“What the hell, Jared?” Chad drops his bin with a clatter and storms across the nearly empty restaurant. “Your mom’s gonna freak if she finds out you’re here.”

Here being Crowne’s Bistro, one of the only 24-hour establishments that exists in Richardson, Texas. The place is owned by a vampire, staffed by humans until the moon chases the sun out of the sky. Needless to say, their late-night menu isn’t as appealing to human stomachs.

“I’m seventeen,” Jared reminds Chad, slumping down at a table. “Still off limits, remember? Besides, you’re here.”

“Grayson’s my family’s Patron, and since he owns the place, I’m probably safer in here than I’d be anywhere else. And at least I’m getting paid.”

Jared rolls dry fingers across his temple. Patrons. Rules. Vampires. He’s fed up with the entire scheme. Chad brings him a Coke and he grinds an ice cube back to water between his teeth.

“Did you get into another fight with your parents?” Chad asks when he returns sans dirty dishes. Must be close to the end of his shift; Patron or no, Grayson wouldn’t keep him here past sunset. “The college thing again?”

Jared sighs. “It’s not fair. Richardson shouldn’t be my only option,” he complains. “I mean, kids move here to go to college—which is insane, by the way—so why can’t I go somewhere else?” Unlucky enough to be born in Richardson, Jared’s forever a prisoner to the vampires. Like livestock, caged and helpless.

“Let’s just get out of here, dude,” Chad says, knocking Jared’s shoulder. “My shift’s over and the sun’s just about gone—”

The front door opens, a cool, unnatural breeze wafting over Jared’s wrists. The skin on his arms prickles, breath fogging past his lips; he doesn’t need to turn around to know that a vampire just walked in.

The sun is nothing more than a desperate beam between buildings, the shadows growing. Jared sees Chad’s eyes go wide; they both recognize the vampire at the door. Jensen Ackles rarely shows up at mundane venues like this, more likely to be found at society dinners with a blood-groupie on each arm, or at one of the clubs, ordering the most expensive bottle of scotch.

Chad, the only employee on the floor, wrangles his surprise. “Can I help you?”

Ackles’ eyes are cold and murky, his clothes are crisp and perfect as if they’ve been frozen in place. Jaw set, features sculpted…Jared’s stuck and can’t stop staring. He’s never been this close to a member of the Founding Family. The vampire’s gaze seems to pass through him, an icy fist squeezing Jared’s throat for a split second before he’s released, his nails digging into the tabletop.

“No,” Ackles says. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Jared, already on edge, feels his hackles rise. “We have as much right—”

Chad grabs his arm. “We were just leaving.”

Ackles adds nothing, but he tracks Chad and Jared as they move towards the side door, Chad’s car in the lot just beyond. Though he fights it, Jared’s unable to look away from the vampire, a cold no less bitter in his own eyes, because Ackles represents everything that disgusts him—the rules that shackle him to this unfulfilling, exhausting, and terrifying life.

And he may be imagining it—a mirage brought on by anger—but Jared swears he sees something begin to stir in Ackles’ expression, a ripple in the cold waters that belies a greater threat beneath the surface.

~~~

Jared takes his anger out on the mailbox when yet another college application is returned to sender, unopened. Kicks the post, darkens his knuckles on weathered metal, feels the scratch and slice as his palm catches a rusty number.

“What are you doing?” His mother jogs down the front steps. “Jared, stop that.” She takes the shredded envelope, softly touches his hand. “I’m sorry,” she says, “but you knew it was going to happen.”

Each day brings Jared closer to turning eighteen, the age of independence and adulthood, but he feels like crying now. Crumpling into his mom’s arms and begging her to fix this. He knows she can’t; Richardson is home to can’ts and shouldn’ts.

Inside, the application disappears into one of his mother’s cabinets, impossibility out of sight but not forgotten. Jared falls heavily into one of the kitchen chairs, schoolbag dropped at his feet. His mom doesn’t offer platitudes or explanations—unlike the ones she had for the last two blocked applications—which he appreciates, but disappointment is thick and dry like ash on his tongue.

“There’s a council meeting tonight,” she offers along with a plate of apple slices and warm caramel sauce. Jared’s almost distracted from his depression by his favorite snack, but he looks up, confused.

“So?”

“I think you should come with us.”

That’s a surprise. Like most regular towns, Richardson has a town hall—brick and columns, very traditional—and a mayor. Someone upstanding with a bleached, average life. But behind that, operating in the dark, is the council. Made up of humans who know, serving as a collective voice for Richardson’s day-walking population. It’s also a complete joke, Jared thinks. The council is useless against the rules and traditions set forth by the vampires. Still, Jared’s never gone to a meeting. Underage residents rarely do.

“You’re almost eighteen,” she explains, “and I think it’s time you see how certain things work around here.”

Jared scoffs. “I know how they work.”

“The Founder’s going to be there.”

The surprises keep coming. “Why?”

His mother shrugs. “He usually attends once or twice a year. It’s a good thing,” she adds, gaze far off, “it lends the council some weight.”

Jared doubts that. If anything, the Founder attends in order to quash any vamp-unfriendly ideas. But Jared’s interest has been piqued—the Founder is Jensen Ackles’ father, and Jared hasn’t been able to get their incredibly brief encounter out of his mind. They traded stares nearly a month ago, and while Jared hasn’t seen Ackles since, there’s a chance he could be at the council, too.

“Fine. What time does it start?”

~~~

Jared ducks out of the auditorium midway through a mind-numbing discussion on curfews. Why anyone would want to be exempt from the curfew, Jared has no idea. Being out after dark is like signing up to be a blood-bag on two legs; even being underage wouldn’t stop certain vampires from feeding if Jared went out—even vampires break laws.

After visiting the men’s room, Jared wanders the hallways of his high school, the ambiance different without the constant thrum of student activity. Long shadows, cold lockers, closed doors with windows into inky-blackness. Jared’s footsteps echo, the only sound in the corridors. He’s heading back towards the auditorium when he hears another noise. High, fading, not very loud, it’s coming from around the next corner. Jared approaches with caution, keeping himself in the light, because the shadows of Richardson lend no shelter. Just before he rounds the corner, Jared discerns more than one voice.

Albert Ackles, Richardson’s Founder, had been sitting stoically at the head of the council meeting when Jared excused himself, but his son is twenty feet away, leaning hypotenuse-straight against the wall. Jensen’s body looms over a second, feminine form, his head bent low to the woman’s shoulder. Jared hears the unmistakable sound of laughter, breathy and delicate. Ackles angles himself away and Jared sees her face, flushed, batting flirtatious eyelashes. Even with inadequate light, Jared recognizes the young woman; he’s seen her around Richardson. More importantly, he’s seen her going into Lash, a club close to Chad’s parents’ place.

A well-known haunt for fangs and fangbangers to mix and mingle, Lash is one of the last places Jared would ever want to be. Willing humans offering up their blood, their lives, to the creatures essentially keeping them prisoner. It’s pathetic. Incomprehensible.

The woman with Jensen bares her throat, slender fingers holding Ackles’ elbow to guide him closer. Jared shudders. Whore. Not a word he’s used to saying, or even thinking, but it pops into his head and he can’t feel bad. He stares, horrified, as she writhes and slithers against the wall, and yet she and Ackles are barely touching. Three points of contact: her hand to his elbow, his mouth to her neck, and her hair tangled around Ackles’ fingers like tattered, bloody scraps.

Jared is startled when he notices that Ackles has detached himself from his dinner date, the vampire’s tongue dark and blood-stained as it curls out to lick his lips. And he’s staring straight at Jared. The fire of recognition catches quickly, and though the fangbanger continues to moan softly, moving sinuously for attention, Ackles never looks away. Jared waits to be put down, scolded or taunted by that sharp tongue, but the barb never comes. It’s a stand-off; the intensity of their locked gazes escalates until the hallway’s silence begins to roar like a cresting tidal wave.

Shock evaporates and details come into focus. The woman’s dilated pupils, the way her body strains for contact. The deliberate manner in which Ackles holds himself apart, the distance increasing as he continues to watch Jared. The drop of blood that remains on Ackles’ bottom lip as a warning. Or a temptation.

Jared’s stomach recoils on itself as he turns away. Only when he’s no longer held by that green stare does he realize how much the movement drained him. He takes a deep breath and leaves, releases it when he’s within sight of the auditorium.

His escape is only temporary.

The council meeting wraps up after dark and the humans move quickly to their cars despite supposedly being untouchable in the Founder’s presence. An unnatural shiver walks up Jared’s spine as soon as he steps outside, and he knows without checking that Ackles is waiting for him. Jared’s teachers, neighbors, and parents of friends hurry past as if they’re oblivious to the vampire. Or compelled to rush by without notice.

Jared stops, facing his parents, and considers not turning around. No law requires him to attend this cocky bastard even if he is the Founder’s son, and Jared’s parents wear no seal of Protection—no one owns the Padaleckis. But as badly as he wants to turn his back, literally, on these fucking bloodsuckers, he won’t invite that kind of trouble. Not with his parents frozen five steps ahead on the sidewalk.

Ackles glances down at Jared’s wrist as soon as he turns, and asks, “Who do you belong to?”

Actually, screw trouble—the fine, the tax, whatever they want to do to him—Jared wishes he could sock this vamp right in the jaw.

“No one,” he grates, low enough that only Ackles hears him. “Why? Are you gonna report me for interrupting dinner?”

“That was nothing important,” Ackles says. Jared’s stomach feels heavy now, rocks rolling over one another whenever he shifts. “You seemed intrigued.”

Jared frowns. “Is that why you’re out here? Figured you’d get a second course?” It’s difficult to hold his nerve while Ackles stalks closer, graceful over uneven concrete. Jared takes a deep breath. “I’m only seventeen.”

“Your age won’t stop everyone.” Ackles stops a breath away; Jared leans into the chill for a second before pulling away. “You wear no mark, your parents refuse Protection—”

“We follow the rules. We shouldn’t need it.”

“Still, it’s one less barrier between you and the unsavory characters.”

Smothering the tremor in his voice, Jared narrows his eyes and says, “You’re all the same to me.”

He hears his mother’s gasp. Ackles warns her against approaching with a pointed glare over Jared’s shoulder.

“You know so little,” Ackles tells him, voice so cold there ought to be icicles forming on his lips. “That puts you at a disadvantage.”

“It’s no less than you know about me,” Jared hisses.

“Then maybe we both have something to learn,” Ackles says, taking a step back. The shadows embrace him until all Jared sees is his face—pale, perfect, and ruinous. “Until next time, Jared.”

And then Jensen Ackles is gone. Jared’s parents quickstep him back to the car, passing a stone-faced Founder along the way. So much for a night to take his mind off his issues—next time his mother suggests an outing like this, Jared vows to stay home.

Back in his room, finishing his physics work-set with headphones blaring, it dawns on Jared that he’d never given Ackles his name.

~~~

Jared doesn’t count many vampires as personal acquaintances. Whether because they’re nocturnal or, like humans, they don’t need to visit the slaughterhouse in order to enjoy a good steak, most keep their distance. And despite living in Richardson his entire life, Jared’s not sure who they all are; it’s possible, albeit challenging, for a fang to blend in.

But Jared knows plenty of vamps by their reputations. For example, Chad’s boss Victor Grayson disguises himself as a ruthless yet reclusive businessman with stakes in companies all over town. According to Jared’s best friend, Grayson bankrolls a significant number of vampire causes which affords him not a small amount of influence. But employment with Grayson comes at a price, usually in the form of a contract of Protection which, for all its fancy words, is written to favor the undead party.

Then there are vampires like Alex and Lyssa Sterling (ironic surname, Jared thinks) who don’t bother to hide behind façades of upstanding citizen. The siblings are notorious, depraved in their lusts and habits. They take pleasure in coercion, never satisfied with donated blood. Clubs like Lash are their dens—the night, their banquet hall. Their uninhibited lifestyle has gained them a stable of followers, both human and vampire.

Alex Sterling has caused problems for Jared’s parents in the past, frustrated by their refusal of his Protection. But the cost of a contract with the Sterlings is measured in more than just blood and money, and Jared’s grateful that he didn’t grow up indebted to that psychopath or his sister.

The Ackles name is equally well known. Albert Ackles settled in Richardson over a century ago, and while most residents assume the name has been passed down to the Founder’s great-great grandson, Jared’s been around long enough to know they’re the same individual. Rumor placed Albert and Jensen in Richardson very little; Jared wonders if their constant travel means there are other towns where vampires walk amongst humans. At least it would mean Richardson isn’t alone in their oppression.

According to gossip, Jensen Ackles showed little interest in Richardson or its human population beyond blood—a man cold in body and spirit. Described as vain, methodical, pitiless, his needs and desires were always satisfied. The few times Jared had seen Ackles, he’d been attached at the throat to yet another blood-buddy (never the same one twice). He fed from the beautiful, the impressionable. To Jared, those humans were the lowest of the low.

Jared grew up loathing fangs like Jensen Ackles, but counted on their lives never intertwining.

It sucks to be wrong.

He can’t escape Ackles. Last week, Ackles had stopped by the Padalecki’s computer store just before closing, spinning a good yarn about a malfunctioning laptop. Holding himself motionless, barely breathing behind a door in the back of the store, Jared watched and listened as the vampire talked to his dad. Finally Ackles looked up, immediately locked eyes with Jared through the narrow slit, and grinned. Jared had pressed a hand over his stomach and fled.

Now, Jared’s waiting outside the high school on a ride from Chad, slouched on the front steps when a dark import rolls to a stop at the curb. Sleek lines, shiny finish, the sedan smells like disposable income. No mistaking it as anything other than a vampire’s car, heavily tinted windows on all sides and a white license plate with the number 2 embossed in crimson.

Be more obvious, Jared thinks with a full roll of his eyes.

Given his recent luck, he’s not surprised when the window is lowered to reveal Jensen Ackles in the driver’s seat.

“You know stalking’s illegal, right?” Jared asks without getting up.

“There’s no need for me to stalk you,” Ackles replies, leaning across the passenger seat. He’s careful to avoid the weak sunlight allowed into the car through the open window.

“So you just know where I am, like, all the time? Am I giving off some kind of scent you’re able to track?” Jared’s gut turns sour. “Wait, don’t answer that.”

“Neither,” Ackles says, and while that makes Jared feel marginally better, he’s unsure what to make of the upturned corners of the vampire’s mouth. With his fangs hidden, the expression could be a smile. “I was on my way…somewhere, and saw you.”

Feeling bolder, Jared stands and approaches the sedan, eyes making slow sweeps of the street.

Ackles then says, “I thought you might appreciate a ride.”

Jared laughs. “Does this look like a drive-thru? I’m not your damn Happy Meal.”

“Pity, I was looking forward to getting my toy.”

Blinking, Jared is at a loss. Ackles’ line wasn’t all that funny, but Jared doesn’t want to know anything about his sense of humor; he doesn’t want to know Ackles at all. His father drafted the rules that beat Jared down at every opportunity. The only thing he wants to do is hate Jensen Ackles. But that’s troublesome when this sophisticated barbarian is smirking like he’s just told the greatest joke in history. Because he would know.

“It’s getting late,” Ackles points out, face still lit up from within. “You need to get home, Jared.”

“That’s another thing.” Jared saunters right up to the passenger door. From there he can see that Ackles is alone. “I never told you my name.”

“It’s true, we’ve never been introduced, but clearly you know who I am.” Ackles offers a pale hand across the seat. “Jensen Ackles. It’s a pleasure.”

Jared is granted half-a-second to decide whether or not to attempt civility—a heartbeat before the moment becomes awkward. As much as he doesn’t want Ackles as an acquaintance, Jared certainly can’t afford him as an enemy, so he reaches out half expecting his heart to freeze up at the touch.

All he receives is a firm handshake, albeit a little on the cool side. Ackles doesn’t prolong the contact, doesn’t grind Jared’s knuckles into salt or yank him further into the car. But he does ask, “Is that a no on my offer?”

“Sorry, I don’t get in cars with strangers.”

A flash of fang. “Now we’ve been formally introduced—we’re no longer strangers.” Around them, streetlights click on in warning, neon buzz adding to the rush of sound in the back of Jared’s mind. “I promise, it’s just a ride. Anywhere you need to go, and you’ll get there safely.”

The white noise compresses itself into a single word Jared can’t pin behind his teeth.

“Why?”

Ackles looks surprised. “I’ve been—”

A set of headlights cut into the scene, a honk and an impatient shout of “Jared!” tearing the moment apart. Chad pulls up behind Ackles’ sedan in his mom’s van, leaning cautiously out the window and waving. “My bad, man. Got held up at work. Let’s get outta here.”

Jared’s instincts are roaring; he wants to be angry, pissed at his best friend for crashing into his strange back-and-forth with Ackles, but by the time Jared glances back into the car, whatever Ackles was going to say has dissolved. The openness Jared thought he’d seen has withered into a shrewd stare.

He means to thank the vampire for his offer (his parents raised him to be polite), but as soon as he leans away from the window, Ackles shifts the car into gear and speeds away leaving Jared exposed under the false glow of artificial lights. Chad honks again.

“C’mon, Jared,” he says, nerves showing, “your mom’s totally gonna call my parents if I’m late again.”

~~~

Jared receives his acceptance to UTCW in early December. The thick envelope of forms and information is positioned proudly in the middle of the dining room table when he gets home, arranged by his mom so there’s no chance of missing it. Jared scowls and leaves it there, marching straight up to his room.

He can’t remember actually applying, but it wouldn’t surprise him if those acceptances were pre-addressed and sent to everyone like Jared—forever unlucky in his knowledge of vampires. And if he had applied, there’d been no memorable effort put into it, holding onto the thread of hope that if he was rejected, maybe they’d kick him out of Richardson.

His parents use dinner to celebrate his achievement. Jared stares blankly at his favorite meal—homemade deep dish pizza with spicy chicken and ranch dressing—and tries to remember to smile every few minutes. Can’t fault his parents for trying, but Jared wants to break something. Break his hands on something, and a pale, sculpted jaw suddenly comes to mind.

While his dad talks about majors and his mom not so subtly implies that he’s welcome to live at home for one semester or eight, Jared counts down the minutes until he can retire the false excitement, escape back to his room, and mourn the normal life he’ll never have.

~~~

Monday morning, Jared walks into Physics and overhears two other seniors talking about their UTCW acceptances.

“My parents are pretty happy, you know? They can’t afford to send me out of state, and with the scholarships I’m getting, I won’t need student loans.”

“Yeah, my sister’s there now and says it’s alright—dorms are pretty cool. Thank god it’s not all townies though, ‘cause then it’d be like high school all over again.”

Jared rereads the same line in his notes until he can see the words when he blinks.

“Did you apply anywhere else?”

“I was gonna, but now I don’t see the point. Why waste the money when I know I’ll just end up here? What about you?”

“I’m still waiting to hear about Florida—my dad played basketball there—but I’m glad I have a backup.”

Ignorant fools, Jared thinks. What he wouldn’t give…

These guys have no idea how rigged the system is. Even though they’re unaware of the vampires and therefore, like, a threat level Green, their lives are still being manipulated. Jared wants to scream, punch them, make them understand that having a choice is the greatest gift, and they squander it. He wants to tell them why, but the rules are unforgiving and the punishments strict; Jared would never force his parents to endure that.

Jared bites his tongue until the bell rings, Chad slipping into class at the last second. He drops his notebook next to Jared’s on the workbench and nods. There’s a UTCW packet in his bag, and he smiles sadly.

At least Jared won’t be alone.

Not that Chad’s a great study partner (Jared learned that a long time ago). It’s evident after school as he watches Chad hustle back and forth at Crowne’s. They were supposed to finish their Calculus homework together (Chad’s a mathematics savant whereas Jared and numbers are old foes), but Chad had been called in to cover a shift. Jared tagged along hoping for a slow afternoon, but there’s been a steady stream of college students and early diners coming through the door. At this rate, with Chad swinging by Jared’s corner table every so often with sweet tea refills and deciphered integrals, it’ll be a while before Jared leaves.

Between Chad’s Calculus knowledge bombs, Jared pulls out the rough draft of his speech for English and tries to memorize his own words. That’s tough with the number of distractions—townies gathered with beer and nachos, quiet groups of adults taking very late lunches, noise and conversation from every angle—so Jared closes his eyes and practices the speech from memory, stumbling often.

He’s silently reciting his closing when the sounds around him shift. Not enough for most to notice, but Jared learned vigilance early on. Jared takes a breath before he opens his eyes, identifying the tingle on his lips. Given the number of possibilities, Jared’s relieved to see Jensen Ackles standing beside his table.

“Scotch, top shelf,” Ackles orders from Chad without hesitiating. Though he looks uncomfortable, Chad retraces his steps to the bar, glancing over his shoulder.

Jared needs to ask. “What are you doing here?”

“Am I allowed to have a drink?” Ackles helps himself to the seat across from Jared. Conversation continues around them, but there are some customers, like Jared, who recognize the vampire and remain on guard. A few leave. Ackles ignores them. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Jared’s has his doubts. “How’d you get here?”

“I drove, and then I walked in,” Ackles says. Jared scowls. “There are ways to move around during daylight. Not all of us enjoy being homebodies.”

Chad returns with Ackles’ liquor. He sets the glass down and waits, looking between the two of them. “Should I call Grayson?”

Jensen frowns, doesn’t look at Chad when he says, “I’m welcome here.”

“Not if you’re harassing my friend, you’re not.”

“Excuse me?”

Jared feels the way the vampire’s voice has frozen over, and he jumps in. “Hey, it’s fine. I’m fine, Chad.” Both men turn to him. “Ackles and I were just talking.”

“You know him?” Chad sounds disbelieving.

“Yeah, we’re—”

“Quickly moving beyond acquaintances,” Ackles finishes for him, though they’re not the words Jared would have used. “And I’d like to speak to Jared alone.”

Chad lingers as if Ackles is going to ask permission. Obviously it never comes, and Jared watches Chad retreat to the kitchen.

“Wow, nice,” he mutters. “That went terribly.”

Ackles shrugs. “You should call me Jensen.”

“Is that a demand?”

“A friendly request,” he says. “I’m not used to people calling me by my father’s surname.”

“Is he really your father?” Jared blurts out. “Or, I mean, how does that work?”

Jared expects evasion, or stony silence, but Jensen says, “I don’t often care to admit it, but Albert is my father. Our relationship began long before we came to Richardson.”

A thousand questions storm Jared’s thoughts; there is so much he wants to know, things he needs to understand if he’s ever going to escape Richardson. Jensen appears unfazed, willing to talk, and Jared nearly lets his fierce curiosity run rampant, but he pulls up short. His desire for knowledge screams, but the greater part of him wants no part of anything Jensen could offer.

Jensen sips his scotch, casually flipping through one of Jared’s textbooks. When that no longer amuses him, he pulls Jared’s homework out from under his fingers and scans the work.

“There’s an error in the second problem. The derivation of—”

Jared snatches it back. “Why are you here?”

“I told you.”

“No, you definitely didn’t,” Jared mutters, gathering his schoolwork. “This place isn’t really your scene.”

“My scene?”

“Somewhere you can”—he drops his voice—“feed. Why not Lash or one of the other clubs? Or,” he adds with derision, “do you prefer unconventional places, like school hallways?”

Jensen does him the favor of not looking away. “You weren’t meant to see that. It was careless, I admit. But,” he says, “she was willing.”

“Sure she was,” Jared mumbles under his breath, but of course Jensen hears.

“What bothers you so much about feeding?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?” Jared leans across the table, anger emboldening.

“Some…” Jensen chooses his words carefully, “choose to give their blood in that way. It’s better than the alternative.”

“What, like getting it from blood taxes? Not enough sport in that for you?”

“You misunderstand me. The donated blood is adequate for the majority, but no one’s going to decline an offer to feed when it’s made willingly.” Jensen takes a generous sip of his scotch, acting as if this is a normal conversation. Jared has never heard of a vampire being this candid. “And I meant to say that it’s better than simply taking what we want. For everyone.”

“That’s such bullshit,” Jared says. A few pairs of eyes cut over in his direction. “Just look at this town, at the way things really are. Do you honestly think any of your groupies are one hundred percent willing?” He huffs, blood starting to simmer. “You make us think that we have a choice, but we don’t. That’s not consent, that’s coercion.”

“Protection was created to ensure a balanced relationship—”

“Oh my God, I can’t listen to this.” Jared frantically repacks his schoolbag, needing out before he shatters his hand on Jensen’s jaw for real. His anger’s at a rolling boil; he can barely look at Jensen when he says, “Enjoy your drink. Please leave me alone.”

But Jared holds little hope of that happening, especially when Jensen stands and says, “Can I give you a ride somewhere?”

“No, just—no.”

Chad moves to intercept Jared as he walks away from the table, but Jared warns him off with a sharp look. Stepping into the sunlight immediately puts Jared in a better mood, but he doesn’t linger on the sidewalk. Without Chad to drive him, Jared’s stuck walking home, setting a brisk pace so he won’t get caught by the waning light.

The further he goes, the angrier he becomes. How dare Jensen dismiss Jared’s situation? He obviously doesn’t know the first thing about living as a human in Richardson; what’s worse, he barely seems to care. Part of Jared hopes that Jensen is following in his sedan just so he can strike a match off his bitterness and burn the vampire with the force of it. But the rest of him is still confused by Jensen’s recent interest (for lack of a better word) in him. He’s used to existing as nothing more than a blood-bag with a pulse to the fanged contingent, and that allowed his resentment to grow, unhindered, for nearly eighteen years. The change is jarring.

Right now, it’s easy for Jared to smother the quiet voice in his head telling him that he’s been given a rare opportunity: Jensen’s willing to talk to him, why not exploit that connection in order to find answers? Anger wins out, however, and Jared keeps walking.

He tells himself not to look back, but each time he does, there’s no trace of the tinted sedan.