by Martha Woods
“You still didn’t answer my question. Do you still eat, like, normal food? Here I thought the cooler alone took care of your needs.” She kept one hand around the cup while the other motioned toward the refrigerator. Yes, Vaughn was a vampire. A creature of darkness and fable. As a little girl, Mia had always found such stories terrifying. She’d never understood why people were so enamored with such tales, why teenage girls dreamed of being swept away by a pale, undead beast.
Of course, that view changed entirely when she met Vaughn.
In the hospital, he’d been weak and desperate; he’d had no choice but to reach out to her. To burden her with his truths and beg her for aid. He'd told her he needed blood—he needed to drink, to give his body energy to help heal his wounds. Confused, Mia had offered a blood transfusion, and he’d merely laughed. Seeming to understand words would not be enough, he’d bared his fangs, and Mia had reacted in a less-than-expected way. Never one to handle frights well, she’d punched him. She’d brought him the blood he needed later.
In truth, she now hated to look back on how they’d met. Utterly shameful, how she’d reacted; even worse because she’d assaulted a patient. But if anyone now had asked why she’d believed him, why she’d brought him the blood and guarded the door, there wouldn’t be an answer. She had no idea why she’d done it, why she’d gone along with this insanity. Perhaps she’d wanted to see exactly what he would do. She had always been intensely curious by nature, so perhaps she couldn't let him just slip away into the night.
After caring for his wounds and assuring he would be all right, Mia had aided Vaughn in claiming a spot at the local inn so he could rest and recover, and she could tend to him in private. Supply him the blood he needed and give him the care other nurses might not be equipped to handle.
“Mia.”
His voice snapped her from her thoughts, and she blinked a couple times before taking a sip of her tea. It wasn’t the first time she’d become lost in her own thoughts. At any given moment of the day, Mia could expect to find her head in the clouds. The other nurses often teased her about her distractedness, saying one day her mind would wander too far and never come back. She would become a properly crazy old lady like those living in certain wings of the hospital.
“Sorry, I was lost in my thoughts again.” She smiled apologetically, feeling an embarrassed flush rise to her cheeks. Sometimes she hated being such a dreamer.
“I could tell.” Vaughn spared her yet another gentle smile. A calm man, he seemed unbothered by her consistent curiosity and wandering thoughts. He would merely hum in response to her apologies, telling her he found her charming. Not a term that Mia often heard, but she'd take it.
“If I may intrude on your thoughts for a moment, there is something I would like to discuss with you. Our deal. I have yet to fulfill my end of the bargain, and I am eager to do so.”
The deal they had struck the night Mia brought him to this small inn. After saving his life, providing him safety and an ally in a strange land, Vaughn had explained, he felt indebted to her. With nothing but the shirt on his back, he had offered her a promise: he would grant any request she desired. She had replied that he didn't need to repay her, she was just doing her job, but he had insisted with such intensity that she'd accepted. She wasn't used to accepting help or generosity, and had no idea what to make of such an offer. Actually, she felt more than a little uncomfortable with the whole thing.
“I really haven’t given it much thought. I don’t even know what I would ask of you.” Yes, she did. That was a lie. Mia knew exactly what she wanted. She wanted to leave this horrible, boring little town. To leave her loveless marriage and explore a world filled with amazing adventures and people just like Vaughn. To see something beyond this dense forest and the sparsely populated area where everyone knew you by name the day you were born. It was suffocating.
Yet leaving wasn’t an option. Those born here usually stayed here. The same surnames appeared all over the cemetery, generations upon generations. A rather depressing thought, really. Beyond that, she had a job here, and a husband waiting for her at home. A husband who would never tolerate her escape. She shuddered as she imagined Dixon catching her packing, and quickly banished the thought.
Mia made an effort to smile as she reached out and squeezed Vaughn's hand. “You know, you still need to tell me where you got those wounds from, but I guess it'll have to wait. I should be heading back. Dixon is going to get worried.”
Vaughn nodded deeply, his steady gaze never leaving her eyes.
“Ah, yes, that is most certainly a story for another time. Allow me to see you out.” He waited as Mia wrapped up her scarf once more and escorted her to the door, his hand resting on her back. Unbolting the lock, he pulled open the door to greet the evening air, eyeing her slowly up and down for a moment. “Please, drive carefully. I have come to learn these roads are terribly rocky.”
She couldn’t help the slight laugh and the shake of her head. Mia truly loved these little meetings after work; they were her saving grace from a rough day or a horrible week. Vaughn always managed to make her smile, to laugh loudly and feel her worries slip away the moment she was with him. Such an amazing influence the man held over her. Worse, the concern in his eyes was devastatingly attractive. And flattering.
“Vaughn, I’ve lived here my entire life. I’m pretty sure I know the roads by now.”
A smile spread across his face as he bid her goodnight, and Mia could have sworn she saw the flash of long, pointed canines, just for a moment.
Chapter 2
“Hey, Carl, how about a fresh one?” Dixon gingerly pushed the empty beer away from him, and the man behind the bar snorted a bit, rolling of his eyes and stepping forward. Taking the glass, he set a fresh, cold one before Dixon. His fingers lingered for a moment before pulling back, arms crossing over his chest.
“Might want to consider pacing yourself there, buddy. The last thing I need is you getting sick like last time, or worse, having to call that little wife of yours to come and clean you up. Honestly, I don’t know how she puts up with you.” A chuckle followed his words, and Carl reached over the bar to lightly punch Dixon's arm before moving away to attend to other patrons. Dixon scoffed, drinking rather than offering the man a response. Carl needed to mind his own business.
Dixon spent most of his nights here after clocking out from the factory. All the boys from work would load up together and make their way to The Wooden Mallard. It was the only bar in town, so business was good and the company was familiar. Comfortable, shoulder-to-shoulder with coworkers, surrounded by faces he knew, friends he trusted.
Unlike his wife, Dixon adored simple life in a small town. He enjoyed knowing everyone he met. Get up, work, drink, come home to dinner with his wife. Lay together and repeat in the morning. The lifestyle annoyed some people—like his wife— but Dixon wasn’t among them.
He never got tired of having a schedule, a routine. It provided him a sense of security, the comfort of complete control. It baffled him that people could hate this kind of life, that they would want to pack up and run away on a whim. Mia’s head was filled with pathetic fantasies like that, and she drove him up the wall with her idiotic desires. There were far better things she could waste her time doing—like working, or focusing on their home.
Many thought she should get busy building a family. Plenty of the boys at work, and his own parents, often asked why they didn’t have any children yet. Dixon never had an answer for them, not one that they would like, at least. Put simply, he had no interest in children. He enjoyed his job and his life with his wife. The last thing he needed was some little shit running around, causing him more stress than that woman already did. Sure, if it was a strong boy like his father, that might not be so bad. But knowing his luck, it would be some daydreaming little girl who encouraged her mother's useless fantasies. Thanks, but no thanks.
“Could I get one as well?”
Dixon glanced over and frowned at the voice fro
m beside him. His coworker had stepped out to smoke, and the stool had been taken by someone else. Someone he didn’t know. Narrowing his eyes for a moment, he strummed his fingers against the cold surface of the beer as he sized up the stranger.
Where the hell had he come from? He certainly wasn’t from around here, not with that faded, beat up pea coat that looked like it might have been brown about a century ago, sure as hell not with the dangerous stance of a soldier or one of those mercenaries on TV. Dixon found himself glancing warily for the bulge of a gun under the heavy coat.. A thick Southern accent stood out like neon against the lighter voices of the locals.
Carl seemed just as curious, setting a beer before this new fellow and hesitating before accepting his money. “It’s a local brew, just so you know.” He glanced at Dixon for a moment before returning his inquisitive gaze to the stranger. Carl was always polite to his customers, local or not, but he was clearly thrown off by the newcomer. “We have some brand labels too, but those don't really compare, so...”
The stranger waved off the sales pitch. “I’ve heard good things. Marisha, down at the auto shop, told me about this place. Stuck here, flat tire. Seems I ran over somethin’ nasty on the road. Luckily I got a friendly tow and a tip on a nice place to drink to help my nerves. I tell you, my heart about stopped, breakin’ down in the middle of the woods like that.” He smiled, and Dixon scowled. There was something about young guys with perfect smiles that rubbed Dixon the wrong way. Like they knew something he didn’t.
“Marisha’s good like that.” Carl smiled and stepped away, leaving the pair to their drinks and Dixon to judge this stranger a bit more.
Shifting in his seat, Dixon gave the man a thorough onceover. “So, buddy, where were you heading?”
“’Buddy’? That’s cute, I like that.” The stranger laughed, taking a drink before he spoke again. “Ah, just drivin’ through. I don’t really have a destination, not yet at least. See, I’m a photographer. I take nature shots for a magazine. The mountains around these parts’re beautiful, at least that’s what I’m told. Any truth to that?”
Not only young and perfect-smile, but an artsy type as well. Dixon’s stomach churned, and he sneered faintly at the younger man, rolling his eyes. He never bothered hiding when he was irritated with someone. “Yeah, I guess. Some of the locals own nice cabins up there. Rent 'em out sometimes.”
He’d always wanted to own a cabin there when he was young, but his parents had lacked the money and he was nowhere close to being able to afford such himself. Mia said he was such a stereotype, wanting a cabin to hunt from when he was off from his factory job. She'd said she was joking, but she had obviously been picking a fight.
These days, just breathing seemed to start a fight between them.
Dixon didn’t enjoy fighting with her; they were just two starkly different people, and it often led to loud arguments. It hadn’t always been like this. There’d been a time when they could have a good dinner together, share laughter and head to bed in a pleasant mood. Dixon missed those days of silly dates and flirty banter, but they had long since passed. The romance had faded and they no longer looked at each other the same, not like they had as young, excitable teenagers who could barely keep their hands to themselves.
Now, here they were. Broken, dysfunctional, and hardly able to stand being in the same room together.
“Lost in your thoughts there?”
He’d completely forgotten he was talking to someone. Setting his beer aside, Dixon ran a hand over his face and grunted in response. His hands were caked with grime from the day’s labor, his touch rough and calloused. The man beside him had large hands. They looked soft, at first, but the more Dixon stared, the more he noticed little scars. It seemed the boy knew work; that was good. Too many young men these days preferred office work. Sitting behind a desk with idle hands and soft palms. They didn’t know the feeling of sweat dripping from their brows or pain down their backs from a long, tiring day.
“Long day. So, you renting a cabin up north, or just planning to camp?”
The stranger chuckled and lifted one shoulder in response. “I suppose I’ll have to figure that out when I get there. I’m sure there’s an inn around somewhere, right?”
Dixon narrowed his gaze. The guy's careless attitude was starting to grate on his nerves. “I never got your name, buddy. What should I call you?”
“I like ‘buddy’.” A smirk met his scrutiny.
He didn’t like it. Something about the man’s tone seemed off. The fact he wouldn’t give Dixon his name was a start, but there was something else, something beneath the words.
The muscles in his jaw tensed momentarily, and he grated out, “Fine, then. So, Buddy, what is it you do again? Taking pretty pictures, is that your job? I can’t imagine you make much money, doing a docile job like that.” Yeah, he was being rude. Dixon didn’t care for the “arts”—he didn’t see the appeal in those types of jobs. They weren't for real men. That kind of work was for young women who didn’t know what career they wanted yet, and he couldn't respect a grown man who spent his life lazing around. “Not much to see around here, anyway.”
The stranger leaned casually against the bar, his grin arrogant. “Oh, I completely disagree. There’s plenty to see ‘round here. The woods are beautiful and the air’s terribly clear. Great colors, wild landscape. I’m shocked you don’t get photographers ‘swarming this place.”
Dixon took a deep swig and set his glass down heavily, glaring at 'Buddy'. “We don’t really have room for strangers. Brixton's only got one inn, and it doesn’t have many rooms.”
“I noticed that.” Buddy smiled now, eyes trailing over Dixon for a moment, seeming unconcerned with Dixon’s sour tone. “The lot looked pretty full. Think they have any open rooms?”
Dixon shrugged in response, and rubbed roughly at his stubbled chin. “It’s not a big place to begin, but yeah, not many openings.” He sat quiet for a moment, fingers strumming against the chilled glass. “You thinking about sticking around for a few days? I didn’t think a tire replacement would take that long.”
“Oh, I doubt it’s goin’ to take more'n a couple hours, but it’s fine. I’ve been drivin’ for quite a while, so I’d love to sleep for the evenin’. Restart my battery, so to speak, before headin’ out in the morning." He ran his fingers idly over the rim of his glass, eyes steady on Dixon. "So, is it locals only at the inn? I swung by there before comin' here and met a few people. Nice old man, cute girl. They were quite friendly.”
The old man made sense, a retired fellow who lived down there. The girl, however, was new. “A girl?” Carl set another beer in front of him and Dixon grunted a thanks.
“Yeah, real cute girl. She was sweet. Think her name was... Maria? No, Mia! Yeah. She was hangin’ out with some fellow up there. He didn't seem as friendly.”
Dixon’s jaw clenched as he inhaled sharply. There was no reason for Mia to be at the inn. Between the hospital and their home, she would have to turn onto an entirely different street to reach the inn. There was no chance she had accidentally wound up there. But just being there was one thing; he cared more that Mia wasn’t alone.
“What did this guy look like?”
“Uh, I dunno. Pale, light hair. Tall. Real nice clothes, good-lookin'. Can’t say I’ve ever seen him before.” Buddy winked, teasing the fact he didn’t know anyone in this town.
Dixon stared at him with a flat expression, unamused.
Buddy nodded, probably to acknowledge Dixon’s irritation, then continued with his thoughts. “He’s stayin’ there too, I think. Met them when they were steppin’ out from one of the rooms. That’s how I learned there were rooms available.”
Dixon gripped his beer bottle tightly enough to nearly break the glass. Chugging the last of it, he stood and slammed the bottle on the counter, hastily wiping his wrist across his lips as he slapped some money on the counter.
“I’m heading out, Carl.” Pushing away from the bar, he spared a final lo
ok at Buddy and scowled, jabbing a finger in the guy's face. “Stay the fuck away from Mia.” He yanked his coat from the hook near the door and stormed out into the evening.
Carl collected the bottle and cash, offering a weak smile and a weaker apology. Ethan just chuckled, strumming his fingers against the smooth top of the bar. Perhaps he had stretched a few truths and entirely made up some details, but what did it matter? He'd still gotten the result he'd been seeking: a furious and possessive man who would keep little Mia away from that monster.
“You barely drank. Not your taste?”
“I don’t drink.” Winking at the bartender, Ethan stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and made his way to the door as well.
Stepping out into the cold evening, he lit up a cigarette and took his time strolling toward his car.
“God, small town people are so easy.”
It wasn’t that he enjoyed causing trouble. He simply needed to get the ball rolling, and, well, Dixon was far too easy to play. The man didn’t have the slightest idea he was merely being used as a pawn in this little game between Ethan and his prey.
Chapter 3
“Dixon?” Mia called out as the door closed behind her, then went on humming absently. Setting her bag and keys on the small table beside the door, she grabbed a fistful of her hair and wrapped it up with the tie around her wrist, her tune continuing as she made her way into the kitchen.
The girls had caught her singing as she changed hospital linens, and had pestered her all day, asking what had her in such a great mood. The most common question was whether her husband had finally gotten around to taking her out like he kept promising. She laughed it off; she didn’t want to say it was never going to happen. Dixon hadn’t taken her out on a date since they were sixteen. She couldn’t even remember the last time he’d so much as touched her—well, touched her soberly at least.