away from him, unsuspecting of his presence. The blood courses through their veins quickly. Within seconds he was pouncing on them, holding them tightly against his body and sinking his teeth into their neck. He keeps his hand pressed firmly against their mouth to muffle their screams.

Hikers were his favorite to feed on. Their adrenaline pumping the blood made it that more delicious and worth the struggle they put up to rid themselves of his terror.

Getting his fill, he heals the wound on their neck and wipes their memory clean of this moment ever happening. Leaving the exhausted hiker alone, he trudges back through the woods towards the house and cleans off the blood from his lower lip. Stepping through the back door leading into the kitchen, he finds Elaine standing at the sink with her hands plunged into soapy water.

“I can do that.” He says, making her jump with fright.

“Good god.. Don’t you ever sneak up on a person like that.”

Jacob smiles and leans against the threshold. “I’m sorry.”

“Your smile says either wise.”

“My job is to clean. I could have done that if you had asked.”

“I’m still getting used to all of this, Jacob. It’s only been twelve hours.”

“Let me finish.” He says as he walks up to the sink and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt.

Elaine breathes a huff and pulls her hands out of the water. “Soo.. What exactly does one do around here?” She asks.

“You should go check out the library.” Jacob grabs a mug and runs the sponge over it. “They’ve built the collection over the years, you might find some pretty nice editions of the classics.”

“Any suggestions?” Elaine asks as she dries off her hands.

“Dracula.” He says, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “Perfect the season.”

“I’ve never read Dracula before.”

“Never?”

Elaine shakes her head. “I know the legend and the myth, but I’ve never actually read the book.”

“Give it a try. You might like it. One of my favorites.”

⌔⌔

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