dysthanasia-series

[dysthanasia-series]

Character Intro: Kinslayer

Age: Younger than dirt but older than most calendar systems

Birthday: N/A (see above)

Pronouns: In no particular order, she/he/they

Affiliation: The Dark Dreamers

Strengths: Experienced, insightful, dogged

Weaknesses: Wrathful, infamous, burdened by a terrible fate

There's a name that all Coven agents dread to hear. A monster that other monsters check under their beds for: Kinslayer. The world's only class one psychic vampire is mentioned in fearful whispers, if anyone dares to speak of them at all. Few beings have the nerve, power, and experience to stand alone against them.

Yet this terror of the supernatural world is on the contact list of one Renato Faria Dimas, bloodborn. When his mission at the Broken Coast goes awry, Kinslayer shows up, at his request, to lend a hand--for a price, but who even knew they had services for sale? Perhaps it's less a price and more a bond over whatever happened the night one of the Unseen Hand's members was murdered.

Or, more likely, Kinslayer has their own agenda at the coast, just like everyone else these days. Whether Renato (or the human researcher he's dragged into the whole mess, for that matter) are cogs in their plans remains to be seen.

Story Intro

Patreon | Ao3

Dysthanasia Supplementals Taglist (Sign up or ask to be +/-): @thecyrulik @thatndginger @space-writes @scoundrelwithboba

Other Character Intros:

Isaac

Renato

Elfy

Dorian

#dysthanasia #urban fantasy #writeblr #character intro #character moodboard #character profile

[dysthanasia-series]

Unseen Hand Faction: Bleeding Hearts

Content Advisory: Torture, hand/wrist mutilation

Re: Prototype #1

Notes: My hypothesis was correct (surprise). Making the shackles themselves out of wood is a no-go, even if it’s hickory. They cracked and splintered halfway through the session when “Joseph” really began twisting. Came right off the metal chains. Still did a fair amount of damage, though. Burned through the wrist until the bones were visible. Subject is

Tristan pauses, lifting the stylus from their writing tab. They gaze down at the skinny bloodborn curled into a fetal ball on their workroom floor. Broken sobs almost but not quite line up with the beat of the music streaming through their earbuds.

“Hey.” They give the bloodborn a light kick to the back to get its attention. “Can you move your fingers or hands at all? Show me.”

The pitch and frequency of the sobs spikes, the pitiful form huddling up tighter. Tristan’s next kick isn’t so gentle, striking right along the ridge of the spine. The resulting yelp isn’t unlike a small dog’s, though not quite as squeaky on the exhale.

“The faster you cooperate, the faster you get fed and healed up.” Tristan doesn't mention there’ll be another test run as soon as Joe is in one piece again. After a few sessions, it would get the big picture.

A warble of hysteria enters the crying. Tristan’s lips tighten as they start to reach down. But then, so, so slowly, shaking the whole way, one arm raises into view. The hand lolls at a wince-worthy angle on the charred wrist joint. Its fingers are curled inward and twitch, like the legs of a dying spider. Tristan’s mouth relaxes into a smile as they turn back to their tab.

Subject is not able to move or grasp yet.

This run isn’t a total loss. Might be worth it to see if thicker shackles could melt through the ulna and radius. Or maybe just enough of the connective tissue for the whole hand to pop off? Would cauterizing the stump with sun-charged wood make regeneration impossible? So many possibilities to explore still.

Damn. Should’ve apprenticed myself to a carpenter in one of my previous lifetimes.

Dysthanasia Supplementals Taglist (Sign up or ask to be +/-): @thecyrulik @thatndginger @space-writes @scoundrelwithboba

Full snippet here

#dysthanasia #writeblr #worldbuilding wednesday #world building wednesday #tw torture #be grateful Tristan is no longer with us #and that no one has been able to fill their quirky rainbow-laced sneakers yet either #though there are definitely hopeful applicants for the job

[dysthanasia-series]

Unseen Hand Faction: The Skeleton Crew

[Scrawled in black ink on a blood-spattered sticky note you find clutched in your hand upon regaining consciousness]:

Get up and get outside. Yes, RIGHT NOW. Unless you're dead serious—haha—about your life being over, you DON'T want them to catch you, okay?

[Another series of notes is stuck to the pole of the street lamp sullenly buzzing and flickering overhead]:

Still alive? Good job. :D

We know walking around will give you a headache, but that's what you get for being made of meat. And for filling that meat with all sorts of organic and chemical compounds. Anyway, you're going to need to get to the bus station.

[Another note is waiting for you on the front door of said station]:

Look at the lockers. You'll know which one to open when you see it.

[You do, much to your unease. Inside, you find a small travel bag with some toiletries, a handgun, ammo, and a one way ticket to a town you've never heard of. Of course there's a note inside the locker door]:

We'd wish you luck, but...well...you wouldn't be here if you were the lucky sort, now would you? We'll be in touch. Bon voyage!

--Love,

Ceph aka your new boss :)

Dysthanasia Supplementals Taglist (Sign up or ask to be +/-): @thecyrulik @space-writes @thatndginger @scoundrelwithboba

#dysthanasia #urban fantasy #writeblr #world building wednesday #the best of the worst in our humble opinion

[dysthanasia-series]

Strange: one of them suggests or introduces a new kink?

For whichever pair/group would have the most interesting answer?

From this ask game

Thought this was a good chance to see where Isaac's curiosity leads him sometimes.

Content Advisory: Sex/fantasy discussion, mind reading, sleep paralysis discussion, Catholicism and demon references, mentions of biting and bruising, suggestive touching, fade-to-black type ending

“Your thoughts are awful loud right now, bookworm. Penny for ‘em?”

Given how considerate Kinslayer usually was about not eavesdropping on his brain—or at least not bringing attention to the fact when they were—he really had to be projecting. Isaac shifted against the motel bed’s padded headboard, but the deposits of tension between his shoulder blades didn’t soften.

“If they’re that loud, don’t you already know?”

With his side nestled next to theirs, he caught the inhale of what would’ve been a sigh if it hadn’t been cut short halfway through. “Telepathy don’t work the same as opening your tab and reading a message. More like Frankensteining one together from an abstract art exhibit, snippets of diary entries, and heavily redacted psychiatric notes.”

“Oh. Well, sorry. I didn’t mean to distract you.”

“Bookworm…”

He could feel the weight of their gaze, like a cold hand pressed to his cheek. “Really. It’s not—”

“Isaac.” The stream on the holo he hadn’t paid attention to for the past thirty minutes suffered a sudden flickering fit and defaulted to an offline display image of a pristine seaside landscape.

He refused to look over and fall into the oblivion of their stare. “I…It’s embarrassing, okay? And maybe too personal. To ask you, I mean.”

Slowly, so he had time to protest or resist, Kinslayer pulled him over into their lap. Their longer legs penned his in on either side. The forearms pinning him to their chest could’ve been sculpted from wood, hard and smooth and unyielding.

“Look, I’m not trying to bully you into sharing. Don’t assume I won’t want to hear what you have to say, though. Especially when you’re not even the telepath here.”

Their voice flowed directly into his ear and trickled down through his ribs to pool, warm and heavy, in his belly. Isaac gulped and swallowed a repeat apology.

“I wouldn’t mind, er, sharing. I just, uh. Don’t know if I’d be prying.”

A low, quiet laugh made the puddle in his middle simmer. “Worried about hurting my delicate feelings, bookworm?”

“Something like that.” He knew they’d mentioned not being able to experience certain emotions anymore, but that didn’t make it fine for him to throw away all consideration.

“Well, the best way to find out for sure is to have a chat about it.”

They let him weigh his options in peace. It wouldn’t have been so bad, just falling asleep cradled against them like that. Assuming he could ignore the breath tickling his neck. Or the specter of his own cowardice hovering over him the entire time.

“It’s about your powers,” he said. “The sleep paralysis ones.”

“Do tell.”

“How do they…well, work, I guess?”

“Holy hell, bookworm. I know you love your job, but are you asking me for a lecture with slides?”

He slapped his hands over his face. “No! No. I mean, like, is it tied exclusively to you feeding? Can you use it whenever you want, or are there special conditions?”

“As long as I’m concentrating and there aren’t any particular wards keeping me out of a space, I can pop in and spook someone, sure. Can’t be driving or operating heavy machinery while my consciousness is astrally engaged elsewhere, of course. I don’t have to feed when I got someone on the hook, but you can bet on me wanting to. That satisfy your nerdy urges?”

Isaac picked at an emerging tear in the thigh of his jeans. “I’m not asking for research purposes.”

“Go on…”

“What I’m trying to get at is…would it bother you? To use your abilities in a way you normally wouldn’t?”

“Like how? Spit it out.”

His voice shrank with each word, but he didn’t stop until he’d said them all. “Like using them on me. Hypothetically. For, um…fun.”

He could practically hear the cold sweat welling up from his pores in the following silence. Nerve breaking, Isaac moved to twist around and get a look at their face, but Kinslayer stopped him by tightening their grip.

“Isaac.” A rumbling thread of a growl tickled his ear and added a rash of goosebumps under the clammy sweat. “Are you asking me to pin you to the mattress and have my wicked way with you?”

His mind suddenly had a lot in common with the holo’s standby screen. “I’m saying I want to discuss the possibility.” He gulped. “Can you…I mean…is that even something you can do when you’re, um, all shadowy?”

Their hands slid over the thin cotton of his shirt, tracing the gentle ripples of his ribs and coming to rest around his hips. “You’ve heard of incubi and succubi, haven’t you?”

His stomach flipped like a flapjack. “The sexy type of demons? Are those real?”

“Never met one, though I’ve been known to haunt the halls of monasteries and convents, breaking celibacy streaks once in a blue moon myself.” The tips of their fingers dipped just below his waistband, stroking his bare skin and further eroding his cognitive ability.

He clung to the lifeline of professional inquiry. “Is that where the stories come from? Psychic vampires putting the fear of eternal damnation into frustrated clergy?”

“Scaring them wasn’t the point. It was finding the ones who were conflicted. Or curious.”

“To devour their souls?”

“To get off. Not everyone is ready to leap into my metaphorical maw, bookworm.”

Well, he’d already survived that once, in any case. It had to be less harrowing when negotiated beforehand. And maybe with a safe word handy. “So…how would a scenario like that work?”

“You tell me. I can sense your excitement and anxiety, and catch a peepshow of ideas if I dip into that adorable head of yours. But that’s not the same as you telling me what you want.”

“An incubus who asks for consent?”

“The devil can’t take what isn’t freely given. Now, quit trying to weasel out of confessing and help me corrupt you.” Their nails dug into the soft flesh of his abdomen, just this side of painful.

“Okay, okay! I mean, what can you do, physically, in your shadow form?”

“Anything I can do with this one, and more besides. I can even shapeshift for a spell.”

“Can you shrink?”

“Sure. You want me to look the way I do now?”

Isaac opened his mouth. Slowly shut it again. “No…no. I like your other form the way it is.”

Kinslayer’s fingers delved a little deeper, caressing the contours of his pelvic bones. “Is that right?”

“Yeah. It’s just that when you’re all shadowy there might be, er, some coordination issues. With size.” The spines that jutted from their shoulders, or their extra sets of arms could be worked around more easily.

They trembled with silent laughter. “Don’t want to get split in half?”

“Not literally. No thanks.”

“But you do want the part where you’re helpless and can’t move.”

“Well…” He squirmed as much as he was able. Less from embarrassment and more because the sensation of their long, cool fingers stroking his skin was making him worry about ruining his last clean pair of jeans. “It doesn’t do any permanent damage, right?”

“I’m not out to break you, bookworm.”

“I have a bite mark on my shoulder that suggests otherwise.”

Their snort released a welcome puff of air against the lightly sweaty side of his neck. “Renato’s given you worse.”

He managed to crane his head around just enough to see their chin out of the corner of his eye. “Wait. Are you jealous?”

“Nah, just want to mark you up more. And see the look on Renato’s face the next night—because he does get competitive.”

Isaac let that sink in. Maybe it should’ve offended him that the two vampires he’d (stupidly) been fooling around with were using his body as a scorecard. It was difficult to care when one of them had their hands stuck down the front of his pants, though.

“Would you let me?” Kinslayer said, their lips stretching into a smile as they grazed his ear. “Sink my teeth into your thighs until they’re bruised? So every time you move you’re reminded of what I did to you days later?”

He let his head loll back onto their shoulder. The breath he’d been holding released slowly, shakily. “I can be convinced.”

“You’re getting spoiled, bookworm.” Yet their mouth was on his exposed neck, their hands finally where he wanted them the most. “Spoiled rotten.”

#dysthanasia #spicy content #writeblr #suggestive #cw sex mention #writing tag games #wasn't sure if tagging anyone on the list was fine #will have to add a question about more graphic content to the form #btw Kinslayer chooses to hit Isaac with sleep paralysis #while he's next to Renato in bed #so they may have a competitive streak after all #or it's just the most distressing/funny option

[dysthanasia-series]

Unseen Hand Faction: The Ouroboroi

[Partial fragment pieced together from charred scraps of paper found in an empty coffin within a desecrated tomb]:

about your experiments, just not for the reasons you might think. What's the definition of exceptional if not being outside the bounds of common restrictions? Breakthroughs require just that: the shattering of limitations, the transgression of taboos. It's become fashionable to shake our heads and denounce so-called monstrous practices in medical or scientific history. And yet, have any of these detractors suggested we stop using the techniques or devices to come from them? Of course not. Because in the end all that matters is results.

Master Hawthorne understands this. It’s why he allows his pupils the freedom to work. To discover. Undergoing the rites reflects the shedding of self-imposed ignorance and hollow sentiment. No longer under the influence of the brain's chemical reactions, and no longer being pressed by passing concerns like eating or failing health allows us to achieve true

[Fragment ends]

Dysthanasia Supplementals Taglist (Ask or sign up to be +/-): @thecyrulik @thatndginger @space-writes @scoundrelwithboba

#dysthanasia #urban fantasy #writeblr #world building wednesday #necromancer

[dysthanasia-series]

Character Intro: Dorian St-Ange

Age: 27

Birthday: August 10

Pronouns: They/them

Affiliation: Coven, bloodborn dept. (by necessity), Olympia bloodborn (by choice)

Strengths: Charismatic, optimistic, fearless

Weaknesses: Self-sacrificing, head gets lost in the clouds, fearless

Those who don't learn history are doomed to repeat it. Which is why each generation of the St-Ange family has made sure to arm the next with knowledge, both of mundane matters and the supernatural. Dorian grew up aware of their family's long involvement in the fight for human as well as bloodborn rights. Agents of the Coven's Unseen Hand burning down their gran's house showed them at an early age what kind of hazards the work comes with. Still, Dorian has chosen to carry on the family legacy of being a thorn in the Coven's side. Even when circumstances force them to join the organization to protect a friend, they never lose sight of their true loyalties (though it might lead to losing their head eventually).

Being approached by one of the Unseen Hand's own Aquilae is the last thing Dorian expects. First, because he apparently isn't there to kill them. Second, because he makes an offer to help them wriggle out from beneath the Coven's thumb for good. All Dorian has to do is a small favor in return: put in a good word for this Aquilae with their rebellious family and friends up in the northwest territories. There's absolutely a hidden catch somewhere, in other words.

History is also written by the victors, and Dorian is tired of reading the same old story. Whatever price they wind up paying is worth the chance to change its ending.

Story Intro

Dysthanasia Supplementals Taglist (Sign up or ask to be +/-): @thecyrulik @thatndginger @space-writes @scoundrelwithboba

Other Character Intros:

Isaac

Renato

Elfy

Kinslayer

#dysthanasia #urban fantasy #writeblr #character intro

[dysthanasia-series]

Unseen Hand Faction: Hellhounds

We don't need to waste time on going over your disciplinary record or history of evaluations. We both know how you wound up here. Your choices aren’t pretty, but they are simple: live out the rest of your life in a cage, or on a leash for the Mayer family. Well, assuming you survive your first change anyway.

Go ahead. Snarl about how you're nobody's dog. Howl all you want about freedom and rebellion and integrity. It doesn't change the facts. You refuse, there's always the next mangy stray waiting to take your place. It's survival of the fittest whether the jungle's literal or made of concrete.

So, what's it going to be? You at the top of the food chain or somebody's lunch? Because the moon’s rising and we already know our place.

Dysthanasia Supplementals Taglist (ask or sign up to be +/-): @thecyrulik @thatndginger @scoundrelwithboba @space-writes

#dysthanasia #urban fantasy #writeblr #werewolves #world building wednesday

[dysthanasia-series]

Unseen Hand Faction: The Aquilae

Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on distinguishing yourself amongst so many extraordinary contenders. It is such a delight, no matter how many centuries roll by, to continue to discover talented and driven individuals such as yourself.

By now, I'm sure you've caught on that this isn't a typical offer. I know, I know--becoming a blood-sucking creature of the night is a steep ask. However, think of it less in terms of a career change and more as what it actually is: having a whole new life ahead of you. One where you won't need to worry about a retirement plan because you'll never grow old. Never need to worry about being laid off or replaced because you're not simply a cog in a machine but the hand that designs, controls, and/or destroys the mechanism as needed. Cities will rise, fall, and rise again, borders will shift, history will be forgotten, but you will remain, vibrant, present, ready for whatever comes next. Humans do an excellent job of running the day-to-day minutiae within the organization, of course. But if the Coven is to accomplish its goals, to live up to its true potential, there must be those who can think further than their own blip of a lifespan.

I wouldn't be asking if I didn’t already have some inkling of your answer. I understand too, though, that you aren't one to jump into things lightly. My doors are always open, and we can discuss this as many times as needed. Take your time. It's something I have plenty of to spare, especially for a dear friend.

--Eternally Yours,

Cassius Mergus, Chairman

Dysthanasia Supplementals Taglist (Click to sign up, or ask to be +/-): @thecyrulik @thatndginger @space-writes @scoundrelwithboba

#dysthanasia #urban fantasy #vampires #writeblr #world building wednesday

[dysthanasia-series]

Some bits from the redo of the Pocket Field Guide on psychic vampires for Patreon.

#dysthanasia #vampires #writeblr #worldbuilding #the qr code should work btw

[dysthanasia-series]

Character Intro: Delfina "Elfy" Bosques-Rodriguez

Age: 29

Birthday: February 26

Pronouns: She/her

Affiliation: Coven, Spirits dept.

Strengths: Unconventional, energetic, dauntless

Weaknesses: Distractible, impatient, impulsive

Every time she's been told she can't or shouldn't do something, Elfy's risen to the challenge. Can't become a spirits field researcher because she's Deaf? Now she's a top agent in the department. Shouldn't get invested in that nerdy guy from her class who found out about the supernatural the hard way? Too bad--she's recruited Isaac into the Coven and they've become best friends. She'll never find a portal to Faerie? Well...okay, she's still working on that one.

In other words, she knows perfectly well how dangerous walking into a situation involving not just department politics but bloodborn, the undead, and mermaids--someone mentioned mermaids--is likely to be. She's never backed down from a good fight yet, though, and Elfy doesn't see any reason to start now. Besides, she's always hoped Isaac would spread his wings and get mixed up in a crazy adventure of his own. (Running around with Coven outlaws, breaking the rules, smashing the system--she really couldn't be prouder.) The least she can do is help him get out of it in one piece. After all, what're friends for?

Read the first chapter

Taglist Sign-Up

Patreon | Ao3

Dysthanasia Supplementals Taglist (ask anytime to be +/-): @thecyrulik @thatndginger @k--havok @space-writes @scoundrelwithboba

Other Character Intros:

Isaac

Renato

Dorian

Kinslayer

#dysthanasia #urban fantasy #writeblr #character intro #it's her birthday today! 🥳 #character moodboard

[dysthanasia-series]

Dysthanasia Faction: The Unseen Hand

Conspiracy is such a weighed word. It presumes guilt, deceit, and malicious intent. Merely breathing it unleashes a virulent strain of paranoia among those who once trusted each other. It would be best to simply not drop it into the conversation to begin with, don’t you agree?

Instead, think of The Unseen Hand as a committee. Its members have been charged with guiding the Coven through the centuries, and no one is more qualified to do so than the very beings it studies. Each of the five board members, as well as many of the agents they employ, are themselves among the ranks of vampires, magic users, werecreatures, and even spirits. Harmony plus a bright future for humans and the supernatural community alike are at the core of everything The Unseen Hand, and thus The Coven, does. No price is too high to secure such lofty goals, wouldn’t you say?

#dysthanasia #urban fantasy #writeblr #world building wednesday #we're totally not evil I promise 🤞

[dysthanasia-series]

Dysthanasia Faction: The Unseen Hand

Conspiracy is such a weighed word. It presumes guilt, deceit, and malicious intent. Merely breathing it unleashes a virulent strain of paranoia among those who once trusted each other. It would be best to simply not drop it into the conversation to begin with, don’t you agree?

Instead, think of The Unseen Hand as a committee. Its members have been charged with guiding the Coven through the centuries, and no one is more qualified to do so than the very beings it studies. Each of the five board members, as well as many of the agents they employ, are themselves among the ranks of vampires, magic users, werecreatures, and even spirits. Harmony plus a bright future for humans and the supernatural community alike are at the core of everything The Unseen Hand, and thus The Coven, does. No price is too high to secure such lofty goals, wouldn’t you say?

Dysthanasia Supplementals Taglist (ask anytime to be +/-): @thatndginger @space-writes @thecyrulik @k--havok

#dysthanasia #urban fantasy #writeblr #world building wednesday #we're totally not evil I promise 🤞

[dysthanasia-series]

Story (Re)Intro

Title: Apophenia

Genre(s): Urban fantasy, paranormal fantasy, vampires, near-future,

Summary:

Mermaids don't exist. Every agent of the Coven, the organization that researches and governs the supernatural community, knows that. Accepting a classified assignment to investigate sightings along the Broken Coast is just an easy paycheck as far as Isaac Soto is concerned (not to mention another way to avoid dealing with his trauma and relationship issues).

A chance meeting with a charming stranger in a roadside diner changes not only the course of Isaac's assignment but the trajectory of his life. A life now in danger of being cut short unless he figures out how to escape the bloodborn who takes him hostage, a necromancer out to kill both of them, and the corruption at the heart of the organization he thought he believed in.

Apophenia is the introduction to Dysthanasia, a series that follows a cast of human and supernatural characters as they navigate a post-climate apocalypse Earth, fight against (or with) various factions vying for control, and find peril, solidarity, love, redemption, and purpose along the way. Discover what the world became and meet those who will determine what it might yet be.

Taglist Sign-Up (or just ask to be +/-)

Dysthanasia Taglist: @thecyrulik @k--havok @thatndginger @space-writes

Full first chapter under the cut

Words: 3,553

Content Advisory: Swearing, flirting, mentions of past bad breakups

Taking an assignment along the Broken Coast always got a reaction. Everyone from the archivist gathering relevant case materials to people not even in Isaac’s department eagerly volunteered a list of their deepest fears as soon as they heard where he was headed. Storms out that way were ten times as crazy—tornadoes, hurricanes, flash floods that could sweep away anything or anyone in their path. Then all the earthquakes left over from the break to boot? It was a miracle humans survived out there at all. The drive from Chicago alone was brutal, at least twenty-six hours, assuming the highways were in decent repair and smugglers hadn’t set up roadblocks to ambush travelers. No civic guards in the territories made it a wonderland for criminals plying their dark trades, from thieves to murderers. Any decent people that far outside a reliable grid scratched out an existence through hunting and gathering, their tech and habits straight from the paleolithic. The coast was as far from civilization as anybody could get without joining half of California under the Pacific.

So, Isaac had let out a sigh of relief when Director Khang told him this job was strictly classified. Not a word breathed to his colleagues or even archives—all the info he needed would be accessible from his tab. As great as the other agents in his department could be, salt of the earth really, Isaac preferred breathing space to work. Nevermind if that work was the Coven equivalent of a wild goose chase. He got paid per diem anyway.

He did have to admit his coworkers’ unsolicited past comments had one thing right. The drive to Nevada territory, while scenic at times, wore him out even when broken up over two days. He might’ve dragged the trip out to twice that long under normal circumstances. Stopped to buy roasted corn or a pie at the farms strung all across the Midlands, whether indoor or outdoor. Maybe taken a morning hike when he’d hit the Rockies and allowed himself to think of his dad, tía, and cousins where no one could see him break down. Director Khang, however, had made it clear that getting to the coast had urgent priority. Still, when he spotted a roadside rest stop with a little place to eat a couple of hours east of Sin Strip Beach, Isaac decided he’d earned a leg stretch and some breakfast.

Parking under the last row of solar panels, he patted his car on its hood, leaving handprints in the layer of dust there, then plugged it into the charging station. Eight other vehicles shared the lot even at three a.m. Mostly pickup trucks that had the rusty scars and mismatched parts of salvages, but there were a couple of humble sedans just like his mixed in. A breeze tousled his already messy curls but didn’t have the teeth to bite through his jacket. Under the smell of sun-baked earth and creosote, Isaac caught a whiff of sea brine. He squinted toward the western horizon. The glitter of stars remained unbroken until they met the gentle swelling silhouette of hills in the distance. No incoming clouds to warn that storm season was on its way, not yet. Roads and weather permitting, he’d reach the shark settlement in Eureka by mid-morning.

The rest stop had all its windows intact, metal storm shudders rolled up. Though a big terra cotta pot beside the entrance brimmed with gravel and cigarette butts, the walkway itself was swept clean. A little bell over the door tinkled to announce Isaac’s entrance. About a dozen pairs of eyes spared him a glance, but his old jeans and faded green flannel jacket sparked zero interest. Just another traveler passing through. He made a beeline for the narrow order window. No kiosk interface waited there, only a board on the wall listing menu items and a magpad to jot down the ones he wanted. The chilaquiles plate was crossed out, which was a shame. Isaac settled on a waffle, huevos con nopales, and coffee. He pushed the magpad and a credit charge chit through the order slot, nodded at the kitchen staff behind the glass, then snagged the only remaining table, conveniently beside a window.

Isaac pulled his tab from his jacket pocket and checked the outer screen. Two message notifications greeted him. The same two he’d been putting off replying to for a month. Jonah, ever patient, hadn’t added anything since sending his initial one, of course. The number of unread replies on Elfy’s, however, had ticked up, making for a grand total of fourteen. A long string of attempts to reach out, starting at hey, how’ve you been, morphing into I’m worried about you, and winding up around don’t make me hunt you down, prick.

He'd answer soon. The moment he finished his assignment he’d get back to her, to both of them. A week, at max. Elfy would let him have it for keeping her in the dark for so long, but then they’d make plans to grab drinks and catch up once he returned home. Jonah would joke about Isaac training to become a hermit before telling him all about his weird adventures in the northwest territories, tracking down tales of dire wolves and Bigfoot. Maybe Isaac would even get an assignment out that way so they could see each other outside of the Coven’s winter solstice party for once. Nevermind how awkward the visit might be at first because of Isaac’s drunken decision making at the last one.

Promises made, Isaac flipped his tab open to use the full inner screen. He tapped the file application and scrolled through until he found the assignment info Director Khang had sent him. He’d skimmed the basic objectives between rushing to pack for the sudden trip, so he took his time looking them over again. Sightings off Broken Coast. Integrated wereshark community in Nevada territory headed by Hart, Lawrence M. Verify eyewitness testimony. Coordinate search efforts and data collection. Isaac continued down to the attached transcription of statements. He kept them on one side of the screen while making notes on the other.

Multiple unidentified creatures had been encountered along the shoreline as well as in open ocean, both near the surface and as deep as a thousand meters. Anthropoid from the midsection up—arms, hands, shoulders, rounded head. Below the belt, however…caudal fins or flukes. Tentacles. Even a spiny carapace equipped with four or maybe six segmented legs in one case. If the reports had come only from humans in the community, Isaac wouldn’t have bothered to accept the assignment, per diem or no. It wasn’t like drunk people seeing mermaids while they were out fishing was a first. The fact that the bulk of the details came from three weresharks, though…well.

We couldn’t smell any plastic or rubber o algo así, claimed Tecla Santana Machado, speaking for both herself and the spirit of the great white shark bound to her soul. Didn’t smell like any prey we knew either. Se nos cayeron los chones cuando lo vimos. Scared the hell out of us tambièn.

One second it was there, and the next it kind of, like, I dunno, flickered? And then it would show up somewhere else. From Anaru Shortland, a thresher. We could sense the little pins and needles coming off it when we saw it. The, you know, like, electricity. When it disappeared or, or teleported or whatever it was doing, it felt more like a current. Just water pressure swirling around.

Isaac had formed a couple of hypotheses by the time the order bell announced his food was waiting on the pickup counter. First, that someone had figured out how to bind new types of animal spirits. While the Coven only had records of success with big cats, wolves, seven species of sharks, alligators, crocodiles, and bears (though not since the sixteenth century) that didn’t mean people weren’t experimenting. Isaac scowled while drizzling salsa over his eggs. He refused to congratulate anyone for butchering wildlife just because they didn’t like the species of spirit being handed down from their elders, or they wanted to stand out. Turning the culprit(s) in wouldn’t necessarily fix the problem either. The Coven might prosecute them, but once word got out that another kind of transformation had been discovered it would inspire other careless people to replicate the results. Not such a simple assignment, after all. Then again, the werecreatures Isaac had become familiar with preferred to enforce their own codes of conduct. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d studiously buried his head in busywork while the community beat a greater sense of responsibility into a troublemaker. He added inquire about local customs to his list of notes.

The second, more optimistic explanation for the whole situation involved forms of sorcery or witchcraft above his paygrade. Illusion or summoning or other stuff that involved drawing intricate chalk diagrams under a certain phase of the moon. In which case, he’d gladly report what was happening and let the higher-ups bicker amongst themselves about whether the werecreature or magic department held higher jurisdiction.

Headlights pierced the night outside and slashed across Isaac’s vision. He shielded his face with one hand, peering through his fingers. A sleek black sedan with official-looking plates whipped around a corner of the parking lot, looking for a space. His heartbeat gave an arrhythmic jump and kicked into a faster pace. Corporate farm or railway reps never made a night more relaxing. Highway bandits and smugglers at least had the decency to let people go about their business after a modest bribe. Isaac slouched farther into his seat and noted all exits.

A lone, slim figure wove its way through the parked cars from the back of the lot. Isaac allowed himself to breathe a tad easier. Company shitheads were always at their most dangerous in packs. The light filtering out from the diner illuminated the newcomer as they approached. No suit, although there was a white button-down shirt beneath their close-fitting athletic jacket. Isaac’s hand clenched around his knee when he caught a nocturnal-green flash reflected from their eyes. Or…no. No, they were just a light color. Perfectly natural, if remarkable. He relaxed and stopped pressing against the window to stare. Straightening up, he tried his best to fake nonchalance.

Every gaze in the diner locked onto the owner of the fancy black car as soon as they were through the door. Rather than shrivel up and wither into dust, they offered a smile, complete with dimples, that could’ve been brought home to even the most skeptical parents. They gave a shallow yet sweeping bow to the room in general before strolling straight up to the order window. The click of dress shoes against the tile floor sounded loud enough to carry for miles into the surrounding hills.

The newcomer paid no further mind to their audience as they put in a quick order and received a steaming coffee mug in return. Turning from the little window, they scanned the room for a spot to sit. A collective shift of unease rolled through the crowd. Isaac’s blood pressure doubled when the stranger’s eyes—a startling shade of blue-green like a tropical sea—settled on him. He considered bolting as they made a beeline for his table. Which was both silly and stupid, given it would only draw more attention. So, instead, Isaac grit his teeth and resigned himself to a bit of unplanned social interaction.

“Olá, tudo bem?” The stranger motioned to the chair across from him. “Posso me sentar aqui?”

Portuguese, judging from the way some of the words formed through their nasal passages and others got half-swallowed in their throat, but Isaac understood enough. “No hay bronca,” he mumbled.

That did the trick. The stranger sat and gazed out the window, hands wrapped around the mug but not sipping from it. One by one, wary stares glazed over with indifference and disengaged. Isaac’s returned to his plate. Mostly. Between bites he snuck peeks at his uninvited guest. Smooth brown skin a couple shades lighter and warmer than Isaac’s own. No ink, no mods, no scars or lines on face, neck, or hands. Early to mid twenties, though one could never be sure. People tended to place Isaac a few years over his actual age of twenty-nine—his grumpy attitude and habit of dressing like somebody’s abue threw them off, according to Elfy. Like Isaac’s hair, the stranger’s was black. Unlike his, it was combed and stylish, shorn close at the sides but left longer and tamely wavy on top. Even their brows didn’t have a strand out of place, thick and arched and providing a perfect frame for the unusual eyes that darted over and caught him.

Isaac choked a little on the piece of waffle in his mouth. He coughed and swallowed, a hasty apology loaded on his tongue. Too late. A dimple appeared along with the stranger’s smile.

“Você é local?”

He had enough social grace not to sigh. At least the rest of the place had resumed their own conversations so one more wouldn’t stand out. “No.”

“De onde você é? Você percorreu um longo caminho?”

“Eh…”

“Oh, desculpe! Você fala espanhol, não? How about English?”

“Sure.”

“I was asking you where you’re from. Sorry—the coast is the only place I get to speak Portuguese anymore, so I use it whenever I can.”

Coming from anyone less well-dressed, Isaac would’ve flagged the question as a prelude to robbery. Not that he had much worth stealing besides his tab and the pistol he’d left in his bag in the trunk. Well, they could swipe the six silver-tipped bullets the Coven had issued him in the side zipper pocket too. He’d tossed the rifle the rounds had come with into Lake Michigan years ago, though, so unless they had their own he didn’t see much of a point. Interesting conversation pieces maybe.

“I’m from Chicago,” said Isaac.

“And I thought I had a long trip!” A second dimple appeared to match the first. Combined with lips and a set of cheekbones won in the genetic lottery, it really wasn’t fair. “Ah, looks like I have to apologize again, this time for my manners. I’m Renato, he and him. A pleasure to meet you.”

Stomach fluttering like a restless bird, Isaac shook himself and then Renato’s hand. Elfy would skin him alive if she found out an attractive stranger had crossed his path and he didn’t even attempt friendliness. “Isaac, also he, him, his. So, um. I take it you’re not from the coast either?”

“Oh, no, though I travel up and down it for work sometimes. I just finished a job down in the Floodlands and am on my way up to another in Denver. No rest for the wicked, as they say.”

“What do you do?” Something illegal probably, but the ritual of small talk demanded he ask.

Up close, Renato’s eyes didn’t catch the light so much as glow faintly from within. “Security for a research organization. I’ll be escorting someone to a new project for a few weeks. Something about taking stock of the marine life in the area.”

“Like seeing how the fish population is doing, or looking for new species?” The files hadn’t mentioned witnesses not affiliated with the Coven, but that didn’t mean some uninitiated humans hadn’t caught sight of the mystery creatures too. Isaac suppressed a grimace. Being roped into helping with a coverup was always a serious pain in the ass. He didn’t look forward to planting half-rotted seal carcasses on the beach or whatever the higher ups deemed necessary to maintain secrecy.

Renato’s shoulders rolled in an elegant shrug. “Oh, I don’t know the details. I’m only the muscle after all.”

Compact muscle. Isaac was willing to bet they’d come to the same five and a half-ish feet if they both stood—he might even beat Renato by an inch if he stopped slouching so much. He looked down at the tan hands wrapped around the plain white coffee mug. Long fingers with short and manicured nails, prominent sinew under the skin, no nicks or bruises on the knuckles. Maybe he wore gloves when he punched people. Maybe he just carried a gun under that sporty jacket of his. Or, like Isaac, maybe he relied on negotiation instead of the skills he’d acquired on a shooting range (six months as required by Coven regulations for all researchers, plus blasting empty bottles or cans in a field for the fun of it sometimes). A face like Renato’s had to be a free pass to charm his way past a lot of obstacles.

“What brings you out to the western wilds, Isaac?”

“Well…something similar actually. I study big predators. Wolves and cougars mostly. Alligators once in a blue moon. I keep track of their movements and population sizes, births, deaths, habits, that sort of thing.” It was true in a general sense, even if the predators in question spent most of their days on two legs and paying the bills just like him.

“Que coincidência. Do you enjoy your job?”

“Mostly, yeah.” Nevermind that if not for the Coven—and Elfy, for that matter—he didn’t know how he would’ve made it through the past ten years. “I get to travel a lot, see tons of interesting places, expand my horizons and all that.” Rather than huddle on his sofa until he degenerated into a mat of depressed lichen.

“Doesn’t your sweetheart…or hearts…get lonely with you away that much?”

Tension knotted between Isaac’s shoulderblades, but he managed to keep his face neutral. “I don’t have any to worry about. Turns out having a partner who isn’t home for weeks or maybe months at a time is a big turnoff for most people.” It’d definitely been a dealbreaker for Jeremy, who’d come to believe the long absences and great pay meant Isaac was secretly a smuggler kingpin. A couple of years after their breakup, the absurdity almost outweighed the pain.

“True. Except my ex-girlfriend and I actually work for the same employer and used to do many of our jobs together. So…I don’t know what my excuse is exactly there. Things are going much better in my current relationship, though, so perhaps there’s hope for me yet.” With a gleam in his eye, Renato dipped a hand into his jacket and pulled out a tab. “Do you want to see a picture of my darling Tes?”

Isaac shrugged as much to loosen his muscles as to respond. After a bit of scrolling, Renato proudly turned the screen toward him. Isaac stared, glanced up at the man smirking at him, then returned to the picture again to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

“She’s beautiful,” he said with a snort. “Did you buy her a castle or a cave?”

“Please. Meu amor deserves only the best—I got them a castle and a treasure chest that blows bubbles to decorate their tank. And I have no idea if Tes is a girl, now that you mention it. I’ve never bothered to look up if you can tell that sort of thing with goldfish.”

“Either way, I’m sure your ex is seething with jealousy.”

“She should be. I won Tes as a prize at a carnival game for her the night we had our final breakup fight.”

“I think I get why your best relationship doesn’t involve another human.” Yet Isaac said it through lips twitching with the urge to smile.

Renato clutched his free hand over his heart. “Such cruelty and harsh judgement. You and my ex would get along great, I think.”

“Do you have her contact info? And is she still single?”

“Sadism. Pure and simple. I can’t—” A notification ping interrupted. Whatever Renato saw on his screen put a dent between his brows.

“Do you have to go?” The sinking sensation in Isaac’s middle caught him off guard.

“No, no. It can wait for a while.” His tab protested with another ping. “I’ve been driving nonstop since sundown, so I’m ahead of schedule. Besides, an interesting distraction came up.” Eyes never straying from Isaac, Renato held down the tab’s power button until it went dark, and slipped it back into his pocket.

A sudden storm of butterflies buoyed Isaac’s stomach and spirits. They also stirred up the old excuses he used whenever a new acquaintance showed interest in him. One by one, though, he swatted them down. Two years since Jeremy, almost five months since he’d behaved like an idiot with Jonah. He could let that stretch into three years…ten…twenty-five…an entire lifetime measured in loneliness.

Or.

He could take the first step toward rebuilding his crumbling personal life. If he made a leap of faith here and he landed in a huge pile of disappointment, well, so what? It wouldn’t be the first time, and he’d be driving up the interstate come morning regardless. If it went smoothly, he’d have an exciting story to share with Elfy as an extra peace offering over those drinks.

Allowing his smile to break containment, Isaac rested his chin in his hand and looked out the window. “Is your car as nice on the inside as it is on the outside?”

#writeblr #wip intro

[dysthanasia-series]

Character Intro: Renato Faria Dimas

Age: 100+ (born pre-break)

Birthday: May 30

Pronouns: He/him

Affiliation: Unseen Hand, Aquilae

Strengths: Adaptable, tenacious, charming

Weaknesses: Ruthless, cynical, dramatic

Growing up in a world that's fallen apart doesn't do wonders for someone's outlook. So, when offered a choice between a short, hard-scrabble mortal life and becoming a bloodborn, Renato did the smart (if not exactly moral) thing. He didn't even really begin to regret it until about sixty years in.

After a hundred, his choices are finally catching up with him. Not that he hasn't already started toward making amends--vowing to kill his sire and tear down the organization built on oppression and lies he's helped uphold, no big deal. It's just that none of his efforts toward these noble goals seem to go as planned. So, really, mistakenly abducting a human who turns out to be innocent during a mission gone wrong is par for the course.

Read the first chapter

Other Character Intros:

Isaac

Elfy

Dorian

Kinslayer

Dysthanasia taglist (Sign up or ask to be +/-): @thecyrulik @k--havok @thatndginger @space-writes

#dysthanasia #urban fantasy #vampires #character intro #writeblr

[dysthanasia-series]

Character Intro: Isaac Soto Marquez

Age: 29

Birthday: July 17

Pronouns: He/him

Affiliation: Coven, werecreatures dept.

Strengths: Resourceful, principled, compassionate

Weaknesses: Curious, principled, workaholic

Ten years isn't much time to reassembe the shards of a shattered life, but Isaac's managed. His physical wounds have long since turned to scars even if the survivor's guilt hasn't faded. Desire to hunt down the beast that slaughtered his family has been tempered by time and coming to know the communities of werecreatures he now studies on behalf of the Coven. Work is no substitute for an actual life, as Isaac's best friend keeps reminding him, yet it gives him a reason to wake up in the morning. Most days, that's all he can ask for.

A chance encounter with a bloodborn on his latest assignment exposes just how precarious Isaac's emotional state is. Personal connections lapsed or grown distant when he needs them the most, his faith in the organization that gave him purpose thrown into doubt, Isaac is forced to confront where his life is headed. He'd better decide quickly, though--before one of the new enemies he's inadvertently made does it for him.

Read the first chapter here

Other Character Intros:

Renato

Elfy

Dorian

Kinslayer

Taglist form

Dysthanasia taglist (ask to be +/-): @thecyrulik @k--havok @thatndginger @space-writes

#dysthanasia #urban fantasy #character intro #writeblr #I'll keep practicing at summarizing #I'll get it down one day

[dysthanasia-series]

Pics from the travelnevada.com site

Welcome to Eureka, Nevada, where our intrepid protagonist, Isaac Soto, can finally realize just how screwed he is rest his weary bones after a harrowing journey.

Founded: 1865

Population: < 500 souls

Elevation: 6,481 feet (1,975 m)

Climate: Hot and dry summers, monsoonal thunderstorms from May through August, cold and dry winters with snowfall

Supernatural Elements: Hosts a robust community of weresharks and low-level magical practitioners, lays claim to a few well-known ghosts

#dysthanasia #urban fantasy #writeblr #story setting #honestly I chose this town almost at random #just bc it's fairly close to Las Vegas (about a 4 hr drive) #but damn if the vibes didn't wind up being everything I'd hoped for

[dysthanasia-series]

Story (Re)Intro

Title: Apophenia

Genre(s): Urban fantasy, paranormal fantasy, vampires, near-future,

Summary:

Mermaids don't exist. Every agent of the Coven, the organization that researches and governs the supernatural community, knows that. Accepting a classified assignment to investigate sightings along the Broken Coast is just an easy paycheck as far as Isaac Soto is concerned (not to mention another way to avoid dealing with his trauma and relationship issues).

A chance meeting with a charming stranger in a roadside diner changes not only the course of Isaac's assignment but the trajectory of his life. A life now in danger of being cut short unless he figures out how to escape the bloodborn who takes him hostage, a necromancer out to kill both of them, and the corruption at the heart of the organization he thought he believed in.

Apophenia is the introduction to Dysthanasia, a series that follows a cast of human and supernatural characters as they navigate a post-climate apocalypse Earth, fight against (or with) various factions vying for control, and find peril, solidarity, love, redemption, and purpose along the way. Discover what the world became and meet those who will determine what it might yet be.

Taglist Sign-Up (or just ask to be +/-)

Dysthanasia Taglist: @thecyrulik @k--havok @thatndginger @space-writes

Full first chapter under the cut

Words: 3,553

Content Advisory: Swearing, flirting, mentions of past bad breakups

Taking an assignment along the Broken Coast always got a reaction. Everyone from the archivist gathering relevant case materials to people not even in Isaac’s department eagerly volunteered a list of their deepest fears as soon as they heard where he was headed. Storms out that way were ten times as crazy—tornadoes, hurricanes, flash floods that could sweep away anything or anyone in their path. Then all the earthquakes left over from the break to boot? It was a miracle humans survived out there at all. The drive from Chicago alone was brutal, at least twenty-six hours, assuming the highways were in decent repair and smugglers hadn’t set up roadblocks to ambush travelers. No civic guards in the territories made it a wonderland for criminals plying their dark trades, from thieves to murderers. Any decent people that far outside a reliable grid scratched out an existence through hunting and gathering, their tech and habits straight from the paleolithic. The coast was as far from civilization as anybody could get without joining half of California under the Pacific.

So, Isaac had let out a sigh of relief when Director Khang told him this job was strictly classified. Not a word breathed to his colleagues or even archives—all the info he needed would be accessible from his tab. As great as the other agents in his department could be, salt of the earth really, Isaac preferred breathing space to work. Nevermind if that work was the Coven equivalent of a wild goose chase. He got paid per diem anyway.

He did have to admit his coworkers’ unsolicited past comments had one thing right. The drive to Nevada territory, while scenic at times, wore him out even when broken up over two days. He might’ve dragged the trip out to twice that long under normal circumstances. Stopped to buy roasted corn or a pie at the farms strung all across the Midlands, whether indoor or outdoor. Maybe taken a morning hike when he’d hit the Rockies and allowed himself to think of his dad, tía, and cousins where no one could see him break down. Director Khang, however, had made it clear that getting to the coast had urgent priority. Still, when he spotted a roadside rest stop with a little place to eat a couple of hours east of Sin Strip Beach, Isaac decided he’d earned a leg stretch and some breakfast.

Parking under the last row of solar panels, he patted his car on its hood, leaving handprints in the layer of dust there, then plugged it into the charging station. Eight other vehicles shared the lot even at three a.m. Mostly pickup trucks that had the rusty scars and mismatched parts of salvages, but there were a couple of humble sedans just like his mixed in. A breeze tousled his already messy curls but didn’t have the teeth to bite through his jacket. Under the smell of sun-baked earth and creosote, Isaac caught a whiff of sea brine. He squinted toward the western horizon. The glitter of stars remained unbroken until they met the gentle swelling silhouette of hills in the distance. No incoming clouds to warn that storm season was on its way, not yet. Roads and weather permitting, he’d reach the shark settlement in Eureka by mid-morning.

The rest stop had all its windows intact, metal storm shudders rolled up. Though a big terra cotta pot beside the entrance brimmed with gravel and cigarette butts, the walkway itself was swept clean. A little bell over the door tinkled to announce Isaac’s entrance. About a dozen pairs of eyes spared him a glance, but his old jeans and faded green flannel jacket sparked zero interest. Just another traveler passing through. He made a beeline for the narrow order window. No kiosk interface waited there, only a board on the wall listing menu items and a magpad to jot down the ones he wanted. The chilaquiles plate was crossed out, which was a shame. Isaac settled on a waffle, huevos con nopales, and coffee. He pushed the magpad and a credit charge chit through the order slot, nodded at the kitchen staff behind the glass, then snagged the only remaining table, conveniently beside a window.

Isaac pulled his tab from his jacket pocket and checked the outer screen. Two message notifications greeted him. The same two he’d been putting off replying to for a month. Jonah, ever patient, hadn’t added anything since sending his initial one, of course. The number of unread replies on Elfy’s, however, had ticked up, making for a grand total of fourteen. A long string of attempts to reach out, starting at hey, how’ve you been, morphing into I’m worried about you, and winding up around don’t make me hunt you down, prick.

He'd answer soon. The moment he finished his assignment he’d get back to her, to both of them. A week, at max. Elfy would let him have it for keeping her in the dark for so long, but then they’d make plans to grab drinks and catch up once he returned home. Jonah would joke about Isaac training to become a hermit before telling him all about his weird adventures in the northwest territories, tracking down tales of dire wolves and Bigfoot. Maybe Isaac would even get an assignment out that way so they could see each other outside of the Coven’s winter solstice party for once. Nevermind how awkward the visit might be at first because of Isaac’s drunken decision making at the last one.

Promises made, Isaac flipped his tab open to use the full inner screen. He tapped the file application and scrolled through until he found the assignment info Director Khang had sent him. He’d skimmed the basic objectives between rushing to pack for the sudden trip, so he took his time looking them over again. Sightings off Broken Coast. Integrated wereshark community in Nevada territory headed by Hart, Lawrence M. Verify eyewitness testimony. Coordinate search efforts and data collection. Isaac continued down to the attached transcription of statements. He kept them on one side of the screen while making notes on the other.

Multiple unidentified creatures had been encountered along the shoreline as well as in open ocean, both near the surface and as deep as a thousand meters. Anthropoid from the midsection up—arms, hands, shoulders, rounded head. Below the belt, however…caudal fins or flukes. Tentacles. Even a spiny carapace equipped with four or maybe six segmented legs in one case. If the reports had come only from humans in the community, Isaac wouldn’t have bothered to accept the assignment, per diem or no. It wasn’t like drunk people seeing mermaids while they were out fishing was a first. The fact that the bulk of the details came from three weresharks, though…well.

We couldn’t smell any plastic or rubber o algo así, claimed Tecla Santana Machado, speaking for both herself and the spirit of the great white shark bound to her soul. Didn’t smell like any prey we knew either. Se nos cayeron los chones cuando lo vimos. Scared the hell out of us tambièn.

One second it was there, and the next it kind of, like, I dunno, flickered? And then it would show up somewhere else. From Anaru Shortland, a thresher. We could sense the little pins and needles coming off it when we saw it. The, you know, like, electricity. When it disappeared or, or teleported or whatever it was doing, it felt more like a current. Just water pressure swirling around.

Isaac had formed a couple of hypotheses by the time the order bell announced his food was waiting on the pickup counter. First, that someone had figured out how to bind new types of animal spirits. While the Coven only had records of success with big cats, wolves, seven species of sharks, alligators, crocodiles, and bears (though not since the sixteenth century) that didn’t mean people weren’t experimenting. Isaac scowled while drizzling salsa over his eggs. He refused to congratulate anyone for butchering wildlife just because they didn’t like the species of spirit being handed down from their elders, or they wanted to stand out. Turning the culprit(s) in wouldn’t necessarily fix the problem either. The Coven might prosecute them, but once word got out that another kind of transformation had been discovered it would inspire other careless people to replicate the results. Not such a simple assignment, after all. Then again, the werecreatures Isaac had become familiar with preferred to enforce their own codes of conduct. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d studiously buried his head in busywork while the community beat a greater sense of responsibility into a troublemaker. He added inquire about local customs to his list of notes.

The second, more optimistic explanation for the whole situation involved forms of sorcery or witchcraft above his paygrade. Illusion or summoning or other stuff that involved drawing intricate chalk diagrams under a certain phase of the moon. In which case, he’d gladly report what was happening and let the higher-ups bicker amongst themselves about whether the werecreature or magic department held higher jurisdiction.

Headlights pierced the night outside and slashed across Isaac’s vision. He shielded his face with one hand, peering through his fingers. A sleek black sedan with official-looking plates whipped around a corner of the parking lot, looking for a space. His heartbeat gave an arrhythmic jump and kicked into a faster pace. Corporate farm or railway reps never made a night more relaxing. Highway bandits and smugglers at least had the decency to let people go about their business after a modest bribe. Isaac slouched farther into his seat and noted all exits.

A lone, slim figure wove its way through the parked cars from the back of the lot. Isaac allowed himself to breathe a tad easier. Company shitheads were always at their most dangerous in packs. The light filtering out from the diner illuminated the newcomer as they approached. No suit, although there was a white button-down shirt beneath their close-fitting athletic jacket. Isaac’s hand clenched around his knee when he caught a nocturnal-green flash reflected from their eyes. Or…no. No, they were just a light color. Perfectly natural, if remarkable. He relaxed and stopped pressing against the window to stare. Straightening up, he tried his best to fake nonchalance.

Every gaze in the diner locked onto the owner of the fancy black car as soon as they were through the door. Rather than shrivel up and wither into dust, they offered a smile, complete with dimples, that could’ve been brought home to even the most skeptical parents. They gave a shallow yet sweeping bow to the room in general before strolling straight up to the order window. The click of dress shoes against the tile floor sounded loud enough to carry for miles into the surrounding hills.

The newcomer paid no further mind to their audience as they put in a quick order and received a steaming coffee mug in return. Turning from the little window, they scanned the room for a spot to sit. A collective shift of unease rolled through the crowd. Isaac’s blood pressure doubled when the stranger’s eyes—a startling shade of blue-green like a tropical sea—settled on him. He considered bolting as they made a beeline for his table. Which was both silly and stupid, given it would only draw more attention. So, instead, Isaac grit his teeth and resigned himself to a bit of unplanned social interaction.

“Olá, tudo bem?” The stranger motioned to the chair across from him. “Posso me sentar aqui?”

Portuguese, judging from the way some of the words formed through their nasal passages and others got half-swallowed in their throat, but Isaac understood enough. “No hay bronca,” he mumbled.

That did the trick. The stranger sat and gazed out the window, hands wrapped around the mug but not sipping from it. One by one, wary stares glazed over with indifference and disengaged. Isaac’s returned to his plate. Mostly. Between bites he snuck peeks at his uninvited guest. Smooth brown skin a couple shades lighter and warmer than Isaac’s own. No ink, no mods, no scars or lines on face, neck, or hands. Early to mid twenties, though one could never be sure. People tended to place Isaac a few years over his actual age of twenty-nine—his grumpy attitude and habit of dressing like somebody’s abue threw them off, according to Elfy. Like Isaac’s hair, the stranger’s was black. Unlike his, it was combed and stylish, shorn close at the sides but left longer and tamely wavy on top. Even their brows didn’t have a strand out of place, thick and arched and providing a perfect frame for the unusual eyes that darted over and caught him.

Isaac choked a little on the piece of waffle in his mouth. He coughed and swallowed, a hasty apology loaded on his tongue. Too late. A dimple appeared along with the stranger’s smile.

“Você é local?”

He had enough social grace not to sigh. At least the rest of the place had resumed their own conversations so one more wouldn’t stand out. “No.”

“De onde você é? Você percorreu um longo caminho?”

“Eh…”

“Oh, desculpe! Você fala espanhol, não? How about English?”

“Sure.”

“I was asking you where you’re from. Sorry—the coast is the only place I get to speak Portuguese anymore, so I use it whenever I can.”

Coming from anyone less well-dressed, Isaac would’ve flagged the question as a prelude to robbery. Not that he had much worth stealing besides his tab and the pistol he’d left in his bag in the trunk. Well, they could swipe the six silver-tipped bullets the Coven had issued him in the side zipper pocket too. He’d tossed the rifle the rounds had come with into Lake Michigan years ago, though, so unless they had their own he didn’t see much of a point. Interesting conversation pieces maybe.

“I’m from Chicago,” said Isaac.

“And I thought I had a long trip!” A second dimple appeared to match the first. Combined with lips and a set of cheekbones won in the genetic lottery, it really wasn’t fair. “Ah, looks like I have to apologize again, this time for my manners. I’m Renato, he and him. A pleasure to meet you.”

Stomach fluttering like a restless bird, Isaac shook himself and then Renato’s hand. Elfy would skin him alive if she found out an attractive stranger had crossed his path and he didn’t even attempt friendliness. “Isaac, also he, him, his. So, um. I take it you’re not from the coast either?”

“Oh, no, though I travel up and down it for work sometimes. I just finished a job down in the Floodlands and am on my way up to another in Denver. No rest for the wicked, as they say.”

“What do you do?” Something illegal probably, but the ritual of small talk demanded he ask.

Up close, Renato’s eyes didn’t catch the light so much as glow faintly from within. “Security for a research organization. I’ll be escorting someone to a new project for a few weeks. Something about taking stock of the marine life in the area.”

“Like seeing how the fish population is doing, or looking for new species?” The files hadn’t mentioned witnesses not affiliated with the Coven, but that didn’t mean some uninitiated humans hadn’t caught sight of the mystery creatures too. Isaac suppressed a grimace. Being roped into helping with a coverup was always a serious pain in the ass. He didn’t look forward to planting half-rotted seal carcasses on the beach or whatever the higher ups deemed necessary to maintain secrecy.

Renato’s shoulders rolled in an elegant shrug. “Oh, I don’t know the details. I’m only the muscle after all.”

Compact muscle. Isaac was willing to bet they’d come to the same five and a half-ish feet if they both stood—he might even beat Renato by an inch if he stopped slouching so much. He looked down at the tan hands wrapped around the plain white coffee mug. Long fingers with short and manicured nails, prominent sinew under the skin, no nicks or bruises on the knuckles. Maybe he wore gloves when he punched people. Maybe he just carried a gun under that sporty jacket of his. Or, like Isaac, maybe he relied on negotiation instead of the skills he’d acquired on a shooting range (six months as required by Coven regulations for all researchers, plus blasting empty bottles or cans in a field for the fun of it sometimes). A face like Renato’s had to be a free pass to charm his way past a lot of obstacles.

“What brings you out to the western wilds, Isaac?”

“Well…something similar actually. I study big predators. Wolves and cougars mostly. Alligators once in a blue moon. I keep track of their movements and population sizes, births, deaths, habits, that sort of thing.” It was true in a general sense, even if the predators in question spent most of their days on two legs and paying the bills just like him.

“Que coincidência. Do you enjoy your job?”

“Mostly, yeah.” Nevermind that if not for the Coven—and Elfy, for that matter—he didn’t know how he would’ve made it through the past ten years. “I get to travel a lot, see tons of interesting places, expand my horizons and all that.” Rather than huddle on his sofa until he degenerated into a mat of depressed lichen.

“Doesn’t your sweetheart…or hearts…get lonely with you away that much?”

Tension knotted between Isaac’s shoulderblades, but he managed to keep his face neutral. “I don’t have any to worry about. Turns out having a partner who isn’t home for weeks or maybe months at a time is a big turnoff for most people.” It’d definitely been a dealbreaker for Jeremy, who’d come to believe the long absences and great pay meant Isaac was secretly a smuggler kingpin. A couple of years after their breakup, the absurdity almost outweighed the pain.

“True. Except my ex-girlfriend and I actually work for the same employer and used to do many of our jobs together. So…I don’t know what my excuse is exactly there. Things are going much better in my current relationship, though, so perhaps there’s hope for me yet.” With a gleam in his eye, Renato dipped a hand into his jacket and pulled out a tab. “Do you want to see a picture of my darling Tes?”

Isaac shrugged as much to loosen his muscles as to respond. After a bit of scrolling, Renato proudly turned the screen toward him. Isaac stared, glanced up at the man smirking at him, then returned to the picture again to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

“She’s beautiful,” he said with a snort. “Did you buy her a castle or a cave?”

“Please. Meu amor deserves only the best—I got them a castle and a treasure chest that blows bubbles to decorate their tank. And I have no idea if Tes is a girl, now that you mention it. I’ve never bothered to look up if you can tell that sort of thing with goldfish.”

“Either way, I’m sure your ex is seething with jealousy.”

“She should be. I won Tes as a prize at a carnival game for her the night we had our final breakup fight.”

“I think I get why your best relationship doesn’t involve another human.” Yet Isaac said it through lips twitching with the urge to smile.

Renato clutched his free hand over his heart. “Such cruelty and harsh judgement. You and my ex would get along great, I think.”

“Do you have her contact info? And is she still single?”

“Sadism. Pure and simple. I can’t—” A notification ping interrupted. Whatever Renato saw on his screen put a dent between his brows.

“Do you have to go?” The sinking sensation in Isaac’s middle caught him off guard.

“No, no. It can wait for a while.” His tab protested with another ping. “I’ve been driving nonstop since sundown, so I’m ahead of schedule. Besides, an interesting distraction came up.” Eyes never straying from Isaac, Renato held down the tab’s power button until it went dark, and slipped it back into his pocket.

A sudden storm of butterflies buoyed Isaac’s stomach and spirits. They also stirred up the old excuses he used whenever a new acquaintance showed interest in him. One by one, though, he swatted them down. Two years since Jeremy, almost five months since he’d behaved like an idiot with Jonah. He could let that stretch into three years…ten…twenty-five…an entire lifetime measured in loneliness.

Or.

He could take the first step toward rebuilding his crumbling personal life. If he made a leap of faith here and he landed in a huge pile of disappointment, well, so what? It wouldn’t be the first time, and he’d be driving up the interstate come morning regardless. If it went smoothly, he’d have an exciting story to share with Elfy as an extra peace offering over those drinks.

Allowing his smile to break containment, Isaac rested his chin in his hand and looked out the window. “Is your car as nice on the inside as it is on the outside?”

#urban fantasy #vampires #writeblr #wip intro