Chapter 15
School had ended, and students spilled into the parking lot, their voices a dull roar against the hum of idling engines and the distant chime of car keys. Ryan strode beside Frank, their steps deliberate as they wove through the crowd toward their cars. The air was crisp with the scent of wet asphalt and distant pine, but neither spoke. Unlike Ethan, they understood the razor-sharp senses of supernaturals—vampire hearing could catch a whisper from yards away. One wrong word here, and Ethan might overhear, unraveling their carefully laid plans.
Ethan and Jamie trailed behind the throng, their backpacks slung low as they stepped into the lot. Jamie cast an anxious glance at Ethan, his hazel eyes shadowed with worry. "You sure about this, man?" he murmured, his voice nearly lost in the shuffle of feet and scattered farewells.
Ethan's jaw tightened, his pulse quickening. "I have to do it. I need answers." His words carried resolve, but doubt gnawed at him, a cold weight in his chest.
Jamie nodded, lips pressed thin, and gave Ethan's shoulder a quick squeeze. "Just… be careful." With that, he turned and vanished into the crowd, leaving Ethan alone. The damp air clung to his skin, amplifying every sound—car doors slamming, keys jingling, footsteps crunching on gravel. His Hellhound senses flared, pinpointing Ryan's black sedan across the lot. There you are.
Ethan approached, his boots scuffing the pavement, each step heavier than the last. Ryan was unlocking his car when he froze, head tilting as if sensing the intrusion. He turned, his crimson-flecked eyes locking onto Ethan, a faint smirk curling his lips. He's been waiting for this, Ethan thought, his stomach lurching. He knew I'd come.
"Hi, Ryan," Ethan said, forcing calm into his voice despite the anxiety twisting his gut. "I've been wanting to talk to you about that day."
Ryan's smirk held, his face a stoic mask. "Oh? And what exactly do you want to talk about?"
Ethan glanced around, ensuring no students lingered nearby. The distant figures blurred into the background, granting a fleeting sense of privacy. "I want to know what you did to me," he said, voice low. "What's happening to me? What happens now?"
Ryan leaned against his car, arms crossed, exuding a predator's ease. "This isn't the place for that conversation." He reached into his backpack, pulling out a pen and a worn notebook. With a quick scribble, he tore out a page and handed it to Ethan. "Meet me here tomorrow after school. I'll give you the answers you need."
Ethan stared at the paper—an address for the old warehouse on Sehome Hill, it was the same one where Ryan had met Frank. His throat tightened. "Why not now? Why should I trust you in some secluded spot where you can do whatever you want?"
Ryan's gaze hardened, though his tone remained smooth. "I could tell you here, but if a human overhears, they'd have to die. Unless you're okay with blood on your hands, I suggest you come tomorrow—if you really want answers."
Ethan's fists clenched, the paper crumpling slightly in his grip. Ryan was right—he couldn't risk innocent lives. But walking into a vampire's lair? That was madness. "What's the catch?" he demanded, skepticism sharp in his voice.
Ryan's smile was sly, calculated. "I need you to do something for me. Nothing too difficult—I'll explain tomorrow. Think of it as a fair trade."
Ethan's mind raced. A favor? It sounded too easy, a trap dressed in promises. Ryan wouldn't offer answers without a steep price, but what choice did he have? "We'll talk tomorrow, Ryan," he said, pocketing the paper. The faint hope that Ryan needed him alive was a fragile shield, but it was all he had.
As Ethan walked away, Ryan's smirk lingered, his eyes glinting with triumph. He slid into his car, the engine purring to life. 'The bait is cast,' he thought, fingers tapping the steering wheel. 'Will you bite, Ethan, or stay cautious and run? I'm betting on your desperation.' With a low chuckle, he drove off.
Ethan reached his Yamaha V-Star, the air curling around him like a living thing. He rode home, the engine's growl failing to silence his churning thoughts. I don't trust him, but I need to know. The warehouse was a gamble, a shadowed promise of truth or betrayal. Without answers, he was adrift, unsure when the fire in his chest might consume him—or worse, someone else.
At home, Ethan collapsed onto the couch, the empty house amplifying every creak and hum. His mother's absence—her cruise ship job stretching into weeks—left a void that echoed his uncertainty. He threw together a sandwich, the bread's stale edge barely registering as he ate, his mind elsewhere. His phone buzzed, Jamie's name lighting up the screen.
"What happened with Ryan?" Jamie texted, the words blunt with concern.
Ethan typed back, fingers hesitating. "He wants to meet tomorrow at a warehouse. Says he'll answer everything if I do a favor for him. Confirmed humans can't know about vampires—or they die."
Jamie's reply was swift: "That's bad news, man. You going?"
"I have to," Ethan responded. "I need to know what I am. I'll be careful, I promise."
"Don't walk in blind," Jamie urged. "Bring something—a knife, anything. And text me before you go."
Ethan's lips twitched into a grim smile. A knife against a vampire? Still, Jamie's concern anchored him. "Will do. Thanks, Jamie."
He set the phone down, the dim living room pressing in around him. The warehouse loomed like a specter, its promise of answers tainted by danger. I'll go, he resolved, his jaw set. But I won't be his pawn.
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Ryan's POV
I drove to the warehouse after school, the thinning air sharp with the scent of pine. The old structure loomed ahead, its rusted beams and shattered windows a grim sentinel in the dusk. Frank was already inside, pacing the cracked concrete, his boots kicking up dust that hung in the stale air. The place reeked of mildew and forgotten things, a fitting stage for what came next.
I stepped in, and Frank's eyes snapped to me, tense and expectant. "What happened?" he demanded, his voice sharp.
I leaned against a pillar, smirking. "I talked to Ethan. Told him to meet us here tomorrow afternoon."
Frank's brow furrowed, his unease palpable. "Why here? Why bring him to our turf?"
"Because we'll own the field," I said, my tone clipped. "We can set traps, control the encounter. He'll be walking into our hands."
Frank nodded slowly, but doubt lingered in his eyes. "You sure he'll show?"
"He's desperate for answers, and we're his only source," I replied. "I offered a trade—info for a favor. He'll come."
"And if he doesn't?" Frank pressed, crossing his arms.
"Then we pivot," I said coolly. "But I'm betting he will. For now, we prep. I'm thinking Newborns—fresh vampires—to test his strength."
Frank's jaw dropped. "Newborns? That's risky."
"Calculated," I corrected. "If he's as dangerous as I suspect, they're expendable. If not, we'll know his limits."
Frank rubbed his neck, then sighed. "Alright. But we'd better be ready for anything."
"We will be," I said, my voice like steel. Ethan was a wildcard, but tomorrow, we'd tilt the board in our favor. Lady Freya's shadow loomed closer, and failure wasn't an option.
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Third Person POV
The warehouse stood silent, its silhouette fading into the night. Inside, Ryan and Frank plotted, their voices low, their plans a web spun to ensnare Ethan. Across town, Ethan lay in bed, the address crumpled in his fist, the weight of his choice pressing down. Tomorrow would bring answers—or a trap. Either way, he'd face it head-on, the fire in his chest a quiet roar, urging him forward.