“This is Salvatore Dante. You know what to do after the beep.”

“H-Hey, Sal, it’s me again. I’m, um, still trying to figure out when you’re coming back, there’s a lot of stuff I still don’t know how to do. And…Pike…he’s, well…he’s uh…no help. At all. S-So, if you could call me back. Soon. Really soon. Please?”

The call ended, and Jesse laid his head against the countertop with a sigh, absentmindedly scrolling through a week’s worth of unanswered calls and texts to his missing boss.

Outside, a storm swallowed the city and darkened the sky more than usual, a telltale sign business would be slow—or slower since no one, but sky-high teens or a fellow third-shift employee needed pizza at three in the morning. So, there was nothing left for Jesse to do but sit around for the remainder of a dreadfully long shift at Salvatore’s All-Night Pizzeria, eating his fourth bag of chips, and occasionally catching glimpses of some show on a TV with no sound and terrible reception.

His life was a shit routine, mundane sequences of events that brought him closer to becoming the exact opposite of what his parents wanted in a son. Home, work, gym—in that order. No goals, no accomplishments, nothing but revenue checks for a basement porno and paying his debt to society by working long hours at a rundown, dirty pizza place owned by a slum-boss, and now managed by a bloodthirsty demon.

At the thought, Jesse flinched and sat upright, glancing around nervously. Behind him, beneath the counter, and peering over at dark shadows under empty booths—all places he might be hiding.

He had no idea if Pike could read his mind or not, but the fear was more than to keep his mind free of any ill-words or distasteful thoughts concerning the man—no, vampire.

He shivered.

Even thinking the word felt sick and unnatural.

If no one believed him, he wouldn’t blame them.

Even in a city as strange as this one, reactions to something like vampires split two ways—the everyday epitome of realism which would look at Jesse like he was crazy or rabid teenage girls hoping to be swept into the arms of some Hollywood hunk. And Pike would enjoy both reactions, each one providing him with an opportunity to bypass the only rule Jesse knew he was bounded by: an invitation.

Unfortunately for him, and the hundreds of people who coughed up the extra two dollar delivery fee, Sal had done just that—invited Pike into the business by hiring him on the spot as an overnight delivery driver for an unpopular restaurant with shit pay.

And Jesse didn’t want to believe Sal hightailed it out of town after discovering the truth about Pike, fleeing with his beloved dog, Liver, in piss-fear he’d be the next victim.

If that was the case, the bastard hid his intentions well.

Sal gave no inclination he was afraid of anything the last time Jesse saw him, and the only thing he seemed serious about was a lecture on the importance of safety and awareness within the porn industry, leaving Jesse feeling mortified that his sex tape found its way into Sal’s hands. And for the love of God, hopefully not in a pile of tissues under his bed.

Jesse woke up the following day to several voicemails Sal had left during the night. Most of them recording nothing but background noise: the TV, Liver whining, and the shifting of fabric, possibly butt-dials or calls he forgot to hang up. One was an apology, a brief and useless explanation for his sudden departure down South. Unsurprisingly, he sounded drunk, trying to mimic a sober voice over the twisted edge of vodka.

And no matter how many times Jesse called back, Sal never answered.

The lights above him flickered, and the entire building shivered under the rumble of thunder. Shadows played around him, dancing across smoke-stained walls and moving like wolves ready for the kill.

Jesse stood straight, trying not to give in to the centipedes crawling up his spine in a tempted shiver.

Pike is close.

Lowering his forehead to the edge of the counter, Jesse looked down and gently rubbed the tightening area in his pants. His heartbeat thrummed in time to the vorspiel of terror and longing inside of him. Two separate feelings stirring the same reaction—the fear of a demon who might tear him apart someday and the perverted hopefulness he’d do that and so much more.

His cock twitched, pleading under a prison of tight athletic pants and weakening Jesse’s knees with vibrations of neediness, tempting sensations just begging to be released behind a ‘Be Back In Fifteen’ sign. But the last thing he’d ever want was to be cornered by Pike in a bathroom barely big enough to turn around in.

Or it was precisely what he wanted.

“Ugh, fuck me.” Jesse sighed, dropping his arms and laying there like a motionless doll in a state of hopeless denial.

The lights flickered again, slowly dulling until there was nothing but the red glow of neon fighting the sudden descend of darkness.

Jesse looked up, and Pike stepped into the restaurant, materializing out the shadows of the doorway as if they’d created him as an embodiment of their desire to be solid and moving and feared.

The wave of terror Pike brought in his arrival rippled across the room, the shadows slivered into a gathering around their vampiric host until they sank into him, becoming one with his true shadow—a starving predator waiting in purgatory at his feet.

The lights returned, and the TV clicked back on with sound.

“What was that about fucking you?” Pike stuck a pinky in his ear, twisting it mockingly as if to ask if he heard right.

“I…didn’t mean it…literally.” Oh, yes, he did.

“Oh, yes, you did.” The vampire snickered, bringing a rise of worry to Jesse, who bit his lip in contemplation, wondering if that was just a coincidence or Pike reading his mind.

Why can’t I fucking tell?

The vampire walked across the room with a confidence no human could ever possess—an awareness of his capability to do what he wanted without the repercussions from man or their God.

Pike was nothing like the movies—not the feel-good ones, at least.

He didn’t try to hold onto what remained of his humanity because he had none, nothing about Pike was human since that would require the ability to have more feelings other than hunger.

And whoever Pike was before remained a mystery—to Jesse and himself.

He had no full memories, just slivers broken off a life lost in a world of blood and eternal night. A song was the most solid clue he went on; one Pike would sing to himself often without knowledge Jesse listened, being incapable of tuning out the guy’s strangely angelic voice.

Jesse glanced down at the bag in Pike’s hand, noticing it behind his delivery-carrier.

Following—or knowing—his shift in attention, Pike grinned, a threateningly pointed one that rose in a slight smirk. “It’s for you.”

“No, thanks.” He said immediately, being it wasn’t the first time Pike brought him things he’d pickpocketed from the dead with the expectation of being praised like a cat bringing little dead things to its owner—and he’d done that many times.

“I didn’t say you could refuse it, bitch,” He almost growled behind those canines and stepped closer to the counter, tossing his carriers aside and reaching into his mystery bag.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’ll be here all night sanitizing and being an accessory after the fact.

Pike dropped several items onto the counter: a hat, a set of keys, a small sketchbook, someone’s High School ring, and a corset.

Slightly relieved and a little less creeped out, Jesse stared at the offerings, picking up the sketchbook and flipping through a collection of watercolor Corgis.

“T-Thanks…” Jesse said, then picking up the corset in a blink of confusion. “Why…did you bring me a corset?”

“Seems like your kind of slutty style,” Pike licked his lips, not out of mischievousness, but hunger. “It’ll fit those big tits of yours real nice.”

Jesse scoffed a noise of slight annoyance and gestured to his chest. “Pecs. I have pecs. You know? From working out?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Pike leaned on the counter, his eyes twinkling dangerously. “You didn’t get pec-fucked in your full-length feature film, beautiful. You got tit-fucked.”

Beautiful? That was a stretch.

Jesse considered himself a five, maybe a five and a half.

His family had good genes and gave him the basics: nice skin, decent features, no weird angles in his teeth, and he worked out religiously to keep himself sane and fit, but he was only a six with a nice angle and a filter. But beautiful? His mom never even called him that, and she probably couldn’t without the passively aggressive tone she gets when she lies.

Pike, on the other hand, was disgustingly sexy, a man who carried himself with the casual arrogance of someone who’d never been denied anything and would more than likely laugh in the faces of those who tried. His features had a gentleness to them, the youthful remains of a once-young man at the start of adulthood: light brown hair that fell against his shoulders unless pulled back into a man-bun or half pony-tail. When his eyes weren’t shaded by gore and hunger, they were the color of fresh tea shining in the summer sunlight, and his smile could stop hearts—literally.

If fate wasn’t already in his favor by blessing him with disturbingly good-looks and a voice that would give anyone wet dreams, Pike was also tall and well-toned; a strong giant with the grace of a creature born to hunt in the silence of night.

“Hey,” Pike said, and Jesse glanced up from a page painted with a Mona Lisa corgi, seeing him holding the corset. “Try it on.”