Chapter 4

"You promise?" Gwen asked, her resolve slipping.

"Okay, let's move quickly and get changed so we can get there."

Gwen was worn out from the argument, so she dashed into her bedroom. She shrugged out of her jeans and sweater and put on a long-sleeved white silk shirt, a short black skirt, black leggings, and a pair of knee-high black boots that had cost her a month's pay but were well worth the investment. Her new outfit was complete.

When Gwen came back into the living room, Melissa broke into a smile. "You're going to put an end to that."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Cheer up, girlfriend. It's possible that a shot or two of firewater will bring out the glint in your eye and the bounce in your step.

Gwen gave a sarcastic scowl in response to the reference to firewater. Although she didn't do it very frequently, Melissa couldn't help but bring up Gwen's Lakota ancestry every once in a while when she just couldn't help herself.

Melissa took a step toward the door, then halted and looked back over her shoulder before continuing forward. "Are you going to make it?"

Gwen responded to paleface with an exaggerated tone of despondency, saying, "All right, paleface." "Let's just get it out of the way."

Gwen came to the realization that Melissa was correct as they were climbing into Melissa's red Volkswagen Jetta and driving to the club. It wouldn't hurt for her to get out there and enjoy herself while she still could.

It was Friday night, and The Roan Horse was really turning up the volume. Due to its proximity to a number of smaller settlements, it served as a gathering place for unmarried people, the majority of whom were young Lakota and Cheyenne men. Gwen gave a little shake of her head as she stepped over the barrier. It was too noisy, too crowded, and after taking one look at the people who were already there, she realized that coming here had been a bad decision.

She gave Melissa a light pull on the sleeve. "All right, here we go. I'm all set."

"Are you kidding me? We just got here. We haven't even had a drink yet. Do you think there's a way I could get you to have something a little stronger than a virgin pia colada tonight?

Gwen gave a slight nod in response. Just one martini was all it took for her to become inebriated, but that was all she needed. She wasn't sure if it was the werewolf blood, the Lakota blood, or some combination of the two, but she couldn't stand the taste of alcoholic beverages in any form.

"I'll see if I can get us a table," she said, thinking that what she really needed to find was another companion, someone who enjoyed listening to country music and watching old movies. "I'll see if I can find us a table," she said. Melissa was always interested in the newest trend, despite the fact that it didn't matter what it was.

Ralph was seated at the bar and kept looking around at the people in the room. He was completely befuddled as to why he was even in this building at this hour. Even at The Roan Horse, Friday night was reserved for dating night, which was a terrible time for what he had planned. When two women walked into the club, he was about to give up and head home thinking that it was a hopeless situation. The blonde with the spikes in her hair exuded an air of worldliness that made it seem unlikely that she could be easily charmed. But, the one with the dark hair appeared to be flawless. Innocent. Gullible.

Ralph waited for the blonde to proceed towards the bar before making his move. He strolled passed the person with the dark hair while plastering a jovial smile on his face, and he accidentally bumped against her arm. "Excuse me," he said while smiling casually. "Excuse me."

She responded with a pleasant smile and the words, "No problem." "There's quite a few people in this place right now."

He nodded. "Hello, my name is Ralph August," he said.

"Gwen Zebedee."

"I don't imagine you'd care to dance?"

The blonde who was approaching from behind them with a drink in each hand responded, "Of course she would." "Come on, sweetheart, lighten up and enjoy yourself for a change."

Gwen, the young lady, shot her pal a look, but she still allowed him to take her out onto the dance floor.

He felt that everything was far too simple. After the dance was complete, he questioned her about herself and her family, and then he insisted that she accompany him for a beverage after the event.

Gwen cast a quick glance across at Melissa, who was out on the dance floor and seems unable to separate herself from her partner. That doesn't help at all. She cast a searching glance in his direction. He had brown eyes, short brown hair, and a captivating grin. He was tall and had a good-looking appearance.

"One drink," she agreed as she took a seat at a table that was otherwise empty. After all, what's the worst that might happen? "A virgin piña colada, please."

As Ralph approached the bar, he couldn't help but flash a grin. One drink was all it would take.

After returning to the table, he extended his arm to Gwen and offered her a glass before raising his own. "Raise your glass," he suggested. "To new beginnings."

It was the last thing Gwen remembered before she woke up in hell. She had no idea how she got there.

Hell smelled like pee. Yet despite the fact that Gwen was fully aware that her imagination was gone wild, the air smelled strongly of blood. And the afterlife

She did not even bother to open her eyes. She could fool herself into believing that she was entrapped in a particularly vivid nightmare if she kept them closed. Even though she was aware that she was sleeping on something as hard, cold, and damp as cement, she was able to fool herself into believing that she was resting in her own bed.

She was able to fool herself into thinking that she was alone herself even though she knew that she wasn't.

She peered cautiously out from between her eyelids. And found herself staring at a man with dark gray eyes that burned into hers like scorching coals, skin so pale it was nearly transparent, and shaggy black hair that was so long it almost reached his shoulders.

Gwen shuddered. Perhaps she had actually been transported to hell. Because the creature that was sitting down just opposite of her was either the devil himself in human form. Or a vampire.

In either case, it seemed as if she had already passed away.

As Phil breathed the woman's fragrance, he noticed a twitch in his nostrils. She reeked of perfume and dread, in addition to a substance that he understood on an instinctual level to be some kind of drug, which explained how she had arrived at this location. Yet there was another aroma that was hiding beneath the others that caused him to wrinkle his brow. She had an odor that was... wild.

All else was obliterated by the alluring aroma of her blood, which was accompanied by the rapid beating of her heart. Since his previous murder, it had been more than a month. The proximity of the woman whetted his appetite, and he stretched out for her as his eyes were pulled to the pulsing heartbeat that could be seen in the pit of her throat.

She struggled to go in the opposite direction, but there was nowhere for her to go. He seized her ankle in a move that was too quick for human eyes to follow, and then he began to slowly and inexorably bring her closer to him.

She lashed out at him with her nails, leaving deep, bloody furrows down his arm and across his cheek. Her eyes were wide with terror as she attacked him.

As she struggled, his predatory instincts intensified, and he squeezed her ankle more tightly with his hand.

She became suddenly still, as if she had just realized what had happened.

"There is just no way out for you." His voice was deep, low, and laced with remorse. "I can kill you right now in an instant, or I can drain you little by little over time."

She cautioned, "You won't like the way that I taste at all." "It is a guarantee on my part."

"I'm past caring."

How long have you been in this location? If she could just keep him talking, she might be able to distract him from his intention to kill her.

"How long?" He appeared to be confused. "I can't say for sure."

She reasoned that it couldn't be very long because he didn't have a beard and his hair wasn't particularly long. This meant that it couldn't be very long.

"My beard doesn't grow," he said. "Neither does my hair."

Why shouldn't it? She stared at him for a moment before abruptly remembering that she had only been thinking aloud. "How were you able to read my mind so accurately?"

He tapped his forehead with the tip of his forefinger. “Vampire.”

It was unsettling to think that he could read her thoughts, but before she could give it much thought, he began to gently touch her ankle, stroking his thumb back and forth, back and forth. Before she could give it much thought, he continued to do it. Even though she was wearing leggings, she still felt a thrill go down her spine whenever he touched her. It took a second for her to register that she was missing her boots. What kind of person would steal her boots? And why on earth was she concerned about that when a monstrous creature had a grip on one of her legs?

He tilted his head to the side. "In what year are we living?"

"Two thousand twelve," the speaker said.

The question was, "Has it really only been three years?" He mumbled something. "It appears to be longer."

Despite the fact that he might be a monster, Gwen couldn't help but feel sorry for him as she looked around the jail. There was neither a bed nor a blanket to be found; instead, there was nothing but a stone floor, iron bars, and wet cement walls. On the other side of the bars was where a little table stood, but it was just out of reach. She trembled in response. How was it that he was able to survive being held captive in this location for three years without going insane? Yet, that was not her primary concern at the time. At this very moment, she questioned whether or not she would be alive when the sun rose.