The cool night air whipped through the truck's open windows to bring to Connor's nose the scent of a nighttime desert: sand, residual heat, reptilian musk, and sunbaked earth. Stephen was sitting in the passenger seat, observing closely when Connor shifted gears; he didn't know how to drive a stick shift. In the backseat, Nick was lying down, stretched out across Jenny and Abby's laps. He had taken with day-sickness during their week-long venture across the United States, and his sisters were busily coddling their big brother.

Connor glanced in the rearview mirror at three of his children. Nick had his head buried in the folds of Jenny's velvet skirt, whimpering at the vicious headache that accompanied an attack of day-sickness. Jenny gently massaged his temples and cooed softly to him as Abby patted his thigh. Spotting light up ahead, he downshifted and slowed the vehicle slightly. It was a small petrol station, just a small dingy little building meant to provide momentary reprieve to the truck drivers and dogged travelers passing through this remote stretch of desert. There were only two trucks parked in the lot, and another behind the building. Probably three or four people inside.

Abby peered out the window as they rolled to a stop in front of one of the pumps. They still had a good half-tank left, there was no reason to be stopping yet. "Father?" she asked curiously.

"We're stopping for supper," Connor replied. "Wait here." He got out and went into the stop. The station was a cross between the usual petrol station and a greasy spoon diner, and there were three grimy-looking, unshaved truckers sitting in the tall stools at the counter with coffee and plates of premade food, trying to revive themselves for the next leg of the journey. Behind the counter was a lone clerk, an elderly fellow with thinning silver hair. Connor paid for the petrol with cash, naturally, taking care to keep his head bowed, face away from the small, cheap CCTV in the corner, if it even worked. Returning outside, he began filling up the truck whilst speaking quietly through the open window.

"There's four people inside. Three drivers and a clerk. They're all yours. Don't worry about the mess you'll make, it doesn't matter. I'll destroy the CCTV when we're done," he instructed, four pairs of shining eyes on him. He directed his focus to Abby. "Now listen close, little bird, this is important. You must get over the counter and get the clerk first. He may have a gun behind the counter. A bullet shan't kill you, but it will hurt and take a long, painful while to heal, understand?" he instructed; she bobbed her head enthusiastically. "I'll hold the doors from outside."

"Would you like for us to save you one?" Stephen asked.

"No, this is strictly for you, gyerekek, so you may begin learning." There were four people in the small station, and he didn't mind having leftovers, either. The first kill was an important milestone, and they deserved the reward after surviving the journey thus far without incident. Insofar, he'd been keeping them fed on bagged blood he took from a blood drive van, but that was second-rate to having it straight from the source.

They filed in together, looking for all the world like a group of tourists stopping for a top-off, but the moment Connor yanked the doors shut with a solid thunk, they sprang to action. Abby vaulted over the counter, taking the clerk to the ground with a snarling hiss. The clerk's scream, cutting off in a blood-filled gurgling, was enough to startle the other patrons to their feet, only to find the 'tourists' facing them with sharp teeth and shining eyes. One of them managed to scramble to the doors but was met with Connor holding them shut from outside with an iron grip. The human stared up at him with wide, horrified eyes for a split second before Jenny seized the back of his grimy flannel shirt and heaved him backwards.

Connor leant his forehead against the doors and reveled in the sounds of unrestrained slaughter. It'd been years since he indulged in a true and proper free-for-all hunt, and he had almost forgotten how intoxicating the scent of human fear and freshly-spilled blood could be, hearing screams cut off abruptly, the wet sounds of eagerly tearing wisdom teeth in soft flesh. Once he was certain all four were dead, he opened the doors and stepped inside. They were sloppy killers and messy eaters, but that could be corrected with practice. One learnt to walk before running, after all. Stephen approached him with one of the humans' heart in his hands, arms red to the elbow, dripping thick and dark, the way heart blood was supposed to look. "A gift," he said, smiling broadly, wisdom teeth gleaming crimson and ivory.

Shivering with excitement, Connor sank his teeth into the heart. It was all muscle, thick and sinewy, but the taste of rich blood straight from the source was more than enough to make up for it. In London, he'd always taken care not to leave any obvious evidence of a djamphir attack whenever he fed, not wanting to draw the attention of the Order, and it felt damn good to be a proper hunter again, to really let loose.

Licking the last remnants of blood off his fingertips, he picked his way behind the counter where Abby was crouched over the clerk's body, eagerly nuzzling into the gory mess of the man's throat; blood flecked her platinum blond hair. He stepped 'round her and into the back room. He was right. The CCTV wasn't operational and probably hadn't been since 1997, now just there for show. Still, he smashed the equipment beyond hope of recovery just to be certain. Poking his head out of the room, he called, "Make sure to clean yourselves up in the loo and change your clothes before you get back in the truck. Blood's a right bitch to get out of the upholstery. Stephen, come gimme a hand with the safe."

Waste not, want not.


The state of the small truck-stop loo was enough for Jenny to be grateful that as a djamphir, she was now immune to human disease. The stench of raw bleach didn't do much to cover the underlying scents of stale urine and vomit, and she wrinkled her nose distastefully. She picked her way across the dirty floor to the small sink against the wall. She would've liked to keep the blood under her nails and freckling her skin, but that was too obvious, and she'd get it on the inside of the truck, too. She pulled off her soiled clothes and tried to scrub the worst of the bloodstains out in the sink; she was no longer uncomfortable standing naked as she would've been. There was no reason to be uncomfortable.

Jenny was washing the blood off her hands and arms in the sink when the door of the loo swung open. She glanced up into the dirty, spotted mirror and saw Nick standing there, holding a spare set of clothes under an arm and staring at her in a mix of awe, lust, and hunger. The fresh blood and first kill had revived him, pushing out the last vestiges of sickness. She turned around to face him, gripping the edge of the countertop in both hands.

They hadn't the chance to be alone since she first woke up, though he was there when she did, holding her against his chest and stroking her hair. She could remember how much it had hurt, thinking she'd lost him forever. Even now, her heart quivered to think of it. The soft human Jenny had never told Nick how much she cared for him, unable to find her courage. But the new Jenny could. She would never live without this man again, not if she could help it. A great swell of emotion bubbled up in her and threatened to choke her with knotted red thread that she couldn't see, all her sharp, shiny-new being bursting with it. She'd call it love. There was no better word that fit, though in actuality, it was so much more.

She held out both her arms to him, though she was not asking for her clothes. She smelt his desire thick in the air, and then she no longer cared about the stink of the loo or the dirtiness of the floor. He took her against the sink, his jacket hanging about the both of them and her clothes on the counter beside them as she bucked her hips in rhythm with his thrusts. Jenny clutched at his back, keening eagerly in delight, the air rich with the smell of desire and sex. He licked a damp line up her throat then put his teeth to her skin; she bit into him in turn, blood filling her mouth. They stood there for what felt like an eternity, rocking together, each giving and taking in equal measure, an act that was symbolic of their bond, more than just sex and blood, brother and sister and mates, a forging of their own eternity.

Connor, their sire, their blood father, had remade them all so they could be together, and she knew then that it would be forever. They would shag and plunder and kill, and they would all be a family.

Home.


As familiar noises started emanating from the loo, Connor emptied the contents of the safe into a knapsack, humming quietly. He'd already cleaned the register, too, and taken a shiny prize from under the counter: a double-barrel shotgun loaded with packed rock salt instead of birdshot. Stephen and Abby were laughing gleefully as they wrecked the place, smashing knickknacks and tipping shelves. He let them because he knew how much fun it was, and the seemingly random destruction would throw off the coppers, when they found this place.

By the time he finished, Jenny and Nick had joined them, both of them in clean clothes, smelling of sex and each other. "Here, go put these in the boot, could you?" he asked, holding out the knapsack to Jenny and the shotgun to Nick. "You know how to use it?"

"Aye," Nick replied happily. "I used to go rabbit hunting with these."

"Good man." Connor ducked beneath the counter again, found a box of shells, and passed them to the Scotsman. "Take them too, then let's get a move on."

Once Abby and Stephen both changed their clothes and everyone was blood-spatter free, they loaded up the boot with their prizes and were on the road again. Relieved of day-sickness, Nick took over driving, as he was the only other one that knew how to drive stick. Jenny sat in the front with him, her hand resting possessively and seductively on his thigh, tracing the line of his femoral artery with one fingernail.

Connor told them to follow the map and the road signs until they reached Fort Hancock, Texas, which was situated directly on the US/Mexico border and to wake him once they were there. From there, it was just a hop, skip, and jump down through Central America to the great southern wilderness of the rainforests.

Once they were safely away from the truck stop, he returned to the backseat of the truck and laid out across Abby and Stephen's laps, much the way Nick had done earlier with the girls. He'd been driving most of the week and was well-tired. He laid his head in Abby's lap, her fingers playing gently in his hair, and closed his eyes. Stephen was reading a paperback novel he'd found in the stop. Abby was playing with Connor's hair, idly chattering about the various reptilian life in the Brazilian region. In the front, Nick was humming along to a Sex Pistols song on the radio, and Jenny was studying the map, plotting the best way, all of them flush and replete with fresh blood and sex.

Connor smiled.

This was the sodding life.