Delaney moved quickly from her bedroom to her study. The former she didn't use very often but kept it to keep up appearances, while the latter she practically lived in.

The walls of her study were lined with articles from newspapers across the country and photos of bars or clubs where people had been abducted from. At first glance, she would appear to be a reporter or a crime analyst—something she had begun versing herself in once she was turned—that was following a case. The part she often left out was that the case she was following was her own, and it wasn't a missing persons.

It had been nearly two years since she had followed that man named Owen out of Club Hades and had her entire life upended.

After that night, she would never forget his name.

Delaney had woken up in a broken down barn in the middle of nowhere and cried, the tears she shed were for everything she would never experience.

He had breezed in, and knelt next to her curled up form, undoing her restraints and watching her. His eyes held none of the warmth they had in the club.

Either he was an incredible actor or she was incredibly foolish to have believed him.

He welcomed her into immortality with a cold

hand and a warm body waiting to be drained. Delaney had refused, but it became harder and harder to ignore the copper scent of fresh blood the longer the day wore on. By ten thirty she had given in and though she tried to stop, it was intoxicating and she cried as she drained the shaking woman in her arms.

Over a month passed and when she had earned his trust, he allowed her to hunt on her own for the first time.

She closed her eyes and tried to block out the thoughts of what she did.

Even now, as she stood staring at the names and faces of Owen and those he usually nested with she could feel her anger coiling into something venomous as it pulsed through her.

She glanced down at her desk, at the framed photo of the missing report that sat there, and she thought of the crying woman. Her face had been so hollow and she didn't resemble the woman in the photo at all. It had only been luck that Delaney had even found her. Carlene Matthews, that had been her name before Owen ruined her life too.

She had known for a long time now, that she had not been the only life Own had ruined. She also knew that she was not the last. That didn't matter, not then and not now. What mattered most to Delaney was that she would be the one to cut his head off and burn his body.

She scoffed and shook her head, moving out of her study and closing the door behind her. She padded barefoot to the kitchen and opened her fridge, a habit she had had when she was still human. Even though the fridge was empty and had been for the last two years she still did it every time her stomach grumbled. Groaning, she remembered what day it was.

Wednesday, feeding day.

Out the window a few of her cows grazed in the tall grass and she wondered if she could wait a while longer. The answering pang in her stomach told her she could not, so she begrudgingly went back down the hall to her closet and slipped into her bleeding clothes.

A pair of dark overalls over a dark shirt—she had found out the hard way that the dark clothes hid the sheer amount of blood involved better—and a long pair of gloves. On her way out the door she grabbed her boots and a wide brimmed hat and shut the door tightly.

Delaney trudged towards the barn and tossed open one of the doors with ease. That will never be less surprising, she mused.

The inside of her barn was neatly organized and kept to a certain level of cleanliness, however there would always be deep red patches from her earlier days beneath the fresh hay that she couldn't get rid of despite her best efforts.

She got to work, readying the items she needed to bleed the cows —not enough to kill them but enough to keep her fed for a week or two— and went to retrieve the first of six.

Martelle always fought her, and that was the same reason she always went first. Her logic was if she could get the troublemaker out of the way, the rest would come easily and so far she hadn't been wrong. Strapping Martelle into her harness and restraints was easier than herding her to the barn in the first place. Once she was leashed, Delaney began hooking up the needles and setting up the several jugs that the tubes would flow into. She stopped to pet her cow lovingly everytime she started to get restless, thanking her for keeping her fed and as happy as she could be given the circumstances.

Martelle let out a sad little noise and tried to shuffle as she slipped the needle into her neck. She could smell her heartbeat increasing and she did her best to calm her. Once, long ago she had tried to give the cows a sedative, something to keep them calm and make the process smoother. It hadn't worked out and as a result all the blood had been tainted and inedible for her.

Another lesson she had learned the hard way.

Half an hour later she was undoing the restraints on Martells legs and checking her pulse, cooing at her and promising to let her rest. Delaney herded her into one of the stalls behind her and closed the heavy wood door softly.

Next on her roster was Figarmo, her friendly brown cow. If Martelle was a firecracker, Figarmo was a gentle breeze. She always came without pause and stood patiently while she strapped her up and drained her.

Delaney wiped her bloodied gloves onto the overalls and walked back into the field, thankful that her hat was keeping the sun off her skin. She wouldn't die, she knew that; however it was hard to explain away the awful sunburn that came with being undead.

She put her hands gently around Figarmo's neck and spoke into her warm skin. She trailed behind her as she cut through the grass and led her into the barn. She slipped the restraints and harness across her wide body and stopped to drink enough of Martelles blood to keep her going through the rest of this process. Feeding days normally took her several hours, between the herding, the draining, and taking the blood into the house to keep it out of the Northern California heat.

The sound of two car doors slamming shut stopped her in the middle of preparing the needles and tubes. She turned her head to listen to the voices that were approaching her house, and found them to be unfamiliar. Deep and hushed, they were trying to keep their presence unexpected. Men, she was nearly certain, but what kind, she thought halfway panicked now. Pressing her hand into the soft side of Figarmo, she undid the leg restraints but kept her in place with the harness and swore under her breath.

The blood in her tubs were halfway full and she didn't want to leave it out here for too long. She thought fleetingly that she should buy a small refrigerator for the barn, but shook the thought free. She dumped the lesser tub into the other and put the lid on it. Deciding she would just tuck it out of the way for the time being and if the encounter took too long she would come back for it somehow.

Delaney took a deep breath and recoiled as she realized—with certainty—that it was two men now knocking on her door.

Again she wondered what they wanted and tiptoed closer to the barn door, trying to peek through one of the holes that was keeping her out of sight.

She needed to meet them head on, before they came looking in her barn. If they made it that far she would have to make sure they knew she wasn't doing anything illegal —though the blood staining her overalls might indicate otherwise. She would tell them half the truth, she was preparing a cow for dinner and leave out that it wasn't the meat she would be eating.

She pushed open the barn door and came face to face with the two men that had so rudely interrupted her. The taller one ran a hand through his shoulder length hair while the shorter one stared at her wide eyed before shooting her a charming smile.

Both of them were wearing neatly cut black suits and they both reached into their inner pockets and produced convincing id badges.

She smiled to stop herself from cursing again, she could spot a fake badge, and knew of those faces. Over their shoulders she could make out the front of an impala.

Delaney knew she had to toe this line carefully because these two could be the ones that brought her world crashing down around her.

Dread spread through her, cool and clammy. She almost wished it had been vamps, she could've at least killed them without any repercussions.

Ignoring the smell of their blood running through their bodies, she dried her hand, stepped out of the barn and closed the door firmly.

Delaney crossed her arms and said, "what can I do for you officers?"