Nick’s frown deepened, his pale fingers tightening around the empty blood glass, its faint crimson residue catching the security room’s monitor glow. “Why do we need to go downstairs?” he asked, his voice a low growl, suspicion sharpening his dark eyes. What had Ash done this time? The S.P.A. base’s concrete walls seemed to press closer, the air thick with the hum of servers and the lingering threat of Winters’ visit. Ash, perched at the glossy touchscreen table, tapped at a card game on the computer, her dark hair falling over her eyes. The screen’s bright colors clashed with the room’s dim, industrial gloom, her small frame dwarfed by the high-backed chair. She opened another digital deck, her fingers quick but distracted, avoiding Nick’s gaze. “What’s down there?” Alex asked, leaning forward, his hazel eyes narrowing. His bandage peeked from his sleeve, a reminder of the blood he’d given Nick earlier, his exhaustion etched in the lines of his face. Ash’s lips curved into a mischievous smile, her eyes glinting under the fluorescent lights. “Not zombies.” “What is it?” Nick pressed, his patience thinning, his fangs glinting faintly as he set the glass down with a soft clink. “Puppies and kittens, like I promised.” Ash kept playing, her voice light, but a nervous tremor betrayed her, the sedative’s haze softening her usual spark. Ethan stood, his chair scraping the concrete floor, and reached over to shut down the game, the screen fading to black. “You’re coming too. You made them. You’re cleaning them up.” His tone was firm, his dark hair catching the monitor’s glow, his steady gaze pinning Ash. Ash finally looked up, her eyes wide, a mix of defiance and guilt. “It was an accident.” “I don’t care. If you accidentally spill the milk, you clean it up,” Ethan said, crossing his arms, his voice calm but unyielding, as if he’d handled stubborn kids before. “He’s right,” Alex agreed, rising, his shoes scuffing the floor. “Come on.” His tone was gentle but firm, a leader balancing concern with authority. Nick gestured for Ash to follow, his burns now a faint memory on his skin, his movements fluid but tense. Ash sighed, her shoulders slumping, and stood as Kellen’s sharp barks echoed from the stairwell, urgent and uncharacteristically agitated. The border collie’s claws clicked below, his silhouette a shadow at the stairs’ base. “We’re coming,” Nick called, his voice carrying a hint of irritation. Kellen’s distress was unusual—puppies and kittens shouldn’t rattle him. What had Ash conjured? He led the group toward the lower level, the stairwell’s damp air heavy with the scent of rust and mildew, the fluorescent lights flickering like a dying pulse. Halfway down, the yipping and mewing hit them, a chaotic chorus of high-pitched sounds echoing through the concrete corridor. Nick’s jaw tightened. “How many did you make?” “I don’t know,” Ash admitted, her voice small, her fingers twisting the hem of her sweater. “Winters makes me nervous.” “Why couldn’t you make Jack?” Nick asked, his tone softer, picturing the hollow-eyed boy from her dreams. “He could hold your hand.” He glanced at Kellen, who waited at the bottom, his ears twitching, eyes sharp with concern. “We won’t let Winters do anything to you,” Alex promised, his voice steady but strained, his hand brushing Ash’s shoulder. Nick caught the flicker of doubt in Alex’s eyes. Alex might defy Winters, as he’d once stood up to his own father, but the S.P.A.’s grip was iron. Nick himself was proof of Alex’s defiance, spared from a stake by his stubborn advocacy, yet even Alex’s courage had limits. Nick pushed open the training room door, its hinges groaning, revealing a sea of puppies and kittens—fluffy, wriggling, their tiny paws skittering across the rubberized floor. Golden retrievers, tabby cats, and mutts of every shade milled about, their eyes unnaturally bright, dream-born and fleeting. He slammed the door shut, the clang echoing, trapping the chaos inside. “Ash and I’ll go in,” Ethan offered, his voice calm, his stance relaxed but resolute. “Too many of us could get confusing.” Nick nodded, impressed by Ethan’s instinct. Had he cared for someone with special needs before, navigating chaos with such ease? “They don’t need an audience,” Nick told the others, his tone final. “I’ll wait here.” Alex nodded, his eyes meeting Nick’s briefly, a silent agreement. He and Cassie turned back up the stairs, her sigh audible. Jessica floated after them, her ghostly form shimmering. Kellen lingered, his gaze fixed on Nick, wary. “Go on. I’ll stay out here. I won’t bite them,” Nick promised, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Got a fresh supply in the kitchen. Besides, Ethan would probably taste like a werewolf. Have you ever tasted one of those?” Kellen shook his head, his ears flicking, a glint of humor in his eyes. “Nasty aftertaste.” Nick’s grin widened, though the jest masked his curiosity about Ethan’s immunity. Kellen’s look was pointed, as if to say vampires weren’t much better. Nick chuckled, conceding the point—he’d never drunk vampire blood, its taste a mystery he didn’t care to solve. Inside the training room, Ash’s voice carried through the door, soft but insistent. “None are zombies,” she assured Ethan, her tone defensive. “That’s good, but it doesn’t matter if they are. You still have to deal with them,” Ethan replied, his voice steady, guiding her like a teacher with a reluctant student. “I know, but I promised Alex, and I kept my promise,” Ash claimed, a note of pride breaking through. Nick smiled, leaning against the cold concrete wall. If Ash was choosing her manifestations, even under Winters’s pressure, it was progress. Ethan’s presence seemed to anchor her; her dreams dissipating faster than they had in months. If she could master control, she might rejoin them in the field, her dream-weaving a weapon against rogue supernaturals. Her youth, isolation, and drugging had stunted her, but Ethan’s firm guidance was a spark of hope. Still, a lobotomy loomed if she slipped, a fate Nick couldn’t stomach. His thoughts drifted to Ethan’s background check. Who was he? Immunity to magic was unheard of in Nick’s centuries, a puzzle that gnawed at him. He’d met those resistant to turning, their blood a threat he’d once eliminated without question. Back then, humans were prey, their deaths a necessity. After his initial frenzy—towns bled dry in his newborn hunger—he’d learned restraint. Wipe out your food, and you’ll starve. Most vampires agreed, but some supernaturals killed without care, ignoring the werewolf slaughter’s lesson. Humans had decimated the wolves, a warning of their ruthlessness, yet some—like Charlotte—still defied it, believing themselves invincible. The war’s loss hadn’t humbled them. The barking had stopped, the mewing fading. Nick straightened, his boots scuffing the floor. “How’s it coming?” he called, his voice echoing in the quiet. “It’s coming,” Ethan replied, his tone focused, no hint of strain. Nick leaned back, deciding not to distract them. He considered his report to Winters, the S.P.A.’s director, a shadow over every move. Writing “Stuff it” again would land him in trouble, especially with Charlotte’s lies tainting his name. He’d reveal Ethan’s magic immunity—safer than admitting resistance to turning, which could mark him as a threat. Wards blocked magic, but nothing stopped a bite. He’d consult Alex and Ethan; the kid deserved a say in what the S.P.A. knew. The door creaked open, Ethan and Ash emerging, the training room empty behind them, its rubber floor pristine, no trace of fur or chaos. “Nice,” Nick said, nodding approval. Then he noticed Ash clutching something—a tiny, dream-born kitten, its fur an unnatural silver. “What is it now?” Ash held it out, her eyes pleading. “It’s not real.” “No. I’m allergic,” Nick claimed, crossing his arms, though his undead body couldn’t react. “You’re dead,” Ethan pointed out, his eyebrow arched, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “How can you have allergies?” Nick’s jaw tightened, caught. The symptoms were in his head, echoes of a human life long gone. “I’m undead. I was allergic when alive. Besides, back then, cats were bad omens.” His voice was gruff, masking discomfort. “That was ages ago,” Ash said, clutching the kitten, its tiny mew piercing. “Come into the twenty-first century. It’s a pet.” “What about Kellen?” Nick asked, glancing at the dog, who watched with a tilt of his head. “Kellen’s not a pet. He’s a person,” Ash insisted, her voice fierce. “Did someone turn him into a dog?” Ethan asked, his curiosity sharp, his gaze flicking between them. “No. He was born a dog. But he’s not an animal. He’s a person,” Ash said, her eyes blazing with conviction. “Humans are animals too,” Nick said, his fangs glinting as he grinned. “Tasty ones.” “You can’t eat this cat,” Ash said, hugging it tighter, her voice trembling. Nick hissed, the idea of cat blood repulsive, his nose wrinkling. “It may not be real, but if it claws someone, the damage is,” he warned. “Get rid of it.” “Just for a little while,” Ash pleaded, her eyes wide, the kitten nuzzling her chin. “Ask Alex.” Nick sighed, tired of arguing, his patience worn thin. He gestured toward the stairs, the base’s shadows deepening as they climbed, the kitten’s mews a soft echo in the silence. Author's note. There is only 2 images for this chapter because I only have the one kitten.