Chapter 1

1

Jesse Madding died alone.

What would Gideon say if he saw this?

It was fitting for Jesse’s final thoughts to be of Gideon. The vampire’s face lingered in his mind. He always remembered Gideon the same way—bathed in silvery moonlight with a bloody battle-axe held loosely in his fingers. He had looked immortal, unending. Jesse didn’t know why it was that memory that hung before him like an image still from a movie, when there were so many moments and days to choose from. He dreamt about it, too. Every night. Only, in his dreams, he was convinced that Gideon was still alive, and then he woke. And he remembered in shaking, dark seconds that Gideon wasn’t there, and would never be there again.

His muscles burned. There were more demons than Jesse had expected, and he had been armed to face a dozen. As soon as he shot one, or sliced one in half, or stabbed one in the chest, another would pop up. Every lesson Gideon ever taught him, directly or indirectly, came rushing back to him. Duck and then turn. Stab right and then left. Shoot the smaller one because it is faster than the lumbering giant approaching. Stay focused. Always stay focused.Vampires didn’t have spirits, or else he might have fooled himself into thinking that Gideon’s ghost hung at his shoulder, whispering advice, giving him strength he never dreamed he could possess. He didn’t burn with exhaustion. Adrenaline and endorphins flooded his system, removing his free will. He had to fight. If he didn’t, his skin would split in two and all the energy would pour from the shell of his body.

But there were still more demons than he could possibly kill. He had gone hunting and found the nest in an abandoned warehouse—abandoned because the demons had eaten, maimed, and tortured the inhabitants until they finally claimed the space as their own. The warehouse had three stories, and apparently a basement, and the monsters poured from unknown doors and materialized from the corners. Gideon wouldn’t have taken these things on by himself, even at his most reckless. But Gideon had never been this reckless. He always had something to tether him to the Earth, even if that was just his own guilt.

Jesse just wanted to kill things until he felt better. Or until he didn’t feel anything at all. Don’t let him just kill stuff.Emma’s voice. Humans supposedly had immortal souls, so maybe she was there at his shoulder. Warning him. Because he finally understood the thing in Gideon that craved bloodshed.

Blood ran thick and hot from a gash in his forehead, coloring the world a deep red, but besides that, he remained uninjured. A part of his brain chewed on that problem, convinced there was something wrong. He had felt the claws against his body, grasping and holding him as tightly as any lover could. But there was no blood.

A demon grabbed the sword and yanked it from him. Jesse let it go without a fight, automatically reaching for the gun at his side. His father had a veritable armory in the house, including guns and grenades. He claimed they were collectibles, and some of them were. Bullets didn’t always kill these things, but they sure as hell caused damage. Empty eye sockets gushed black blood. Pieces of skull and horn went flying, revealing the sticky substance of freshly exposed brains.

What would Gideon think if he saw this?

Jesse thought he would be proud. Proud of Jesse for fighting. Maybe he wouldn’t agree with Jesse’s ultimate plan, but these demons had killed dozens of people in the area, and they were growing. They were spreading. Invasive species. That’s what they would have been called by biologists. They were invading, and Jesse wasn’t going to let them. And Gideon wasn’t there to stop them.

He lost track of time. He had lost track of time when Michelle sat on the edge of his bed and said with a solemn frown, “We need to talk, Jess.” Time had become something malleable and frightening. He could make seconds last for hours. He could make days collapse into seconds. So now Jesse didn’t know how long he stood fighting, only that he finally reached the point where he couldn’t raise his arms to defend himself.

The demons realized Jesse’s weakness at the same moment. They actually smiled, licking their lips and preparing for the final charge. At least a dozen of them were within two or three feet, but he knew there were more on the periphery. They would swarm, unmindful of the blood and corpses of fallen comrades under their feet.

“Sorry, fellas.” He yanked the grenades from their clips, letting them fall to his feet.

They all froze. It would have been comical, but Jesse didn’t even have time to smile. Everything went orange, everything went white, and then everything went black.