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The cave smelled wrong.
Michael noticed it before he’d even turned off his motorcycle, an unfamiliar sharpness beneath the salt air that rolled in from the ocean. There was blood, certainly, but that was hardly unusual. The boys had never been particularly careful about cleaning up after themselves, and Michael had long ago accepted that returning home occasionally meant discovering that someone had left a half-eaten meal somewhere inappropriate.
This was different.
He killed the engine and listened.
Nothing.
Eleven years was hardly the longest he’d been away. He’d once spent nearly twenty wandering through Europe, sending postcards whenever he remembered and occasionally calling David simply because he missed the sound of his voice. There had been a few visits in between, of course, but they’d never felt any particular urgency about arranging them. They had eternity, and eternity allowed for certain indulgences.
He’d spent the last several months imagining his homecoming. Paul would undoubtedly make some obscene comment about his prolonged absence, Marko would demand to know what presents he’d brought, and Dwayne would probably be the first to hug him. David would hang back until the others had finished making a fuss, pretending he hadn’t been counting the days until Michael returned.
Michael had brought presents, actually. They were still packed in the saddlebags of his motorcycle.
He’d been looking forward to giving them out.
“David?”
His voice carried into the cavern, and the silence that followed made something unpleasant settle in his stomach.
The boys weren’t necessarily home every night, but it was unusual for all four of them to be gone without some indication of where they’d gone. Paul had a habit of leaving notes that were mostly illegible, and Dwayne was generally considerate enough to leave a message somewhere Michael would find it.
There was nothing.
He walked farther inside, and his boot struck a broken picture frame.
Michael looked down.
The painting inside had been torn nearly in half, but he recognized Marko’s work immediately. The boy had always been fond of making things, and apparently he’d finally finished the canvas he’d been struggling with when Michael left.
He bent to pick it up.
That was when he saw the blood.
It had soaked into the floor beneath the broken frame, and although it had dried some time ago, Michael could still smell the unmistakable traces of Marko beneath the older scents of the cave.
He straightened slowly.
“Marko?”
There was no answer.
The sleeping alcove had been disturbed. Bedding lay scattered across the floor, and one of the makeshift curtains had been torn from its supports. Michael found a splintered piece of wood near the place where Marko usually slept, its surface stained dark.
He didn’t touch it.
He knew what it was.
For a long time, Michael stood looking at the piece of wood, trying to reconcile its presence with everything he knew about his family.
Then he began searching.
He found evidence of a struggle throughout the cave, furniture overturned and belongings scattered, the lingering smell of holy water so strong in one corner that it made his eyes sting. He found traces of Paul, of Dwayne, of David, but none of them were recent enough to offer any comfort.
There were three unfamiliar human scents among the wreckage.
Michael followed each one through the cavern, reconstructing the movements of their owners as best he could. They had entered together. One had approached the sleeping alcove. The others had moved farther inside.
And then something had happened.
Something that had left Marko’s blood on the floor and the cave empty.
Michael stood in the center of their home and listened to the waves crashing somewhere beyond the entrance.
He didn’t call for the boys again.
Instead, he returned to his motorcycle, selected the clearest of the three human scents, and followed it into Santa Carla.
Sam Emerson woke to the sound of something falling downstairs.
He lay still for a moment, listening for his grandfather’s familiar muttering or the sound of his mother moving around the kitchen. Neither came. The house remained quiet, although he thought he heard a faint scraping noise from somewhere below.
He reached for the flashlight beside his bed.
Edgar had told him to keep a weapon within reach, even after they’d killed the vampires. Sam had laughed at the time, insisting that they’d already won, but he’d kept the flashlight and a sharpened stake in his bedside drawer anyway.
He took both.
The hallway was dark, and the stairs creaked beneath his feet as he descended. He swept the flashlight across the living room, checking the windows and the front door before turning toward the kitchen.
The beam passed over the couch, the television, and his grandfather’s favorite armchair.
Something reflected the light.
Sam stopped.
There was a man sitting in the chair.
He was dressed in dark clothes, with one ankle resting casually across his opposite knee, and his eyes reflected the flashlight’s beam in an unmistakable yellow glow. When he tilted his head, Sam caught sight of the sharp fangs resting against his lower lip.
“Where is my mate?”
Sam’s mouth went dry.
The man waited, apparently expecting an answer, and when none came, he uncrossed his legs.
“I’m sorry. Perhaps you didn’t hear me.”
“Wh-who are you?”
“Michael.”
Sam tightened his grip on the stake.
Michael’s gaze flickered toward it before returning to his face.
“I went home tonight,” he explained, “and found that someone had made rather a mess of the place. Three unfamiliar humans had been there, and one of them smelled like you.”
Sam felt his stomach drop.
“The cave?”
Michael’s expression changed.
“Yes.”
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Sam could hear his own breathing, quick and shallow, and he became horribly aware of how far he was from the stairs. His mother was sleeping upstairs. His grandfather was down the hall. If he screamed, one of them might come running, and then there would be three people for the vampire to kill instead of one.
“Where’s David?” Michael asked.
Sam stared at him.
“Blond hair, leather coat, rather fond of making himself difficult. You must remember him.”
Sam swallowed.
“He’s dead.”
The words seemed to hang between them.
Michael didn’t move.
“And the others?”
“Yeah. Them too.”
“I see.”
He looked down at his hands for a moment, his expression so composed that Sam wondered whether he’d misunderstood.
Then Michael stood.
He approached slowly enough that Sam could have counted every step. There was something deeply unnatural about the deliberate pace, especially when Sam remembered how quickly David and the others had moved. Michael could have crossed the room before he blinked, but instead he gave Sam plenty of time to watch him coming.
He stopped directly in front of him.
“And why was your scent in our home?”
Sam’s flashlight trembled.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not. And that’s not an answer.”
“They were vampires!”
“Yes.”
“They were killing people!”
“Yes.”
Sam stared at him, increasingly desperate for some reaction that would tell him what to do.
“They were monsters!”
Michael considered that.
“Which one did you kill?”
Sam blinked.
“What?”
“There were four of them. Which one did you kill?”
“The- the blond one! Not David! The other one!”
Something in Michael’s face shifted.
“You don’t even know their names.”
Sam shook his head.
“Dwayne,” Michael said quietly. “His name was Dwayne.”
Sam remembered the vampire coming after him, remembered the broad shoulders and blond hair, the fury on his face as he chased Sam through the house.
“He was going to kill me!”
Michael nodded once.
“Tell me what happened.”
Sam’s words came tumbling out. He explained the crossbow, the bolt that had pinned Dwayne to the stereo, the electricity that had torn through him when he tried to pull himself free. He found himself describing details he’d spent the last week trying desperately to forget, including the horrible smell that had filled the room.
Michael listened without interrupting.
When Sam finished, he turned toward the stereo that was still there.
Grandpa had repaired the worst of the damage, but the hole remained, and Sam watched Michael approach it with a growing sense of dread.
Michael rested two fingers against the damaged cabinet.
For a moment, he seemed to forget Sam was there.
Then he asked, “And the others? Paul, and Marko, and David?”
Sam’s throat tightened.
“Please.”
“Answer the question.”
“The one with the long dark hair-”
“Marko.”
“O-okay. Marko. Edgar staked him in the cave.”
Michael’s fingers curled against the stereo.
“While he was asleep?”
Sam hesitated.
“Yeah. We went in during the day. They were all sleeping.”
Michael closed his eyes.
Sam remembered Edgar creeping toward the sleeping vampire, the stake held ready, and the sudden violence of the blow. Marko had woken with a scream that seemed to shake the entire cavern, his body arching as he tried to pull the wood from his chest.
The others had woken immediately.
Sam remembered their faces.
Especially Paul’s.
“And Paul?” Michael asked.
“The bathtub was full of holy water. He tried to kill Edgar and Alan, and they pushed him in.”
Michael didn’t ask whether Paul had suffered.
Sam was grateful for that.
“And David?”
“Star stabbed him.”
Michael turned.
“Star?”
“The girl. The half-vampire they had with them.”
Michael frowned.
He’d never heard of her.
Eleven years was a long time for a human, but Michael had never considered it particularly significant. The boys were always meeting new people, taking in strays, making friends and enemies and occasionally confusing the distinction between the two. David had apparently found someone new while Michael was away.
Someone who had eventually killed him.
“Where is she?”
Sam stared at him.
Michael waited.
Eventually, Sam told him.
“Thank you,” Michael said. “For telling me.”
Sam felt a sudden, desperate flicker of hope.
“Are you going to kill me?”
“Yes. But I’ll make it quick.”
Sam barely had time to understand the answer.
Michael’s hands closed around his head, and there was a sharp crack.
He caught Sam before he hit the floor, lowering him carefully onto the carpet. The flashlight rolled beneath the coffee table, casting a crooked beam across the ceiling.
Michael straightened Sam’s legs and moved the stake away from his hand.
Then he looked toward the stairs.
Two people were sleeping upstairs. He could hear their heartbeats, could smell the warm blood moving beneath their skin, and for a moment he considered what they would find when they woke.
He hoped they wouldn’t be the ones to discover him.
Michael stepped over Sam’s body and left the house.
Star hadn’t slept properly since the boys died.
She could manage an hour or two at a time, occasionally even three, but eventually the dreams would come, and she’d wake with the sound of screaming trapped somewhere in her throat.
Sometimes it was Marko.
Sometimes Paul.
More often than not, it was David.
She’d spent the first few days telling herself that everything would get easier once she stopped expecting to see them. She’d packed away the clothes they’d given her, thrown out the little things Paul and Marko had brought home from the boardwalk, and tried not to think about how often Dwayne had appeared outside her window just to make sure she was all right.
It hadn’t helped.
She still listened for their motorcycles.
That was why she heard the engine approaching her apartment sometime after midnight.
It slowed beneath her window, idling for a moment before falling silent.
Star closed her eyes.
For one ridiculous instant, she imagined that Dwayne had come to check on her, or that Paul was waiting outside with some terrible joke and a stolen bottle of something expensive.
She knew better.
She’d watched them die.
Star turned onto her side and pulled the blankets closer.
A floorboard creaked.
She frowned without opening her eyes. The apartment was old, and the building made strange noises at night.
Then the mattress dipped beneath someone else’s weight.
Star sat upright.
A man was sitting at the foot of her bed.
He was unfamiliar, with dark hair and a tired expression, and for one brief moment she thought she’d woken to find an ordinary intruder.
Then he looked at her.
His eyes were yellow.
Star scrambled backward until her shoulders struck the headboard.
The man watched her, his expression almost curious.
“Star?”
She couldn’t answer.
“That’s what they called you, isn’t it?”
“Who are you?”
“Michael.”
The name meant nothing to her.
He seemed to recognize that.
“I’ve been away for a while.”
Star’s gaze darted toward the window.
“I wouldn’t,” he said gently. “I’m rather faster than you.”
She froze.
Michael rested his hands on his knees.
“I spoke to Sam Emerson tonight.”
Her stomach dropped.
“Where is he?”
“Dead.”
Star stared at him.
Michael looked down at his hands, rubbing his thumb slowly over a ring on his finger.
“He told me what happened to Dwayne. And Paul. And Marko.”
He paused.
“And David.”
Star’s breath caught.
“Who are you?”
Michael looked at her.
“David’s mate.”
For several seconds, she couldn’t speak.
David had never mentioned a mate. He’d never suggested that there was someone else who belonged in the cave, someone who might return one night expecting to find all four of them waiting.
Michael seemed to understand her confusion.
“I’ve been traveling. Eleven years, this time. I was supposed to be gone five, but I found a few places I wanted to stay longer.”
He smiled faintly.
“David never minded. We had plenty of time.”
Star’s eyes filled.
Michael looked toward the window.
“I was going to surprise him.”
The smile disappeared.
“Now,” he said quietly, “tell me about David.”
“No.”
Michael looked back at her.
“…No?”
“I’m not playing your game. You’ll kill me either way.”
He considered that.
“Yes,” he admitted. “I suppose I will.”
Star pulled the blankets tighter around herself.
“Then why should I tell you anything?”
“Because I haven’t seen him in eleven years.”
She stared at him.
“He was a raging narcissist who was going to kill three children because I wouldn’t do what he wanted.” She spit the words, daring Micheal to get upset. His expression hardened.
“Three children.”
“Yes!”
“Sam Emerson and the Frog brothers?”
“They were trying to help me!”
“And Marko?”
Star stopped.
Michael leaned forward slightly.
“Was Marko threatening them when they crept into our home while he slept and drove a stake through his heart?”
“They were vampires!”
“Yes, Star. I’m aware.”
“They killed people!”
“So did you.”
“That’s different!”
“Perhaps.”
He sat back.
“But you don’t get to pretend they attacked you without provocation when your friends killed Marko first.”
Star opened her mouth, then closed it again.
She’d spent the last week replaying the events in her mind, searching for the moment when things had become inevitable. She’d told herself that David would have killed them eventually, that the boys were dangerous, that the Frogs had done what needed to be done.
She still believed those things.
But she remembered Marko asleep in the cave, remembered the sudden scream that had woken the others, and she couldn’t make herself say that he’d deserved to die like that.
Her breath escaped in a shudder.
“I liked them,” she whispered. “Before they tried to make me like them. I never wanted that.”
Michael was quiet for a long while.
“Did they know?”
Star looked up.
“Know what?”
“That you didn’t want to turn.”
“Yes.”
He nodded slowly.
“Then they shouldn’t have tried to make you.”
Star stared at him.
It wasn’t what she’d expected.
“You’re not going to tell me I should’ve been grateful?”
“No.”
“That they were giving me some kind of gift?”
Michael’s mouth tightened.
“Immortality isn’t much of a gift if you don’t want it.”
Star began to cry.
“I did like them,” she repeated, wiping at her face. “Paul was funny. He could make me laugh even when I was angry with him, and Marko was always stealing my things just to make me chase him around the cave.”
Michael smiled.
“That sounds like Marko.”
“And Dwayne…” Her voice broke. “Dwayne was always making sure I was okay.”
Michael looked down.
“He was good at that.”
Star pulled her knees against her chest.
“And David could be nice. Sometimes. He could make you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered, and then he’d get angry because you didn’t do what he wanted.”
Michael nodded.
“I know.”
“He was terrifying.”
“I know that, too.”
Star stared at him, unable to understand why he wasn’t arguing.
“I didn’t want them to die.”
Michael looked at her.
“I believe you.”
“Then why are you going to kill me?”
“Because you killed them.”
“But you just said-”
“I know what I said.”
He turned the ring on his finger.
“I can understand why you wanted to live, Star. I can understand why you fought them. I can even understand why you hated David.”
His voice softened.
“But I loved him.”
Star’s face crumpled.
Michael watched her for a moment before speaking again.
“I’ll kill you, and then those Frog children. And then I’ll greet the sunrise for the first time in centuries. This whole mess will be over.”
Star stared at him.
“You’re going to kill yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Because of them?”
Michael looked almost puzzled.
“Of course because of them.”
“But you’ve been gone for eleven years!”
“And?”
“You weren’t even with them!”
“Star, how long do you think eleven years is to someone who’s been alive for centuries?”
She couldn’t answer.
“We weren’t apart because we didn’t love each other. We were apart because we had forever.”
He rubbed his thumb across the ring.
“Or so we thought.”
Star wiped her face.
“You could still live.”
“Yes.”
“You could go somewhere else. Start over.”
“I could.”
“Then why won’t you?”
Michael looked at her.
“Because I don’t want to.”
Star began trembling again.
He stood.
“I’ll make it quick. No need to draw it out.”
“Please.”
Michael paused.
“If he had asked you not to, because he didn’t want to die, would you have stopped?”
Star stared at him.
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
“He was going to kill us!”
“And you believed that meant you had to kill him.”
“Yes!”
Michael nodded.
“Then I suppose we understand each other.”
Star pressed herself against the headboard.
“I don’t want to die.”
Michael’s expression softened.
“I know, sweetheart.”
He reached for her.
She flinched away, a frightened sound escaping her throat, and for a moment Michael looked almost sorry.
Then he snapped her neck.
It was over before she could draw another breath.
Michael caught her as she fell forward, carefully lowering her onto the mattress. He straightened her legs, untangled the blankets, and adjusted the pillow beneath her head.
Her face was still wet with tears.
He wiped them away with the corner of the sheet.
Then he pulled the blankets up to her shoulders.
He wondered whether Dwayne had ever tucked her into bed. Whether Paul had sat here making her laugh. Whether Marko had climbed through that same window just to annoy her.
He wished he’d met her under different circumstances.
Perhaps they would have liked each other.
Michael smoothed the blanket over her shoulder.
“There,” he whispered. “That’s better.”
He turned off the light before leaving.
The Frog brothers were still awake when Michael arrived.
They’d converted the back room of the comic shop into something resembling a military bunker, complete with stakes, crossbows, holy water, and enough garlic to make Michael’s eyes water before he even entered.
Edgar was the first to see him.
“Freeze, bloodsucker!”
A crossbow bolt struck Michael in the shoulder.
He looked down at it.
Then he pulled it free.
“Edgar and Alan Frog?”
Alan raised his bottle of holy water.
“How do you know our names?”
“Sam Emerson.”
Edgar’s expression sharpened.
“What about him?”
“He’s dead.”
For a moment, neither brother moved.
Then Edgar fired again.
Michael stepped aside.
The bolt struck the wall.
“You son of a bitch!”
Michael sighed.
“I understand you killed two members of my family.”
Alan laughed nervously.
“Two? We wiped out the whole nest!”
Michael went still.
“Marko and Paul,” he said.
“What?”
“Their names.”
Edgar scoffed.
“Like we care.”
Michael looked down.
He’d expected that answer.
Somehow, it still hurt.
“The one in the cave,” Edgar continued. “Didn’t even see it coming. Got him right through the heart.”
Michael remembered Marko laughing, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he bent over his guitar.
“And the big one was pissed,” Alan added.
Michael looked up.
“Paul.”
“Whatever. Came after us like he was gonna rip our heads off.”
“He’d just heard you kill his boyfriend.”
Edgar shrugged.
“Yeah, well, didn’t do him much good.”
Alan laughed.
“You should’ve seen him when he hit that holy water.”
Michael’s fingers curled.
“Did he scream?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Edgar grinned.
“Loud enough to wake the dead.”
Michael stared at him.
He remembered Paul asleep with his head in David’s lap. Remembered him laughing so hard that Marko started laughing too, even though neither of them could remember what was funny.
He remembered Paul wrapping his arms around Michael from behind, pressing cold hands beneath his shirt just to make him jump.
He wondered whether Paul had called for David.
Whether David had heard him.
“Bet you’re wishing you’d stayed away from Santa Carla now, huh?” Edgar said.
Michael looked at him.
“No. I wish I’d come home sooner.”
Edgar raised his crossbow.
“Yeah, well, four down, one to go, it seems.”
Michael stared at him.
Then he smiled.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I suppose that’s right.”
Alan shifted uneasily.
“You’re not getting out of here alive.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
Edgar frowned.
“What?”
“I was going to make this quick,” Michael continued. “I promised Sam and Star that they wouldn’t suffer, and I kept those promises.”
Alan went pale.
“You killed Star?”
“Yes.”
“You sick son of a-”
Michael moved.
Edgar fired, but the bolt struck empty air. Before he could reload, Michael was in front of him, tearing the crossbow from his hands.
Edgar reached for a stake.
Michael caught his wrist.
“Do you know what Paul sounded like when he laughed?”
Edgar struggled.
“Let go!”
“He had the most ridiculous laugh. Used to get himself going so badly he couldn’t stop.”
Michael tightened his grip.
Edgar cried out.
“And Marko would start laughing, too. And then David would tell them both to shut up, which only made it worse.”
Alan lunged forward with the holy water.
Michael caught her arm and threw her into a display of comics.
“You thought it was funny,” Michael said.
Edgar gasped.
“You thought Paul screaming was funny.”
“They were monsters!”
“I KNOW!”
The shout echoed through the shop.
Michael stood trembling, his grip still locked around Edgar’s wrist.
“I know what they were! I lived with them! I loved them! I knew every terrible thing they were capable of, and I loved them anyway!”
His voice broke.
“And I was coming home.”
Edgar stared at him.
Michael wiped at his face with his free hand.
“I was coming home, and they were supposed to be there.”
For a moment, neither brother spoke.
Then Edgar spat in his face.
“Four down, one to go.”
Michael looked at him.
Something in his expression changed.
He caught Edgar by the throat.
Edgar tried to drive the stake into his chest, but Michael seized his wrist and twisted until the weapon fell.
“You know,” Michael said softly, “Paul would have laughed at you.”
Then his claws tore across Edgar’s throat.
He let the boy fall.
He didn’t drink.
Alan screamed.
Michael turned toward him.
Alan scrambled backward, knocking over a display as she reached for another weapon.
“Stay away from me!”
Michael crossed the room.
Alan barely had time to raise the stake before Michael caught her.
“Please!”
Michael looked into her terrified eyes.
For one terrible moment, he remembered Marko looking at him with that same expression after a particularly bad nightmare, frightened and embarrassed and trying to pretend he wasn’t.
Michael’s face twisted.
He killed Alan.
Then the shop was quiet.
Michael stood between the overturned displays, looking at the blood on his hands.
He hadn’t taken a single mouthful.
He hadn’t wanted to.
After a while, he found a towel behind the counter and wiped his fingers clean.
There was nothing left to do now.
No one left to find.
He stepped outside and climbed onto his motorcycle.
The sky was beginning to lighten.
Michael turned toward home.
The cave was exactly as he’d left it.
He’d hoped, absurdly, that something might have changed. That he’d return to find Paul stretched across the couch, Marko arguing with Dwayne, and David looking up from his chair with that familiar, infuriating smile.
But the cave was empty.
Michael walked through the wreckage without bothering to straighten anything.
He found one of Marko’s drawings beneath an overturned table. A guitar pick that might have belonged to Paul. A book Dwayne had apparently been reading before everything happened.
He gathered them carefully.
David’s leather jacket was draped over the back of a chair.
Michael stopped.
It was the one David hadn’t been wearing when he died.
He approached slowly, almost expecting David to appear and tell him to leave it alone.
The jacket was heavier than he remembered.
Michael ran his fingers over the worn seams, recognizing a small tear near the shoulder that David had refused to repair because he liked the way it looked.
He lifted it to his face.
And there he was.
David.
Not enough. Not nearly enough. But beneath the dust and the stale air of the cave, the scent was unmistakable.
Michael pressed his face into the leather.
And began to cry.
He’d managed to keep himself together through Sam’s confession, through Star’s frightened explanations, through the Frogs laughing about the deaths of people he’d loved for centuries.
He’d even managed to ride home without breaking down.
But David’s jacket undid him.
He sank onto the couch with it clutched against his chest, burying his face in the collar as his shoulders shook.
He cried for David, for Paul, for Marko and Dwayne, for all the years he’d missed and all the years he’d thought they still had waiting for them.
Eventually, there were no tears left.
Michael sat quietly for a long time, holding the jacket while the darkness beyond the cave entrance began to soften.
He’d always liked the sunrise.
Even after becoming a vampire, he’d sometimes stayed awake long enough to watch the sky change colors from somewhere safely sheltered.
David used to tease him about it, saying he was going to get himself killed one day if he kept lingering so close to morning.
Michael smiled faintly at the memory.
“Guess you were right, love.”
He rose from the couch and carried the jacket toward the entrance, stopping where the first sunlight would eventually reach him.
Then he sat down, arranging the leather across his lap and pulling it close around himself.
There was no reason to hurry.
He watched the sky turn pale beyond the mouth of the cave, listened to the distant sound of waves, and let himself remember the last time he’d seen David.
They’d kissed goodbye beside Michael’s motorcycle.
David had told him to be careful, and Michael had laughed because they’d been saying that to each other for centuries.
See you when I see you.
That was what Michael had said.
David had smiled.
I’ll be here.
Michael closed his eyes, holding the jacket tighter.
“I’m home,” he whispered.
The sunlight crept slowly across the cave floor, inching toward his boots.
Michael smiled.
And when the first warmth touched him, he didn’t move.