Eighteen troubled teenagers wake up one morning to an even more troubling discovery. They are all vampires...
Given the chance to correct their Scrooge like behaviors, they must accept the guidance of a keeper. Assigned to each of the eighteen, Dek...
The unearthly stillness of the room caresses the deafening ecco of my heartbeat. Every thump of my heart reverberates against my ribcage, causing my body to jolt. The only heartbeat present other than Des's. With a soul like his he can hardly be considered alive.
Fates, what did I get myself into, again. The cloying scent of spiced blood brings me back to reality along with the pressure of Ace's cold hand sneaking under mine. Typically I'd be annoyed, but the chill calms my nerves just enough to spring me into action.
Reaching the tails of Des's gaudy coat, I pull him from his lion like lounge on the island counter top. How in the Fates does he always seem to make himself at home in every room?
As my fingers curl around the tails of his coat I can't help but to be brought back to the days of matted curls, tattered hoodies, and hole laden tee shirts. He was there, that was him. We were homeless together. Yet, this version of him isn't the him I knew. This isn't Dez.
For all intensive purposes, his name is still Flynn. Flynn is a stranger, appart of this world and only this one. A world where my immortality is spent chasing around rouge keepers and vampire teens.
His laughter seizes in his throat as he tries to speak. This sends him into a roaring fit. His manic behavior draws in my concerns about how much of a loose cannon he truly is. As my grip tightens on the crushed velvet of his jacket, his slender hand brushes the skin of my neck. A lovers caress, not the caress of a sibling. Fighting for leverage, I think nothing of it. A sharp twinge of pain seizes my body before I even notice the sharp needle clutched between his fingers.
What the Fate.
Ace, I really hope you've got me, because sleep can do nothing for me now.
Ace
The sentch of decay no longer fills the room, it's as if the room itself is decomposing. Beyond the putrid stench, the air is thick with static setting my inhuman skin stiff with unease. Moments like these force reality to really sink in.
I've killed things, living things.
Things that have the ability to decay, and for a matter of fact, have decayed before my own eyes.
Think Ace, think.
She asked me how I cope. At the moment I can't say that any response would work, yet I told her more.
"I push them down, down, down, and away, so very far away."
My very own words ecco in my head as she lunges at her brother. A brother who is so very at odds with who she is. He made her this way, he needs to reviece what he doled out to her.
Circling around the room to gain some traction on the situation, I rake the scene for my team. Odin and Willow are no where to be seen, leaving Jett and Alma as they circle around Des. Or is it Flynn?
For simplicities sake, I'll call him Flynn.
As per usual Harper is nowhere to be found.
Wait, where is Quinn? Being a manic strategist, we could really use his help right now.
Where is he?
Quinn
All humor is lost upon us. Throughout the short lived duration of time that we've been working with Dekka, her rebound has always been her snarky comments. Wit and charm have long since left the scene.
Being known as the mainc technical guy submersed in the work of gruesome dealings, I'm expected to be in there but this whole journey has been of the unexpected.
Taking time to ruminate theories, I think I have a grasp on the young keepers world. She's helping us to extend out our time in this world, yet, she's been sought after and not us.
Something is up with the whole keeper system, I just haven't quote figured out what. Too bad I can't get it straight from the source.
Huddled beside a clean and properly dressed Harper, I fill her in on everything she's missed. Everything just so happens to be the entire journey.
Looking into her hollow saucer eyes, her face is pinched. Guilt, a look I've mastered.
"What did you do?" Her braids swish as she looks away.
It must have been bad, really bad.
"I'm waiting."
Silence.
Bloody fates.
"The life of our mentor rest on the half baked idea that pinning our pins to the back of her vest inversely helps to protect her from excess harm. She died once and I can't let that happen again. I'm not sure if she's some entity that can come back again. So please, tell me what you did, because clearly it contributes to the hell storm happening in the kitchen."
"I contacted Flynn when I brought him here." Her response is hushed.
"I thought he came to you?"
Metal sounds against metal only to be punctuated seconds later by the splash of liquid against the tiled floor.
The blood.
The seasoned blood that she was cooking for us.
This could work.
Storming through the doors with me, Harper flies to where Flynn has buried a pin in Dekka's pale neck.
Fates.
Immortality suits the senses well. He knows exactly where we are, in fact he can probably feel and sense our every move. Unsheathing a knife from his velvet frock it sails through room airborne before slicing though one of the thick raven colored braids of Harpers hair.
He did not.
The black of her eyes spreads from pupil to iris.
Its feeding time and Flynn just so happens to be standing in the pile of fresh blood.
Ace, Alma, Jett and I watch in horror as the gravity of Harpers anger goes into effect.
Unconcerned by the snapping of bones all I can seem to focus on is another wave of blood soaking Harper's shirt. Somebody has no table manners...
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