"I don't understand. How are you here? We thought you died eight years ago."Ricky's voice shook as her eyes darted across his unchanged face. "You look exactly the same—except for those clothes. Where did you get such awful clothes?" The words tumbled out in a breathless mix of shock, anger, and disbelief.
Warner stood slowly, brushing dust from his hoodie and jeans—torn, stained, and wildly out of style.
"Ricky, I need you to focus. I need your help." His eyes flicked toward the door like he was expecting it to explode inward at any second.
She took a step back, fury and relief fighting for dominance in her chest. "Help? Warner, I need you to explain why my best friend let me believe he was dead for eight years." Her voice cracked, a raw edge slicing through the reunion.
He paused, then nodded. "You're right. I owe you an explanation—and I promise I'll tell you everything. Just… let me say it all. No interruptions."
Ricky crossed her arms tightly, but gave a single, cautious nod. Her eyes didn't leave his for a second. Warner closed the door and locked it. Then he motioned for her to sit while he started pacing, clearly searching for the right words.
"I didn't have a choice," he said finally, his voice low. "What I did—disappearing, faking my death—it wasn't meant to hurt you. I had to go, and when the opportunity presented itself, I had to take it."
She stayed silent, arms still crossed. The air between them was sharp, charged with a tension that hadn't broken in eight years.
"I don't age like you," Warner continued, eyes focused on the floor. "You'd started to notice—I know you had. I was twenty-two on paper, but my face wasn't changing. I couldn't stay and explain that without dragging you into something dangerous."
Ricky's jaw tightened. He hesitated, then added:
"I'm not human, Ricky. I'm a vampire."
There was a beat of silence so complete it felt like the world had stopped spinning.
Ricky blinked. Once. Twice. Then she let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "You're joking. No—you've lost your mind. You fake your death, show up in a hoodie from 2006, and now you're telling me you're a vampire?"
Warner met her eyes, deadly serious. "Yeah. Kinda ruins the dramatic comeback, huh?"
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Ricky snapped, stepping toward him. "This is either the worst joke or you need serious psychiatric help. Vampires aren't real, Warner!"
"That hurts Ricky, telling someone they aren't real. I'm telling you the truth. You know me—at least you used to."
"Used to." The words hit him like a slap.
"Then let me show you." He took a step forward, hand outstretched.
Ricky froze. Her fingers twitched toward the knife at her belt—a habit leftover from a life she'd only half left behind. Her heart thundered in her ears.
"Show me what, Warner?"
And then he was gone.
Not vanished—but moved. Inhumanly fast. He was behind her before she even turned. Her knife was already in his hand—she hadn't even felt him take it. In the same breath, he was across the room again, back where he'd started.
"What the hell are you—"
Before she could finish, he slashed his left arm from wrist to elbow.
Blood welled instantly, a deep red line opening on his skin. Ricky rushed to him on instinct, hand out, eyes searching wildly for something to use—cloth, pressure, anything.
But then Warner pulled a blood bag from beneath his hoodie, tore it open with his teeth, and drank. Not sipped—devoured. It was messy, feral, efficient.
Ricky turned back to his arm, only to stop cold.
The wound was gone.
Well—closing. The skin pulled together as if drawn by invisible threads. Within seconds, the only trace left was a faint pink line… and even that faded as she watched.
She knelt in front of him, staring at the spot where the gash had been. Her hands were sticky with blood—his blood—but there was no wound to match it. No scar. Nothing. Just a perfectly healed arm and a man she suddenly didn't recognize.
He's not human, she thought, panic pounding in her temples. He's a monster.
But then, just as quickly—No. He's not a monster. He's Warner. My Warner.
Her breath caught. Her body screamed at her to run, to bolt out the door and never look back. Every instinct said she should be afraid, but some stubborn, agonizing part of her wouldn't let go of the friend who always had her back. The one who used to know her better than anyone else. Part of her, the part that missed companionship, it wouldn't let her run.
Her knees wobbled as she stood, slowly walking back to the couch. She sat, dazed, staring at her blood-covered palms as if they could explain any of this.
"So vampires are real?" she said quietly. Then, more bitterly:
"Next you're going to tell me werewolves exist too and you're at war with them or something."
Warner wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and chuckled, voice dry.
Warner laughed. "You watch too many movies. "
"This is a lot to take in," Ricky said as she walked to the sink and began washing the blood from her hands.
Warner retrieved the beers from the entryway and cracked one for each of them. "I know."
"And do you make it a habit to carry blood bags on you at all times?" She asked.
He looked at her slyly, "I had a feeling you would need some convincing."
Ricky took a sip of her beer, processing Warner's words. "I guess I'm officially a believer now," she said, attempting to lighten the mood.
"Good," Warner stated, setting down his beer, "like I said, I need your help."
Ricky raised an eyebrow, intrigued yet apprehensive. "You are a vampire and can heal yourself, not to mention whatever other powers you haven't told me about, what could you possibly need from me?"
Warner leaned forward, his expression turning serious. "My sister is missing."
Ricky stared confused, "I thought you were an only child."
"That was my adopted family, remember. My sister is also a vampire."
"A vampire," Ricky echoed, letting the word sink in. She felt a chill run down her spine. "And you think she's in trouble? Can't she just use her powers and be fine? Also, how many of you are there!?"
Warner sighed, taking a long sip from his beer. "She's in danger, Ricky. She's still young, she doesn't know what she is yet, and we are worried that the wrong sort of people are after her."
"What sort would that be?"
"Vampire Hunters," Warner said plainly.
Ricky let out a groan before downing the remainder of her beer and rifling around in a box next to the couch. "Vampire Hunters, of course," she said with a laugh as she unscrewed the lid on a half empty bottle of cheap whiskey and proceeded to take a drink.
Warner watched her patiently, waiting for the laughter to subside. "I know, it sounds cheesy and cliche, but it's real, and I need you. I know I don't deserve your help after letting you believe I was dead. Truth is I missed you too much, and couldn't stay away, so I've been keeping tabs on you, and that's how I know that you are the best when it comes to finding people." His eyes changed, and Ricky could see the worry in them. "Please, I need your help."
Ricky sighed, staring into the bottle as if it held the answers she didn't have. "Fine, I'll help," she said, her voice softening slightly. "But I need information, all of it. We do this my way, and I need to know everything, about your sister, about you, about what you are."
Warner nodded, relieved. "Of course," he agreed quickly, "But for you to know everything, we have to take a trip."
Ricky raised an eyebrow, intrigued and wary. "A trip? Where to? "
Warner smiled, "You have to meet my mother."
Ricky groaned again, incredulous. "Your mother? Warner, I trust you, I mean, it's you after all, but you still haven't told me how many vampires there are. I'm going to be safe, right?"
Warner chuckled softly, trying to ease her worries. "Yes, Ricky," he assured, "You'll be perfectly safe, just don't let them touch you, or smell you, and you might want to carry a few stakes."