Thick fog settled over Bronx, spreading from the frozen ground to tops of buildings, enveloping the closed shops, hiding graffiti. The sky turned dirty orange. The clock ticked one of those forgotten hours, when all the honest, hardworking people twisted and turned in their beds and only those with bad intentions roamed the streets.

The 3AMs were my biggest temptation.

So many lost souls stumbling through the city – people no one checked up on, no one waited for at home. All it took was one desperate, angry vampire who hasn't had anything substantial to eat in months to drag them into the darkness, into the shadows.

People knew better than to engage with each other at this time of night, though, and most kept to their side of the street as I moved silently towards my destination.

I pulled the hood over my head and clutched the bag tight to my body. There was only three hundred dollars inside, but if I lost it, I'd have nothing to eat for the rest of the month. My body curled in on itself, my instincts wanting to keep me as invisible as possible.

Some of the passer-byes glanced at me with curiosity, almost like they couldn't quite believe I was out here alone at this hour, but I paid no mind to them.

I turned the corner into a dark, abandoned alley, ignoring the groups gathering by the entrance to The Hangout. They pulled their hoods over their heads as well, their sleeves falling over their hands, hiding whatever they were doing. Curious eyes skittered over my body, lingering for a moment on my bag, then on my boobs.

I approached the steel door and knocked.

This had been way easier when I was still part of my family.

No.

This hadn't existed when I was still part of my family.

The security grate slid to the side, revealing a pair of male chocolate brown eyes with bloody whites, surrounded by sunken dark circles. He said nothing, closed the grate and opened the door, inviting me inside.

The guys around the entrance murmured something under their breath, but I purposely didn't hear them. The insinuation was clear enough. A beautiful woman entering a place like this? A whore.

I'd rather they thought I was a whore than know what I was really doing here.

The Hangout was a dark, seedy place. Heavy smoke lingered in the air, just high enough to hide the faces sitting in the corner booths, staring in my direction. Rap music blasted from the speakers, drowning out secret conversations with impeccable success. I tried not to look over the wooden booths or the round tables in the middle of the bar, and instead searched for the neon purple jacket.

Jasmine sat on the counter, nursing a gin and tonic, and holding a slim cigarette between her thin fingers, tapping it every now and then with her razor-sharp metallic nails. Her thick red lips closed around the small filter, leaving a trail. Her scalp-tight fish braids were dyed white by the roots and purple towards the ends, looking extremely chick against her dark skin.

She wore fishnet stockings and a black tulle skirt, paired with a neon purple jacket, and Doc Martens on her feet. Rectangular metallic earrings hung from her ears, the dim lighting reflecting off their surface. Overall, she looked like someone spat out steam punk and shaped it into a person, but she pulled it of.

She had one of those exotic faces, a sort of acquired beauty. Her huge brown eyes and her plump lips were a bit too big for her small, heart-shaped face. Still, she wasn't exactly cute. There was an edge to her features, something that allowed her to sit in this bar like she belonged here, like she deserved to be here. The vampirism edge.

I sat on the stool next to her and ordered the same.

"Look what the cat dragged in." Jasmine puffed out smoke. "Ain't heard from you in a minute."

"Been busy." I answered. "Have you got it?"

"Sure thing, hon." Jasmine tapped the cigarette, the ash missing the ashtray. "You got the dough?"

I nodded, "In the bag."

Her hand slipped to the pocket of her jacket and she pulled out a folded piece of paper.

"Jax Davis." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Thirty-two. Born and raised in Mott Haven. His fam got all kinda shady shit goin' on down here, but he got himself into the military when he was eighteen, lookin' to turn his life round."

She held her nails pressed against the folded paper, and the spilled gin soaked it up.

"What happened?" I asked, wondering what secrets the paper hid from me.

"He was dishonourably discharged." Jasmine put out the cigarette. "For assaulting a Sergeant."

My eyebrows jumped up. Jax wasn't lying when he said he too had issues with impulse control.

"Could have been a minor misdemeanour." I mumbled.

Jasmine leaned closer, "He cracked his Sergeant's jaw, whupped the living hell outta him with his bare hands."

"Shit." My heart beat faster in my chest.

"He hopped a coupla gigs after that." Jasmine continued, lighting another cigarette. "Stayed the longest in the Lion's Den, but he dropped it and ain't had no work in a minute since."

The silent insinuation was clear enough. He didn't have a job, but he had money.

"Word on the street is he went back to the crews." Jasmine added.

I took a sip of my gin and tonic, my mind hopping over every word Jax said to me in the Lion's Den. I wouldn't expect him telling me about what went down with his Sergeant, but he shared enough. It made me think he wasn't aware of my unfortunate case of vampirism.

"What about the symbol?" I asked.

"Nothin' comin' up." Jasmine lowered her voice, "If it's vamp stuff, ain't nobody spillin' nothin' 'bout it."

"Luce found it." I admitted, deciding to share my concerns with a fellow vamp. "And I saw it on the card in his wallet."

"If it's real, it's local." Jasmine's large eyes bore into me. "My people know nothin' 'bout it, but I'ma happily put it out there if it's got somethin' to do with them. Ain't been no talk 'bout it in LA or Chicago, either."

"I don't think he knows about us." I said. "If they are after vamps, they're looking for Elders and they've all gone into hiding, so keep quiet for now. We don't wanna prove him right too soon."

"Fair enough." She nodded. "You shouldn't be goin' in solo. You don't know what they know."

A low chuckle rumbled in my throat, "I'm not on speaking terms with my family. They won't even let me speak to the Chief."

"They still your fam." Jasmine shrugged, then got up, "I'm goin' to the loo real quick. I assume this is done?"

I nodded, but Jasmine already walked away, my black bag casually thrown over her shoulder. While she did her thing, I took the folded piece of paper, now completely soaked in gin. Sergeant Joe Bender, the paper read.

My next stop, apparently.

Jasmine returned from the bathroom and put my black bag back in my lap. It was significantly heavier now.

"How much?" I asked.

She sipped her drink, "Five."

"Five?"

"Sorry, hon." She shrugged an apology. "Three hundred ain't enough. The fifth's on the house."

Anger flashed behind my eyes, but I swallowed it with a gulp of gin. Jasmine wasn't to blame. She was doing her job. The fact I was broke was my fault.

"Fine." I downed the rest of my drink and stood up. "The drink is on you."

Jasmine chuckled, "Sure thing, hon. Take care."

She stayed behind, lighting another cigarette and ordering another drink, probably waiting for the next customer, but I scurried as quickly as possible through the steel door and out to the alley. Getting from Bronx to Brooklyn would be a challenge enough tonight.

If only I had a family member or six living in Manhattan.

Ignoring the groups still gathering in the alley, I leaned against the grey brick building and took out my phone. In a sudden outburst of emotionality, I called my brother Lucien. The ringing sound pierced through my skull. No answer.

I bumped against the wall with my head.

And called my father.

"The person you're calling is unavailable." The mechanical voice reached my ears.

Still blocked. My own father blocked my number.

For a moment, I found myself wishing I was a kid again. I wished someone would lift this burden off my back and carry it for me. Tell me everything would be okay.

But I wasn't a kid. I was a grown ass woman who made her own choices and now had to live with them, no matter how difficult it got or how desperately I needed help.

The last person I tried was Libby, but to no avail.

Libby should have been on my side.

She shouldn't have agreed to marry Dorian.

Bitter tears filled my eyes, blurring my vision to the point I didn't notice one of the groups in the alley slowly approaching me. Three thugs: a pale lanky guy with dyed blonde hair and bloodshot eyes, a short fat guy with wearing a jacket hanging to his knees, and a huge Black guy with a joint between his fingers. They eyed my bag.

"Yo," The pale lanky guy said, "Got anything for us?"

"I'm not in the mood." I answered, trying not to roll my eyes.

Also, I doubted they'd get the right kind of high from the blood in my bag.

"Oh, come on." The short fat guy let out a shrill laugh. "Don't you like to share?"

I eyed him up and down, "Not with you."

"Oof!" The Black guy laughed. "Burn."

"Maybe we wanna share somethin' with you." The tall guy said, his light eyebrow rising.

I pushed myself off the wall.

"Listen, I've had a couple of really bad days." I clutched the leather handle of my bag. "And I know misery loves company, but I'd rather not inflict my terrible fate upon you."

The short fat guy let out another shrill laugh, "Some fancy talk. You ain't from 'round here."

"What's a fancy girl like you doin' here?" The Black guy asked, sharing the joint with his friends.

The tall guy moved to the side slightly, revealing a gun tucked in the back of his pants.

Seeing it should have made me run, but all thoughts of leaving slammed into a thick tall wall of anger. Memories swarmed through my brain like buzzing flies, bringing back everything I've tried so hard to keep buried.

"You should leave me alone." My grip around the handle tightened as anger bit my veins. "I'm warning you."

"Oh, she's warnin' us, boys. We better listen to the lady." The short guy laughed and came closer, the smoke of his joint slamming into my face.

Pain spread through my gums, my teeth gaining a will of their own, desiring to kill something just for killing's sake. I cocked my head to the side, eyes directly in the line with the short fat guy. Three bodies would keep me full way longer than five blood bags. His eyes widened, visceral understanding emerging behind the haze, almost like his body understood the threat.

"Leave her alone."

The voice snapped me out of the bubble of anger. His scent overwhelmed my nostrils.

The three men stepped away in an instant, their hands ending up in the air.

"Sorry, man." The Black guy said. "We didn't know."

"Yeah, sorry." The short fat guy kept his eyes on me, but his entire body turned away from me, and his presence became gradually smaller. "Come on, let's get out of here."

The three guys walked away, passing by the figure still in the shadows.

"You okay?" Jax stepped out, the dim street light shining on his face, revealing an angry expression.

My heart thudded with both fear and excitement. The bag in my hand turned heavy with secrets and I bumped against the wall, wanting to put some distance between us. Jax's presence took on a whole other shape as he came closer, dressed in jeans and leather, a lethal glint in his dark eyes. Born and raised in Mott Haven, Jasmine had said, his family involved in all kinds of shady shit.

Word on the street is he went back to the crews.

The vampire hunter lingered a foot away from me and eyed me head to toe.

"I'm fine." My voice came out as a whisper. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

Anger gripped his features, "You're the one who needs to answer that question."

Right. The cold brick dug into my shoulder blades as I pulled away from him. I could take on three high thugs, but a military trained vampire hunter?

"My friend lives here." My shoulders felt stiff as I shrugged.

Jax stared directly into my eyes, "You lied to me."

What the fuck was he doing here? How did he find me? Was he following me? Did he know?

"About?" I squeezed out, my heart hammering against my ribcage like a humming bird.

"Why you were in the Lion's Den that day." Jax came even closer, closing the one-foot distance between us.

I had to crane my neck to look into his eyes and his stubble scratched my forehead.

"Why was I there?" I asked.

"Because you're a Zaleria."