The first thing I noticed when I opened my eyes was that nobody had died overnight. Considering how the previous evening had gone, that felt like a victory.
Morning sunlight spilled through the living room windows, stretching across sleeping bags, blankets, and the collection of limbs that made up the Lawrence family. Billie had somehow migrated halfway onto Bianca’s sleeping bag. CJ was sprawled flat on his back with his mouth hanging open.
Conrad was still asleep in the recliner. He looked painfully fragile in the bright morning light, his breathing shallow and his brow slightly furrowed even in unconsciousness. It was the physical toll of the brutal hours we had spent in the local emergency room finally catching up to him.
Getting him into the car last night had been a masterclass in human stubbornness, but the diagnostic scans hadn’t lied. Conrad had severe chest wall contusions, a mild concussion, and an agonized intercostal muscle strain that the doctor promised would mimic the pain of broken ribs for at least a week. All of this was in addition to severe bruising and a deep gash on his leg that needed several stitches. We still hadn’t figured out where the gash came from, but it made sense that his entire body looked like he’d been dragged behind a truck on the interstate.
The real trouble, however, hadn’t been the skeletal damage. It had been the stark, purple discoloration blooming around his windpipe. The attending physician, a sharp-eyed woman who looked like she tolerated zero nonsense, had stared hard at the bruising, lowered her clipboard, and asked point-blank if we needed to call the police.
For a terrifying second, I’d braced myself to use a heavy thread of glamour to rewrite the woman’s memory entirely. But Conrad, despite a brain currently rattling inside his skull, had thought remarkably fast on his feet. He’d wheezed out a story about an unexpected altercation with a distant, estranged cousin—a volatile man who had already hopped into his truck and driven back across state lines. The doctor’s expression had practically screamed skepticism, her gaze darting between Conrad’s fractured state and my own severe, black-clad posture, but with a cooperative patient refusing to press charges, she’d let it drop.
She had discharged him with a strict laundry list of directives: physical rest, ice packs every twenty minutes, and a total cognitive rest—which meant no laptops, no spreadsheets, and no corporate crises for at least a week.
I watched the slow, careful rise and fall of his chest. The hospital had relied on standard ice packs and a prescription for pain management, but they didn’t know the full extent of the care Conrad was about to receive. Between the specialized healing salves on my apothecary shelves and a fierce protectiveness I was entirely tired of trying to fight, I fully intended to nurse him back to health myself.
I sat up carefully on the couch. Every muscle in my body ached. The fight with Bogdan had left me battered, though I was healing. Slowly, but faster than I would have had I been human. My ribs no longer felt like they were trying to separate themselves from the rest of me, which I considered progress.
For a while, I simply watched them. The room looked ridiculous. Blankets everywhere. Pillows on the floor. One abandoned stuffed giraffe near the television. A half-finished bowl of popcorn sitting on the coffee table. The aftermath of what had essentially become the world’s strangest slumber party.
Conrad stirred. His eyes opened, and I had a fleeting terror that he’d decide the previous day had been the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. I assumed everything—learning I was a vampire, fighting an ancient monster in his living room, and nearly getting his entire family killed—had crossed some invisible line.
Instead, he looked at me and smiled.
Just smiled.
“Morning.”
My muscles relaxed. “Good morning.”
He stretched carefully and winced. “Everything hurts.”
“Well, you did get thrown into the wall.”
“I feel like that should’ve hurt more yesterday.”
“Adrenaline.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
I almost laughed at the simplicity of it. The world had almost ended. Coffee remained important. Apparently, some things were universal.
We managed to slip into the kitchen without waking the kids. Conrad started the coffee maker while I pulled ingredients from the refrigerator. We worked side by side, even though I could see movement was painful for him. Other than the broken ribs, it felt strangely normal.
Eventually, Conrad leaned against the counter. “How are they?”
I knew he wasn’t talking about pancakes. I glanced toward the living room. “They seem okay, considering.”
“Seemokay andareokay aren’t necessarily the same thing.”
“No.”
He sighed. “I don’t know how to help them process something like this.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I’d say most parents don’t have a guidebook for vampire attacks.”
“That’s disappointing. Someone should publish a guide. They’d make a killing.”
