Now

The Jaguar hit him at full force—it certainly didn't help that he'd been running toward it—ramming into his waist and sending him flying through the air before landing smack against the asphalt. As soon as Kevin hit the ground he knew he should get the hell out of the way at the first opportunity. But he foolishly ignored the impulse, instead taking a moment to try to catch his breath, trying to get back the wind that had been knocked out of him by the impact.

Which was a mistake, because before he knew it, the Jag was backing up and then speeding toward him again, and, as the first and then second pair of tires crushed down on his chest and ankles, Kevin could confirm once again that getting hit by a car really fucking hurt.

But being a White Court vampire, a fairly well-fed one at that, meant he could not only take a few hits, but also give more than he ever got.

He sprung up from the ground and, with a running leap, lunged forward as the car raced toward him again, using the hood as a ramp to launching himself. His own momentum, as well as the Jag's, brought him crashing through the windshield in a hailstorm of glass and vinyl fragments. He landed awkwardly, his head bouncing off the steering wheel as he came to sprawl partway across the passenger seat and the rest of the way on top of the driver, his head momentarily resting in the Black Court vampire's lap.

But only for an instant. On instinct, he was already moving away, throwing himself against the passenger side door, which proved wise when the vampire snarled and swiped at him with its ragged talons.

This fight wasn't Kevin's first tangle with the Black Court, and he was well-versed in their weaknesses. By the time the the other vampire was reaching for him a second time, he was already throwing holy water at it, though his aim was off—he targeted the face, but mostly hit the collarbone.

The vampire let out a piercing shriek as its skin hissed and sizzled, its already decaying flesh now bubbling away. And with it distracted, Kevin made his next move.

With the flask of holy water in his hand, Kevin threw himself at the vampire, slamming it against the driver's side door. Before it could recover, he was emptying the flask of onto its knees, and it let out another scream. The car careened wildly as the vampire let go of the wheel to grab at Kevin once more, this time scratching his face with its already bloodied claws.

Undeterred, Kevin managed to yank on the latch and then shove open the driver's side door. Without wasting any time, he pulled back, grabbing the wheel to both keep control of the car as well as anchor himself, and angled his legs so he could kick the vampire with both feet. Once, twice, again—he only struck it in the upper torso the first time, so he focused on the shoulders the second time and hit it there. Then on the third try, one of his boots managed to connect with its neck, knocking it partway from of the car, dangling with its legs inside and upper body outside.

Still keeping one hand on the wheel, Kevin seized the door handle and repeatedly brought back toward the car with as much force as he could, slamming it against the vampire's waist until it was successfully stunned. Then, pushing the door open, he shoved the vampire all the way out of the car and onto the street. Swinging himself into position behind the wheel, he yanked the door closed for a final time, spun the Jag around, and mashed his foot onto the gas pedal. The engine roared, and the car sped forward.

This time he was the one mowing another vampire down with a car.

He ran the car back and forth over it twice and had to stop himself from going for a third. Making sure the vampire was still trapped beneath the front passenger side tire, he exited and walked around the car toward it.

As he drew closer, he analyzed the vampire's form. The Black Court were living dead, humans killed for the explicit purpose of being turned. This particular vampire had previously been a very young woman, either of teenage or college years. As a vampire it was barely out of infancy, its face the blue-gray of a corpse and only slightly sunken, lividity marks still present. It scrabbled desperately at the ground, but with its already wounded legs pinned under the car, combined with the wounded shoulders and throat, it didn't have a chance of escape.

But as the moon emerged from behind the clouds, illuminating the patch of lonely back country road where the vampire lay, Kevin faltered.

"B-Betty?" he gasped out.

Because it looked like her. The moonlight caught the now fading blond hair, and though the empty eyes, a milky white rather than blue, were distracting, it suddenly occurred to him that the features on its face looked very much like hers. Kevin's pulse raced as he realized it could be her, could be his former best friend.

The vampire only snarled, twisting and thrashing to no avail.

A hard knot tightening in his stomach, Kevin reached into the pocket of his combat jacket.

Well.

Even it was Betty—or, he corrected himself, had been—he still had a job to do.

As a final diversion, he emptied the last of his holy water onto that too-familiar face, not watching as its features were seared away. Instead, he withdrew his crucifix dagger from its sheath and, refusing to acknowledge the trembling in his hands, speared it deep into the vampire's defunct heart.

The vampire limply flopped back onto the road, thoroughly dead, and Kevin tried not to wonder if he'd just executed his former best friend.

Making a substantial effort to focus on nothing but fully completing his mission, Kevin started the car and backed up off of the now dead vampire. Then he grabbed the body by the neck, dragged it to the trunk, and tossed it inside.

But before he slammed the lid closed, he checked the vampire's inner arm for the long scar from the injury Betty had given herself back when they were in the second grade. The two of them had been playing with her dad's power tools despite being explicitly forbidden from doing so when she'd accidently hurt herself, needing fifty stitches from Dr. Patel to close the gash.

The scar wasn't there. This vampire hadn't been Betty.

Kevin refused to allow himself a sigh of relief. Instead, trying not to think of anything else, he just shifted to his next task: taking the car to the dropoff point.

Then

Lara began training him in June, shortly after his Hunger first manifested. The Hunger was a time when his heritage became apparent and he needed to feed, needed to satiate the sudden all-consuming lust burning within him. And when he did, he transformed from a regular human being to a full White Court vampire, who sustained themselves on the energy of sex.

Kevin wasn't entirely sure how she found out about him—his father certainly never would have contacted her. Maybe she had known about him all along and was just biding her time. But regardless, at the point she appeared in his life, she was already maneuvering him to her liking.

"You don't bear the usual family resemblance," she observed, the words seeming at once blunt and gentle in her lovely, silken voice.

Kevin's face heated at that comment. Lara was beyond gorgeous, with immaculate alabaster skin, black hair that tumbled down her shoulders in glossy waves, and vivid eyes the grey of gathering stormclouds. She had a face that rendered models on magazine covers ugly by comparison and curves that easily could make each and every one of the women who had ever posed on the swimsuit edition of Sports Illustrated wonder why they had ever thought they could compete.

She didn't merely recognize beauty. She was the absolute pinnacle of beauty, sensuality, and desire, just embodied in human form.

She circled around Kevin with the smoothness of a practiced predator, studying his body and examining all the angles of his face as if he were livestock up for auction.

"However," she continued thoughtfully, "your form is nice enough."

If he bore any resemblance to Lara, it was in build. They were both tall and slim, with long legs and lean but evident muscles. But the way she moved, with an alluring fluidity and effortless grace, careless confidence and casual ownership of the lust she stirred in men and women alike, was something Kevin was sure he could never possess.

"Not to worry," Lara told him with a light, silvery laugh, her tone not precisely comforting, but nonetheless assuring in its certainty. "Once your Hunger fully awakens, you'll be able to bend mortals to your will without even bothering to touch them."

In the meantime, she piled materials onto him for learning different languages in addition to his German classes at school—French, Spanish, and Latin, but his top priority was Ancient Etruscan.

"The official language of the White Court," she informed him. "I'm not introducing you to any of the rest of the family just yet, darling, not as young as you are. After you master your Hunger, we'll see what's in store for you."

Even then, having only just met Lara, Kevin doubted she was the type to "wait and see" rather than plan for every possible scenario so she would be able to manipulate whatever outcome occurred to her full advantage. And later, he would be proven correct.

Once he began regularly feeding, fully embracing his heritage, she had his measurements taken and then sent an entirely new and extensive wardrobe to capitalize on his now enhanced appearance. All of the clothing was designer, and all of it tailored to suit him perfectly, ranging from formal attire to what seemed like clubwear ("Your body is an instrument, a weapon. Never hesitate to use it.").

Unsatisfied with his current extracurriculars (track, cross country, student government, and archery club), Lara assigned him tutors in art, music, and philosophy ("An uncultured life is a wasted one."), presented him with books by renowned authors like Sun Tzu and Machiavelli, and had him begin training in combat and weaponry. Next, she coached him on how to control his Hunger and how to manipulate his glamour, to use to both entice a room at large or turn a single individual into his willing puppet.

It was only when Lara deemed his training sufficient and asked him to run an errand for her which ended in Kevin slaughtering what he would later learn was some slow-witted ghoul that he realized nothing Lara had done for him was out of obligation to family.

It was about making an investment. And, it dawned on him as the ghoul died in front of him, its blood splattered all over a set of the new clothes he'd received, this errand was about testing his worth. She was checking to see if he was worth the continued attention, or if she should move on to better prospects and let him meet his end at the hands of the ghoul.

All of the missions Lara would give to him were tests, either one way or the other.