I own nothing. The characters and themes portrayed here are the property of D. S Goyer and New Line Cinema. I have borrowed them without permission, and I hope that neither they, nor the actors who played King, et al with such panache, will mind much if I play for a while in the Blade universe and return them (relatively) unharmed.

The only thing I do have claim to is Caitlyn Thomas, and any O.Cs I introduce later.


In the aftermath of Daystar, the Nightstalkers are mopping up the few vampires left behind and trying to accept the fact that their friends didn't die for nothing.

When King makes a stupid mistake on a hunt, he literally drops into the life of Caitlyn Thomas, a reclusive woman with a secret. It would be ignorant to assume that vampires are the only supernaturals in the world…

Two Roads.

Chapter 1.

In the midst of a quiet neighbourhood on the outskirts of LA, full of large, stone-walled, turn-of-the-century townhouses and lush, manicured gardens, a pitched and bloody battle was raging. Grunts, shouts and the horrible wet smack of flesh as it contacted wall or weapon filled the air. Silhouettes against the inky blackness of the sky, struggling for balance on the rooftop, two figures lunged and spun and fell oblivious to the world around them – locked in a fight to the death.

In a daring move, the shorter of the two ducked under a flying fist, tackled its opponent and sent him tumbling down the slick tiles of the roof. Standing back, it watched as fingers scrabbled for purchase, missed the ornate guttering and disappeared over the edge of the world with a shouted oath, before landing with an ear-splitting crash on the ground below. A low cackle filled the air before the slim form took off along the roof-ridge, heading towards the city at a steady lope. Its opponent was already a dim and dusty memory in the dark recesses of its mind as moonlight glinted off a pair of milky white fangs it bared in a grin. It was time to hunt.

The sound of the sky falling woke Caitlyn Thomas from a deep and dream-filled sleep. Blinking in the dim light of her room she tried to gather her scrambled thoughts together enough to figure out what the hell was going on. She still hadn't worked it out when, minutes later, she crept downstairs with a baseball bat in her hand and pink bed-socks on her feet to investigate. Maybe she'd had a break-in?

The kitchen? No, all clear…no axe-wielding lunatics or burglars there.

The lounge? Nothing happening there either, just the sleepy form of her altogether-useless guard dog Sam snuggled on the sofa.

It had to be the dining room then, she told herself unconfidently, taking a better grip on the worn handle of her bat and a deep breath to steel her nerves.

She tiptoed – as best one could in bed-socks – through the door, hugged the shadowy wall like they did in the movies and rounded the end of the long oak table, only to stop and stare at the wanton destruction before her. Every square inch of the solarium in front of her was covered in broken glass, wood-chips and mortar. Above her head, a gaping hole now existed where an intricate Victorian glass ceiling had been a few minutes before, and in the corner her favourite plant was mangled and squished to the point of being unrecognisable. In fact, it was so unbelievable that she almost put the bat down to pinch herself, before she caught sight of a black lump in the middle of it all and came abruptly to attention. She frowned at it, trying to work out, without going any closer, what it was. A large bird? A space alien?

It groaned. And moved. She jumped and inched backward, the bat held high in front of her, her heart racing. Curses! Why hadn't she picked up the ornamental sword on the hall wall instead of this bat?

Maybe she should call 911. Yes, that would be the best idea, call the cavalry and have them take care of the strange black lump and the crushed solarium while she went back to bed and got back into that dream she'd been enjoying about Johnny Depp, a tropical island and a bottle of massage oil. But then she remembered why she couldn't do that, and was back at square one – afraid, pyjama-clad and clutching a baseball bat as if her life depended on it.

The lump swore, in a voice laced with pain and frustration, and a little bit of concern invaded her fear and preyed on her soft heart. Maybe it was hurt, bleeding even, possibly even fatally, and all over the floor of her solarium. What if it died? And when the cops got here it turned out it was an innocent person, just out for a stroll at night-time before they'd unfortunately and inexplicably fallen through the roof of her solarium. She'd be held responsible, possibly even charged with something, and then…her sleep-fuddled brain didn't register the lack of common sense in this train of thought, and before she knew what she was doing she was gingerly walking towards the lump, and wincing as glass crackled underfoot.

As she neared it, it moved again and flopped over onto its back, another oath escaping as sharp glass dug in. She found herself staring into a dark pair of eyes that blinked, tried to focus and failed. They shut tightly while a blood-spattered hand lifted and shakily rubbed a lacerated forehead, and Caitlyn stood there uncomfortably wondering what to do. The black lump was a guy, visibly injured even in the darkness, and all her salves and bandages were upstairs. That was two flights of wood and carpet away, he didn't look in any shape to walk that far, and she knew she couldn't carry him, so what to do? Ah yes, that was it…wait, did he say something?

"Ouch…fucking bastard…who the hell has a roof made entirely of glass in their house?" he muttered, blinking at her again, and feeling around his belt in a deliberate fashion for something. That something turned out to be a really, really large gun, with a red laser targeting thing on the end as she discovered when it was pointed at her seconds later and its owner demanded, "Who the fuck are you?" in a slightly hoarse voice.

So much for an innocent person out for a walk, more a gun-toting lunatic with a slightly sinister beard and blood on nearly every bare bit of skin (and there was quite a lot of that, she appreciated).

"I…I-I'm…" she stuttered, the baseball bat shaking at her side, wide eyes staring at the barrel of the gun as it wobbled unsteadily in the general direction of her face. Dark eyes blazed at her for a few more seconds before the effects of falling from the rooftop through the solarium to the concrete floor below caught up with their owner, and he passed out with an audible thud. The gun dropped with him, thankfully, and Caitlyn's heart started beating again as her lungs took a grateful gasping breath. This was supposed to be a quiet neighbourhood, damn it!

She had paid good money for this house for that specific reason. There weren't supposed to be madmen brandishing deadly weapons anywhere nearby, her solarium was not supposed to be shattered into a million different pieces, and she wasn't supposed to be entertaining the idea of maybe, possibly figuring out a way to get said madman upstairs in order to bandage his cuts and bruises. She should be calling 911, calmly reporting a break-in, and retiring to the kitchen to pour a large glass of something strong and preferably aged ten years in an oak barrel.

Something was stopping her though, and as she couldn't work out what it was and was frankly too tired to care, she settled for dropping her bat, and knelt by the stranger to gently put a hand on his shoulder. With a sigh she shut her eyes and began to murmur something quietly. Barely noticeable at first, his body began to rise slowly and a little shakily until it was about three feet off the floor. Caitlyn stood, opening her eyes, and nodded in satisfaction. Finally, those months of hard work had paid off. He was her first successful levitation. Now, all that remained was to get the body upstairs, which was easier said than done, she realised, when a flick of her wrist in the general direction of the door only seem to make the body sway in mid air. This was going to take a little more effort than she'd anticipated. Johnny Depp and the massage oil would have to wait.


I haven't written in a while, and have never written for this genre, so I'm not sure how well/badly I'm doing. Please read and review so I can make it better 