Chapter 1: Night Falls

Abigail D'Angelo controlled her fear as she pushed open the doors of Neil Armstrong High School. She hadn't expected to be on the hunt when she came back to town to visit her sick mother. She stared into the dark school. It had been fourteen years since she strolled the hallways.

The last time had been to kill a vampire, too.

In some ways, the school looked unchanged since that bloody night, in others it was radically different. The same lockers marched down the hallway only painted a lighter blue instead of the puke green of her youth. The fliers on the walls proclaimed the upcoming Halloween Dance, still a staple of the school. The drinking fountains were different, made of white porcelain instead of stainless steel. Through the small, rectangular windows in the doors, she spotted the same lines of desks.

Memories flashed through Abigail's mind of that terrible night fourteen years ago when she helped kill her first vampire. She had been Abigail Talbot then. Her, Damien D'Angelo, Frank Smythe, and Nora Wendle had entered the school in a mix of bravado and fear to kill the monster that had put two of their friends into the grave and turned a third. Only Abigail and Damien had walked out. Vincent had torn poor Nora's head off and ripped out Frank's throat before Abigail managed to hit the vampire with holy water.

Burned by the holy water, Vincent lay stunned as Damien had beat the vampire's head to pulp with a silver cross the youths had stolen from St. Marks up the road from the school.

Abigail shook the memories away as her hands gripped her crossbow. I need to keep my focus. A white oak bolt was cradled in the weapon. Abigail had tracked the vampire to the school. They were often attracted to youthful vigor. Abigail's own best friend, Lynette, had been Vincent's first victim, transformed into a vampiress.

To this day, Abigail had not learned what happened to Lynette after Vincent died. Had another Knight Venator put her down, or was she still out there lurking in the shadows.

The hunter's ears were tuned for any sound. She walked on the rubber soles of her combat boots. Her red hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail and she wore black fatigues, the pockets full of the tricks and weapons of the vampire hunting trade.

The coppery tinge of blood tickled her nose. The vampire had recently fed.

Where are you hiding? Abigail entered the cafeteria. The scent of blood grew stronger and stronger, stirring memories of fourteen years ago. Abigail fought to keep herself from staring at the spot where poor Nora's head had been ripped off.

Stay focused. Abigail cast her eyes about the dark cafeteria for the vampire. He could be lurking under any of the tables that ran in neat rows across the large room.

It was stupid to hunt a vampire alone, but Abigail had killed over thirty in the last fourteen years. She had been trained and outfitted by the Jesuits and inducted into the Knights Venator. Every Knight knew on simple truth—sometimes you had no choice but to enter the lion's den alone. Her partner was in Albuquerque on a hunt while she had been forced to come back home and care for her sick mother the last two weeks.

Sound rustled behind her.

Abigail spun. Shadows moved. Her crossbow bolt fired.

Damien D'Angelo tried not to worry about his wife as he stalked through the abandoned warehouse. Abigail was a capable hunter, and the vampire plaguing their hometown sounded young. Abigail believed it was a newly changed undead that had slipped off the leash of its dam or sire.

Just like the vampire Damien hunted.

Heavy metal music thudded through the warehouse, booming from below. This vampire had no class or style. Damien gripped the sawed-off, double-barreled shotgun in his hands. It was loaded with rock salt. Vampires couldn't stand the touch of purity. Rock salt, blessed silver, holy water, and white oak could all cause the monsters pain.

Decapitation and sunlight were the only sure ways to kill one.

Damien found a set of stairs at the far end of the ruined building, half covered by a piece of plywood. It was a pathetic attempt to conceal the entrance to the basement and the vampire's lair. The entire warehouse was covered in a layer of dust, and sliding the plywood over the stairs had left behind drag marks. Of course, the footprints coming and going were an even clearer sign.

Why had you even bothered? Or are you just that stupid? Damien settled on the latter option.

This was the tenth day of the hunt. The vampire had killed two since Damien arrived, both young, pretty girls. This vampire was fast. Security footage at one of the attacks only showed the creature moving as a blur.

Each vampire would have a gift. It was always random if they would get mesmerizing gaze, enhanced speed, shapechanging, illusions, shadow walk, or one of the others. Damien had fought vampires displaying one of ten abilities and there were always rumors of new ones.

You never knew quite what you were getting when fighting a vampire. That was why Damien and Abigail had been trained by the Jesuit priests, inducted into the Knights Venator and outfitted with relics and weapons. Outside the warehouse, Father Augustine waited, providing Damien with support.

"Found the entrance," Damien reported over his Bluetooth as he kicked aside the plywood. "Communications might get spotty."

"Because of being underground," Father Augustine asked, his voice crystal clear. Once, they had used radios, but cell phone technology was far more practical.

"No, because the vamp's blaring heavy metal." Damien winced. "Pretty terrible shit. Not the good stuff I listened to."

"Yes, because rock in the Nineties made such a wonderful cavalcade of sounds."

Damien smiled at the priest's dry tone.

The vampire hunter descended down the stairs. It led to a dark hallway. Damien switched on his flashlight, holding it his left hand as we walked forward, shotgun held out before him. In the movies, vampire hunters always used UV lights to fight the undead. It wasn't ultraviolet spectrum of sunlight that harmed vampires. It was the purity of the sun's rays and what the fiery disc in the sky represented.

His eyes noticed the dark alcove. It could be a spot for an ambush, or merely was a branching tunnel. The thudding music came from straight ahead. There was a door with light flooding through it. Vampires could see in the dark, but the young ones were still too accustomed to their mortal lives and attached to what was familiar.

Damien kept his shotgun pointed right at the alcove as he advanced. He wasn't surprised when the female vampire leaped out. She was naked, her breasts lovely and firm with youth, her blonde hair streaming behind her. She probably had been sired by the vampire Damien hunted, under her sire's control.

Damien pulled both triggers of the shotgun. The explosion was deafening in the tunnels. His ears rang as the vampiress fell to the ground, her naked stomach and perfect breasts blackened by the purity rock salt. Her mouth opened but Damien couldn't hear her screams over the deafening ringing in his ears.

Calmly, Damien sheathed his shotgun in a holster dangling off his belt and drew a silver plated machete inscribed with prayers, the knuckle bone of a saint set in the pommel. He seized the vampiress's blonde hair and pulled, exposing her neck as she thrashed in pain. With a single swipe, he decapitated her. The body shriveled and grew black, decaying in a heartbeat. Before Damien could let go of her hair, she was dust swirling about his feet.

The lights were still on in the room at the hallway's end. Damien's hearing began to return as he reloaded his shotgun. The music still thudded. Damien wasn't even sure the vampire had heard the shotgun blast over the blaring music and realized his new whore was dead.

Next time, pay better attention. Damien smiled at the thought. Of course, there won't be a next time.

Damien pulled a hand crossbow from beneath the leather duster he wore. His wife always teased him for the affectation, but Damien enjoyed dressing like a badass out of a western. Of course, the jacket was woven with prayers and could give him a moments of protection against a vampire's attack.

"One dead," Damien reported as he reached the door. "About to breach."

Augustine didn't answer. The call probably dropped with all the concrete over his head.

Damien put away his flashlight and tested the doorknob. Unlocked. What a trusting vampire.

Damien twisted the handle and shouldered open the door. He burst through it and he brought up his crossbow. A vampiress lounged on a bean bag, her thighs spread open and her fingers playing with her pink pussy.

She screeched as the white oak bolt took her in the heart, paralyzing her entire body. Damien swept his gaze around as he furiously cranked back the crossbow's windlass. A male vampire with a blonde goatee and dressed in torn, black clothing stood up. A silver skull earing dangled from the vampire's right ear. Fangs flashed as he growled.

"Do you know who's territory you are treading on, Mortal?" the vampire demanded with exaggerated bombastity.

He's watched too many bad movies. "Nope."

Damien pulled out a white oak bolt and dropped it into the crossbow's cradle.

"I am Spike, the slayer of—"

Damien snorted with laughter. "Did you say your name is Spike? Like from Buffy the Vampire Slayer." That show had been big when Damien was a teenager. It helped Damien and his future wife realize a vampire haunted their school, feeding off their friends.

"No," hissed the vampire, indignation crossing his pale face. The vampires lips were dark black, almost a pair of shadows compared to the corpse-white of the his skin.

Was he wearing makeup to make himself look that pale?

"Spyke with a Y."

"And that makes it better?" Damien snorted and raised the crossbow.

The vampire attacked in a blur of speed. Damien fired the crossbow bolt straight in front of him. Like Damien expected, the vampire charged headlong towards him. The bolt took the monster in the chest. Paralysis crashed into Spyke a moment before he slammed into Damien. Damien twisted and let Spyke crash to the floor.

"Why does your kind always give speeches before they attack?" Damien demanded to the paralyzed vampire as he drew his machete. "Even the best of you is given over to speeches. You gave me all the time I needed to reload."

"Wait," Spyke groaned, struggling to move his body, "he promised ... it would be ... different."

"Vampires lie." Damien beheaded the vampire.

Behind him, the vampiress let out a wheezing gasp.

"I'll attend to you in a moment," Damien nodded and looked around the room. There was a young woman naked in the corner, blood dribbling from her neck and thighs. She had been fed upon. Most vampires could spend days drinking from a victim before they died, keeping them in a state of euphoria. Vampire venom was a potent drug.

Damien knelt beside the victim and touched her throat. Her pulse was thready.

"You're a survivor," he told the wounded girl. "You'll make it through. He didn't ruin you."

Damien attended to the vampiress with his machete.

The Angel watched Damien behead the female vampire before attending to the wounded, young woman. Her white wings flapped as she floated in the Ether. "What are my odds for success, Gideon?"

"9%," Gideon answered her. The second angel drifted towards her in the Ether, the immaterial realm between Life and Beyond. "His psyche profile indicates he will be hard to manipulate, Aurora."

Aurora nodded, her wings beating faster as she studied Damien. He was a handsome mortal, tall and athletic, with dark hair and the shadow of stubble across his squared jaw. He was confident and skilled, practiced at his craft. He dispatched three vampires with ease. Even if the vampires were unskilled, it was an impressive feat.

"I have chosen my incarnation," Aurora answered. "I will make sure Damien chooses correctly."

"Even with Jezebel prowling around, working her foul designs?"

Aurora's wings glowed whiter. She fought the urge to curse at the demon. "Have they let her out of Perdition again?"

"Looks like it," Gideon answered.

"She will not deter me this time," Aurora declared. Her enmity with Jezebel stretched back a thousand years.

The demon lounged on the floor of the van Father Augustine waited in, studying the priest. He was a tall man and lanky, his body almost devoid of flesh. He was all sharp angles. Hard, blue eyes monitored the equipment while a hand absently scratched at his temples. His hair was black save for a pair of iron-gray wings sweeping from his temples.

Jezebel fluttered her black wings, her fingers itching to corrupt. She was on the edge of the Ether, almost manifested into Life but just out of reach of mortal senses. The angels were buzzing around the van like annoying flies. She had no idea why that cow Aurora had shown up. God damned harpy, always zipping around and taking away all my fun.

Their last clash had resulted in Jezebel's banishment to Perdition for a hundred years.

The back of the van opened up and Damien climbed in cradling a wounded girl. The vampire hunter had dispatched his quarry with ease. Jezebel hated how pure Damien was. He barely had any sinful thoughts in his head, devoted to his pretty wife and their crusade against vampires.

What a waste, and with that body.

But the priest seethed with sin. She could feel the vile thoughts leaking out of him. Father Augustine loved to stare at the pretty, young parishioners of his church, especially in confession. He would make the girls spell out in detail all of their naughty, sexual sins, his cock rigid beneath his cassock.

Jezebel fluttered her wings and set to work, whispering her corruption from the Ether. Perdition had plans, regardless of any Angels fluttering around causing trouble.

Damien's phone chirped as Father Augustine pulled the van up to Albuquerque International Sunport Airport. The hunt had finished up hours ago, the young woman taken to a hospital where she would, hopefully, recover.

Damien fished his out of his pocket and swiped the screen. Relief flooded him as he read the message.

"Abigail's hunt was successful?" Augustine inquired.

"Yeah," Damien nodded, reading the text from his wife.

"Thank the Lord," the priest smiled, rubbing his bony hands together.

"She dispatched the vampire in our old high school," Damien frowned. "Strange."

"The same place where you killed Vincent?"

Damien read the text again. "Hun, 1 vamp dusted in our old cafeteria. Spooky being back. Mom's doing better. On the way home. I think I'll beat you back."

"Yeah." Damien shook his head. "Small world." Damien didn't like to think about fourteen years ago. He could still feel the boiling anger as he beat Vincent's head to a pulp with the stolen silver cross while poor Frank bled out nearby, his throat torn out by the vampire.

"Well, safe travels," Father Augustine smiled, "I'll see you and Abby in a few days."

The priest had a two drive back. The equipment in the back would never make it past airport screening. Father Augustine always drove the van to the hunt. "I enjoy the solitude," the priest would always say. "Time for me and the Lord to get closer together."

"You be safe, too, Father," Damien said as he climbed out of the van, his carry-on bag slung over his shoulder. He still wore his leather duster, but had made sure to strip off all his weapons and leave them in the van. After a successful hunt, being arrested by the TSA because he forgot to remove a silver knife from his back pocket would be embarrassing.

"The white zone is for loading and unloading only," a recorded announcement played. Sometimes, Damien wondered if the same woman recorded those announcements for every airport in America.

Father Augustine pulled the van from the concourse as Damien strolled into the airport. He stood in line to check in and have his tickets printed. He had a First Class flight from Albuquerque to Chicago. O'Hare International Airport was a great hub with direct connections with most of America. That was why Damien lived in a small suburb outside of the city.

"Heading through security," Damien texted as he stood in line, "wish me luck."

Abigail texted back, "You never know, you might get lucky with one of the guards."

Damien chuckled. His wife always had a feisty tongue. "Nothing like an overweight man giving me a reach around."

His phone vibrated immediately, "LOL. That is an image I did not need in my head."

"Just giving you fodder for your long flight."

"Hun, it's an hour flight," Abigail replied. "I'm practically home. You're the one that needs something to keep you occupied."

"That would be sleep." Damien yawned as he shuffled forward. "I could use a few winks after the last two week."

"And here I was planning on seducing you when you got home." A winky emoji and a glass of wine ended her tweet.

"That's why I'm sleeping on the plane. I need to be well rested to feed your appetites." Damien smiled as he hit send.

"I'm hungry. You know what killing vampires does to me."

Damien paused. "It wasn't weird. Being back there."

"Yeah. It was."

"You okay."

"I'm a tough cookie."

Damien texted, "I know, I chipped a tooth last time I bit you."

"LMAO." There was a pause. "But I'm fine. Looking forward to seeing you. I've accepted what happened years ago. We did pretty good for a bunch of dumb kids."

"Sir, put all your metal objects and your phone in the tray," a white-shirted TSA officer said as he stood by the metal detector.

Damien made it through security unmolested and gathered up his belongings. He strode through the airport and navigated to his gate. He sat down on a plastic chair and checked the clock. He had forty minutes before his flight. He texted his wife for a few minutes, but then she had to catch her flight.

He allowed his eyes to close, napping as he waited for his flight. He was eager to see his wife. Her smiling face, framed by her fiery hair, filled his vision. When she was on the hunt, she was cold, calculating, and even ruthless. But away from the filth of the vampires, she was a woman bubbling with life.

It was rare for them to not be on the same hunt. Normally, Damien would immediately enjoy her aroused passion after a successful kill. He didn't have to wait on a four hour plane ride and another hour drive from the airport.

Luckily, hunting taught patience.

Damien stretched his long legs when the gate attendant announced boarding for his flight, starting with First Class and passengers with small children. He strolled up in line behind a woman in a dark red business suit with a skirt that hugged a curvy rear. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a tight bun. She turned her head, the profile of her face graceful and beautiful, with ruby-red lips, a smile curling at the corners.

"You do not see a lot of men wearing a leather duster," the woman purred, her voice dripping with sweet honey.

"I watched too many Westerns as a kid," Damien answered.

"I see that," the woman purred, her hazel eyes flicking across Damien's body. Her smile grew and Damien noticed the extra shake to her hips.

Damien ignored the itching swell in his groin and the friendly invitation in her eyes. He gave the woman a friendly smile while casually stroking his chin with his left hand, his gold wedding band prominent on his finger.

The line began to move. Damien fought the urge to stare at her ass as she walked before him. Her skirt hugged it like a second skin. The woman moved with grace on her high heels. Every movement seemed deliberate.

A paranoid part of him wondered if she was something more than a woman. Vampiress?

Vampires could be hard to tell apart from a normal person. If they just drank blood, they would have normal pallor to their skin and the only physical change were fangs that sprouted right before they fed. You had to watch for subtle movements. Vampires had more strength and dexterity than a human. The changes were betrayed in their movements if they weren't careful.

Older vampires could be quite adapt at blending in.

Touching a person was a good indication of where they lived or where undead. While vampires had pulses and even breathed, their metabolism wasn't like a human's. Their bodies didn't produce heat, so they would be the same temperature as the surrounding air, which usually meant they would feel cool to the touch.

The woman handed her boarding pass to the gate attendant then Damien. The gate attendant gave him an empty smile and a "Enjoy your flight, Sir," before slipping the pass into the slot in her kiosk. Then Damien was trooping down the walkway. It swayed with everyone's echoing steps, and the sounds of the plane's engines grew louder. Flight attendants waited at the door with more fake smiles and "Enjoy your flight, Sir."

Damien seat was 3B. The woman sat in 3A.

"Small world," she purred, her legs crossed. Her skirt rode up past her knees, revealing dark, thigh-high stockings held up by garters. Damien always liked seeing a woman in thigh-highs. Her cleavage was transformed into a work of art by the push-up bra she wore.

"I guess so," Damien said as he stowed his bag in the overhead compartment. He sank down in the seat and closed his eyes.

"The strong, silent type," purred the woman. "At least you won't chat me to death on the plane ride."

"Nope."

"Pity," she purred. "I bet you could provide a stimulating conversation."

Is she hitting on me?

The exhaustion of the last week of hunting pulled on Damien. He kept his eyes closed, letting him sink down into sleep. Damien, like every soldiers since the first man was press-ganged into some petty tyrant's army, had learned how to sleep anywhere. He dozed through the safety briefing as the plane taxied to the runway.

The roar of the engines as they powered up for takeoff pulled him out of sleep for a moment. He didn't open his eyes as the plane shot down the runway, pressing him back into his seat. The plane shook, the woman beside him gasped.

She's wearing Chanel perfume, he realized as the plane leapt into the air. A smile crossed his lips as he drifted down into sleep. A few years ago, he had bought Abigail a Chanel perfume, at the recommendation of the woman working in the perfume department, for her birthday. His wife had loved it.

And he had loved how his wife smelled wearing it.

As Damien fell into sleep, his dreams turned to his wife.

It was the hand on his thigh that brought Damien out of his sleep. The plane was at cruising altitude. Like on most red eyes, the cabin was dim and the passengers around him were sleeping. All except the woman beside him.

Her hand was on his thigh. Her hazel eyes almost were golden as she stared at him.

"What?" Damien groaned as he shook off sleep.

"Shhh," she whispered, "you'll wake everyone else."

Her hand moved higher. He was all too aware of her hand reaching for his crotch. His dick swelled hard, tenting his jeans. The woman purred, her cleavage jiggling as she turned her body. His gaze fell into the valley formed by her lush mounds.