He rammed his shoulder into the door again, determined to get inside. Nothing would keep him out.

​

“Stop it! Please stop!”

​

Nothing penetrated his mind other than getting inside the room. His senses were on high alert. The smell of blood. The pounding of her veins. Her erratic heartbeat.

​

Predator instincts were activated the moment he stepped into the house. That first whiff of blood. The initial beat of her heart. He’d gone from the front door to the bedroom in a second. The sole thing that stopped him from draining every last ounce of blood from her beautiful neck was a locked door.

​

Every time he hit the door with a hard thump, the loud echo of it filtered into the air. He didn’t feel any pain.

 

He didn’t feel anything anymore. No warmth. No coldness. Nothing mattered but the need for blood.

​

“Open.” Whack! “The.” Whack! “Door.” Whack!

​

He would get in one way or another. Why didn’t she understand that? He would have her blood. The wonderful aroma filled his senses, urging him on in the intense blood lust he’d found himself in.

​

One more hit to the door, and the frame finally cracked. He paused, staring through the small opening to see his wife crouching in the corner.

​

He smiled, revealing his long fangs. Oh, sweet victory was near.

​

“Why are you doing this, Donnie?!” she shrieked as the door toppled to the ground with one last strike.

​

* * *

​

He bolted upright in bed, shivering from the nightmare. The room was plunged in darkness, though if he opened the curtains he knew the sun would be shining brightly. Not that he could see the bright glow. It would kill him.

​

A glance at his clock on the wall told him he had another few hours before the sun would set. No time like the present to get up.

​

The first thing he and his friends had done when they purchased the house and property had been to vampire-proof it. Tinted windows, so that if the curtains failed them during the day, sunlight still would not penetrate inside. The last thing they needed was to be burned alive in their own home. On some rare days, though, he thought about removing that barrier and letting the sun fry him alive. The memories were…too much.

​

They had a top-of-the-line security system surrounding the property. Cameras all around the perimeter, along with a steel fence that was also charged with electricity to keep anyone out. Visitors had to stop at a gate and be buzzed in. Not that they had many visitors. Mason and Mona and the rest of the gang on occasion. But there were hunters out there they had to avoid. If one of them found them, they’d do everything in their power to get inside. To stake them through the heart. Or chop their head off. Being secure was a necessity for survival. Mona had also put a few protective spells on the property. They were as safe as they could be.

​

Their home was their escape, their safe haven from the world and everyone in it. Donnie hadn’t felt truly safe in a very long time.

​

They were considered the enemy. Predators. Evil beings that needed to be eradicated from the earth.

​

He wouldn’t disagree.

​

He’d done things in his life he was not proud of.

​

Of course, he’d had a master that tried to wield him into something he despised. It had taken too many years to escape, and another too many years to find redemption.

​

He was still seeking that.

​

It didn’t take long to shower, dress, and ready himself for the evening. Joe was already in the kitchen when he strolled in.

​

“You look like shit,” Joe said, eyeing him a little longer than he liked. “Another nightmare?”

​

He knew Joe wasn’t wrong because he felt like it. He didn’t need the obvious thrown in his face. Not even the nice suit concealed how horrible he looked. Not that that had been the reason he put one on. He always wore a suit with a vest. Dressing with confidence portrayed confidence. Some days he lacked that trait, so he needed to fake it as much as he could.

​

Ignoring Joe’s prying, he headed for the fridge and grabbed a bag of blood.

​

“Donnie?”

​

He trembled at the sound of his name. The lone reason he reacted that way was the nightmare still echoing in the far corners of his mind. His wife screaming his name, begging him to stop.

​

Startled by the hand on his shoulder, he nearly dropped the bag in his hand. How had he not heard Joe approach? Well, to be fair, as vampires, they were light on their feet. No heartbeat to detect. Could move at the speed of light. Vampires could sneak up on another vampire with them unaware until it was too late.

​

“Talk to me. It’s already bad enough Peter moved out—four months and counting. I don’t want something coming between us too.”

​

Yeah, that had been unfortunate when Peter moved back in with Mona and Mason. But he didn’t argue. He didn’t fight one of his best friends. They had a disagreement, and it wouldn’t be solved until one of them caved. Currently, it was more in their favor than Peter’s. Three against one. While he didn’t like fighting with the three men he’d come to look upon as brothers, sometimes it was inevitable.

​

He was the oldest of the three. Maybe that’s why they looked at him as their unofficial leader. But they’d been together for close to two hundred years and there was bound to be arguments every now and again.

​

He shook off Joe’s hand, shut the fridge door—though he had wanted to slam it—and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. They might be vampires and survive solely off blood, but he’d be damned if he’d turn into an animal and drink it straight out of the bag. They used glasses or mugs as often as they could. To feel normal. To pretend they weren’t monsters.

​

“Donnie—”

​

“Yes, Joe,” he stated evenly, “I had another nightmare. I do not want to talk about it.”

​

It was the same song and dance they played every time a nightmare hit him. He’d never give in, and Joe would never stop inquiring. Though the nightmares were not as frequent as they had been many years ago, they still popped up without warning.

​

“I talked to Mason. He wants our help on a case later tonight. Something to do with a hoard of goblins.”

​

He took a large swallow before replying. The dark, heavy liquid filled his veins and soothed the ache he had every second of every day. It would maintain the urge for a while, but then he’d need another drink, another bag to tide him over. It was a never-ending battle resisting the urge that filled him up.

​

It had gotten easier as time went on. Compared to when he’d been turned, no one would be able to tell he even struggled. He was that good at hiding the pain he lived with daily. While Joe and the other guys didn’t talk about their thirst either, he knew they struggled as much as he did. It was the way of life for a vampire. He doubted any vampire didn’t grapple with the urge.

​

“I didn’t realize there were goblins in the area.”

​

“Well, it is a preliminary report from Bailey based on a sighting from Kade and Mason. They took a picture before they had to leave the area. She researched what she could. You know Bailey. She’s gotten it wrong before, but she tries so hard.”

​

Bailey was wonderful. A hundred-year-old ghost recently turned human, she had an adjustment going back to the living world. Especially when she’d been tied to one house for the entire duration of her spectral life. So many things had changed in the world for her to catch up on. She deserved a grace period.

​

But Joe wasn’t wrong. She embraced the line of work Kade, her husband, had decided to jump into and enjoyed helping. Except she didn’t always get things right. Last month they walked into a den full of lycans who weren’t happy to have their land trespassed upon. She had told them the property was vacant. While the lycans didn’t attack, it had been a tense-filled visit. Thankfully, Mason and Kade were the only ones who had stepped on the property. If a vampire had been with, he had no doubt an all-out war would’ve started. He didn’t enjoy fighting other creatures unless there was no other choice. And killing another creature—well, he avoided that all costs.

​

His killing days were over.

​

“Maybe while we’re at Mason’s we can have another chat with Peter.”

​

He drained the rest of his glass and set it in the sink. “Peter is not going to change his mind and neither are we.”

​

“Look, maybe he’s sort of right.”

​

Wow. Donnie did not see that coming.

​

The argument all started when they left Mona’s house one night. They all had felt the presence. The evil rising from the basement. Of course, evil lived down there. Mona had imprisoned her aunt, who had tried to kill her.

 

Her aunt Marcella was a very powerful witch.

​

Peter wanted to vanquish her aunt once and for all.

​

Donnie, Joe, and George wanted to leave it alone. At least for now. When the time came, it would be Mona’s decision how she dealt with her aunt.

​

Peter then suggested they should talk to her. Tell her about the evil they could feel. While Donnie wanted to do that, so much had been going on lately to even broach the subject. Not to mention—and his big reasoning for not doing so—Mona was already walking a tight line with her emotions. Struggling with being a witch and expecting too much of herself. One wrong word and she could go over the edge.

​

Hell, she’d stopped wanting to practice witchcraft after the entire incident with Charly and a demon trying to kill her. Mona blamed herself that the demon had gotten so close to Charly. She had been the one to open the portal when they were searching for the person who had killed Kade’s second wife. She hadn’t closed it properly, which allowed Thomas—the man who had killed Bailey over a hundred years ago—to escape. To inhabit a druggie. Who then latched onto Charly, wanting to kill her. It had been a chaotic mess, and Donnie was grateful everyone came out of it unscathed.

​

While Mona had gotten over her fright at being a witch and was back to doing spells and learning everything she could, one wrong move and she could go backwards into a dark pit of despair.

​

Since they couldn’t come to an agreement, Peter moved out and in with Mona and Mason. Peter agreed not to say anything to Mona—yet—but he refused to leave her alone in a house where evil was on the precipice of escaping. Donnie couldn’t fault him for that. It had been a good idea. Someone—other than Mason—needed to be there to protect Mona. He’d informed Peter he agreed with that. Though Peter was still very upset with the three of them for not siding with him.

​

He wanted to tell Mason what was going on, yet he knew Mason wouldn’t be able to keep it from Mona. Or if he did tell Mason and she found out he knew, she’d get angry at him for keeping secrets from her. It was an impossible situation, and Donnie hated being in the middle of it. He cared for Mona. Like an older brother looking out for his sister. He’d known her mother, and while he hadn’t sworn to protect Mona, he’d took it upon himself to do so anyway when she rammed into their lives. Sometimes making decisions that affected someone in his family was the toughest thing he had ever faced. But, as the unofficial leader, he was tasked with making those difficult decisions.

​

“Donnie?”

​

Why did they always expect him to be the voice of reason? As if he knew better than all of them. More often than not, he felt like he failed at such a role.

​

Joe wanted his blessing to talk to Peter.

​

Donnie couldn’t give it to him. Hell, it shouldn’t be his decision whether Joe spoke to him or not.

​

“Maybe you should move in with them like Peter did. One more protector couldn’t hurt.”

​

“Marcella could escape and kill Mona.”

​

And the notion Mona had to kill her own aunt could send Mona into a spiral they might not be able to get her out of. It was a rock meeting a very hard place.

​

Donnie knew Mona would never be able to harm her aunt. It’s why she imprisoned her instead of killing her when she attacked. That would leave it up to them to take care of her aunt.

​

He despised killing another creature—or human. Not to mention, Marcella was a very powerful witch. She wouldn’t be easy to kill. Not that he doubted his abilities. But he also couldn’t guarantee everyone would come out of it unharmed.

​

“I’m not your keeper, Joe. You do what you have to do.”

​

Then he walked out of the kitchen, done with the conversation. He was halfway up the stairs, on the other side of the house, when he heard Joe clear as day, even though he hadn’t left the kitchen.

​

“I’m worried about Peter, but I can’t leave you, Donnie. You can deny it all you want, but you’re struggling. You’ve had that nightmare way too much in the past few months. You know that’s not normal.”

​

He wouldn’t deny it. Wrestling with his nightmares had become more regular than he liked.

​

Of course, they started when the mess with Peter did.

​

Damn.

​

Fix one problem, and it would solve the other one.

​

Joe was right, and he hated to admit it.