The world did not just explode. It imploded.

  The detonator in Frankie’s hand sent a chain reaction through Ted’s makeshift bombs. A series of deep, guttural booms erupted from below the waterline, not just cracking the hull of The Crimson Thirst but ripping its guts out. The ancient, waterlogged timbers, already weakened by centuries of decay, did not stand a chance.

  For a half-second, an eerie silence hung in the air, a collective gasp before the last death rattle. Blackmane stood impaled before Frankie, his one crimson eye wide with a look of pure, eternal shock. He opened his mouth and said, "You may have killed me... But you will never escape your thirst..."

  Then, with a groan that seemed to shake the very foundations of the cave, his ship, his anchor, his heart, tore itself apart.

  The deck buckled beneath them. The main mast, already splintered, snapped with a sound like a giant’s cracking spine and came crashing down, shattering the stern of the ship. The ornate windows of the captain’s cabin imploded, sending a shower of green-tinged glass everywhere.

  Blackmane’s body, still transfixed by the wooden stake, simply disintegrated. He crumbled into a cloud of ancient dust and pure malice, which was instantly sucked down into the churning, black water now pouring up through the splintered deck.

  “We have to go! NOW!” Damon roared, grabbing Frankie’s arm and pulling her from her trance. He snatched Dee Dee from the corner where she huddled in shock, and together, the three of them scrambled out of the collapsing cabin and onto the chaotic, tilting deck.

  The entire sea cave groaned, a monstrous sound of cracking rock and splintering ancient formations. Explosions had destabilized its very bones, and huge chunks of the ceiling, some as big as cars, tore free, plummeting into the churning water with deafening splashes. Massive waves, thick with the smell of brine and pulverized rock, surged through the grotto, their roar echoing off the collapsing walls. The air grew thick with stone dust, choking them, making it impossible to see more than a few feet. The roar was deafening, a constant, grinding thunder that vibrated through the water and into their bones. The taste of ancient, disturbed earth filled their mouths.

  The remaining vampires on the deck shrieked, not in aggression, but in pure, mindless terror. Their master was gone. Their ship was sinking. And their world was ending. Falling rocks crushed some. Others got sucked into the collapsing ship's vortex. The explosion annihilated them all.

  Frankie, Damon, and Dee Dee leaped from the dying vessel into the churning, debris-filled water. They swam with a desperate, adrenaline-fueled strength toward the Sea Hook, which was being tossed about like a bath toy.

  Damon reached it first, hauling himself over the side. He turned to help the girls, his face a grim mask of determination. Just as he pulled Dee Dee aboard, a section of the cave wall collapsed, sending a tidal wave surging toward them.

  It slammed into their small boat, almost capsizing it. Ted, who had been lying semi-conscious against the console, fell against the side, his cry of pain lost in the roar.

  “Ted!” Frankie screamed, scrambling aboard.

  The Sea Hook’s engine sputtered, choked with seawater. The cave entrance crumbled, a curtain of rock and earth sealing them in.

  “It won’t start!” Damon yelled, yanking frantically on the pull cord.

  Frankie did not hesitate. She shoved him aside. With a guttural roar, she grabbed the cord. The human part of her knew it was useless. But the monster inside her, humming with the residual power of the fight, knew otherwise. She pulled. The cord did not just pull. It felt like she was trying to rip the engine from its housing.

  The motor sputtered, coughed, and then roared to life with a sound more powerful than it had any right to be.

  Damon did not ask questions. He threw the boat into gear, pushing the throttle to its absolute limit. They surged forward, a massive wave, born from a collapsing pillar, lifted the stern of the boat, threatening to flip them end over end. For a heart-stopping second, they were airborne, staring down into the churning abyss before the boat slammed back down into the water, its propeller screaming.

  They burst out of the cave and back into the stormy, open ocean just as the entrance collapsed completely, sealing the tomb of The Crimson Thirst forever under thousands of tons of rock and earth.

  They were out. They were alive. Battered, traumatized, bleeding, but alive.

  *****

  A week.

  Had it only been a week? A week since the sea cave became a watery tomb. A week since Frankie Rivera’s life had been ripped apart and stitched back together all wrong.

  She stood in her bedroom, but it didn’t feel like her bedroom anymore. She had turned it into a cave of her own. The thick blackout curtains were pulled so tight, not a single speck of deadly daylight could sneak in.

  The sun. Frankie used to love the sun. Now, it was her mortal enemy. A giant, fiery monster in the sky, waiting to turn her to ash.

  She squeezed a thick glob of white goo into her palm. Sunscreen. SPF 100. It felt like a layer of cold, greasy slime against her skin. She smeared it over her face, her neck, her arms. Every single inch of exposed skin. It was her new morning routine. Her gross, sticky armor against the monster outside.

  Even with the sunscreen, she could feel it. A million tiny, invisible needles, jabbing at her. A dull, constant reminder of the new, horrible thing she had become.

  BZZZZT.

  Frankie nearly jumped out of her skin. Her phone. It rattled on the nightstand, vibrating like a trapped beetle. She snatched it up, her heart pounding in her chest. A news alert glowed on the screen.

  SEARCH FOR MISSING BOATERS ENTERS SEVENTH DAY

  Under the headline was a blurry photo of Jax and his goons. Jax’s stupid smirk seemed to mock her from the screen. Missing. That’s what they were calling it.

  If only they knew the truth, Frankie thought, an icy shiver crawling up her spine. The awful, terrifying truth.

  There was no mention of strange animal attacks. No eyewitness reports of weird shadows at night. The official story was simple. Four reckless kids went out on their boat and never came back. A tragedy. Case closed.

  Blackmane. His ship. His crew of thirsty, blood-sucking monsters. The ocean had swallowed them whole, erasing them from history as if they had never been.

  But they had left something behind.

  Frankie.

  A gnawing, twisting ache started deep in the pit of her stomach. It was a hunger so sharp, so vicious, it made her want to scream. It felt like a monster with sharp claws was trying to tear its way out of her stomach. And no amount of pizza or burgers could ever feed it.

  She sighed, the sound loud in the dead, silent room. She knelt, her knees cracking, and slid a small, insulated cooler out from under her bed. Her secret stash. Her dark, terrible secret.

  She clicked it open. Inside, nestled between frozen gel packs, were two plastic bags. They looked like IV bags from a hospital. They were filled with a dark red, almost black, liquid.

  O-negative.

  A special delivery from Ted. He’d discovered a hidden talent for faking hospital paperwork. Who knew?

  The monster inside her roared.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Her gums ached. A familiar, unwelcome throb. Then, with a faint click that only she could hear, her fangs slid down. They still felt too big for her mouth. Alien. Monstrous.

  She grabbed one bag, her hand shaking. She brought it to her mouth, hesitated for just a second, and then bit down. Hard.

  The plastic tore.

  A gush of coppery warmth filled her mouth. It tasted like life. It tasted like horror. It was disgusting. But the monster inside her purred with delight. The gnawing emptiness faded, replaced by a strange, humming energy that buzzed to her fingertips.

  This was her life now. Sunscreen and stolen blood. Hiding in the shadows while the rest of the world played in the sun.

  She finished the bag and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced the fangs to retract. Click. They slid back into her gums, a secret weapon hidden away.

  She glanced at the darkened window, the glass like a black mirror.

  And gasped.

  A ghost stared back at her. A pale ghost with huge, dark, haunted eyes. Her skin was almost luminous in the gloom.

  But it wasn't a ghost.

  It was her. It was Frankie. And she had to wonder—was there any of the old Frankie left? Or was she gone forever?

  *****

  The Sandpiper Diner was an explosion of noise. Plates clattering like crashing cymbals. The griddle was hissing and spitting as burgers cooked. A dozen different conversations all buzzing at once, a chaotic symphony of sound. The smell of sizzling onions and greasy meat made Frankie’s stomach churn.

  It was all so… normal. So painfully, aggressively human.

  A world she didn’t belong to anymore.

  Frankie pushed the door open, her baseball cap pulled down low to hide her eyes, and was instantly crushed in a hug. It smelled like pineapple salsa and a mother’s fierce, protective love.

  “There’s my girl!”

  It was Maka, her mom. She’d started waitressing here three days ago. She said she needed to keep busy. Frankie knew the truth. She wanted to monitor her.

  Her mom held her at arm’s length, her brow crinkled with worry. “Mija, you look exhausted.” Her eyes scanned Frankie’s face, taking in every detail. “Still so pale. Are you sure you’re over that flu?”

  “Just… anemic,” Frankie lied. The word felt like poison on her tongue. “Doctor’s orders. Lots of rest.”

  “Hmph.” Her mom didn’t look convinced. Not for a second. “Well, your friends are in the back. They’ve been holding your booth hostage for an hour.” She pointed with her thumb toward the corner. “Go on. Before I have to charge them rent.”

  Frankie saw them huddled in the corner booth, their heads close together. Damon, Ted, and Dee Dee. The members of her secret club. The only other people on Earth who knew her terrifying secret.

  Relief washed over their faces when they saw her. Ted had a nasty-looking yellow bruise on his temple that was fading. Dee Dee’s eyes were shadowed, like she hadn’t slept in days. But they were here. They were safe.

  Damon slid over to make room for her, his knee brushing against hers. A jolt went through her. A warm jolt. It had nothing to do with the blood. It was something else. Something human.

  “Look what the bat dragged in,” Ted whispered, a goofy grin spreading across his face.

  Dee Dee kicked him hard under the table. “Subtlety, you Neanderthal,” she hissed.

  “How are you feeling?” Damon asked. His voice was low, meant only for her. His dark eyes searched her face, not with fear, but with a deep concern that made Frankie’s heart ache in a good way.

  “I’m managing,” Frankie said, forcing a small, weak smile. “Getting used to the… new diet.”

  Her mom arrived with a tray, setting down a Coke for Frankie and topping off the others. “On the house,” she announced, giving Ted a pointed look. “Since you’re all apparently broke.” She turned her sharp gaze to Frankie. “I made you a tuna melt. You need to eat something real, Frankie.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Frankie said. She slid the plate of food—food she couldn’t possibly eat—to the side.

  As her mom bustled away, Dee Dee leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Okay, debrief. Any… side effects? Besides the obvious aversion to things that aren’t, you know, blood?”

  “My senses are… loud,” Frankie admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “Everything is too loud. I can hear three different conversations at once. I can smell the onions on a burger from all the way across the room. I can see the tiny dust motes dancing in the sunbeams coming through the window.” She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. “It’s a lot.”

  “What about the news?” Ted asked, glancing around nervously. “Anything about… you know who.”

  “Just that Jax and his crew are still missing,” Damon supplied, his voice steady. “No one’s looking for a seventeenth-century warship. I think we’re in the clear.”

  “For now,” Dee Dee muttered, pushing her glasses up her nose. “But it is possible Blackmane might not be the only monster in the sea. And now…” She looked straight at Frankie, her expression dead serious. “Now Norchester has a protector.”

  The word hung in the air between them. Protector. It sounded heavy. Important. Like a tombstone. Frankie had been so focused on surviving, on everything she had lost—the sun, food, her normal life—that she hadn't thought about what she had gained.

  The strength. The speed. The terrifying power that had roared to life inside her started a dead boat engine with a single pull.

  “He said I’d never escape my thirst,” Frankie whispered. The memory of Blackmane’s final, gurgling words still echoed in her nightmares. “I think… I think he was wrong.” She looked at her friends, at their worried faces. The faces of the people she had almost lost forever. “Maybe this thirst doesn’t have to be a curse. Maybe it’s a weapon.”

  She took a deep breath. “Jax and his gang were human, and they were monsters. Blackmane was a vampire, and he was a monster. The world is full of them. I stopped one. I can stop others.”

  A slow smile spread across Ted’s face. “So you’re saying you’re basically a superhero?”

  “I’m saying I’m not going to hide in my room anymore,” Frankie clarified, her voice growing stronger. “This happened to me, but I’m not going to let it define me. I’m going to use it.”

  “Hell yeah!” Ted exclaimed, way too loudly. Several people at nearby tables turned to stare. “Team Bloodsucker is officially in business!”

  “What did you just call my daughter?”

  The voice was quiet. Dangerously quiet. Cold as ice.

  It was her mom. She stood by their table, a pot of coffee in her hand, her eyes narrowed to tiny, angry slits.

  Ted froze, his face turning white with terror. “Bloodsucker? No! No! I said… uh…” he stammered, his eyes wide with panic. “She’s a good sucker! At… at drinking sodas through a straw! Really talented. No spillage.”

  Damon buried his face in his hands. Dee Dee looked like she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

  Her mom’s gaze shifted from Ted’s terrified face to Frankie’s. She saw the baseball cap pulled down low. The unnatural, ghostly pallor of her skin. The untouched plate of food. She saw the way Damon’s hand had instinctively found Frankie’s under the table. A dozen tiny, worrying details from the past week suddenly clicked into place. Frankie could almost see the thoughts connecting in her mother's mind.

  “It was a joke, Mrs. R,” Damon said quickly, trying to salvage the disaster. “A stupid inside joke. Sorry.”

  Maka’s expression was unreadable, a stone mask. She just nodded slowly. “Right. A joke.” She refilled their cups without another word and walked back toward the kitchen, her shoulders held stiff and straight.

  The four of them sat in a deafening, mortified silence.

  “Well,” Ted finally squeaked, his voice trembling. “I think I’m banned from the diner for life.”

  *****

  The sun was a fiery smear on the horizon, bleeding orange and purple into the clouds like a giant wound in the sky. The air was warm and thick with the scent of salt and cooling sand. Frankie stood at the water’s edge, her surfboard tucked under her arm, feeling the familiar, rhythmic pull of the tide.

  Damon stood beside her, his board planted in the sand. They were alone. After the disaster at the diner, Ted and Dee Dee had made a hasty escape, leaving Frankie to face her mother’s silent, questioning stare. But her mom had only hugged her, a long, tight embrace that said everything and nothing at all, and told her to “go have fun with that boy.”

  “You think she knows?” Frankie asked, watching the dark waves roll in.

  “My mom has a sixth sense for when I’m lying,” Damon said. “I’m guessing yours does too. She knows something’s wrong. She just doesn’t have the right word for it yet.”

  He gave her a soft, reassuring smile. “Ready for a sunset session?”

  It was a return to their oldest ritual, but everything was different now. Everything was wrong. Frankie wore her red bikini and had reapplied sunscreen until her skin felt sticky and gross, but as the sun finally dipped below the horizon, the awful prickling sensation faded. It was replaced by the cool, gentle caress of the evening breeze.

  This was her time now. The twilight. The night.

  They paddled out together, their movements perfectly synchronized, falling into the simple rhythm they had shared for years. The ocean was calm, the waves like rolling black glass. Out past the break, they sat on their boards, two dark silhouettes against the dying light of the world.

  “I was so scared,” Damon admitted into the quiet. His voice was a low whisper. “That night. On the ship. When I saw what you could do… and when I thought I’d lost you.”

  “I was scared, too,” Frankie whispered back. “I still am.”

  “You don’t have to be. Not alone.” He reached out, his fingers trailing in the dark water between their boards. “Frankie, whatever comes next—more pirates, sea monsters, or an army of angry ghouls—we face it together. I’m not going anywhere.” He looked her right in the eye. “You're not in this alone. I've got your back.”

  His promise was so simple, so absolute, it stole her breath. It wasn’t a boast. It was a fact. You're not in this alone. I've got your back.He wasn’t afraid of her. He was afraid for her.

  A perfect, dark blue wave swelled behind them. “My wave,” Frankie grinned. It was the first genuine, uncomplicated smile she’d had all week.

  She turned her board and paddled, her movements fluid and impossibly powerful. She caught the wave with ease, popping to her feet as the dark water lifted her high into the air. She carved a long, graceful line across its face, the spray cool on her skin. For a moment—just one perfect moment—she wasn't a monster. She was just a girl on a surfboard, one with the ocean, free from curses and hunger and fear.

  Damon caught the next wave, riding alongside her. They moved in a silent, perfect dance until the waves spent themselves on the shore. They paddled back out and did it again, and again, until the last vestiges of light had faded completely and a canopy of a million glittering stars blanketed the sky.

  They waded out of the surf, leaving their boards on the wet sand. The moon was a silver crescent, casting a shimmering path across the water. Damon turned to her, his expression serious in the moonlight.

  “I meant what I said, Frankie.”

  “I know.”

  He stepped closer, framing her face with his hands. His touch was warm, solid, and real. “I’m in this. All of it. For as long as you’ll have me.”

  It wasn’t a proposal. It was something deeper. A vow. An anchor in the stormy, terrifying sea her life had become.

  She leaned in and kissed him.

  It was a kiss of salt, and sea and promises made under the stars. It was a confirmation. A pact. His hands slid from her face to her waist, pulling her flush against him. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers tangling in his damp hair. When they finally broke apart, breathless, they were standing in the gentle surf, the cool water swirling around their ankles.

  “Together,” Frankie whispered, the word sealing their pact.

  Damon smiled, a brilliant flash of white in the darkness. “Together.”

  She rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady, reassuring rhythm of his heart. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. The thirst was still there, a quiet hum in the back of her mind, a monster sleeping. But for the first time in a week, it wasn’t the loudest thing she could hear.