Between Dusk & Dawn

8:33 p.m.

“Can you turn that thing down a bit?” Caius asks.

My attention is pried from my phone screen.

“Sorry,” I say, adjusting the brightness.

“I meant the sunset,” he says with a rakish, cavalier grin. The topaz of his eyes catches the withering light, and I can’t help but feel drawn to his ominous thrall. His regard is unyielding. Almost feline. It fixates on me—an insolent confidence that’s far too convinced of itself—while he takes in a long, deliberate drag of his cigarette.

I smirk, shoving my phone in my pocket. Caius lives for the night; I’m spooked by the dark. I’m not quite willing to surrender the finely-tuned skill of my helios gift at his every command. Instead, I keep digging, resisting his sly invitation to dally in our usual game of coquetry. He’s constantly seeking to suck my Guild’s secrets from me with his devilish, dangerous charm.

Not tonight, Cai.

I throw two more shovels of dirt over my shoulder. With each scoop of cold, stubborn earth, the sun drops deeper into the desert's abyss; Caius’ tall, sculpted physique sharpens into a Dracula-like shape on the fiery skyline. I’m about to ask him why I’m doing all the work when my phone beeps: ping.

I flinch, knowing exactly who it is.

8:38 p.m.

Helios HQ: Confirm disposal of Target One.

Me: Nearly complete.

Helios HQ: Acknowledged. Proceed with elimination of Target Two once finalized.

I leave the last one on read. I glance up at Caius. His dark, unerring shadow still watches me. Most living creatures would quake in his presence. I'm unlike most of the living, however. I'm not normal—not ordinary. Caius does not intimidate me. He just makes me weak in the knees.

He points to my phone.

“Who’s that?” He asks coolly.

“My… sister. You know—wedding stuff.”

Caius nods—pulls another leisurely draw of smoke into the urn of his chest. His thoughtfulness bleeds into the desolate atmosphere like whiskey, eddying out into inky, delicate wisps. I yearn to drink every ounce of it up; to know what he’s thinking. His saffron eyes are feral and luminous now. They do not waver from my own. Around us, the orange glow of sun has succumbed to the soft veil of dusk.

I’m pretty sure Caius knows I have orders to kill him tonight.

What I can’t decide, however, is whether he’s figured out I’m in love with him.

Ping.

I roll my eyes and pull my phone out again.

8:46 p.m.

Helios HQ: Confirm disposal of Target One.

Me: Still in progress.

Helios HQ: Time is critical.

I thrust the shovel into the firm, arid dust—then dig around in my pocket. Crap, where’s my inhaler? I’ve only just now realized how depleted I am. I want to ask Caius if he’d be up for a drink after this, but decide against it. Drink means something entirely different to him—to his kind—and I’m not sure I want to know his answer. Instead, I ask him:

“Can you help me out here?”

He gives me that grin again—carnal and wicked. Somehow, the death of the sun has ignited the life in his eyes. He takes another drag—flicks the small glow of his cigarette butt into the maw of the shadows. It’s attractive. Smoke curls out of his mouth like two clawed hands, grasping the blue glow of twilight. I imagine them cradling my waist; I crave that they pull me into the firm, lethal crib of his chest—swallowing me into his darkness.

Stop, I scold myself. I fight back a swarm of butterflies at the pit of my stomach. Stay vigilant, Nia.

I finally find my inhaler. Thank God. I take in a puff while Caius saunters my way. He’s so sinisterly graceful, he glides like a wraith. Watching him, I hold in a breath.

He shovels another four or five mounds of dirt from the hole, then yanks the body into the open-mouthed earth with ethereal ease. He waits for the dust to settle around us, then gives me a wink.

“Done,” he says.

I’m not sure if it’s the dust or his aura that steals my breath all over again. I pump another puff of my medication—hold the cloud in my lungs until I feel they might burst.

Get it together.

For a moment, we stare at the corpse in silence. The victim is Isidore Voss, a rogue vampire. He's responsible for a recent string of civilian casualties—one that's compromised the secrecy of Caius’ eerie, veiled brotherhood.

We worked together all day to track and annihilate him.

Tonight, however—per standing orders—our alliance must terminate. By my doing, that is.

Ping.

Buzz.

Both our phones bark into the darkness. We draw them from our pockets in perfect synchronization—muscle memory, perhaps, from too many missions together.

9:04 p.m.

Helios HQ: Status on Target One.

Me: Neutralized.

Helios HQ: Copy. Execute Target Two.

I ignore the orders again. I twirl a loose curl with my fingers, then examine my marked Target Two. He’s still studying his Android. Vampires don’t use iPhones, which I find dreadfully annoying.

I watch the synthetic glow of his phone wax the angular lines of his bone structure—admire the way it caresses his sharp, defined jaw—then glance around the ebony void of the Las Vegas desert. The night is pitch-black and moonless. Damnit. I’m going to need some type of light to take this son of a gun out. There are storm clouds above. I thought about wielding dry lightning—but it’d only prove painfully obvious. Plus, Caius is quick. Much quicker than I. He’d catch the bolts faster than I ever could—turn my own weapon against me. He’d use them to slice me open—make me bleed a bit faster. While it’s possible my love is unrequited, he’s been dreaming of drinking me up for a year now.

And don’t believe fantasy books—wooden stakes don't slay vampires. Their only true nemesis is light. Even then, it must be pure light—blinding, merciless, a thousandfold brighter than the sun. That’s where I come in. If given the right conditions, I can magnify the photons of fire and starglow—make them explode with ferocity. It’s my helios gift. Only thing is, I can’t summon a flame from nothing. To harness my magic, I need some sort of seed: a sliver of moon, a window to the stars, a faint, gleaming ember—the dawn or the red glow of sunset, which I foolishly missed.

You missed your best chance, Nia. My face contorts in dismay, realizing I’d been too nervous. Too undecided. Too clumsy—too in love.

“Is everything alright?” Caius asks.

His voice is a firm thrum—one the darkness does not dream or dare swallow. Its drum-like vibration snakes down my spine, distilling my pitiful thoughts. Fucking vampires.

“Never better,” I lie.

He smirks, then lights another cigarette.

And that’s when I see it: fire. The seed I require for an explosion of light. The very weapon I need to destroy him.

He studies my expression as he leans toward the flame—the burning end of his cigarette flaring to life. His amber eyes lock in on mine while he pulls a long drag. He knows what he’s doing. He has to—he does it to bait me.

Do I bite? My mind runs awry. I watch as he flips the metallic lighter shut and points to the body.

“What do you say, Nia? Mission accomplished. Care for a drink?”

10:23 p.m.

We sit side by side in one of those high-back, red-leather booths at the Venetian, facing the gaming hall. The Venetian is Caius’ favorite casino. He says he prefers it because of the ambiance, but I know it’s because the gondola corridors are dowsed in perpetual twilight—perfect for someone avoiding the sun.

We’re three rounds in. We alternate between whiskey and absinthe. We’re swapping stories—sharing embarrassing memories of our old, rookie missions, ones we failed at miserably. The alcohol suddenly hits me.

“So—who’s trying so desperately to get in touch with you?” I ask. I’m referring to the series of text messages plaguing his screen. He makes no attempt to hide them from me. They’ve recurred every six minutes or so since we got here.

My phone, too, is insufferable. We’ve both been ignoring them—our superiors.

Caius’ eyes glitter at my question. I can tell he's been waiting for it.

I’m feeling bold. I hold my regard—watch his cinnamon-hued irises flirt with the dancing kaleidoscope glints of the slot machines.

He finishes his last swig of absinthe, then slides the glass to the table’s edge. He leans closer to me—close enough for me to inhale his amber cologne, to become enwrapped in his umbra.

I swoon.

He takes in a breath near my neck to answer.

“I’ll tell you who’s after me if you tell me who’s after you,” he purrs softly. His tone is a cocktail of malice and play.

Damnit. He can sense my intoxication. I’m surprised he's focused on me, to be honest—not on the parade of fresh meat in the room. There's an annoying abundance of irritatingly perfect dolls to select from here. I wonder which one of them will be his next.

Caius has never told me he’s a vampire. However, he knows I know. And, I bet if I asked him flat out, he’d tell me the truth.

But I don't want to hear it. At least—not from him. Because that would mean it's true, and it'd be far too difficult for me to fantasize about disobeying the Guild's orders if what they say about Caius has merit.

I take a sip of my drink—attempt to form a response to his counter. I could simply say nothing, but it’s far from my style. I search for the words in the neon lights that bounce from my glass—try to summon them into a burst of magnificence capable of exterminating my elusive, irresistible target.

But nothing comes of it. Not even a spark—except for the one I feel as he studies me.

Caius lets out a soft, mirthful laugh, and I become aware he can tell what I’m doing.

That’s it—I’m convinced. Caius knows the Guild wants him dead. The question has now become this: does he want me to know he knows? And, does he question my allegiance?

He still waits for my answer, patient as ever.

The drunken idiot in me teeters near the edge of making a confession—about my mission, about my impossible feelings—when another one of Helios' texts erupts on my screen. By the grace of God, I’m coherent enough to let it distract me. I stop just short of compromising all integrity.

11:04 p.m.

Helios HQ: ALERT. Regarding Target Two—hold all engagement. Rendezvous for new assignment; follow protocol.

I blot my mouth and start getting up.

“Where are you going?” Caius asks.

“I have… a new mission,” I stumble.

Caius frowns.

“But you’re drunk.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s an hour away. I’ll Uber—be sober enough when I get there.”

His eyes aren’t convinced. They roll as he pulls out a pack of Djarum Black’s from his pocket.

“Smoke with me first.”

“Cai, you know I don’t smoke.”

“I know. It'll sober you up.”

I laugh.

“That’s… a lie.”

He grins.

“You might like it.”

“I definitely won’t.”

“Just try it,” he says. He gives a soft tug on my arm. I plop right back down by his side.

“You’re such a bad influence.”

Another one of his grins. He pulls a slim stick from the pack—offers it to me.

“Go on,” he says, “take it.”

I sigh, then pluck it from his fingers.

He smiles. A real smile—not a grin.

Suddenly, becoming addicted to nicotine doesn’t seem quite so bad.

I insert the slim wand in my mouth. I feel too stupid to look at him—to watch him observe me smoke. When I'm finally brave enough to meet his gaze, he’s holding his lighter in front of me—ablaze and ready.

The fire is hypnotic. I’m reminded of my original mission—that my weapon is light, and that he has the very seed for it: the golden egg I require.

Damn him. He’s on to me—he’s enjoying this weird, twisted game.

And, it's clear to me now: he wants—desires, even—to be my prey.

12:32 a.m.

“What are you doing here?” He asks.

“What are you doing here?”

We stare at one another in the dimness. We've both been dispatched to the same abandoned warehouse. Damn—the assignment did say rendezvous. I must have been too drunk to notice. And Caius—he must have gotten the ping right after I'd left. After he’d reluctantly let me leave, that is.

I pull out my phone. Nothing—no further instructions. I point to Caius’ Android, which is grasped in the opposite hand of yet another lit cigarette.

He shakes his head.

We stand in the shadows, silent and clueless.

I pinch my brow. My head is killing me. Caius never actually allowed me to smoke with him. After all that, he reminded me I have asthma. Jerk.

The Helios Guild and Caius' Erebus Brotherhood occasionally force rival members into joint missions. In our case, of course—it hasn't just been occasional. Caius and I have collaborated for years. Neither one of us are exactly sure why we're ordered to do so, and we’re not authorized to reveal our true covenants. Obviously, we’re far past that at this point. But for the sake of illusion, we keep up the charade. To Caius, I’m a Cultural Attaché—one who’s currently carrying out an unusually long posting in her home country. And to me, Caius is a Private Extraction Specialist—always tasked with classified, high-risk operations.

The Strip is a faint, dwindled glow on the sleeping earth’s edge. While we wait, I distract myself with it. I avoid the wavering flame of Caius' cigarette end, fighting to ignore the inextinguishable fire I hold for this creature—for this human-like monster—in my heart. I sigh, realizing I’ve fallen for the villain. I hate myself for it. I'm a lightningbug drawn to the shadow—a sliver of sun secretly in love with the night. Whatever this mission is, I know what’s required of me the minute it’s over.

I’m waging this war when a ping comes. Finally—it’s been over an hour.

1:07 a.m.

Helios HQ: New rogue detected—target moving fast. Eliminate immediately with help of Target Two, then report back.

I look up at Caius. He, too, has been prompted. When we catch each other’s eyes, I shoot him a look. It says: can your bloodsucking brothers get a goddamn grip on themselves?

He smirks, takes one last draw of his paper-wound ember, then flicks the butt toward the dust in the way that drives me wild. He then gestures for me to follow him into the shadows.

For the next several hours, we stalk the rogue target under the cover of night.

5:21 a.m.

It’s an hour before sunset. We’re both slumped against the marble wall of the Bellagio rooftop, physically and mentally drained. Caius' knuckles and forearms are smeared with blood; I'm covered again in dry, desert dirt. Vampires can’t die of cancer, so I pay little mind to Caius’ addiction. While he sucks down another stick at my side, I manage to convince myself I should feel grateful he’s drinking up smoke—not another civilian, and definitely not me. God, I can’t even imagine what I’d do if he were to suddenly turn rogue.

I’d have no choice at that point—I’d have to obliterate him.

I look up at the clear night sky, then bury my face in my hands. Time’s dwindling. HQ’s been pinging nonstop, and three seeds of light now present themselves. If I’m to satisfy the Guild’s orders, I have plenty of arsenal to choose from: the stars, the flame being smoked into Caius’ lungs—the approaching sunset.

Bling.

Caius receives a missive. He presses his cigarette into his mouth and pulls out his phone. I watch as he studies the message—watch as his thoughts unfurl in the air along with the tendrils of smoke. I can tell from his expression he hates the directive. Despises it, even. Wait… does he have orders to kill me?

My heart drops to my stomach. I jump to my feet.

But Caius is quicker than lightning. He has me pinned to the cool, marble wall before I can blink.

We stare into each other’s eyes. The caramel of his gaze teases me with flame—something else, too. Yearning?

He’s about to say something, but turns his head to the side. He blows a lungful of smoke into the still, settle chill of the air.

How… considerate. Despite his perilous play, he does take my asthma quite seriously. It’s cute.

But not cute enough. He’s smart. He's already tossed his cig to the ground, and—from where I'm trapped, I've lost all access to the sky. I'm powerless.

But I catch something in the glow of his eyes.

“I know what you are,” I say, “I’ve known for awhile.”

“So what are you waiting for?”

“You know what,” I say, "for the light."

“It's a little late, Nia. I’ve already given you chances.”

I muster more courage. At the far edge of the city, a thin line of sun lifts the dark veil of night.

His grip is like iron, but he allows me some freedom. I raise my wrist to examine the time: 6:25 a.m—dawn.

“You need to get away from the sunrise—from me,” I say, “I can't do this to you, Cai.”

"Then don't."

"I have to," I say—a tear rolling down my cheek. "Plus, I thought you wanted me to."

“What I want is for you to kiss me and come to the dark, Ni.”

A smile blooms on my lips. Finally.

As we embrace, sunshine bleeds over the breadth of the rooftop—inching closer to where we stand, entangled in passion, in the space between dusk and dawn.

But we're fast. We outrun the daybreak, sinking deeply into the maw of the shadows—into the depths of our love.