No Safe Haven

CAROLINE

The initial nights were a rush. I zoomed into town, gorging on a family of curly-haired, plump humans until my hunger was sated, then dashed off to the train station. It was only when I stepped inside that I realized how foolish that was—I’d be nabbed on a train in no time.

So, I spun around and sprinted up the coast, making it to Rome just as the sun was about to rise. I found a basement and a quick bite to keep me going for the day, and for the first time in half a century, I slept peacefully—content and undisturbed.

The following evening, I woke just as the sun’s last rays were disappearing below the horizon. I changed and slipped into the night, but as soon as I stepped outside, I picked up the scent of other vampires—close by.

A stark reminder that I was, in every sense of the word, on the run. I had to get to the usurper queen before they caught me. So, I concealed my tracks, hid my scent, and stuck to the countryside as I headed north.

For once, I was thankful that my grandfather had seldom taken me to his international meetings, always preferring to bring Alexander instead. That, coupled with the fact that I was denied my four-hundredth birthday ~coming out~ party, meant I wasn’t as easily recognizable as I could have been.

~At least, that’s what I hoped.~ My social media presence had been quite significant before the revolution. That could pose a problem.

I didn’t waste time thinking about my family. They were likely retreating to our estate in the Alps or maybe heading south to the Sicilian villa. Either way, I didn’t care.

I was fed up with their passivity—I was going to take back our crown, and I was going to kill that damn queen.

I refused to think about Father as well.

Slipping into Florence in the wee hours of the morning, I indulged in a bit of window shopping before dashing toward the coast, finding a quiet seaside town to spend the day.

A tiny old woman, alone in a large house overlooking the ocean, didn’t notice when I slipped through her bedroom window just before sunrise.

Her blood was thin and tasteless. I left her half-drained body on the bed and dragged her plush couch and a pile of pillows into the cellar. It was like sleeping on a cloud.

Still, I woke up early.

By nightfall, I was dressed in high-waisted leather pants and a plain white tee, continuing my journey north. It was just a few hours before sunrise when I reached Genoa.

The old city had once been my home—Jessica and I had spent fifty years here in the 1860s for our education. I strolled through the narrow streets, my fingers brushing the rough stone walls of buildings that had barely changed over the years.

~Everything else had, though.~ I had once been carefree here, though it was hard to remember what that felt like.

Feeling restless, I headed toward the shore, walking past the city limits and through the charming fishing villages nearby. Their brightly painted buildings, the turquoise sea lapping at the shore—it was all a major tourist attraction now.

I remembered the nights my friends and I had roamed these streets, hunting for the most exotic humans we could find. The memory was bittersweet.

I had lost all my friends—or, at least, I had lost the illusion that they had ever been my friends to begin with.

I walked across a pebble-strewn beach, watching the golden glow of the streetlights reflect off the old buildings. The smooth stones shifted under my feet, clinking together with a satisfying crunch.

Warm Mediterranean waves lapped at my ankles. A few humans lingered nearby, smoking and drinking, their hushed conversations blending with the soft whisper of the tide.

I tilted my head to one side.

Two men were coming my way.

Tourists. Drunk. Tall, blond, and speaking in slurred, drunken Danish.

The moment they saw me, their faces lit up as if they had hit the jackpot.

“Heeeey, blondie,” one of them crooned in English.

“Hello, kitten,” the other chimed in.

I sighed. Too easy. I had hoped for a real hunt tonight, but these two were practically throwing themselves at me.

“Hey, you pretty little doll!” one of them shouted, stumbling toward me.

I bared my fangs and hissed, but he was too drunk to notice.

“Look at this pretty little face!” he laughed, reaching for me.

I stepped back, a flicker of annoyance passing through me as they disrupted my nostalgic stroll.

“How old are you, anyway?” the first man snickered.

“Old enough,” the other replied.

“I’m pretty sure she’s older than both of you.”

The voice was rich, distinctly American, and laced with a hint of humor.

Two men jumped as a figure materialized from the shadows. He sauntered toward us, his strides long and leisurely, stepping into the warm glow of the streetlight.

He was tall, with broad shoulders, dressed in black jeans that hung low on his hips and a ripped gray T-shirt under a black leather jacket. Something about the jacket intrigued me—it was lined with subtle traces of herbs. He was concealing his scent.

My eyes darted to his face.

A long, straight nose, high cheekbones, and a thick beard the color of chestnuts. His wild chestnut hair fell past his shoulders, framing a pair of captivating green eyes. His lips twisted into a smirk, revealing the sharp glint of fangs.

The Danes sneered at him, but he wasn’t looking at them—his gaze was fixed on me.

“Care to do the honors?” he asked, motioning toward the humans.

“No.” I shook my head quickly and turned away.

One of the Danes reached for me again, but the long-haired vampire was quicker.

In a blur, he lunged, grabbing the human by the throat and tearing it out in one brutal motion. The body fell to the sand with a muted thud.

The second man shrieked, stumbling backward, but the vampire spun, gripping his head and smashing it against the stone wall. A wet crack echoed.

The smell of blood filled my senses, rich and sweet despite the heavy stench of alcohol. My eyes darkened, drawn to the thick red liquid pooling at my feet.

“You can have some,” the vampire said nonchalantly, hoisting one of the bodies to drink from it.

He moaned in pleasure before shooting me a playful wink. “I don’t mind sharing.” His green eyes, now glowing crimson, sparkled in the moonlight.

I curled my lip. “I don’t drink from alcohol-soaked humans.”

He scoffed. “Ah. Your body is your temple?”

He drained the first body, then turned to the second. “Suit yourself.”

I watched him drink for a moment, then tried to leave—but he grabbed my wrist.

I jerked free, hissing.

He laughed, leaning back.

“My name’s Anthony.” His smile disappeared, replaced by a more calculating expression.

“You seem lost, darling. What are you doing, hunting in my city?”

“I’m just passing through,” I retorted. “And this isn’t your city.”

He wiped his bloodstained beard with the back of his hand, smirking.

“You’ll find that it is, indeed, ~my~ city. And I make it my business to greet—and escort—all vampires who pass through. So, again, who are you? And should I escort you out?”

“I’m Alice,” I lied. “And I don’t need an escort.”

He raised his brow.

“I see. You look lost.”

“I’m not lost,” I scoffed.

He crossed his muscular arms over his chest.

“All right then, where are you going?”

I frowned.

“It’s none of your business.”

Anthony chuckled, low and knowing.

“Maybe it is.”

I froze.

“Who are you?”

He smirked.

“Probably the only vampire around who doesn’t want to see you dead, Alice.”