Chapter One
The Lone Gazelle

Following the news coverage of your disappearance is not the most normal way a young man could choose to spend a Friday evening and yet that’s exactly what Dean Adams was doing. Hidden away in the dark booths at Coldwoods nightclub, he was oblivious to the hazy smoke machines and the throbbing bass vibrating in his chest. The pulsing strobe lights and deafening drum machines were fighting to catch his attention but his eyes remained glued to the mobile phone clutched in his hand as jade eyes scanned through the archived news reports and interviews.

He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to search his name on the internet tonight. After all, it wasn’t his exact anniversary of vanishing without a trace but the articles fascinated him in a morbid way. Each news report filled with platitudes and praise from people who had never given him so much as a second glance at school, let alone spoken to him. He never recognised the person the interviews described: a grade A student with a golden smile who could light up any room. That wasn’t Dean. The real Dean had been a depressed, chubby brat with authority issues, who’s good grades inflated an already gorged ego. Sometimes, he would wonder who’s recollection was the correct one: his own, or the memories of all those who claimed to remember him? Just as he could no longer recognise the overweight, black-haired, arrogant but hardworking seventeen year old talked about in the articles, those same people would never recognise the skinny tattooed punk with the bleached blond hair sitting in the nightclub booth now.

It had been twenty five years since Dean had disappeared into the night, never to be heard from again. Not by choice, mind you. By right, he should have been a forty-two year old family man by now, settled down with a career and a stable roof over his head. Instead, he was stuck in perpetual youth, aged around twenty-four or so, he reckoned. He’d given up trying to keep track.

“Try to look a little enthusiastic, Dean,” A deep, rough voice growled from across the table. He could scarcely hear the words over the pounding dance music but he nodded in acknowledgement before swiftly finishing the news report he was reading and slipping the phone into his pocket. It was hard to look excited when Dean would rather be anywhere else tonight. The smell of stale alcohol mixed with the strangely pungent odour of the fog machine was already making him a little nauseous.

“Picked someone yet?” He cast his jade gaze up towards the older man sharing the booth with him. Jak’s elbows were leaning on the table, his hands clasped as he rested his chin between his fingers, attention directed out towards the sea of dancing party goers. Sanguine eyes scanned over the crowd with predatory precision as Dean noticed his eyes darting rapidly from person to person. No target yet.

Dean let his gaze rest on Jak for a moment. He’d always found the older man irresistibly handsome but it wasn’t his pallid - almost grey - complexion, with his sharp angled jawline and nose, contrasted with raven black hair or those bizarre crimson eyes that drew Dean to him. It was the formidable aura that surrounded the older man. He was powerful, intimidating and much like an alpha wolf, people knew to stay away from him but Dean always felt safe in his presence. Jak was used to being gawked at by the blond anyway so this was nothing new to either of them.

Time passed. No target.

An irritated sigh escaped Dean’s lips as he pushed his back into the soft fabric of the booth, sinking deeper into the foam padding. Time to finish that vodka he’d been nursing for a while. As the glass emptied, his boredom lured his attention to the sea of dancing patrons. The turn out was appealing; so many attractive men and women but most of them already with someone by the looks of it. That wouldn’t do at all. No, their target had to be someone on their own, vulnerable but effortlessly seduced. Someone whom Dean could easily lead to the shadows where Jak would take over.

Dean and Jak were both undead, you see. Vampires. Well, poor Dean was only a half-vampire. They weren’t at Coldwoods nightclub for pleasure or relaxation but dinner. Dean let his eyes fall on Jak once more. The ashen man was the reason for those missing people articles. Not all of them, of course, but most were his handiwork, Dean included. The blond hated the entire process of luring someone to their demise but he understood why it had to be done. One human life could sustain an entire city for one year if the blood was treated well. With him appearing so normal, it was easy to fool these youngsters into thinking they’d met someone looking for a quick and dirty hookup and lead them somewhere secluded. Being a half-blood, Dean didn’t have the corpse-like pale skin or the bloody red eyes; in fact, he appeared like a perfectly healthy young man with his deep sunkissed skin showing no hints of undeath, nothing to betray his dark nature other than his teeth. He’d often pondered if that was why humans didn’t suspect anything when he approached them - he didn’t offer that same sense of dread that humans got from Jak. Maybe he was the real alpha wolf, in that sense; the apex predator able to blend with his prey and lower their guards entirely for that sweet moment when Jak when could strike.

A heavy boot gently kicked him under the table.

“There he is,” Jak explained as he leaned over the table, closer to Dean. His head didn’t turn from the crowd though as his eyes trained on the target. “Get him home as fast as you can.”

Dean followed Jak’s gaze as best he could. The older man’s intense stare was like a jaguar ready to pounce. It took Dean a few attempts at scanning the group to find the target. Among groups of friends and couples ordering their next drinks, a slender youth stood alone at the bar, his back resting against the wooden structure. He looked nervous, like a fish out of water, clad in a red and black plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up and tight grey jeans. Nice target, Dean thought. He was good looking although he appeared a little ill. His skin was almost alabaster white. Skinny guy too; he’d be easy to overpower if things went wrong but that wouldn’t happened. Dean had long since discovered that humans were perfectly predictable when it came to their lust. The target’s head lowered to the glass in his hands as he fidgeted, shifting his weight from side to side uncomfortably. Perfect.

He was the lone, vulnerable gazelle of the heard: an easy kill.