DISCLAIMER: The places and characters featured hereinafter are the property of Warner Bros., Joel Shumacher, Janice Fischer, James Jeremias, and Jeffrey Boam and no attempt is being made by the author to claim ownership or profit from the use of the aforementioned characters. The views represented herein do not necessarily represent the views of the original authors and any character names or places mentioned in the original works belong to the copyright holders and are used in this story for nonprofit entertainment purposes by an amateur writer. The original characters used in this story are the creative property of Miss Melpomene (parting writing credit goes to my brother) and are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

For my sister, without whom a sequel would never have been possible because I might never have finished the first one without her, and my brother, who practically wrote this one.

"I suppose it's like the ticking crocodile, isn't it? Time is chasing after all of us."

Prologue

The room was lit with the sterile white intensity of an operating room and furnished with the same warmth and expectation of visitors as a morgue, as if the vampires were afraid the mere stereotype of a poorly lit, ornately furnished Dracula lair would attract unwanted attention. The table was round, an unsubtle reminder to those that sat at it that they were all equals, from the only one at the table who actually believed that.

The vampire who sat at what would be the head of the table was understatedly handsome with robust, dark eyebrows. His dark hair, swept neatly back from his forehead, was the same color as pencil graphite and the dark gray suspenders he wore. His lighter colored dress shirt was unbuttoned to the second button, and he wasn't wearing a tie. "You know Max isn't directly responsible for this situation," he said.

The vampire to his left was a woman, of approximately the same age as him, though she carried it better, with an aristocratic nose and egg-white blonde hair styled in a classic chignon. She wore an ivory blouse that was made of a soft, liquidy material like silk or satin, and white, wide leg linen pants, tapping her short burgundy colored acrylic nails on a bourbon glass. The amber liquid was tinted red from the blood she mixed in like soda water. "No," a single piece of hair was carefully pulled out so it framed the left side of her face attractively, and it stayed in place perfectly even when she moved her head. "but his inability to control his progeny has exacerbated it." She tapped the large ring on her index finger on the rim of her glass. "Teenage boys need what Max is either unwilling or incapable of providing." She ran her hand over the soft buzzcut of the 6'7" brick shithouse of a vampire sitting immediately to her right, but not at the table. He could have been fifteen or twenty-five, it was impossible to tell, with eyes that were so brown they were almost black and the neutral expression of someone who was either waiting to kill everyone else in the room or incredibly bored on his face. "A mother's touch."

The twelve-year-old vampire to her left had neatly trimmed light brown hair and dark purple circles like bruises under both of his eyes that made him look like he hadn't slept in a century, which for all anyone knew might have been the case. His chair was pulled up flush with the table so his clavicle was pressed against the edge of it, and he wore a dark blazer and dress shirt, and a sour look. "This has nothing to do with Max and you know it."

"I disagree," the woman said without turning to look at him, still petting the tall, broad-shouldered vampire on her right like he was a dog lying obediently across her feet. "it has everything to do with Max, my dear."

"Santa Carla can't handle a group that size." Sat directly across from her was a late thirties Korean vampire with cheekbones you could dance on, and a black tee shirt that cut into his biceps noticeably, though maybe that was the point. A point which was obviously lost on him, because they were all vampires, and every one of them could break the heavy wooden table with one hand, even the one who looked like a twelve-year old.

"Eight now," the vampire to his right was a pretty sort of plain, with pin straight ash blonde hair and very straight, long nose. She was wearing high-waisted black slacks and a sleeveless white blouse that wasn't nearly as nice of quality as the one the other blonde woman was wearing. Her legs were crossed at the knee and she wasn't touching the table, her right forearm lying on the thigh that was on top, and her left hand resting on her right wrist. "including Max."

"We're getting off track." The vampire with the thick eyebrows said mildly, tapping the side of his hand on the table. Though it was incredibly quiet, even by their standards as vampires, it was as effective as banging a gavel in a library. The only ones who didn't look at him was the vampire who towered over them all even while sitting, and the twelve-year old vampire who was bouncing his leg nervously, staring at the fine grain of the table and shaking his head incessantly.

"And let's not forget," the Korean vampire hit the table pointlessly if it was to get their attention, because they were all already listening. "Patrick was Max's problem first and it's because of him that our coyote is back on the west coast in the first place." Agreement went around the table from everyone but the vampire at the "head" of the table, and the twelve-year old vampire.

"Dutton hasn't been west of Kansas in a decade," the former said gently. "are we even sure it's him?"

The Korean vampire snorted. "Some of us are old enough to remember the last time a single human got this uppity." He glanced sidelong sarcastically at the twelve-year-old vampire. "I'm sure."

The twelve-year-old vampire didn't take the bait. "Speaking as the only one sitting at this table who's actually met the man personally, this isn't just another uppity human we're dealing with."

"Raymond is right." The vampire with the Groucho Marx eyebrows said, wringing his left hand anxiously. "This is bigger than Max." One chair at the table was noticeably empty and he glanced sidelong at it. "Patrick drew attention to all of us."

The woman laughed like someone hitting an empty champagne flute with a fork. "How convenient then that he should be killed by a human before we could deal with him and escape all punishment."

"That's enough, Sadie," the vampire with the thick eyebrows said with a prolonged sigh.

"It's not nearly," Sadie replied. "Simon." She added coyly, taking a slow sip of her blood and bourbon. Even the ice stayed at the bottom of the glass rather than touch her.

"Max is not on trial," Simon said carefully. Despite that, Max's absence was still painfully evident, the empty chair to Simon's right where he should have been sat was pushed in, but it still felt intentional, no matter what Simon said.

"How convenient again," Sadie said mildly.

"Enough," Raymond, the twelve-year-old vampire said with an emphasis on the two halves of the word that made it sound like two separate words. "you're all dead. Dutton's going to kill all of you."

"Why are you even here?" The Korean vampire snapped instantly, like he had been itching to say something ever since the twelve-year old vampire sat down at the table.

"Because I asked Sadie to bring him," Simon said. "because he's the only one who has personal experience with Dutton."

"And how'd that turn out for you, huh, Raymond?" The Korean vampire asked. "You run away instead of just dealing with him?"

"Obviously, because unlike you I actually have a brain in my head," Raymond said mildly.

The Korean vampire stood up and Simon sighed "sit down, Park."

"There is no dealing with him," Raymond said.

"He's just a human," Park replied, grabbing the back of his chair and sitting down heavily.

"Any human can get lucky, darling," Sadie said, stirring her bourbon with her finger and sucking the blood/alcohol tonic off her finger without smudging her lipstick or dripping on her blouse. "look at poor Patrick."

Poor Patrick indeed.

"None of you get it." Raymond said. "and that's why he's going to kill all of you."

"Don't be melodramatic, Raymond dear."

"The Reverend isn't a man," Raymond said, looking directly at Park with a shell-shocked look in his deep-set gray eyes. "he's a storm. He's God's wrath. A pillar of salt. There's no weathering him or hiding from him, there's just getting the hell out of his way." The other vampires stared at him like he just finished telling a ghost story. Raymond's foggy gaze dripped over the edge of the table and landed in his lap. "...our punishment," he said quietly, more to himself than the table.

"He's not the boogeyman." Raymond went on, gripping the table so hard that splinters of wood popped up between his fingers. "He's a dead man. His soul is a shell, but it doesn't matter how much vampire blood he puts in it, he can't fill it. The only reason I've lived this long is that I already know what you dumbasses refuse to accept."

"Which is?" Sadie asked, tapping her ring on her glass again.

Raymond glanced sidelong at her but only for a second. "That fighting him isn't an option." Park scoffed. "Keep braying, jackass," Raymond said. "you'll be the first to go. He's smarter than you and more patient than you. He can't be reasoned with or bribed, and unlike us, he isn't afraid of dying. If he knows we're here, and trust me, thanks to our good friend Patrick, he does, he'll smoke us out eventually. He'll cut the head off the snake," he looked at Simon. "and pick the rest of us off one by one until there's no one left this time. Not even me."

The rest of the table was silent.

"Well," Sadie said, taking a sip of bourbon demurely. "you certainly paint a bleak portrait of our future, Raymond dear."

"No shit," Park said. "I'm not a little kid, Raymond, and your bedtime stories don't scare me."

Raymond refused to look at him. "If you're not scared, you're even dumber than you look."

Park shook his head, tapping his knuckles on the underside of the table as he bounced his knee anxiously.

Simon looked across the table at Raymond, tilting his head to try to get Raymond to look at him. "You're the only one who knows him as a man. You survived, this long, you've lived."

"The one who made me wasn't so lucky," Raymond said. "the only difference is I ran, he didn't. But he always comes back."

Park scoffed again. "So we can't run, we can't hide, we can't fight, according to you," Raymond flipped him off. "what the hell do you expect us to actually do?"

"Most likely?" Raymond asked. "Die." He glanced at Simon, whose thick eyebrows had formed a shelf over his eyes. "We'll all probably die."

Thank you for reading.

A lot of changes in the sequel that are probably already evident to you; there are going to be new POV characters besides Missy, new problems, and some new faces. Also, this time around, I won't be setting a word count minimum for myself. With the Breaking Point, I sometimes found myself writing too much, to the point where it either became filler or I was just too concerned with reaching a specific word count that I wasn't as emotionally invested in what I was writing, which often led to me losing interest for long (understatement of the century) periods of time. Instead of that, I'll just be writing until I feel I've reached the logical closure point and then moving onto the next chapter. Doing it this way, I hope, will keep everything fresher, with less filler, and hopefully get chapters out to you all quicker. I look forward to hearing your thoughts about the new story, the new faces, and what you're all looking forward to most in the sequel. Thanks for reading, and happy Thanksgiving to those of you living in the U.S.