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I open my mouth to beg him to kill me when he twists my neck, snapping it in half.

I fall limp. My body can’t move. My heart doesn’t beat. My lungs cease.

I’m not sure how long I’m dead for before I gasp myself awake. I’m in the dark, my hand skimming my chest and body for any injuries.

I chuckle, wondering how I allowed myself to believe such nonsense.

That’s when I see Nurse Anna dead on the floor. The memory of red eyes peeks into my mind. My body no longer hurts or feels weak.

Licking my lips, the scent of her blood on the floor is too much. I fall onto my knees, swallowing my uncertainty, and lick the red liquid off the filthy ground.

I groan, lapping every drop of nectar that’s gathered around the woman who spent so much time taking care of me.

When there is nothing left but light pink smears, I scoot away until my back rests against the cot.

The vampire isn’t here.

He has left me alone to learn the ways of what it means to be the Harbinger of Death.

199 years and 6 months later

Six months until I’m free of death.

Six more months of being alone.

Six months and this life is finally over.

Living for this long wasn’t easy. If I could turn back time and go back to that fateful night, I’d do everything in my power to deny my maker. Living for nearly two hundred years wasn’t sunshine and daisies.

The years were long, my bed was cold, and my heart was empty.

It’s still empty, and my bed is still fucking cold. I’m tired of living when everything and everyone around me dies first. I’m left with loneliness that stays with me.

Now, all I feel is anger.

There’s a burning rage I can’t seem to extinguish, a constant fire burning in my chest that I wish would stop. The only option that will cure it indefinitely is death.

I stare up at the ceiling, knowing I’m up earlier than everyone else, like always. I don’t sleep well. I don’t do anything…well. I merely do what I need to do to have each day go by. The closer to my end date, the better.

I’m tired of loving people, places, animals, and everything else. My heart can’t take any more. Too much of a good thing ends up being a bad thing. Turning into a vampire has proven that.

My alarm blares at the same time my rooster, Rascal, who was given to me by my friend Oklahoma, crows. Officially waking up the entire ranch.

The thought of Oklahoma turns my gut with guilt. I’m no better than the vampire who turned me. I go on vacation every year to Tornado Alley. I’m not proud of why I go. I don’t chase twisters or whatever they do down there.

I look for people who are nearly dead.

And I fucking feast. It’s wrong. I know. I know it’s wrong, but it’s the only time I get the taste of human blood. Dead Man’s Ranch is isolated here in Alaska. I typically drink animal blood since I’m not very close to the nearest city. I like seclusion.

Even the few ranch hands I have are vampires. I don’t trust myself with human workers. Human blood is so much better than animal blood.

So I’m not proud that I feast on people’s misery when I go to Tornado Alley. I look only for people who are on death’s doorstep, their hearts just a few beats away from stopping anyway.

But then I met Oklahoma. Something was different about him. I smelled that he wanted to live even though he said otherwise. Something in the back of my mind told me to save him. Now, he’s happy in Oklahoma, chasing tornadoes with his fated mate.

I won’t live long enough to see them next tornado season, which is why my property is now called Dead Man’s Ranch. I want it to run still. We supply dairy products, meat, hay, and for some reason, I started growing potatoes.

I can’t remember how that happened.