The first thing Jessie felt as she came to was not death. It was not cold claws, dragging her into heaven- or whatever came after. She didn't feel dead, which confused her.
The last, most recent memory she had was relenting into the clutches of a wintry sleep- never to wake again.
She assumed that would be it- she would depart from this world an unfinished student- yet to make even a scratch on the world- with nothing to remember her by but a failed transcript.
The sound of a crackling fire and life pumping through her veins in an intoxicating rhythm said otherwise.
Hesitantly, she opened her eyes- blinking rapidly at the harsh influx of dim light. They must still be sensitive from the absolute blindness all the white reduced her to.
Her vision was slowly restored, adept with more dots in her periphery that she remembered having, and Jessie pieced together her surroundings.
To her absolute bewilderment, it looked like she was in a history museum. Everything around her appeared centuries old, and even though the brocaded couch set in the corner collected a coat of dust- everything seemed to be taken care of.
Like someone was actively living here.
Out of everywhere she had waken up in Albuquerque, this without a doubt topped the cake.
With her arms propping her up, she started to test her range of motion. She sat up with little difficulty, which gave her hope for the future. Perhaps if she was kidnapped by a crazy old man, she could outrun him.
Jessie's fingers sunk into the silkiest fabric she had ever felt- and it was almost like she could hear the crinkle of the dollars.
Surveying what exactly she was resting on, Jessie realized it was a four poster bed- luxurious in nature and carved from dark oak.
Right across from her, a roaring fireplace lit the room with a comforting warmth- a warmth that her body leeched off of- craving any semblance of something above subzero.
Two antique chairs were propped facing the fireplace- both vacant- but one of them had a black coat thrown over the top.
This made Jessie nervous, as it reminded her of her current situation. Alone, in an unknown setting, with no idea of who might have picked her body out of the snow. And more importantly, Why?
Why would someone pick up a half-dead werewolf, possibly feral in nature?
She didn't like to condone all the harmful stereotypes about her kin, but there was no refuting that in mortal danger, werewolves could turn feral. It was more of a 50/50 chance, and depended heavily on a lupine's mental fortitude, but it wasn't a chance most were willing to take.
Hell, even she wouldn't risk going near a wild werewolf.
Realizing she should probably get a bearing instead of just staying and staring aimlessly around the mysterious room, Jessie hesitantly pushed herself off the bed.
She, however, greatly underestimated her bodies ability to recover after such a strenuous experience. Werewolves did have accelerated healing and recovery, that was a proven fact. They needed it, or used to- for survival.
Their natural enemy, the vampire, was way too strong and quick for a lupine to properly handle an attack without some sort of advantage- in human form, anyway.
It's not like werewolves and vampires continued to brawl it out whenever they caught wind of one another- that was in the past.
Back in archaic times, both races often had costly wars- blood split needlessly on both sides. She had a whole unit on just conflicts between the undead and the lupine back in middle school, and considering she was one of the only shifters in her class, it was and understatement to say that was awkward.
So, when she inevitably collapsed because of her legs again- she was surprised that she hadn't healed yet.
What was more shocking though, was a pair of cold hands that suddenly caught her by the middle- suspending her face from coming into contact with the rich velvet carpet.
The scent that filled her nostrils afterwards made every wire in her brain light on fire, and instinct roared at her to get away, attack, get away, not safe!
Heavily tainted with death and decay, the air that surrounded her suddenly became thicker.
She had never actually met a vampire. Her family usually kept her away from them, and rightfully so. Most werewolves and vampires avoided each other- millennia of attacking and butchering will do that to a population.
But she didn't need to be a hunter to know what those cold, claw-like fingers at her stomach belonged to.
A vampire.