Chasing Daybreak

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I cussed under my breath as the ropes binding my wrists tore at my raw flesh. The closet was dark, except for the flickering light beneath the door. Rancid-smelling smoke assaulted my nose and singed my throat, which was already raw from screaming. I bucked wildly against my restraints, fighting against the panic trying to seep into my brain.

Shane lay across from me in a crumpled heap, still unconscious from the dart full of animal tranquilizers the arsonist had hit him with. I had to admit, I was impressed. It took skill and planning to take down a vampire, even a newbie like Shane. As he slumped in the corner with his thin face slack, I watched his eyes moving restlessly behind their lids and wondered if he was dreaming. Could the dead dream? And if so, what did they dream about?

I didn’t have to see his eyes to remember their exact shade of blue; I didn’t have to hear him talk to remember the exact timbre of his voice. These things were burned into my mind, scars written across my heart that would never fade. As I grew old and time stole away all my other memories, those would remain. Seeing him lying there, looking so completely helpless, only fueled my slowly rising panic.

Despite my yelling and kicking, he lay useless in the corner of the closet as the house blazed around us. I sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic pulse of my heart. It was beating so loudly that it drowned out all other sound.

It was my second mistake of the day.

Immediately, I coughed and gagged, places deep in my stomach clenching against the scorching hot air. The Victorian house was burning, hot and fast like dry tinder.

We’d been hired by one seriously ticked-off landlord to investigate the mysterious infernos that had left the fire investigator scratching his head. He’d been stumped by both the intensity and apparent lack of accelerant. We discovered quickly—well, in fairness, Shane had discovered quickly—the source of the problem. The arsonist was using the one thing that would burn faster and hotter than gas, kerosene, or propane. Vampire blood. You didn’t even need a match, just a little direct sunlight and… whoosh. Instant firebomb.

Not exactly an easy thing to get your hands on, vampire blood. The daylight-challenged folks tended to eat people who poked at them with sharp things—go figure. We’d narrowed it down to the handful of workers in the hospital’s blood bank—the ones who had direct access to the vampire donors—and the rest was easy.  

Well, maybe not exactly easy.

 Recently divorced and fired from his job at the hospital weeks prior for tampering with the donations, Billy Young might as well have had a bull’s eye painted on his forehead. Depressed, angry, and abused as a child, Young had decided to re-visit his own misery on the foster homes he’d lived in as a child. Once we were able to connect him to the houses, everything fell into place.

I never thought he’d be here today, never imagined we’d catch him in the act. And I sure as hell never figured he could take on Shane.

That was my first mistake.

Now I was trapped in a closet in a burning house with a living corpse and my hands tied behind my back.

Great. Just another relaxing Sunday afternoon.

Yet, ironically, it still wasn’t the worst day of my life. Hell, it wasn’t my worst day this month.

I wedged my back against the wall and kicked out with my legs. The door held fast. Stupid early Colonial construction. These houses were built like Sherman tanks.

“Shane Brooks, you wake up, you stupid, useless, unreliable vampire!” I tried to scream, but it came out in a strangled whisper. Smoke burned my eyes and tears streamed down my face from the acrid air.