Okay. Okay.
Just breathe.
I'm alive. The vampire corpse is intact. Nothing's on fire. That's progress.
I glance down at the giant wooden coffin hogging my entire kitchen floor like a cursed dining table.
And then I hear it.
A soft mrow?
I turn my head slowly. There, perched on the counter like a judgmental gargoyle, is my cat: Salem. Black as shadow, eyes glowing like he's channeled the devil himself, tail flicking with pure disdain.
"Don't start," I snap at him.
He blinks slowly, unimpressed. Then, with that level of demonic grace only cats possess, he hops off the counter... and lands right on the coffin lid.
"Salem, no—don't you dare—"
THUD THUD THUD.
The vampire coffin shudders.
Salem sits, licks his paw, and smacks it against the lid again like he's testing it for weaknesses. Great. My cat's trying to wake the dead. Literally.
"Off. Get off!" I hiss, flailing toward him.
He refuses. Obviously.
I attempt to lift the coffin myself, aiming for the basement door, which is inconveniently located across the entire kitchen, behind a suspiciously narrow hallway, and—of course—down a very steep staircase.
This is going to suck.
"Alright," I mutter, bracing my legs. "Let's do this."
I grab the side handles and heave.
The thing doesn't budge.
I grunt, sweat already starting to trickle down my neck. "What the hell did they make this out of? Vampire-grade tungsten?!"
Behind me, Salem lets out a bored mrrrp, clearly unimpressed by my lack of upper body strength.
I glare at him. "How about you help instead of doing your best crypt-keeper impression?"
He yawns in response.
I try again. Rock the coffin back. Get it tilted just enough. One shove at a time. I manage to inch it forward, dragging it like a corpse in a horror film—which, technically, it is.
My rug gets caught under the edge.
"NOPE—not the rug, not again—"
The coffin slides, tilts dangerously, and knocks over a chair, which crashes into the pantry, knocking loose an avalanche of canned goods.
CLANG! THUMP! RATTLE!
"Oh great. Now it sounds like I'm murdering someone in here."
Another mrow. This time from the top of the fridge.
I glance up. Salem has teleported from coffin to fridge somehow, and is now watching the chaos unfold like he's hosting a reality show called "Witches Who Shouldn't Be Left Alone."
"I hate you," I mutter.
Finally, after dragging the coffin across what feels like six miles of kitchen tile, I reach the basement door. I pull it open, reveal the staircase of doom, and immediately question every life choice I've ever made.
Because now I have to get it down.
I stare at the coffin. The coffin stares back.
Well. Not really. But it feels like it.
This is a terrible idea.
I brace the coffin against the top step.
"Okay. Slow and steady—"
It immediately slips, bounces down the first step, and I lose all control.
"NO NO NO—"
THUD-THUD-THUD-KRASH.
It rockets down like a boulder in a cartoon, hits the bottom with a final, echoing BOOM—and miraculously stays closed.
I stand at the top, panting.
"...nailed it."
Salem appears beside me, tail flicking, and lets out a condescending purr.
I glance down into the dark basement.
Now all I have to do is go down there… with the unstable vampire coffin that may or may not be waking up soon.
Fun.
*****
The second my foot hits the basement floor, I waste no time. First things first—get the damn coffin inside the cage.
Now, this isn't some rickety metal box I picked up at a thrift store. No. This cage is custom-built and witch-forged, reinforced with sunrise enchantments—a charm so intense that even the faintest graze against the bars would feel to a vampire like their skin was being slow-roasted by the morning sun. They hate that. Even the ancient ones.
I grab the coffin handles, digging my heels into the cold concrete, and start dragging. Every inch feels like moving a mountain, but I manage to slide it across the floor and into the cage's interior.
The moment it's inside, I slam the cage door shut with a satisfying clang and twist the triple-lock mechanism into place—runes glowing faint gold across the steel. I double-check them: still active. Still deadly to undead flesh. Good.
Problem is… I'm inside the cage too. Because of course I am.
I quickly press a finger to the necklace around my throat—the protective charm I definitely remembered this time. A soft pulse of warmth radiates from it. Still working.
One last breath. I brace myself.
Then I slide the coffin lid open.
I expect—no, fully prepare myself—to see a pale, cruelly beautiful vampire woman inside. One of those seductive, silk-draped types with blood-stained lips and a dramatic expression of betrayal frozen in time. Staked through the heart, motionless. Quiet.
Nope.
What I get instead is…
A man.
A pale, stupidly handsome man.
The kind of handsome that belongs on the cover of a forbidden romance novel. Sharp cheekbones. Long, ink-black lashes. Hair like midnight spun into soft waves. Lips parted slightly, as if he died whispering a secret.
And yep—there's the stake. Dead center, right through his chest. Good.
But also...
He's completely naked.
I freeze, hand still on the lid, brain glitching like a bad spell loop.
What. The actual. Fuck.
"Fuck. Me."
No. Wait. Not literally.
I cover my eyes like that helps, peeking between my fingers like a perv. He's lying there like a damn tragic vampire prince who passed out in the middle of a gothic romance cover shoot.
Did no one think to cover him? Not a single ceremonial sheet? A courtesy blanket? A leaf?
I glance down again. Yep. Definitely not wearing a thing. Not even jewelry.
"What the hell, guys?" I mutter to no one, trying not to look. "Was this some kind of undead prank? 'Bury him with dignity'—my ass."
I grab the edge of the coffin and cautiously pull the lid open a little farther, like it might suddenly spring to life and yell "Surprise!"
Still dead. Still gorgeous. Still very naked.
"Well, this is awkward," I mumble.
Salem—having followed me downstairs with all the subtlety of a demon on a coffee high—hops onto the top of the cage and immediately starts purring.
"Oh no. No no no. Don't you dare bond with him. He's not a rescue."
I reach into my bag and fumble for one of the spare linens I keep around for rituals—or, apparently, unplanned vampire nudity. I drape it over him as carefully as possible, trying not to touch anything that will haunt me in my dreams later.
I step back, heart still thudding, mind racing.
Why did I think this was a good idea again?
Oh right. Revenge.
This vampire? He's not just any bloodsucker.
He's the one who started it all.
And now… he's in my basement.