After Darkness Falls: A Vampire Romance

The hot water was delightful, breathing life back into her frozen limbs. Chloe remained in the tub long after her skin had begun to wrinkle, until the scalding hot bath was lukewarm. Finally, she forced herself to get out. The bedroom’s temperature seemed quite adequate now that she wasn’t in danger of frostbite. She sat on her bed and took the translucent flask in her hands, eyeing it mistrustfully.

She’d tried melatonin, valerian, and various sleeping aids in the past. After her father’s arrest, her doctor had even prescribed her the stronger stuff. Nothing had worked.

‘Oh well.’

There was no harm in trying. Already, she was replaying the events of the day, and she could feel it happening. The trembling hands, the flashes through her mind. Her brain was an asshole. It always replayed traumatic events so accurately, as if trying to show her things she should have done, details she’d missed the first time.

Like the smell. The corpse’s smell had been heady and sickening, but also strangely…intriguing.

Chloe uncapped the flask and drank it in one go, throwing her head back. It either would work, or it—

She groaned, feeling around herself for the offending device screaming in her ear. Opening her eyes to see what she was doing might have helped, but she did her best to keep them closed as long as possible.

Finally, fingers closing around her phone, she peeked at it with one squinted eye.

An unknown number was calling. Chloe sighed. This was a brand-new phone with a sim card from the UK. Surely, spammers hadn’t gotten their hands on the number yet.

Reluctantly, she pressed the green icon.

“Miller.”

“I’m your alarm clock,” said an unknown, irritable, and somehow menacing male voice.

“What?”

“You’re welcome.”

On that note, the rude stranger hung up. Chloe stared at the phone in disbelief for a good half second. Then, her eyes actually took in the time displayed on the screen, and she jumped to her feet.

Shitty cake! Nine-thirty. Walking from the Institute to the dorms had taken a good half hour with Blair the previous day. She was late on her first official day.

Chloe brushed her teeth with one hand and her hair with the other. She didn’t have time to check the mirror above the sink, so the likelihood of having toothpaste in her hair was high. She grabbed the first pants and top from her bag, along with the satchel where she kept her wallet and notepads, and her jacket.

Bursting down the staircases and out of doors, she stopped on the threshold, her mouth falling open. Sometime overnight, the world had frozen into a winter fairy wonderland. Oldcrest had seemed beautiful the previous day, but covered in fresh snow, it was the most enchanting place in the world. All right, she might not have seen much of the world, but the picturesque scene was hard to beat.

She didn’t have time to appreciate it. Nine forty-seven. She had thirteen minutes.

“What are you doing?” a guy asked from the threshold.

She hadn’t noticed him standing there. She took him in with a glance. He was her age, perhaps slightly older, and wore gray suit pants, a black tank top, and a halter fitted with two guns.

A billion questions came to mind—such as, aren’t guns illegal in England?—but she didn’t have time for them.

“Preparing,” she replied, crouching down to stretch her legs.

“What for?” the guy asked, but she was already twenty feet away, so she just waved her hand in the air as a goodbye.

Shit, she was going to regret running without any proper stretching. Not so long ago, the two and a half miles heading up the castle would have been child’s play, but Chloe had stopped running track right after high school. Her poor muscles protested against the effort, and her breathing was labored, weak. But she pushed through, forcing her legs to leap as fast as they could through Adairford’s main street, onto the drawbridge, and then past the strange translucent gates.

She’d made it. Chloe glanced at her phone. Four minutes to spare.

She grabbed hold of her knees and tried to catch her breath before looking around the courtyard.

Unlike yesterday afternoon, it was mostly empty except for a small gathering. Chloe forced herself to stand upright, like a civilized person, and smiled.

“Hi there. Sorry I overslept. Did I miss anything?”

The group was diverse in every way—age, size, color, and breed, no doubt. Chloe would have sworn she was the only regular here, although she would have a hard time telling whether the redheaded guy playing with a knife was a shifter or a witch. Next to him stood a gorgeous ebony-skinned woman who was wisely wearing long pants and a ski jacket. Definitely not a shifter, as they didn’t tend to be affected by the cold. She could be a witch, or something else altogether. There was also a young boy who couldn’t have been much older than twelve. He had jet-black hair and pale skin. The last member of the group was a bald woman with tattoos on her scalp; she was as short as the teenager but looked to be in her forties.

“No matter, Miss Miller,” the short woman said, her voice distinguished and authoritative. “You’re right on time for the introductions, if you’d lead the way.”

Chloe grimaced. Right. Introductions. She didn’t even know what to say. Who was she, really? For the last few years, she’d defined herself as either someone’s daughter or a waitress. Before then, she would have listed her clubs, activities, her GPA. Now, none of that applied.

“Okay…my name is Chloe Miller and I’m from Colorado. I left the state when I was eighteen, and I’ve traveled through ten different states since, but I’ve never been outside of the USA until now. For the last few years, my home was NOLA.”

“I’ve been to NOLA,” said the brown woman, beaming. “It’s pretty awesome. And the witches there are hardcore.”

“Good. Very good.” The small teacher inclined her head. “I believe Miss Miller was sponsored by the NOLA coven. The Institute isn’t only a place where you’re expected to learn. You will also network, make connections that can serve you for the rest of your life, long after you leave us. Next time you’re in NOLA, Miss Kanye, you may want to give a call to Miss Miller and see if she could get you an introduction to the witches, for example.”

The woman looked hopefully at Chloe, who nodded. “Sure. I can ask.”

“This,” said the teacher, “is the very heart of the Institute. We are a powerful force because we have alumni in every corner of the world. Miss Kanye, you’re next.”

Miss Kanye’s first name was Gwen, and she introduced herself as a witch. “I have a strong link to one element, but I’m pretty useless at controlling it.”

The guy with the knife chuckled. “That’s one way to put it. I’ve seen water witches call a bit of rain, but that much snow? I think all of Oldcrest is covered.”

It was impossible to tell considering her complexion, but Chloe would have sworn Gwen blushed.

“Yeah, well. Miss Paxton asked me to show her my limits.”

“And did you reach your limits, Gwen?” the teacher, who must have been Miss Paxton, asked.

The witch shook her head. “I don’t think so? Not sure.”

Miss Paxton smiled kindly. “Well, we’ll certainly establish that in the next few years. Read, your turn.”

“I’m Easton Read, huntsman. I graduated ten years ago, and I’m back here for my master’s.”

Short and sweet. Everyone seemed suitably impressed. Chloe cleared her throat and lifted a hand. “Sorry. Huntsman?”

All eyes turned to her.

“Ah, yes. Miss Miller is a regular,” said Miss Paxton.

The expressions ranged from surprise to indifference, but the young boy seemed downright angry.

“Huntsmen are an authority with a worldwide reach. When a rogue supernatural creature steps out of line and becomes a danger to those around them—human or regular—the huntsmen intervene. I understand the United States attempted to create their own institution.”

“The PIA,” said Chloe, nodding.

The Paranormal Investigation Agency was well known, particularly since their head office blew up a couple of years back. They pretended everything was fine, but rumor was they’d lost most of their power.

“Yes, that’s it. Well, your agency was built specifically to protect regulars. The huntsmen act for the good of all.”

Now Chloe was rather impressed with Easton Read, too.

“Speaking of.”

Miss Paxton had seemed rather severe until then, but she broke into a sunny smile, hand outstretched as she gestured to something behind Chloe. She turned with the rest of the group to see the guy who’d been in front of the dorm a little while back. He was now wearing a jacket, but Chloe could still see the outline of his two guns.

“Jack, if you please.”

The man approached Miss Paxton and bent down to drop a kiss on her left cheek.

“Mimi. Beautiful as always.”

“Oh, you devil.” She chuckled before returning her attention to them. “Mr. Hunter is a legacy here. His family has trained among us since we began admitting huntsmen among our fold. While he is officially a student like any of you, he was raised in these walls. If your mentor isn’t available, I recommend you seek his help.”

Jack’s cold eyes glinted, showing exactly what would occur to anyone who dared seek his help. The man certainly had a presence.

To her surprise, he walked right up to her. This close, he towered over her, although at five foot five, Chloe wasn’t particularly small. The man topped her by two heads; he might even have been taller than Levi.

“You’re fast,” he stated.

Oh. Chloe shrugged. “I used to run track. I’m not as fast as I was, though.”

Spending years working on her feet had made her quite reluctant to exercise in her spare time.

“Mh. What’cha doing tonight, Cheetah?”

She blinked. Was he hitting on her, now, here? In front of the professor and all?

“We’re having a race in the Wolvswoods. Winner wins five hundred pounds, loser buys beer. You in?”

Not hitting on her, then. He was very handsome, so there was exactly zero reason why she should feel relieved. But she did anyway.

“I mean… How many beers are we talking about?”

She could use half a grand, but she didn’t have enough cash to buy a round for the entire Institute.

Jack shrugged. “Two dozen, give or take.”

“Is that an open invite?” Gwen asked.

“No,” said Jack, shortly.

Then he turned to her. “Wolvswoods are dangerous. Can you take care of yourself, or are you fast enough to outrun a predator?”

“Yes,” the woman replied, meeting his gaze.

Jack shrugged. “Then suit yourself. We kick off at sundown.”

On that note, he walked toward the Institute’s entrance.

The teen introduced himself—he was a fox shifter of fourteen who’d already graduated from Oxford. Then Miss Paxton invited them to follow her into the grand building.

“The Institute has seven hundred and thirty-four rooms, and at any given time, twenty teachers, ten sub-teachers, a staff of a hundred, and three hundred students–meaning that even if every single one of us occupied a different room, half of the castle would still be empty. You will get lost. Therefore, allow suitable time to get to your lessons. Some teachers do not tolerate tardiness.”

Chloe felt the teacher’s eyes pause on her for a hot second. She shifted on her legs, then followed the group toward the large grand staircase in front of the entry hall.

“You’re this year’s newcomers—and returners,” she stated, looking at Easton. “Some of you are freshmen undergrads, others are working on their master’s or doctorate. Your individual requirements differ, and it is your responsibility to see that you fulfill them. Undergrads, at the end of each semester, your attendance and participation will be reviewed, and you will pass—or fail—tests in the subjects you choose to pursue. Master’s and doctorate students are expected to present their work once a year, at the end of the second semester. The presentation will cover at least three advanced courses, although the subjects are entirely up to you.”

Gwen lifted her hand politely.

“Yes, Miss Kanye?”

“When you say up to us…”

“It means just that. A panel of judges will rate your work. You can discuss the subject you choose with your mentors and teachers throughout the year.”

“But if we pick them, how do they translate into getting our degrees?” Chloe asked. “Would I have a Master of Business Administration if I pick the wrong thing?”

“No, Miss Miller,” she replied.

Gwen looked as baffled as Chloe.

“So…”

“So pick the right thing.”