And in other news, the Vampire & Werewolf Rights movement is quickly gaining momentum. With the reveal of non-human sentient beings eleven months ago, the world has been in an uproar. Here in the United States, the Democratic Party has introduced an amendment to the Constitution recognizing both Werewolves and Vampires as citizens with all rights afforded to humans. They are facing fierce opposition by their Republican counterparts, who claim that —

I grabbed the remote control, changing the channel with a curse. I'd heard far more than I'd ever wanted to hear about vampires and werewolves over the past eleven months, and I wasn't in the mood for more. But it seemed like every time I turned on the news, that's all I saw.

Non-human sentient beings. What bullshit.

Vampires and werewolves were non-human sentient monsters, as far as I was concerned. The fact that I, a Democrat, was agreeing with the Republican party for the first time in my life was only a few steps down on my mental what-the-hell-is-happening list.

I took a swig of my whiskey with melted ice, grimacing at the burn and the taste. Usually, I wasn't one for the harder liquors, as I liked to keep a solid head on my shoulders, but since I couldn't hunt any longer, I saw no reason not to get good and drunk.

It was, after all, the anniversary of my parent's deaths.

Their murders.

Whiskey had been my dad's drink of choice. Ever since I turned twenty-one, I drank it every year on the anniversary of that night. A kind of memorial.

My parent's deaths were officially an accident. A crossed wire in the electric stove, if my memory served correctly. Never mind that they had both been drained of blood. In 2012, everyone believed that vampires were just a myth, and no one had an explanation for their exsanguination. It was a medical mystery, one that didn't get much attention in the small Midwestern town we lived in.

I thought I was going crazy, because I had seen the vampires who did it, lurking outside the burning house when I returned home. Pale, their eyes and fangs glinting in the light of the fire.

But no one believed a traumatize twelve-year-old girl who claimed she saw something that obviously couldn't exist.

I might never have recovered from that trauma if it wasn't for Uncle Joshua. When I tearfully told him what I saw, he believed me.

"Those bastards got to us after all," is all he said. I had never been more relieved — or more terrified. Yes, I wasn't going crazy or hallucinating. But vampires were real, and they had killed my mom and dad.

That would scare even the bravest teenager.

I told my uncle, who had been awarded custody, that I wanted to learn more. He only grinned and wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

"Kid," he said. "I'll teach you everything."

And he did. After school, I would get lessons on fighting, on marksmanship, on how to take a vampire down with a stake and a werewolf down with silver. By the time I graduated from high school, I was pretty lethal.

But hunting vampires and weres isn't exactly a lucrative job. As I had little interest in college at that point, I needed to find some way to make money that left me with free time and the ability to move around as I pleased. Fortunately, we live in the age of the internet, and I was able to work out some gigs to keep food on the table. I had always been good in art class at school, enjoyed it even, so graphic design it was. I had a portfolio already, and that's all you really need.

Yeah, I guess it's kind of odd. An artist/vampire hunter. But it worked for me.

I moved out of Uncle Josh's place when I was twenty, and moved into the city. I've been here ever since, taking care of Chicago's vampire problem. You don't get as many werewolves in the city, and I had left them to other hunters.

Uncle Josh died last year. I'm almost glad. He didn't live to see the travesty that was the Vampire & Werewolf Rights movement.

As if they were human. As if they deserved rights, when they couldn't even exist without biting and killing innocent people. It was outrageous, how people were comparing it to the Civil Rights movement. Offensive, even.

I drained my whiskey, slamming the glass down on the table next to my worn-out couch. It had come with the apartment, and it was threadbare but comfortable, which was all I cared about. The apartment itself was small, the heater was broken half the time, the landlord was an ass, and my neighbors were annoying.

Home sweet home.

It was about all I could afford. Good at my day job or not, there was a ridiculous amount of competition, and getting a gig was difficult lately. Especially with how distracted I was. I did inherit something from my parents when I turned eighteen, and something from Uncle Josh as well, so at least I had enough to live on during these dry spells.

Not that I wasn't grateful for the money, but I would rather have my family in my life.

I grabbed the bottle of Jack and kicked my legs up on the coffee table, intending to get well and truly drunk. I was in between jobs of both sorts, and thus free to do as I pleased.

Forgoing my glass, I raised the bottle.

"To you guys," I said, voice filled with melancholy. "Mom, Dad, and Uncle Josh. May you rest in a better place."

As I brought the bottle to my lips, I paused, frowning. There was a noise, something that didn't sound like the neighbor's usual racket, and it immediately got me nervous.

Is it really paranoia when you hunt creatures like vampires and werewolves for a living?

I set the bottle down, slowly rising to my feet. It had sounded like a window opening.

But that should be impossible. I was three floors up, and my windows were locked. And as far as I was aware, the idea that vampires could fly was the product of fantasy.

Still, my heart was pounding away in my chest, as if my body knew something that my mind refused to process.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Slowly, casually, as if nothing was wrong, I headed into my bedroom where I kept my weapons stash. Nothing illegal, I made sure of it just in case, but lethal all the same.

If I was right — and god, I hoped I wasn't — I would need it.

Before I could take more than a few steps, however, I heard it.

Footsteps.

In my apartment.

Breaking the pretense of calm, I broke into a run, desperate to grab a weapon before whoever or whatever it was got to me. I barely wrapped my hand around the baseball bat I kept next to my couch when I felt a hand grab my wrist.

I lifted the bat, turned, and swung. It collided with a satisfying sound, and the hand that had touched me let go as whatever was attached to it cursed. I managed to get a proper grip on the bat as I turned, and paled.

There were five people in the room, five people who had somehow sneaked into my apartment without me noticing. But wondering how would have to wait. Here I was, armed only with a wooden baseball bat, one against five.

I knew I was fucked. I might be skilled, but numbers will win out every time. Especially if they're non-human.

Vampires and werewolves are stronger and faster than humans — especially at night. They had their weaknesses, and I knew them all, but my silver blades and wooden stakes were outside of my reach.

At least it wasn't the full moon.

I tightened my grip on the bat, disguising the trembling of my hands. The five figures were silent, wary, and terrifying. Even if they were plain old humans, I doubted I would get out of this without at least some injury. My gun was in my bedroom, so there was no help in that quarter, and my neighbors were useless. I doubted the police could get her in time, anyway.

One of them took a step forward, and I could see the sharp claws on his fingers. A werewolf, then, half-transformed. It was part of a pack, no doubt, though why they had come after me, and more importantly, how they had found me, was still a question.

I refused to back down.

"What do you want?" I asked, more to stall than out of any real desire for an answer. They had broken into my home — there could be no good reason for that.

The clouds shifted, and the half-moon shone into the apartment. It was apparently all the prompting my assailants needed to attack, and the first darted forward.

With my full, no inconsiderable strength, I brought the bat down on his head. Cursing, he stumbled backward, and the second emerged to take its place.

My teeth bared like I was one of them, I got the next one in the knee and the one after that in the stomach. If I had to guess, I would say they were testing me — but why?

What did they want with me, if they didn't want to kill me?

As the third backed up, arms over his stomach as if to protect himself from another blow, I saw them regroup, and the expression on their faces was mocking.

They weren't testing me. They were teasing me, like a cat with a mouse.

That was about when I realized I wasn't going to get out of this alive. But that didn't mean I was going to die without a fight. At least one of them was coming with me to hell.

And I wasn't going to cower in the corner like a child, either.

Gritting my teeth and adjusting my grip on the bat, I assessed my situation. The living room was sparse except for my stacks of books, and they didn't make great weapons. If they had gotten to me in my bedroom, it might have been a different situation. As it was, I had little to work with. They were between me and the door. I could go for the window out onto the balcony, but I was three floors up. No way I could jump that far.

There was only one thing for me to do.

Attack.

Without letting myself think too much about my next move, however stupid and suicidal it was, I charged forward, intending to at least make them respect me before I died.

I got three hits in before one of them grabbed me from behind, and another wrestled my bat from my fingers.

Pathetic... I couldn't help feel disappointed in myself. All my training, and I was taken down like a green hunter on their first trip.

Struggling in the grasp of two of them, each one holding an arm behind my back, I swore and spat at them, anything to unsettle my soon-to-be killers. I wasn't going to make this easy.

One of them approached me, there on second and in my face the next, and I realized with dread that he was a vampire.

Werewolves and vampires working together? To take little old me down?

I ought to have been flattered. Instead, I was terrified.

One of them held my head still by my hair, and the vampire approached, fangs bared. Was he going to drain me?

Turn me?

Or worse?

He placed his ice-cold hand on my cheek, a parody of a sweet gesture.

"Vanessa Preston," he said, his low voice menacing. "We've been waiting for this moment for a long time."

"What do you want?" I asked. His words unsettled me. I did my best to hide my identity when I was hunting, mostly by leaving no survivors, but it couldn't be that difficult to find me if you really wanted to.

Why was I so special?

He chuckled.

"Why, you don't even know, do you?" he asked. "You've been slaughtering us and you don't even know why."

"Because filth like you killed my family!" I spat. "Because you threaten humans everywhere, no matter what kind of innocent face you put on. If you're going to kill me, get it over with. I'd rather die than look at your ugly face one second longer."

My words were meant to provoke, though I don't know how well I did that. I was aiming for a relatively painless death, rather than the drawn-out torture I knew that vampires were capable of inflicting.

The vampire laughed, low and menacing, but before he could tell me what they wanted with me — or kill me — another one of them spoke up.

"Wait."

The vampire jerked his hand back with a growl, and I realized that one of the others had pulled him away from me. I frowned to hid a smile. There was dissent in the ranks, it seemed, something that could only be to my advantage.

Perhaps I had a chance to get out of this alive, after all.

The vampire bared his fangs.

"You might be the alpha of your own little pack, wolf, but here you are under my authority. Don't forget that. Now," he said, turning back to me. "You have slaughtered the last of our kind, human."

"I said, wait."

The man who approached could only be a werewolf, with amber eyes, sharp white teeth, and vicious claws. He might even be handsome if he weren't so monstrous. I doubted he was any better than the vampire who threatened me, and if he wanted me alive, it could be for no good reason. Still, I could use the time he gave me.

Almost casually, he shoved the vampire away, showcasing his unnatural strength.

"You won't touch her again," he growled. "She's mine."

This was an opportunity for me. I stomped on the foot of one of the creatures holding me, elbowing the other in the gut. It wasn't enough to hurt them, but it was enough to loosen their hold, which was all I needed. I bolted for freedom, and for a moment, I thought I had it — or at least a chance to reach a decent weapon, to hold my own — but it was no use.

The werewolf who had come forward, who had laughably claimed me as his own, caught me before I could take three steps.

"I don't think so, little human," he said, a low growl in his throat. He pushed me back against the wall, easily overcoming my struggles with his wolf-like strength, holding both of my arms above my head, wrists entrapped in one hand.

His other hand came around to wrap almost gently around my neck, and he tilted my head back, exposing my throat. I didn't know what he was going to do — slit my throat? Bite me?

Instead, he leaned forward, pressing his lips and nose to my pale skin, and inhaled deeply.

"What the hell!?" I shouted, struggling uselessly against him. "Get off me!"

But instead of being offended or angry at my words, the werewolf only laughed. It was a low, amused sound, and it pissed me off all over again.

"You don't even know, do you?" he asked, leaning back enough to look me in the eye. "You have no idea who you are?"

"I know exactly who I am," I spat. "Better than filth like you."

He shook his head, and as he moved, I realized that his body was pressed against mine — and that his body was impressively muscular. I shoved that thought aside. This was no time to appreciate his physique, except for how it would make escape even more difficult.

"You think so?" he asked, a glimmer in his eyes that told me there was more than he was telling me. Pulling back slightly, he spoke to the others.

"Change of plans!" he said, his voice full of unquestionable authority. "We're taking her with us."

"That's not your decision, Holt," the vampire who seemed to be in charge said. "We came here with a purpose —"

"We came to eliminate a threat," the wolf, Holt, said calmly. "And she'll be no threat if we take her with us."

"What gives you the right?"

"This human is mine. My mate."