Patient B-2

Chapter Two: Avalyn

 I plop a piece of watermelon into my mouth, enjoying the sweetness. Unlike Idalia and traditional vampires, I don't crave blood in the same primal way. It's a curiosity that sets me apart, a deviation from the norms of our species. The discovery of my ability to survive on human food was a revelation, one that opened up a world of possibilities beyond the confines of my vampiric nature. It's a small comfort in an otherwise tumultuous existence, a reminder that I'm not entirely bound by the limitations of my kind. But perhaps even more intriguing is my newfound ability to compel other vampires— a power that I stumbled upon by accident, yet have refrained from using since. And anyway, it's not like I've needed to use it; Idalia has been much nicer to me since that discovery.

 The bedroom door swings open and a very satisfied man emerges, his face aglow with a smile that belies the paleness of his complexion. Over time, I've come to learn that Idalia doesn't typically kill her human companions. Instead, she takes only what she needs, leaving them alive and seemingly unharmed, if not a bit drained. Living with Idalia has offered me insights into her peculiar needs, ones that diverge from the experiences I've had with other vampires in the past. Unlike the two vampires I once shared a dwelling with, Idalia seems to have a greater demand for blood.

 I've observed her occasional bouts of severe nosebleeds and migraines, silent indicators of an underlying need that she keeps hidden from prying eyes. Despite the obvious discomfort these episodes bring her, she maintains a stoic silence, never once mentioning her strange condition. In my role as her cohabitant, I've learned to respect her privacy, refraining from probing into matters she chooses to keep concealed. However, the correlation between her symptoms and her need for blood hasn't escaped my notice.

 The man gives me an embarrassed nod before he heads out, and I return the awkward gesture as I wait for Idalia to join me again. Her voice breaks the silence, calling out from somewhere in the apartment. "How was therapy with Dr. King?"

 "Eh."

 "Wow, that's much better than last week," she chuckles.

 I shoot her a puzzled expression once she returns. "Last week it was: meh."

 Rolling my eyes in jest, I make my way over to the large, comfy couch positioned before an even larger TV screen. Idalia follows suit, plopping down next to me with a casual grace. "Did you find the addresses?" I inquire, keeping my tone light as I settle into the plush cushions.

 She extends her hand, presenting the phone we had stumbled upon just yesterday. "I found every address we'll ever need for the next year," she announces with a triumphant grin, her eyes alight with satisfaction. "I've added them to the calendar, right next to each event."

 For us to work together, I had to tell her everything— the betrayal, my parents failed experiments, and the harrowing consequences that now follow. Her only response: "I knew it!"

 While she didn't know exactly what was wrong with me, she knew something wasn't right. Reflecting on my encounters with both Idalia and Wrath, I came to a startling realization— one that had previously escaped my notice. Despite my human guise, I possessed an inherent resistance to compulsion. The first time I crossed paths with Idalia in the jewelry shop, her attempts to compel me had gone unnoticed. Similarly, when Wrath had tried to compel me to sleep, my instinctive reaction had been one of overwhelming fear, so I instead passed out.

 When I first encountered Idalia, I quickly realized that she possessed a wealth of knowledge far beyond what I had initially assumed. It became apparent to me that WWA wielded far-reaching influence and power.

 Despite its formidable size, WWA had dwindled over time, a fact that struck fear into my heart. The organization, while diminished, still posed a significant threat, particularly with only two families, the Adairs and the Wellingtons, continuing their research and operations. However, everything changed two years ago with the tragic loss of my parents. Their deaths marked a turning point.