Volume 2: Fangs & Family Ties
Liv's investigation into her mother's disappearance intersects with vampire politics. Tensions rise between Lucien and Dylan. The town faces bizarre events; Liv's family secrets threaten her safety and sanity.
Lucien didn't move. His shadow still clung to the steps, and the night breeze brushed across his pale cheek, wrapping the scent of pine needles tightly around my throat. My hands were still buried in my jacket pockets, fingers unconsciously clutching the silver bow-shaped pendant. If someone asked me what it meant for the world to stop—this was it. His gaze shimmered like a silver coin adrift in moonlight, the kind you want to catch, but fear might shatter all illusion the moment you touch it.
"If you have something to say, just say it," I repeated, my voice steadier than I expected.
Lucien looked down, the corner of his mouth curling in that distinctly European smirk, though his eyes held something fragile, like shards of glass."You shouldn't walk alone at night anymore," he said. "It's time someone put an end to the farce in this town."
"A farce?" I raised my chin, trying to match his calm. "Are you talking about the missing animals? Or my mother?"
His reaction was subtle, like a needle prick—his pupils didn't even flicker, yet the darkness around us tied itself into a knot."Maybe they're not unrelated, Olivia Chandler."
No one called me that. Not since the night my mother disappeared—when the police station was full of people using her full name, like they were trying to identify someone who'd just crawled out of an old photograph. I bit my lip, hating the way that name sounded in his mouth.
Above us, the porch light gave a sharp pop and went out. In the darkness, he was suddenly close—his breath cool."Your doorstep isn't safe," Lucien murmured. "The house might be, but the truth isn't behind the door. You need to start finding the key—instead of chasing shadows."
Before he finished, the kitchen light flicked on. My father's rough voice called out from inside."Liv? That you?"
Lucien vanished into the shadows almost instantly, leaving only the faint crunch of his boots on pine needles. I slid the key into the lock and opened the door. The old carpet smelled faintly of mothballs, and the kitchen light was warm and yellow. My father stood by the counter, looking like a sleepless grizzly.
"Late again?" he didn't ask if I wanted warm milk—just watched me, eyes full of that same weariness I'd come to recognize. "Your friend okay? Anything happen on the way home?"
"Nothing." I kept my tone casual, fingers still gripping the pendant in my pocket. "Just stayed late reviewing."
He didn't believe me, but didn't push either. His face in the kitchen light looked gray and worn, like those tattered wanted posters you see on the walls of western ghost towns.
"Later tonight, there's something I need to talk to you about." He tossed the words into the air like a door swinging open on rusted hinges, then turned and disappeared into his room.
I didn't follow. I just leaned against the refrigerator, listening to the old cooling system wheeze like it was hiding someone's secret in the dark.
I barely slept that night. The shadows of the pine trees outside crept into my room, rippling across the ceiling faster than a heartbeat. The night my mother vanished played on loop in my head, like a ghost story the town never let die—some heard screams, others swore they saw a woman in a red cloak slip through the tunnel, and a few were convinced it was a serial killer.
Only I knew she left behind this silver pendant—like a cipher no one could crack.
At 3 a.m., the police station was fully lit. My father's car sat parked out front, the passenger seat piled with unfiled case folders. He was wearing that old-school denim jacket, the cuffs frayed, his shoulders slumped like river stones worn smooth over time.
"You didn't sleep either?" Dylan spotted me the second I stepped in.
His hair was messier than last week, headphones crooked around his neck, thumb scrolling rapidly through the town forum on his phone.
"Hey," I forced a smile. "New season of the missing persons podcast drop yet?"
"Already recorded," he replied. "Aside from the usual government conspiracy theories, someone's now claiming the missing cats are being collected as breakfast tax by werewolves."
"Werewolves? You don't even believe that."
"But," Dylan lowered his voice, handing me a printout, "look at this."
It was a map showing animal disappearances across town over the past year. The red dots clustered tightly, forming a strange, closed circle around our house, the school, and the church. Dead center—our address.
I stared at that red dot, feeling clawed fear crawl up my spine."What does this mean?"
"That your house has a hell of a 'story,'" Dylan said with a shrug. "Your dad's reopened your mom's case. Asked me about some old local legends—which, you know, he never talks about."
Before I could process that, the station's back door burst open. A figure strode in, her heels clicking with a sharp authority that made the night itself seem to flinch.
Marina Graves—the newly appointed assistant at the station. Or maybe I should say: the official ice queen. She didn't even look at me, just gave Dylan a narrowed glance.
"What are you two doing up this late?"
"Talking cats and werewolves," Dylan muttered, subtly slipping the printout behind his back. "And the town's most talked-about missing person case."
Marina's mouth twitched—just barely."The case is officially listed as 'unsolved.' You'd do well to get some rest."
"And you?" I snapped, trying to hide the unease curling in my gut. "Still out patrolling at this hour?"
She gave me the kind of look you'd give a black cat that ate your earring, shoulders tightening slightly."Some cases need re-examining. Especially… your mother's file."
The kitchen light, my father's jacket, Marina's nerves—it all began to fuse in my mind, weaving a strange sense of foreboding. This wasn't just a routine night shift. This wasn't a standard "cold case."
By dawn, the whole station was humming. Papers, faxes, warnings flew around like panicked birds. Dylan leaned against the coffee machine, texting furiously. Lucien stood outside under the streetlight, quiet as a shadow.
He nodded at me, an unspoken invitation to some silent game of strategy.
At the door, I murmured to Dylan, "If I'm not back in thirty minutes—smash my horror movie notebook."
Dylan rolled his eyes, though there was a flicker of concern."You're just going to see Lucien, not joining the Dracula dynasty."
"You never know. He might send me an invitation." I smirked.
I crossed the dimly lit street, wind smelling of dry weeds. Lucien's eyes were like a frost-covered lake in early winter.
"Something's happening at the station," he said, skipping pleasantries.
"You heard?"
He gave a lopsided smile—half mocking, half self-deprecating."There are more secrets in this town than you think. The night your mother vanished… there are details your father chose not to include."
"What are you saying?" I stopped, searching his face. "What do you know?"
He looked down, fingers brushing the silver pendant."That's no ordinary necklace. Not just a clue. Your mother may have had secrets of her own."
Dizziness swept over me. I thought I was getting closer to answers, but now everything was fog again.
"You vampires—what laws do you live by?" I asked.
Lucien hesitated, voice low as a cathedral bell at midnight."When humans encounter us, there's only ever one record to keep: you either become prey, or a legend. Your mother… almost became something else."
He looked toward the police station's glass window, reflecting pale morning light."That case can't be closed with a file stamp. The vampire council has reopened the investigation."
Tension snapped tight in the air. My palms were soaked in cold sweat.
"So you're here to warn me?" I asked, bitter.
"I'm here to protect you," he said softly—like telling a fairy tale no one would ever believe.
I didn't know whether to trust him or fear him. But I knew this: some dangers were no longer just stories.
That afternoon, my father came home in uniform, bringing with him the scent of police stations—smoke and damp paper. He tossed his cap on the counter and exhaled heavily.
"Liv," he said, sitting across from me at the kitchen table, brow furrowed. "We need to talk tonight."
My heart skipped. I instinctively touched the necklace.
He sighed, hands clasping tightly, like he was wrestling someone in his mind."The station reopened your mom's case today. New leads. New doubts. And… a letter we've never seen before."
I froze. He slid over a wrinkled brown envelope. Its edges were marked with wax, ominous and theatrical.
Carefully, I opened it. A yellowed postcard slipped out. On the back—my mother's familiar, messy handwriting:
"To Olivia. Wait for me. Don't trust the shadows."Her signature looked like a last gasp before drowning.
My father's hand trembled slightly on the table. His voice was raw, almost bitter."We're digging everything back up, Liv. No matter how strange it gets."
The room grew heavier. Rain tapped at the windows, and the sky over town turned a grim shade of blue-gray, like an unread scroll waiting to be cracked open.
"Starting tomorrow, you don't go anywhere alone. The station's on high alert. And you—need to stay safe."
I nodded, though a thousand questions surged inside me.
My mother said not to trust shadows. But she vanished into one.
The school bell and police sirens blurred into one long, disorienting noise, shaking the town's sense of reality. I looked out the window. Lucien stood beneath the streetlamp, hands in his pockets, like he was waiting for a storm no one could predict.
Night fell again. I stood in my room, clutching the postcard. The silver pendant lay cold against my collarbone. Thoughts spiraled like a derailed roller coaster, swerving between home and mystery.
My mother's case—reopened by the police, the council, and something deeper. It felt like the world itself was cornering me into facing the truth buried in this house.
Lucien stood beyond the glass, smiling faintly. Silent, like a whisper from the darkest part of night. Under the streetlight, his gaze shimmered like an unspoken prophecy.
And I finally understood—the key to the truth might not be behind the door, or buried in the past. It might be waiting beyond every moment of doubt and hesitation, urging me to step out of the shadow of this home, into a dawn woven from blood and secrets.