We eventually come to the conclusion that Brett is unfit for driving considering his monumental blood loss. I apologise about ten more times as we make our way out of the apartment building. Each time, Brett dismisses it as nothing. Even so, he has to lean on me as we walk to his car. His height makes it hard for me to support him correctly and the muscle mass of his body makes it a treacherous walk.

The point where the stake went in has healed thanks to Brett's generous blood donation. Brett's puncture wounds from my fangs weren't fatal, thankfully, and they healed in a matter of seconds. The only problem is that his blood hasn't replenished yet and he's still feeling light headed.

"My keys are in my jeans pocket," he mutters. His appearance is becoming increasingly worrying. His skin has a distinct pallor to it and sweat beads on his forehead. When he blinks, his eyes droop for a few seconds and he wavers slightly on the spot.

I reach into his jeans pocket, digging around until my fingers brush the cool metal of his keys. I scoop them out and unlock the car. I lower Brett into the passenger's seat. He goes limp when he hits the seat, leaning his head against the back of the seat. His lips are slightly parted and his eyes are barely staying open.

I brush his hair, which is uncharacteristically limp and unstyled, away from his forehead. "Brett," I hiss. "Stay with me."

His eyes flutter open and he smiles weakly. "I'm so tired," he murmurs. His head lolls back onto the seat.

"I know but you need to stay with me, Brett," I say. I lightly pat his cheek with the flat of my hand. He tries again to keep his eyes open, but they barely stay like that for a second. I eventually decide that I should probably focus on getting him to the hospital.

I have no idea where the nearest hospital is and Beacon Hills is an entirely new place for me. I search Beacon Hills Hospital in the GPS and try to navigate the streets of Beacon Hills. The streets are dark and difficult to follow. All the while, Brett sits in the seat next to me, limp and occasionally letting out a grunt.

I eventually find my way to Beacon Hills Hospital and park the car as close as I can to the entrance. I haul Brett out and half-drag him across the sidewalk to the front door of the hospital. I shoulder the glass door open and pull him in after me. The place seems to be in a state of chaos. Doctors rush to and fro between rooms and down the halls. I stop the first doctor I see.

"Excuse me," I say. "I need help. He's lost a lot of blood."

The doctor looks over his shoulder and stops another woman. "Melissa, could you please help this boy? His friend said he's lost a lot of blood."

Melissa is a woman of about forty who has nice bone structure and curly black hair. She wears a blue nurse's uniform with the badge of Beacon Hills Hospital in the corner of the shirt. Her eyes pass over the dried blood on his arm and she takes him away.

"I'll come find you after I assess his injuries, sweetheart," Melissa says. "You can come visit him then." She gives me an encouraging smile that makes me feel a lot better.

I sit on the seats outside of Brett's room for a butt-numbing twenty minutes until I realise that I really need something to eat. And it's not vampire hunger, either; it's genuine I-really-need-some-chocolate hungry.

I get up and begin my trek to the nearest vending machine. I linger in front of it for a while. I suppose I could go for a healthy muesli bar of some sort. I shake my head and chuckle to myself. Like that's going to happen. I punch in the numbers for a Mars bar and wait patiently for it to fall. Clutching my chocolate bar in my hand like a talisman, I head back to Brett's room.

I'm about halfway there when I bump into someone. The boy is running at a speed which makes the collision a big one. The boy is a teenager with dark blonde hair and bright green eyes clad in hospital clothing. I suppose he would be attractive if it wasn't for the blood which coats his whole lower face. Alarm washes over me. Something about him doesn't seem right, doesn't seem human. He holds up his bloodied hands in a gesture that says 'sorry' and I catch sight of the wristband emblazoned with his name. Sean Walcott, it reads.

He mumbles an apology and pushes past me, taking off at an astounding speed. "Hey," I call after him. Something tells me that this Sean dude is anything but human. And if he's like me - a vampire - then I would like to investigate further. "Hey, come back here."

He doesn't so much as pause. Defeated, I turn around. I don't see the second boy coming until he's brushing past me at a remarkable speed. This one has dark curls piled atop his head, brown eyes that seem forlorn and a slightly crooked jaw. I catch sight of a distinctive tattoo of two bands around his bicep. He seems to be chasing after Sean.

My eyes follow him until he disappears around the same corner as Sean. Shaken from my most recent encounter, I walk speedily back to Brett's room, glancing behind me every few steps. The panicky demeanour recedes as I get closer to Brett's room. I'm almost there when I bump into someone again. I look up again and see the familiar face of Brett. "What are you doing out of your room?" I ask. He's wearing regular clothing which definitely means he's on his way out of here.

"I was looking for you," he says. "I've healed completely."

"Listen, Brett," I say in a hushed tone. "We should get out of here. Something doesn't feel right about this place."

Understanding flickers in his eyes. "I was thinking the same thing. Why? What happened to you?"

Brett begins walking purposefully down the halls and I trail behind him. "This guy who bumped into me, Sean, he didn't seem human at all. He had blood down his chin and on his hands. I think he might've been a vampire." I hear commotion coming from the floor below us and tip my head up as if it would somehow answer my question to what's happening. "Do you hear that?" I ask Brett.

He nods. "That kid you saw wasn't a vampire. He was a wendigo. A cannibal."

I suck in a breath. "Holy crap."

"I think we should get out of here as soon as possible," he says and picks up the pace. "I have a bad feeling about this place."

Brett pushes open the door and I step through the open doorway into the cool night. It's turned into a cold night and the sky is a blanket of darkness over the town. I hand him his keys. "Do you know where the car's parked?" Brett asks. He wraps his arms around his chest and shivers.

I raise my eyebrows and point to the north west corner. "Somewhere around there."

He sighs and begins to walk. I follow him across the dark parking lot. It's remarkably quiet compared to the activity inside of the hospital. "Do the doctors know you've left?" I ask.

A small chuckle comes from his throat. "No," he says. "Another reason why we should get out of here. They had no idea why I had healed so quickly and were even more confused as to where the blood had even come out of."

"You could've told them you just have heavy periods," I say with a grin. He laughs and I upturn my face to smile at him. My eyes fall onto a figure that disperses from the shadows of the car park. The figure's face comes into focus and my voice catches in my throat as I say Brett's name.

Because the man in front of us has no mouth.

The lower part of his face is nothing but skin stretched taut over his face and jaw. There's not even a scar to show any mark of a mouth ever being there. Brett swears beside me as the axe in the man's hand glints under the lights above him.

With a sharp drawback of the arm, the axe comes flying right towards Brett. Almost without thinking, I dive in front of him, blocking him from the weapon. The axe buries itself in my gut and a sharp pain cuts through my body. It's nothing compared to the stake, though.

I sigh and wrap my hand around the handle, pulling it out. The blade is slick with blood, but it looks much worse than it feels. I raise my eyebrows and send the axe clattering to the ground. "Really? Is that all you got? I had a stake driven through me tonight. I think you're going to have to try harder."

All this does is infuriate the mouthless man and he sends another axe flying my way. My shirt is covered in blood and now a deep red colour. I pull this one out as well and charge towards him. Fear passes over his eyes as he keeps throwing them.

I'm a few inches away from the man when he throws the final one which embeds itself into my shoulder. I pull it out and grip it in my fist. Before he has the chance to throw another one, I grip his shoulder with one hand and sever his head from his body in one swift arc using his own weapon.

His blood sprays across the tar of the road as his falls to the ground with a thump, his head following short after. Relief rushes over me but is quickly replaced by regret. My hand shakes so hard that the axe clatters out of it. I turn to Brett, tears springing from my eyes.

"I didn't mean to kill him," I say, my bottom lip quivering.

Brett is shaken and shocked by the events. His movements are stiff and jerky as he comes to me. "Come here," he murmurs and wraps his arms around me. He still smells like the hospital, a sharp tang that reeks of chemicals.

I ignore it as I lean into the hug and weakly put my arms around him. He presses my face against his chest softly and I cry against the fabric of his shirt. "Shh, it's okay," he whispers. His hand caresses my face. He holds my face in both is hands and his eyes bore into mine. I feel the overwhelming urge to kiss him.

Even in a state such as this, he's still beautiful - the chocolate brown hair that flops over his forehead, the perfectly shaped lips, the sharp jaw set in worry and, of course, the blue eyes that carry a storm of emotions in them.

"We need to get out of here before someone comes," he says slowly as if he thinks I won't understand him.

With an arm draped around my shoulder, he guides me to the car. He opens the car door and I sink back into the seat. "What did that guy want?" I ask as Brett turns on the ignition.

He purses his lips. "I don't know," he says. "All I know is that something's coming." He pauses. "And it's not going to be good."

"Why did he want to kill you?" I press on.

Brett shrugs. "Because of what I am," he says quietly. "I don't know. Nothing's happened like this before."

"What was he?"

Brett hesitates. "A human as far as I'm concerned. Nothing smelled off about him," Brett says. "Look, my guess is an assassin. I don't know what he wanted with me, though. I haven't done anything particularly death-deserving to anyone."

I tilt my head slightly to the side, thinking. "What about Peter? Why did he try to kill me?"

Brett stiffens up. "Because you're a vampire," he says. "I can't think of any better reason. He made it pretty clear he hated them."

"How could he be so hateful, though? Why?"

Brett sighs, taking a left turn. "People are just born like that," he says. "Or, sometimes, it's the world around them that makes them the way they are. The choices they make. The people they surround themselves with."

"I didn't mean to kill that man," I say quietly.

"I know," Brett says gently. "We all make mistakes."

"No, but I ended someone's life today, Brett," I say. "All their hopes, all their likes, dislikes, thoughts, desires. Gone. I ended someone's life today."

Brett raises his eyebrows. "If he was spending his life throwing axes at teenagers, he probably didn't have the most fulfilling life."

"Still," I say.

Devenford is about an hour away from Beacon Hills. Checking on my phone, I realise the time is just after five o'clock in the morning. The sun would be risen by the time we get back and then life would go on as normal. Peter never took back the ring, no doubt bent on the idea that I wouldn't survive the staking. I would be able to walk in sun.

My hunger has fled because of Brett's blood. I still feel a hollow pit of guilt in my gut when I think about it. I feel like I've violated some sort of trust code by feeding on him. He doesn't seem bothered about it, but I'm still worried if I had hurt him when he gave me his wrist.

My thoughts drift over to Sean. If vampires and werewolves weren't bizarre enough, there were also cannibals. I mean, cannibals for god's sake. It's like a freaking horror movie. He didn't look especially threatening. He looked like a normal guy. A normal hot guy at that. Before last week, I wouldn't have even thought he was dangerous and probably would've said something about the blood on his face like, "A period doesn't stop nothing but a sentence, am I right?" with a wink and laugh, for fuck's sake.

And if freaking Sean Walcott is a cannibal, then I can't help but think how many other people aren't human. I wonder how many supernatural creatures I've passed in my life without even blinking an eye. A few? Hundreds? It was impossible to know.

All I knew was that Beacon Hills seemed to be brimming with those freaking weirdos.