Morgan Blackstone woke in an instant. Clawing her way to full awareness through a cocoon of razor sharp gossamer strands that ripped into her flesh. Each cut a memory, a flash from her interrupted nightmare. She dragged an unnecessary breath into her lungs as Alexander's skeletal face appeared in her mind. Taut flesh over sharp-edged bones, fissures filling with sluggish black-red blood as a cold smile curled his lips.

“Alexander is dead,” she told herself while running a hand across her brow continuing the in and out of normal human breathing. The image dissolved into a shimmering mist. Morgan blinked a few times letting her eyes adjust to the dimly lit room.

“What in the bloody Nine Hells was that?” she whispered feeling the numbness as it spread through her limbs. Morgan shivered, rubbing her arms to fight off a cold she felt but knew wasn’t real.

In her mind, she was back in The Dracul’s parking lot, her sword cane in hand. She twisted the handle and pulled, but the blade caught and wouldn’t come free. Pain and pressure ripped through her throat. Her sword slid from her fingers, and she reached up to pull the syringe from her neck.

The thing was an antique; the plunger had been depressed and a drop of crimson clung to the tip of the needle. Liquid numbness slithered through her veins. Her thought processes slowed. Darkness hovered around the edges of her vision narrowing her focus down to The Dracul’s employee entrance. If she could get inside, she could bar the door and, with a little luck, be safe until either the drugs wore off, or dawn came.

“Why do you fight?” Azreal stepped in front of her, his visage morphed, twisting and stretching until it became something out of a horror movie. The long beak-like hooked nose filled her line of sight. Red eyes stared at her, boring through the drug induced fog. Alexander’s vice-like hands gripped her arms with his fingers, digging into her flesh.

Morgan screamed and flung herself out of bed. She started pacing, feeling trapped in the room, the blackout drapes seeming to taunt her. Unlike so many of her long years, the sun held her hostage. In the back of her mind, she heard the words that Azreal spoke before her world went dark and changed forever.

Taking a deep breath, she checked her clock, confirming what she already knew. The date read July 9, 2012, three years to the day since her world had been turned upside down for the second time in a little over 1700 years walking the earth.

Three years? It feels like yesterday,
she thought, putting her feet on the cool floor.

Every year the nightmare came.

The first year she'd been caught unaware.

When the second year arrived, she tried not sleeping. Eventually, exhaustion hooked its claws in and dragged her down.

This morning, the third year, she’d taken far too many of the powerful narcotics, and they hadn't been enough. Demons had slithered through her mind, poisoning her rest.

Pacing the width of the master bedroom didn’t help. Nothing was out of place. She scowled at the closed black out blinds, wanting nothing more than to feel the warmth of the sun on her face, to allow it to burn away the last remnants of the dream. Instead, she stood shivering against a cold that sank deep into her core.

Morgan inhaled, long and slow. “Alexander is dead,” she said out loud to herself. “Azreal and Lucian are in Ireland. The doctor is dead” As she paced, Morgan focused her energy into a small ball of fire that she summoned to the palm of her hand. “Nicholai will tell you if and when that changes.”

She shuddered and rubbed her arms remembering the feel of the needles embedded in her flesh. “No one is going to inject you with experimental drugs and sorcerer blood.” She paused, an involuntary shudder ran through her. “You’ve got control of the magic.” Staring at the sphere in her hand, Morgan rolled it from the palm over her fingers, to the back of her hand, then back to her palm again. “You’re not trapped in that cell. You never will be again.” She drew the power back into herself and the fire in her palm collapsed on itself leaving the room in total darkness. Satisfied that she had everything under control, Morgan returned to bed and slipped away to the dreamless void every vampire enjoyed during daylight hours.

1 - San Francisco CA – September 15, 2012

Emily Stanton stepped off the bus and onto a well-lit residential street. She shivered in the cool night air, dampness from the slight fog making the air seem colder than the app on her phone insisted that it was. Looking both ways, she waited as the bus’s air brakes hissed, and it pulled away from the curb. Shaking off the all too familiar feeling of being watched by unseen eyes, Emily started making her way home. She still had three blocks to walk, uphill, before reaching her building. As much as she loved San Francisco, she hated the hills, and though friends and family had tried, they couldn’t convince her to move.

The wind whispered, causing the fog to shift while unseen fingers seemed to slip through her hair moving the stray strands. Strange shadows danced in front of her, and a chill crept up her spine. Emily’s senses tingled as she felt eyes watching her every move.

No, Em, you’re just imagining things. This is a safe neighborhood, and no one is stalking you.
She was talking to herself as a black and white San Francisco Police Department patrol car passed, the soft hum of its tires on the pavement the only sound other than her footfalls. Pulling up her hood, she tucked the tail of raven hair inside and walked even faster. Emily crossed the street coming close to breaking into a jog, her house key protruding from her fist, a makeshift last resort weapon. A few blocks ahead, the SFPD car’s siren wailed, its echoing cry dampened and distorted by the moisture filling the air. The flashing blue and red lights cast an eerie glow.

Emily picked up the pace, breaking into a hurried jog, not caring how it appeared to passersby until she reached her building. Heartbeat pounding in her ears, Emily took the stairs two at a time. She breathed a sigh of relief as she fitted the key into the lock and stepped into the lobby. Slamming the door behind her, she leaned against it, closing her eyes and taking several deep breaths.

Come on Em, you’ve got to get it together. You’re safe at home.
She leaned against the exterior building door in silence, waiting for her heart rate to return to normal.

A few minutes later, Emily pushed away with a self-deprecating laugh. Her tiny mailbox was stuffed with letters, many of them were birthday cards in colorful envelopes. Trudging up the stairs to her second-floor studio, she stopped outside the apartment door and fumbled to get the key in the lock. A door downstairs opened and closed.
What if the stalker lives in the building?
She shook her head at her paranoia, taking a deep cleansing breath.

Someone started up the stairs. The key slipped into the lock and turned to the right as the newcomer reached the top landing. Footsteps approached, and she glanced over her shoulder to see her upstairs neighbor, Jayson, walking toward her.

“Hey, Em. How’s it going?” He waved with his free hand. The other held an overstuffed, reusable bag, straining to carry what appeared to be a number of heavy items from the hardware store located six blocks away.

God, I hope he didn’t walk all the way back here with that thing on his arm.
“Good. Can I give you a hand?” she asked.

“Nah, I got it,” he said. Smiling, he stepped past her as the bottom of his bag gave out. A loud clatter rang throughout the hallways while dozens of items hit the hardwood floor, some rolling away. “Shit!” He dropped to one knee. “Stupid things, I hate them, but I hate paying for a damned paper bag more.” Jayson started gathering items, breathing deeply, letting Emily’s scent fill his head.

Emily opened her door and tossed her purse on the floor, using it as a makeshift doorstop. “Here, let me help you.” She knelt beside him and started picking items up.

Jayson held up his bag and frowned. A long rip appeared in the side along the bottom, and he shook his head. “There’s no way this is going to be usable ever again,” he said, voice somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.

“I’ve got a spare inside. Why don’t you come in and we’ll get you squared away?” she asked, genuine concern flashing in her emerald green eyes.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’s no big.” She shrugged, balancing items in her arms, turning to step over the threshold. As she entered the apartment, Jayson hung back, not wanting to follow even though he could. She’d extended an innocent invitation to him, the guy from upstairs… The guy she’d helped before and who had helped her. Emily didn’t know it, but he wasn’t the same.

Jayson wasn’t sure who or what had taken over, but something deep inside called out for her blood. He wanted to hear it sing through his veins, feel it give him strength. The beast inside won and whatever remained of the man, died a little more.

“Well, are you going to come in, silly?” She smiled and waggled her eyebrows, teasing him. “I’ll get you taken care of,” she promised and dropped an armload of his stuff on the high breakfast bar.

“Thanks, Em.” Jayson smiled, flashing the tips of his long, white fangs. He stepped into her apartment, using his toe to push her purse out of the way, the door closed without a sound. Once inside, he glanced around as though searching for something.

Emily disappeared into the pantry. He watched, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, fighting an unease that slithered through the back of his consciousness.

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