A good shelter is worth a thousand promises.
Rolo wanted to meet me. I wasn't expecting it. After all, I'd practically insulted him to his core by taking Ábel in. For reasons I couldn't quite figure out, he really didn't like the kid. So, I invited him out for a scoop of lemon-flavored ice cream, thinking maybe a little sugar could soften him up. He hardly said a word, just silently devouring his ice cream while sitting at the bus stop.
"Where are we going?" I asked, half expecting him to make a joke.
"Home," he replied, flatly.
I furrowed my eyebrows.
"Don't you know where you live?" he asked, mockingly.
"I do," I said with a strong sense of foreboding.
"There you go," he said, giving a smug grin that only deepened my unease.
"Don't play with me," I growled, already feeling the weight of a bad idea. "You're not coming to my place, are you?"
Considering where we stood—right next to the bus stop for line fourteen—there was a dangerously high chance of that.
"I'm not kidding," he said, his voice almost annoyingly innocent. "I'm serious, so yeah, I'm going to stay with you from now on."
I stared at him, dumbfounded. "You can't just move in with me," I snapped, my frustration seeping through.
"Why not?" he asked, brow furrowed in that way that meant he wasn't backing down.
I couldn't exactly explain to him that half-dead people were occupying my living room... Where would he even sleep?
"Because," I started, "first, it's not a guesthouse, and second, how could we possibly bear being stuck together all the time?"
He shrugged casually. "I'll just get over the trauma of seeing you every day."
Even though he was trying to joke, I could hear the undertone in his voice—a slight edge to it, like it was a shade higher than usual. Humans wouldn't pick up on it, but monsters have much better hearing. And the only reason someone's tone shifts like that is either fear or embarrassment. And nothing had been remotely embarrassing in the conversation.
"What's really going on?" I asked, shifting to a more serious tone.
Rolo looked up at me, hesitating for a moment before realizing there was no point in lying. He let out a slow breath, clearly wrestling with his words. "I need to disappear for a while."
That was it. The "meaningless truth," as I liked to call it. I couldn't stop him. I tried, really, I did. But when Rolo decided on something, there was no arguing with him. He was annoyingly stubborn.
That's how, despite every attempt to stop it, in about fifty minutes, we found ourselves standing outside the front door. It was Rolo's first time at our place, and it was clear he didn't know what to make of the scene. I let out a long, exasperated sigh—Alex was still busy with a patient when we arrived.
"What is this?" Rolo asked, eyes wide as he took in the sight.
"They're vampire victims," I muttered, trying to keep it simple, then added with a casual shrug, "Let's head upstairs."
Rolo gave a slow nod, following me up to my room. As we reached the top of the stairs, he shot me a questioning look.
"What are you doing?" he asked, still taking in the odd situation.
"Well, Alex picked them up," I replied, offering another shrug. "Rumors have already spread that they're here. Surprised you haven't heard about it."
"But it's dangerous," he snapped, his tone suddenly sharp. "If word gets out that you're treating the wounded, they'll attack."
"They won't," I answered, trying to sound confident. "Besides, that's why you're here, right? Because they won't dare attack me."
Rolo fell silent at that, his eyes flickering with something I couldn't quite place.
"Are they after you, too?" I pushed, the silence stretching between us.
He didn't answer. I sighed, exasperated.
"All right, you can stay for a while," I said, relenting at last.
Rolo nodded, a small but sincere smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Thanks."
It was around midnight when the familiar sounds reached me: the soft patter of footsteps, Alex's brief, labored breath, and the thudding of his heart.
I sat up in bed, casting a glance at Rolo, who was curled up in his sleeping bag. I stifled a yawn and silently slipped out of the room, careful not to wake him.
The door clicked shut behind me, and Rolo's eyes flickered open. He probably didn't understand it. How could he? Why would I let my house turn into some makeshift hospital, allowing strangers in like this?
Why was I helping them? It made no sense, did it? It wasn't like me.
But I saved them because I could... and because there was someone I couldn't.
A sharp scream split the air. Rolo slipped out of his sleeping bag and crept soundlessly into the corridor.
The scream was coming from the boy on the table, the one in worse shape than any of the others. His body was riddled with injuries—deep, brutal wounds. I wasn't sure he'd make it. I tried to keep him still while Alex worked quickly, cleaning the wounds, but the boy—he was a shifter. Not even a hunter. Vampires had gone too far this time.
Blood soaked my hands, the boy's blood. I'd seen plenty of blood in my life. It wasn't the sight that made me uneasy.
It was the metallic smell that hung thick in the air, clinging to everything, choking me.
But then—there was something else. A scent, faint but unmistakable. I turned sharply, meeting Rolo's gaze. He was staring at the boy, fixated, eyes wide.
"Go," I barked, my voice low, pulling him out of his trance. "Go back."
He blinked and obeyed without a word, retreating down the hallway.
The sedatives and painkillers slowly took their toll, dulling the boy's screams until he fell unconscious. We finished the task in silence.
Half an hour later, I quietly opened the door to my room. As expected, Rolo was awake.
He was sitting on the floor, staring blankly ahead. There was no fear in his eyes. No anger, no distress—just emptiness. When he noticed me, he silently crawled back into his sleeping bag, eyes shutting almost immediately. In a few minutes, I could hear him breathing softly, the rhythm of sleep settling over him.
I stood there, watching him, trying to make sense of the change. Had he always been like this? Maybe it was the endless parade of death that had dulled him. People die too easily around us, and after a while, it becomes a habit to watch it happen. We convince ourselves that as long as we're still breathing, we're fine.
I felt the exhaustion creeping in, my body demanding rest. I yawned, reluctantly turning back to the bed. As I lay down, I looked at the quiet, breathing form of the boy on the floor, and then let myself drift off.
And, just like that, the hell on earth followed me into my dreams.
(...)
Imagine the delight of waking up to someone bringing you a steaming cup of cocoa in bed. Well, that was a bit of a stretch. Rolo didn't quite live up to the fantasy. Instead, he just set my new mug—emblazoned with the words Only Mine—down on my bedside table. The sweet scent of cocoa wafted up, pulling me from the comfort of sleep and back into the present.
"Good morning," came Rolo's voice, soft and slightly amused.
"Morning," I muttered groggily, taking a sip of my cocoa.
I could feel Rolo's gaze on me, and when I looked up, he was engrossed in a book, his focus locked on the pages. What was he staring at? Was there something on my face?
Rolo had brought his usual: a bag full of books and a fresh set of clothes. And, of course, he was reading—like always. From behind the half-open door, Ábel peeked in. I sighed heavily.
"Come in."
The moment I said it, his face lit up, and he was at my side in an instant.
"Good morning!"
I nodded in acknowledgment, then wriggled out from under the covers, desperately trying to ignore the dagger-like look Rolo sent me for letting Ábel in.
Ábel settled down beside Rolo, his eyes bright. "What are you doing, little shifter?"
Rolo glared up from his book, his eyes filled with annoyance. "I'm reading, can't you see with your eyes? Don't disturb me!"
Ábel, unperturbed, gave the pages a sad, lingering look, his expression softening. He didn't respond.
It was amazing how Ábel could find such fascination in the simplest things—like the TV or the coffee machine. He would watch in awe as the brownish-black powder transformed into a steaming liquid, as if he had never seen anything like it before.
It often felt like he had come from a different world entirely. He asked a ton of questions, some so simple that I found myself giving long, detailed explanations just to make sure he understood. And when he tried to repay my kindness, he had a gift for turning everything into a disaster.
Take the coffee incident, for example. When I mentioned that I didn't actually like coffee but would kill for a cup after a sleepless night, Ábel, in his earnestness, tried to make me one. He ended up blowing up the coffee machine. Then, after Alex helped him make tea, Ábel somehow managed to trip over his own feet and spill half the pot on me.
When he volunteered to do the dishes, his attempts only resulted in a series of cuts from the knives. Alex had to step in, taking over the dishes and assigning Ábel the task of drying them. But, of course, Ábel couldn't help himself—when he wasn't dropping plates, he was squeezing them too hard while wiping them, shattering a few in the process.
Though his efforts to help often turned into a pain in the neck, I couldn't bring myself to send him away. There was something in Ábel's azure eyes, an innocence that reminded me of Jo, and his gentle smile was uncannily similar to hers.
Somehow, my irritation with him faded faster than I would have expected, and before long, I found myself laughing and sighing at his clumsy nature. Ábel was as curious as a six-year-old and troublesome to boot, but eventually, everyone got used to his presence—except Rolo, who continued to hate him.
It was a Monday morning, just a month before school started, and things were off to a good start. The vampire victims had started to dwindle the week before, and for the last three days, there had been none. Then, I got the news: all the escaped vampires had been executed. Des sent me the latest Kaleidoscope article.
I was relieved. No more waking up to screams and shouting every night. The peace was a welcome change—until it was announced that the wounded had been taken in by the newly celebrated little hero, the mysterious commander of the war.
Soon after, I received a few letters from people who had stayed with us during rehab, thanking me for my help. Some sent money to cover the costs—those were the people I liked—while others sent threats, questioning how a monster like me could ever help hunters. I even received a love letter from a huntress I supposedly saved. It was a mixed bag, to say the least.
"Shay, can you go down to the store and pick up a few things?" Alex asked.
I looked up at him, exhausted.
"Come on, you can't be that lazy," he chided. "You're not that tired, are you?"
"In stillness, the mind finds its best thoughts," I protested, stretching out.
He shot me a pointed look, clearly unimpressed.
"Fine," I sighed, pushing myself up from the chair. "I can probably manage... At most not without human sacrifice."
I wasn't fond of the shop assistant—he always tried to cheat people. And he definitely didn't like me after I gave him an impromptu math lesson and shared my thoughts on scumbags like him. But whatever.