A Thirst for Darkness

A THIRST FOR DARKNESS MIDNIGHT VAMPIRES BOOK ONE VIVIAN CASEY A THIRST FOR DARKNESS by Vivian Casey This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. A THIRST FOR DARKNESS Midnight Vampires Book One Copyright ©2023 by Vivian Casey All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any electronic or written form without permission. For Christine, Who answered my endless DMs with such patience and humor that she earned herself a book dedication. CONTENTS WHERE TO FIND ME OTHER WORKS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Epilogue AUTHOR’S NOTE About the Author WHERE TO FIND ME —VIVIAN CASEY— Website: www.viviancasey.com TikTok: @viviancasey Amazon: @viviancasey Goodreads: @viviancasey Instagram: @viviancaseyauthor Facebook: @viviancasey —VIVIAN CASEY AS VIVIAN BARZ— Website: www.vivianbarz.com TikTok: @vivianbarz Amazon: @vivianbarz Goodreads: @vivianbarz Instagram: @vivianbarz Facebook: @vivianbarz OTHER WORKS AS VIVIAN CASEY MIDNIGHT VAMPIRES SERIES A Thirst for Darkness A Curse of Darkness (May 2023) A Stranger to Darkness (June 2023) * * * AS VIVIAN BARZ DEAD REMAINING SERIES Forgotten Bones Hidden Bones Campus Bones BOBBI MCCOY PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR SERIES Her Last Eclipse (June 2023) 1 Olivia I was going to be sick. Heart catching in my throat, I froze at the mailbox, grass squishy and damp around my shoes. Tears pricked my eyes, watering my vision so ugly words swam across the paper, each like a punch to the gut. Outstanding balance. Final notice. Collections. Why I was so taken aback, I couldn’t say. Call it denial if you want. I always knew the day would come when I’d have to face the music, but for months I’d fooled myself into believing that I had more time, more time. Now here was Stalwart Financial bursting my bubble and demanding the money they were lawfully owed. With interest. They were being pissy about it, too. A bold red threat had been penned across the top of the letter by the loan manager, Frank Thomas. No more excuses, Ms. Taylor. And believe me, I’d come up with some doozies: lost mail, illness, a death in the family—though the last was true. Seemed the bank had finally run out of patience. Another missed payment on my private student loan and they’d turn me over to collections. Plus, a reminder: I was three payments delinquent. Now the bank expected me to magically produce a thousand dollars to bring the account up to date. They might as well have asked for a million. Bastards, not that I could blame them. I was amazed they’d waited this long. I ran my fingers over the letter, wishing the numbers would magically change or go away entirely. I owed $118,000 for the knowledge in my brain, half of which I’d already forgotten, and a single piece of framed linen paper. Worse, if I didn’t start making substantial payments regularly, the number would only keep climbing because of interest. It was enough to make me feel sick all over again. Whether Frank No More Excuses Thomas had intended to be ironic was a mystery, but his timing was not lost on me. I’d just come from a job interview that I’d bombed so hard the supervisor called me the wrong name as I was leaving. And that was after she returned my ring-stained resume she’d used as a coaster for her coffee—thanks, but I won’t be needing this, April—practically shoving me out the door to make way for the next candidate. That was only the tip of the iceberg. I’d lost count of the number of employers who’d shafted me in the eight months (Had it really been that long?) since I’d graduated, oftentimes with unnecessary condescension. The story was the same each time. You’re a smart girl, Olivia, and you have a great degree from a great school and lots of great potential. But you have no real-world experience in the mental health field. Come back in a couple of years once you get some. Next! Try paying rent with potential. It was the annoying old catch-twenty-two. Managers didn’t want to hire you unless you had experience, but you couldn’t get experience unless . . . You can probably guess the rest. And in case you’re wondering why I didn’t suck it up, get off my high horse and look for a less desirable job outside my comfort zone, let me tell you, I did. Try getting hired as a server when you’ve never waited tables. Seemed I was underqualified for that, too. And retail managers? They’re wily. Once they saw on my application that I was a recent graduate of Dewhurst University, they suspected I’d only be using the job as a placeholder until I found something relevant to my degree. Frustrating, but they were right to be suspicious. That’s exactly what I’d planned on doing. While looking for work, I’d been scraping by on what little had remained of my student loans. Then, once those funds dried up, the small inheritance that had been left to me by my grandmother, Tilly, who’d died not so long ago. Also, credit cards, the mounding balance on them creeping up as stealthily as a ninja. For the past couple of months, I’d been too scared to look at what piddling cash was left in my checking account balance, but I suspected it was in the double-digits. If I was lucky. Sighing, I glowered at the other bills the mailman had delivered.