Come Nightfall:

Book 1: Nightfall

by Lexi Kingston

Genres: Dark Fantasy; Paranormal Romance; Vampires

Synopsis

A chosen one.

An ancient curse.

And a small town with a bite.

 

After tragedy strikes, Aspen Troy and her family are forced to uproot their lives, traveling across the world to live in an old house that fuels a small town’s legends and horror stories. Besides her dread and aspirations to be anywhere else, Aspen isn’t completely unhappy until the nightmares start. Horrific dreams leave her waking with very real scars and the image of a man she can’t seem to shake out of her head. A man who turns out to be the reason the disturbing stories circulating town exist to begin with.

 

Then there’s the Draven family. They seem normal enough, but their intertwining history with her ancestors is strange. It’s not until she comes face to face with one of them that she’s sure something is off. But it’s hard to be skeptical because, as it turns out, the devilishly handsome Miles Draven saved her life. Or is it possible he ended it?

 

When Aspen is presented with a choice—live and pledge her life to a clan of vampires, or die and sacrifice herself to the clan she would have been born into—she’s forced to make an unfathomable decision before her time runs out.

 

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Release date: December 14, 2020

Publisher: Lexi Kingston

Print pages: 257

Sample

Chapter One

Rain splatters on the roof as the TV blares from the living room where my father sits, probably asleep, definitely drunk, and completely unaware of how the annoying sound was keeping me and my brother awake. The flickering glow spills through the small cracks in my door, the old wood so desiccated it not only creaks when moved, but pieces fall off as well. The floors above me groan with the wind, and I’ve often wondered just how stable this house is, if it is even okay to walk on the second floor. Father claims it’s safe enough, but “safe enough” isn’t comforting to me.

A soft whisper flows through the room as outside air rushes in through the cracked window, bringing with it a spray of rainwater. I wipe perspiration from my upper lip and flop over in bed, darting a fleeting glance into my brother’s room. The room without a door. It had been there when we moved in, until my brother tripped and used it to catch himself—only to have it crash to the floor with him, breaking into a billion, tiny pieces. 

“I don’t understand,” I whisper, smoothing the strands of hair stuck to my face. “Why here?”

I close my eyes and wait for the answer I know will never come. I don’t expect it to, it hasn’t yet in the two weeks since we arrived, though I don’t expect much of anything as of late. Mostly, I’m thankful I was given the softest of the three beds, something my father often finds reason to accuse me of: costing him a good night’s sleep. 

None of us were exactly happy about the move, nor were we thrilled at the idea of living here until “things get sorted out” which in our family seems to be never, or in death… and I’m certainly not for the latter. 

The rain picks up, pounding against my window with such force I spring from the bed, falling to the floor as I grapple with my sheets. A five-seven girl is not meant for a measly twin bed.

“Are you alright?” my brother whispers from the room beyond mine. 

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” I whisper harshly in response. Father doesn’t like to be woken up, especially with a half-empty bottle in his hand, so we try to keep our voices low.

“Are you sure?” He comes to stand in the open doorway. He should consider himself lucky our rooms are conjoining, or else he would have nowhere to sleep. The entrance door to his room refuses to open, and I fear if it did, the entire foundation would fall, given how badly it groans every time someone attempts to un-jam it. 

“I’m fine, brother.” I force a smile, meeting his eyes as I use my knee to rise tiredly from the floor. Braving the raging weather, I press both hands firmly on the sticking windowpane, shoving it down with all my might. It squeals in protest, slowly obeying. “Truly.” 

He wrings his hands, taking small, tentative steps toward me until he makes up his mind and sits on the floor, resting his back against the side of my squeaky bed. I fall to the mattress, taking a heavy breath of dense, stifling air, so thick bedsheets are unnecessary. “You know, this—” 

“Is only temporary,” I recite. “I know.” 

“Good. I think Mom is worried it’s more than that,” he admits, pulling his knees to his chest. 

I brush the sweaty, ash-coated hair from his forehead—the downside of being in the room that’s home to an open fireplace, everything is so filthy it’s almost unlivable. He looks up at me, a fake smile painted on his lips. It hasn’t been real for some time now, but then again, mine hasn’t either. 

“You’re hotter than me,” I accuse. “Bring your mattress in here for the night. Hopefully the repairman will be here to fix the air-conditioner in the morning.”

He nods his head, and drags his mattress between rooms, placing it next to the broken bed frame Father tried to salvage and couldn’t. Though, you can hardly call a few pieces of tape an honest effort. 

So much about our lives has changed, but the difference in his personality is the most noticeable… right next to Mom’s.

“I don’t want to live like this,” I admit, and for a moment, I fear he’s already fallen asleep until I hear the release of a deeply held breath.

“It’s only temporary,” he reminds me, pulling the lamp cord so the room erupts in a dim, orange glow. He’s never particularly liked the dark. Well, not since—

“Get some sleep,” he instructs, wrapping the covers around himself like a cocoon. 

“You first,” I challenge, and he snickers softly.

At a certain point, I begin to wonder how temporary this state of temporality is. And how long until our only hope of leaving becomes a temporary promise as well.

“Goodnight, Aspen,” my brother whispers over his turned back.

“Goodnight, Dallas.”

☪︎ ☪︎ ☪︎

There’s a heavy pounding at the front door, and I startle awake, clutching my chest as if that alone might calm my pounding heart. 

“What the hell was that?” I ask, wondering who on earth would bother anyone at this hour, let alone us, the strange neighbors who recently moved into the decrepit house—besides the squatters and kids who broke in for the thrill. It was obvious when we moved in that this place hadn’t been as empty as we’d thought, given the number of footprints we found littering the entryway, but oddly enough, they never went any further than that. 

“Well? Any ideas?” I accuse, knowing all too well the kinds of trouble my brother can find himself in. “Dallas?” I turn to where he sleeps on my floor. Keyword being sleeps, as the pounding must not have woken him up, though it’s hard to see him through the darkness. Odd, he is normally such a light sleeper, and it’s not like him to turn off the lamp. 

The pounding comes again, and I look back to where my brother lies unmoving, unshaken by the angry booming from our rickety front door. I move to the front of the room and grasp the decaying bedroom door, opening it slowly so as not to give any indication that there’s someone here, or at least, someone awake. As I tiptoe slowly through the shadows and TV light, my eyes find a lump, face-down on the couch—my father—still snoring inconsiderately and also completely unaffected by the knocking. It’s not uncommon for him to sleep through lots of noise, given the state of his coherency is typically pretty low, if present at all. Still, waking him up is not something I ever want to do. My luck, this would be the one time noise gets through to him, and I just know my brother and I would be the ones who get blamed.

I’m careful as I walk through the living room to keep to the walls, and avoid passing any windows too closely. I drop to my knees as the banging continues, crawling quietly to the door where a small crack reveals the outside. My clammy fingers grasp for the sides of the door as I pull myself to a standing position, my nightgown catching beneath my feet. 

Bang, bang, bang.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to keep my breathing quiet and even. Never let the enemy see your fear. It’s a new town, a new neighborhood, so it wouldn’t be out of place for onlookers to snoop, or even attempt to scare the newcomers. 

As I glance through the crack in the door, I see nothing but the glow of our neighbor’s porch lights off the shimmering ground, damp with puddles from the rain. Our own yard is mostly blanketed by the dark. Very few people live around us, and those that do are mostly hidden by the thick brush of trees between houses, hardly visible from where our tiny home sits at the end of the crumbling brick road.

My chest rises and falls slowly as my fingers clutch the handle and twist it, opening the creaky door as slowly as possible to get a better look outside, fully aware of how stupid that is, knowing there may still be someone there that I can’t see. Gradually, I peek my head out to find, just as before, that no one stands on our front step. There’s no signs of life anywhere actually, which is strange considering those pesky raccoons are always traipsing through our garbage, raking it up and leaving it all across the yard.

“Hello?” I call out into the night. I squint my eyes through the darkness, looking for the culprit who has kept me up and paranoid for so long. “I know someone’s there.” 

Something in the distance moves rapidly, so fast I can’t follow. My eyes dart around the yard and my hands tremble as the wind picks up, blowing leaves toward me and through the cracked front door.

“Shit,” I curse, knowing perfectly well that I’ll have to wait until morning to clean them up in the light. “Hello?” I call out one last time, deciding that maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me. The annoyance banging on our door is long gone, probably asleep in his own bed now that his nightly tormenting is finished. As I’m closing the door, a gust of wind blows against the door with all of its might so I cannot shut it. I’ve never felt wind so strong, almost like someone was pushing from the other side. 

“What in the world?” I gasp, allowing the door to slam back open. I grimace at the damage it’s probably done to the doorframe and pray to the lord that it’s not broken in the morning. Then I twist around, glancing at my father’s still frame on the couch, thankfully, still asleep. 

I breathe a sigh of relief, and just as abruptly as it started, the wind stops. Looking out again, something glimmering against the porch catches my eye. I step out in nothing but my nightgown and bravery, or maybe stupidity—I’ve yet to decide which—and bend, running my fingers over the small chain that holds a heart-shaped pendant. It’s faded with vines snaking up the surface, looking centuries old—not that I know anything about that sort of stuff. Mom used to. Before. 

Grabbing the necklace, I stand and turn to go inside so I can examine it closer, but just then, the front door slams, knocking me back a few steps. A scream erupts from deep in my throat, and I lurch forward, grabbing the door and giving it a shove. 

“No, no, no!” I ram my shoulder into it with all of my strength. Leaves swirl around me like a dream, and the nearby trees groan in protest of the bossy winds. 

Heat trickles down my neck, warmer than the humid air surrounding me and noticeably different than the harsh breeze. My heart pounds in my chest, and I squeeze the necklace tightly, as if the thing placed to lure me out into the open might be my savior. My teeth gnaw at my lip as I turn slowly to find a figure standing before me. Too close. His eyes are black as the night and his hot breath surrounds me, choking me, calling me.

“We’ve been waiting for you, Aspen,” he whispers, a ghostly smile overtaking his face. 

I scream loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood.

 

Chapter Two

I bolt upright in bed, clutching my chest with both hands as sweat soaks into my hair and my clothes. 

“Bad dream?” Dallas calls from his closet where he stands with his shirtless back to me. He rummages through his small selection of t-shirts before pulling a red one on, then turns, cocking his head to the right. “Aspen? Don’t tell me you’ve seen a ghost already. I told Father there are probably creepy crawlies among us in this wretched place.” 

My eyes are wide as I take in the room. Everything is as it was when I fell asleep last night. The lamp is still on. The window is closed. Throwing off my covers, I run from the room and to the front door. It’s closed and locked as if nothing is out of the ordinary. It’s like nothing at all happened last night, but that can’t be right. I examine the frame for scratches or dents, any cracks or missing chunks. Nothing. It’s exactly as it was yesterday morning, barely functioning, but also the sole sturdy thing in our little shack.

My spine tingles as the feeling of hot breath seeps down my neck. My heart rate picks up as I prepare for what I’m about to see. 

“Aspen.” Dallas’s hand squeezes my shoulder tightly, and I jump, brushing him off with clammy fingers.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” I yell, causing my father to snort and stir on the couch. Dallas pins me with a meaningful look. 

“I’m sorry. But I just had the most bizarre night. There was this banging, and—and this man. Dallas, I’ve never seen anyone like him. It was so odd. Are you sure nothing woke you up?”

“Are you having night terrors again?” he asks, placing his thumb under my chin so I’m forced to look at him. His disheveled hair sticks up at all angles, and his brown eyes look desperate for a full night’s rest.

“No, of course not. Trust me, you’d know. Besides, this wasn’t like that. There was a man knocking at the door, you didn’t hear anything?”

“Like I said before, I slept through the whole night, for the first time actually, which is odd.”

“Breakfast?” 

We both turn toward our mom, dressed in the only thing she’s worn since the accident, a long nightgown with ruffles on the shoulders. Never does she change into day clothes or do her makeup like before. She simply switches between the light pink one or another in light blue. 

“No, Mom, we’re not hungry,” Dallas speaks for both of us, stirring my irritation.
“I’m starving. Mom, would you like any help?” 

She smiles at my offer, removing her apron and draping it over my neck. 

She places her hands on my cheeks, patting them with affection. “What a beautiful girl you are. You remind me so much of Rachel when she was your age.” A longing expression crosses her face, and for a moment, she’s Mom again—stressed, run-down, always busy, always with a weight on her shoulders. 

“Mom,” Dallas warns, resting a hand on her side.

“Right. Right. We are not to speak her name.” She closes her eyes, regaining her composure, the plastered smile retaking its rightful place on her lips. “Now, now, let’s not live in the past. Aspen, dear, scramble the eggs for me, will you?”

“‘Course, Mom.” I swallow, holding back a wave of tears. It’s been like this for months. Sometimes we’re lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the mom we knew, the one who raised us, who read us bedtime stories despite working sixteen hours and needing sleep of her own. The mom who cooked us breakfast and drove us to school every morning without complaint. I look at her now, busying herself at the stove, the only place I see her nowadays except lying in bed when she has a “bad day.” This is the first good day she’s had in almost a month.

“Don’t talk about your nightmares in front of Mom. You might send her spiraling again,” Dallas warns, squeezing my arm.

“I’m telling you it was real.” I will him to listen, but he dismisses me, raising his eyebrows in denial. I close my eyes and swallow, shaking my head rapidly. “Or, or at least it felt real. Dallas, I have a bad feeling. It was wrong, something’s wrong.”

His dubious expression only irritates me further. “So apparently bad dreams are omens now?”

“You know better than to ignore my gut feelings,” I remind him, cracking an egg and letting its contents drop into the bowl with the others Mom has already mixed… shells and all.

Dallas’s expression darkens and he takes a step toward me, voice low. “That was completely different and you know it. That was real. We are talking about your dreams, here, Aspen.” 

“Which doesn’t make my apprehension any less valid. I’m telling you—”

“Aspen, you said you’d help.” Mom beckons me over to the stovetop, motioning for me to finish scrambling the eggs.

“Sorry, Mom.” I shoot Dallas an irritated look.

“Now if you two could get along for five seconds, I’d be overjoyed.” She clicks her tongue, twisting her hair into a high ponytail that just brushes the tips of her thin, bony shoulders.

“Sorry, Mom,” we say simultaneously, then glare at one another. Mom pauses her kitchen duties to touch each of our faces, something she used to do when we were kids.

“Don’t be sorry, loves. Now, Dallas, help with the pancakes, darling.” She flicks his chin affectionately with her thumb, then rests her eyes on me. They draw slowly down my face, until they reach my chest, catching there. “Well, dear, that’s a lovely necklace. Where did you find it?”

Nausea rolls through my stomach like a tidal wave. 

Necklace?

I turn slowly to face the antique, circular mirror on the wall—one of the only things we brought with us—my eyes resting on the short, gold chain clinging to my skin like a tattoo. I clear my throat several times, opening and closing my mouth in order to come up with some excuse as to why it’s around my neck. 

“It was only a dream,” I remind my paranoia. Then the mirror morphs, the face of the stranger staring back at me with those same soulless eyes and evil smile. Chills run down my spine, even as sweat drips down my face from the eighty-degree weather and our lack of air conditioning. He seems to be beckoning me, calling me to him, and all I want to do is scream at him to leave me alone. I’m about to do just that when my mom speaks.

“What was a dream?” she inquires, that fake, petulant smile never wavering. She’s a drone. A mirror image of the woman she once was. She’s the shell of an egg after it’s been cracked and emptied of its yolk. That’s my mother. Hollow. Empty. Broken.

It sickens me. 

I can’t find the words to express what I’m feeling, or seeing, even. This does not make sense. How does a necklace I dreamt about end up clasped around my neck? The only logical explanation is that it was not a dream at all, though I’m not sure how I’m going to convince anyone of that without being accused of losing my mind.

Dallas speaks before I do, soothing Mom’s poor attempt at worrying, but I don’t hear what he says. The necklace entrances me, and I find myself taking small steps toward the mirror to get a better look. The man fades in and out of view as I get closer. One moment it’s his pale, unsmiling face, and the next it’s mine. My fingers brush the cool pendant, and I notice just how heavy it is. Heavy enough that I should have noticed it the moment I woke up this morning. Instead, I’d been too concerned with what may or may not have happened last night. 

Reaching up toward the mirror, I find that the face is gone again, leaving only my own ghostly white expression. When my fingers make contact with the glass, it sparks, causing me to jump back. A thin, barely visible crack snakes its way diagonally across the mirror, not stopping until it stretches from corner to corner. 

“You saw that, right?” I turn breathlessly to Dallas, who watches me with morbid curiosity.

He blinks several times, searching my face for answers. “I saw you staring strangely at the mirror…”

“No, you doofus, the crack.” I point at the center of the mirror, running my finger over the now jagged line. “Look.”

Dallas investigates the mirror, Mom doing the same. “Oh no! It must have cracked during the move. What a shame,” she whispers, running her fingers across it longingly. I’ve never understood why the mirror means so much to her. It’s an ugly piece of junk in my opinion.

When she walks away, I grab Dallas’s arm before he can follow. “It didn’t crack during the move. It wasn’t like that before, it cracked when I touched it.” 

He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “I’m fairly sure we would have seen the mirror crack when you touched it. Go help Mom and stop acting bizarre. You know how it affects her.”

“Aren’t you going to listen to me?” I holler. He’s already walking up the unstable steps toward the study where he spends most of his time reading science fiction novels about things crazier than this. You’d think he, of all people, would believe me.

Especially after all we’ve been through. 

In the bathroom, I stare at my reflection. My fingers fiddle with the clasp of the necklace, and just as soon as I unhook it, I reattach the ends. Dropping my hands, I touch the pendant briefly before deciding against removing it. There’s no reason to keep wearing it, but there’s also no real reason not to. Not really.

I can’t explain it, but for some reason I don’t feel right taking it off.

☪︎ ☪︎ ☪︎

Later on, Father wakes up, and as per usual, isn’t in the happiest of moods, especially when he finds out the last of his beer is gone. Also following our norm, he blames Dallas for drinking them all with his friends. Granted, that’s how my brother went about life back home, poking around in Father’s alcohol cabinet for something strong enough for a good time, but what he forgets is neither of us have friends here. The past few times when he’s asked me to go into town for more beer, I’ve managed to convince Dallas to make the run for me. Actually, quite a few of the times, he’s offered, claiming he needed to get out of this dejected house. Except this time, when I tell him what Father has asked of me, he shrugs his shoulders and tells me to take the road path and not the short cut through the woods.

“You don’t want to go for me?” I ask, trying and failing to gain his attention.

He sighs, setting his pen down on the dirty, ripped up tablecloth beneath his lined paper. He used to write on his computer, but he had to leave that behind in the move. We’d had to leave everything behind but the clothes on our backs and the items closest to us that we could grab. “You can’t avoid going into town forever.”

I shake my head, fear and anxiety settling in my chest. “Well then, come with me. Please, I don’t know where anything is.”

Dallas turns, his full attention finally on me. The muted light from the small, round window casts a shadow over half of his face, making him look wicked. He puts both of his hands on my shoulders, giving them a slight squeeze as he releases a breath. “Once you get into town, it’s the first shop on the right with the blue roof. You can’t miss it, Aspen. You’ll be fine.”

“But—”

“Nothing bad will happen to you if you leave the house.” He eases from his chair before pulling me to his chest. “You can’t be afraid forever.”

“I think we both know I can be,” I mumble into his chest while attempting to fight off the trembling in my hands.