"Assassins? Benefactor? What the hell are you talking about?"

Brett reclines on my couch with his feet kicked up onto the armrest. "Okay, in short: someone who goes by The Benefactor wants to kill every supernatural creature in Beacon County. So, they made a list depicting every one with a sum of money. This is the sum of money rewarded for each kill."

My lips twist into a frown. "Do you have a copy?"

He shoves a folded piece of paper into my hands. "Here."

It seems to be printed from a computer. I look down the list.

SEAN WALCOTT 250
DAVID WALCOTT 250
MICHAEL WALCOTT 250
CHRISTINA WALCOTT 250
LYDIA MARTIN 20
SCOTT MCCALL 25
DEMARCO MONTANA 250
DEREK HALE 15
CARRIE HUDSON 500
KAYLEN BETTCHER 250
KIRA YUKIMURA 6
ELIAS TOWN 250

I recognise one name and one name only: Sean Walcott. There's another sheet behind it and I flick the page.

KATE ARGENT 12
NOSHIKO YUKIMURA 5
JOANNE MCLAUGHLIN 1
STEVE GRACE 1
NOAH TERRELL 5
TOM HILL 1
BRETT TALBOT 1

And then my eyes go wide as I look down at the sheet. Not because of Brett's name, but because of the one after it.

LENORE HARRINGTON 3

"How did they know?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at Brett.

"Don't ask me," he says. "Don't ask me how they know any of this."

"And why am I worth three dollars?" I question.

"Three million dollars," he corrects me.

"Okay, okay," I say. "Makes more sense now. I was totally going to pull a Julius Caesar and request a higher price. But aren't I technically already dead? Doesn't that mean I get the three million dollars?"

Brett pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "There are assassins after us and you're worried about how you can get the money for yourself?"

"Come on, Brett," I say, pouting. "Take one for the team. Wesley and I would really appreciate you donating your life for two matching Lamborghinis." He widens his eyes. "Relax, Brett," I say quickly. "Even if I do sometimes feel like killing you, I'm not going to. I think I'll miss your pretty face too much."

He opens his mouth to speak but my phone ringing cuts him off. I dig it out of my pocket and answer without checking who it is. "Hello?"

"Lenore!" Wesley's voice sings out over the line. "Hello! You have no idea how glad I am that you picked up. Listen, I need a favour. Is Brett there?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Put it on speaker."

I hesitantly put it on speaker and mouth Wesley's name to Brett. He nods understandingly.

"Can Brett hear me?" Wesley chimes.

"Yep," Brett confirms. "How you doing, Wesley?"

"I'm great, thanks for asking, Brett," Wesley says. Wesley does sound great, actually. More than great. Jubilant. "Anyway, you wouldn't believe what just happened to me. I just got myself a date with one of the hottest guys I've ever seen at the bowling alley tomorrow night."

I sigh. "And why do you feel the need to remind me of my singleness?" I ask.

"I need you to be my wingman," he says. "You know, tell me what to do and what not to do."

"Wingwoman," I correct. "And I'd love to, Wesley. But I don't enjoy being the third wheel on things like this. Just be yourself and if he likes you, he likes you."

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no," he urges. "No. You are not abandoning me on this, Lenore. You see, I knew you would say something like that. That's where Brett comes in. He can come as well as your date. A double date! Genius!"

I furrow my eyebrows. "Just one problem, Brett and -"

"Great," Brett cuts in. "What time do you want us to get there?"

I quirk an eyebrow up at him.

"Around seven o'clock," he says. "Guys! I can't wait! This is going to be so fun."

"Yeah, I suppose," I mutter.

"See you tomorrow, Wesley," Brett says.

I shut off the phone and glare at Brett. "What the hell was that? Did you just ask me on a date that I can't say no to?"

He grins wryly. "Well, technically, I didn't ask you, anyway. Why? Don't you want to go out with me?" He juts his lip out into a frown.

"Okay, so you friendzone me and then say you're going on a date with me?" I grumble. "You're confusing the hell out of me."

"I didn't friendzone you," he says, his eyebrows knitting together.

"Yes, you did," I say matter-of-factly. "I quote: 'I just want to help you. You're my friend.' " I say the last part in a Brett voice.

"I don't sound like that," he says. "And I just didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I didn't think you'd like me back. You had that whole say-a-word-about-us-getting-together-and-I'll-scalp-you-in-your-sleep thing going."

"Oh my god," I say in awe. "Is that what I seem like to guys? Am I really that scary? Is that why I'm single?"

"One, yes. Two, yes but I think that's a good thing. It scares off all the assholes that won't treat you the way you deserve to be treated. And finally, three, you're single because you hang around a certain tall, handsome lacrosse captain too much. I tend to intimidate other guys, if you couldn't tell."

"Bullshit," I say. For some reason, I want to feel responsible for my own singleness. "I'm single because I'm a dead, heartless bitch who drinks blood and goes to a psychiatrist in her spare time."

"I don't think of you like that," Brett says softly.

My heart leaps in my chest as he comes closer. He leans in and my lips part, ready for his mouth to meet mine. I drink in every detail of his face, every curve and angle, before I shut my eyes. His face is so close to mine that I can feel his breath tickling my skin.

"Lenore!" my aunt sings out, coming into the room. I swear under my breath and sit back up, my posture rigid. "Your session with Dr Clarkson is in ten minutes. You better get going." As she enters through the doorway and her eyes fall onto Brett, she pauses. "What's going on?" she asks. She sounds like an overprotective dad. I grunt.

"Brett and I were doing research on an assignment," I say. "I'll be on my way." I grab my jacket and pull it on.

"I can drive you. It's on my way home," Brett says.

I smile. "Thanks," I say. "But I think I'll manage. I'll see you tomorrow, I suppose."

His eyes light up. "You're coming?"

"I'm coming," I say with a smile. "How can I turn down the chance to completely own you at bowling?"

He chuckles. "Yeah, good luck with that."

As soon as Brett and I leave the house, we go our separate ways. I shut the door behind me and walk to my jeep. I drive the way to Devenford Mental Facility humming along to an embarrassingly good throwback special on the radio. Satan must be hard at work today because as soon as it's time to get out of the car, Bootylicious by Destiny's Child comes on and I have no choice but to sit there and sing along to it, regardless of my lateness.

The room is the bland, dated style I remember. I sink down into one of the cloth seats. I'm not late, per se, since Dr Clarkson is almost always astoundingly late. There are four other patients in the room and I sigh. Dr Clarkson would be running extra late today. The four patients comprise of the same teenage girl with the heavy eyeliner from last time, a middle-aged woman with a deep set frown, a man around thirty who looks extremely sullen and a gangly young man with eyes that seem to be popping out of their sockets who doesn't stop fidgeting. All in all, it's a rather unremarkable group of patients. That is, until the fifth patient comes in.

I feel a pang of hunger in my stomach but ignore it, instead focusing my attention to continuing stalking people on Instagram. I shift in my seat, trying to get comfortable. When I see someone sit next to me out of the corner of my eye, I don't think much of it. It's not until that person speaks that I get jolted out of reverie.

"Whatcha doing?" Noah Terrell says over my shoulder.

I glare at him. "What are you doing here?" I hiss.

The talking attracts the attention of everyone else in the room. After all, it's not the norm in psychologist's waiting rooms for the patients to acknowledge each other. We all just kept to ourselves, usually.

He grins. "Aren't you happy to see me? It can get awfully...boring in here, am I right?"

I raise my eyebrows. "No," I say nonchalantly and go back to what I was doing on my phone.

He plucks it out of my hand. "What is it with teenagers these days? Always so...disrespectful." I reach for my phone but he retracts his hand, holding it out of my reach.

"How old are you, anyway?" I mutter, folding my arms over my chest.

He chuckles. "I'm seventeen. I thought you'd know that."

I narrow my eyes at him. "I mean how long you've been alive for," I persist.

He smiles again, flashing me his perfectly aligned teeth. He leans over and whispers, his breath tickling my ear. "One hundred and twenty years, sweetheart." I flinch and he drops the phone into the flat of my hand.

I flinch, letting down my guard for a second. I quickly recompose myself. "What are you doing here, anyway? Haven't you got some children's dreams to steal or innocent puppies to kill?"

He cocks his head to one side. "You don't like me very much, do you, Lenore?"

Dr Clarkson swiftly comes through the door. I strain my ears to hear my name, but she calls someone else. The teenage girl with the eyeliner stands up and stiffly walks through the doorway. I turn back to Noah.

"What gives you that idea?" I ask, my voice dripping in dry sarcasm.

Noah chuckles, slumping back into his seat. "You may not like me now, Lenore, but I have a feeling we're going to be very close." He over-pronounces the consonants in the last part, dragging out the words to make them seem as intimidating as possible.

I stiffen up and fix my eyes on a stain on the wall across from me. The room falls into silence again, the kind where even the scuffle of someone readjusting themselves in their chair drew everyone's attention.

I bite my lip, tossing up at asking Noah something. Like him or not, he seemed to be pretty well equipped with knowledge of the supernatural world. "What do you know about supernatural assassins?"

Noah presses his lips together into a firm line and nods knowingly. "The Benefactor," he says.

"How do you know about that?" I ask him, leaning forward in my seat.

"I knew something was up when a freaking human tried taking my head off with a sword," he says with a shrug. "I decided to investigate and came across that page with the list of names." He squints slightly at me. "How did you find out about that?"

I sigh. "It's a long story."

He checks his watch. "I've got time," he says. "Dr Clarkson is running over an hour behind schedule anyway."

"Brett and I went looking for this man named Peter Hale since Brett's alpha told us he had what I wanted to walk in the sun. He tried staking me and since I was so weak, I had to drink Brett's blood. I accidentally drank too much-"

"Of course you did," he interjects. "No offence, but you really don't have the influences to make you a good vampire. I was taught all I know by an ancient, powerful vampire. Not some wolf boy."

I glare at him. "Anyway, back to the story. We went to Beacon Hills Hospital and on the way out some guy with no mouth started throwing axes at Brett. I took the axes instead of Brett since they couldn't kill me."

He raises his eyebrows. "And you took the motherfucker out?" he asks.

"Sliced his head clean off his shoulders," I declare.

"That's what I want to hear!" he says with a cheer. He holds out his hand for a high five. I hate to admit it, but Noah is actually pretty good company. I fidget with my phone case as he talks. "Hey," he says softly. "Are you feeling alright? You look like you could have a bite to eat."

"A bite? No thanks, I already went out for lunch."

He looks at me stupidly. "I meant a real bite." He pauses. "Coming to think of it, do you even drink human blood?"

I shrug. "I've only ever drank it twice," I say. "I try to suppress the hunger, but it comes on stronger and faster the longer I leave it."

"Then why don't you feed more often?" he asks.

I cross my arms over my chest. The next patient gets called - the middle aged woman. I turn to Noah. "I don't want to hurt people," I say bluntly.

He furrows his eyebrows. "You don't need to hurt humans to drink blood." His voice takes on a hushed tone. "Look, I can give you some of my supply. I get it from the blood bank."

I stare him down coldly, my eyes fixing on his eyes, unflinching. "No, thank you."

"Okay," he says. "Continue killing puppies or whatever it is you dieters do."

"Screw you, Noah," I mutter. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

He shrugs. "My parents signed me up to it. They think I need help with my problems so that I can become a normal teenager."

"Your parents, are they vampires, too?"

"Yeah," he says. "But they were bitten after they gave birth to me. After all, vampires can't reproduce."

I widen my eyes. "What?"

His lips twist into a hostile smile. "You don't know anything about vampires, do you? We're dead. We can't reproduce."

"So I can't have babies?"

"Look, Lenore, I know you were hoping I'd knock you up or something, but we can't all get what we want." A cocky grin is plastered across his face.

"I hate you so much," I mumble.

All he does is laugh.

I ignore his presence for the rest of the waiting period. When Dr Clarkson calls my name in her shrill voice, I feel relieved for the first time ever. She ushers me into the room and shits the door with a click behind me. I sink down into the seat across from Dr Clarkson's. I fold my hands in my lap and fidget with my fingers as she sits down across from me.

"How have you been doing, Lenore?" she asks. "Any progress?"

"I've been good," I say. I hesitate before answering a little too long. She narrows her eyes at me. "Better than usual, actually."

It's a half-true answer, in all honesty. The thoughts of my parents have taken up position at the back of my mind, replaced by more demanding issues. This would be a good thing, save for the fact that I now had to keep myself living by drinking blood and spent my spare time being prey to supernatural assassins.

She half-smiles, disrupting the perfect symmetry of her face for just a second. "You shouldn't lie, Lenore," she says. "You can talk to me." When I don't answer, she says, "How's your new school going for you? Made any new friends?"

I purse my lips. "Yeah, actually, I have," I say, a smile broadening across my face.

Devenford Prep wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, truthfully. I had made friends quicker than I expected to and I was actually enjoying the school.

"Good," she utters. "Keep up your social activity to keep your mind off of things."

She proceeds to ask me the usual questions and persists on giving me tips on dealing with my grief as a survivor. Survivor, I think dryly. How ironic considering I'm dead.

She studies me for a while silently before saying, "Your aunt will be glad to hear you're making progress. Thank you, Lenore." She gestures for me to leave and I swiftly get to my feet and haul the door open.

The weather outside is absolute shit and enough to put me in a bad mood. I raise my hood and charge into the heavy pouring of rain. The rain beats down onto my head and shoulders and, even with my heightened hearing, drowns out any other noise.

I sigh angrily as I duck into the driver's seat of my car, my eyes shooting daggers at the rain drops on the seat and dashboard from my clothes and hair. I run a hand through my hair and stick the key into the ignition. I twist the key and the car makes a horrible grating sound before reducing to silence.

"Fuck," I mutter under my breath. I try to turn the car on again, frowning.

Eventually coming to the conclusion that it won't work no matter how many times I try it, I push open the door and brave the rainstorm. I try my phone. No service. I go around the back of the car and open the trunk, peering inside. I squint as I look for the toolbox. My father had made sure I was equipped with one ever since he bought the goddamn car. You don't want to be stranded anywhere, do you? he had pointed out every time I had questioned him about why he was so adamant about it. I feel a hollowness in my abdomen as I think about him, but I ignore the feeling and get back to searching the trunk.

I rummage around in my pocket and produce my phone. It takes a while to get the flashlight on my phone open since the rain keeps pounding down on it and I keep having to wipe the drops off. I turn on the flashlight and finally let out a sigh of relief as I spot the toolbox. I open it with a snap and pull out a wrench. I'm not sure exactly what to do with it but still go ahead with the attempt. What's the worse that could go wrong?

I go around the front of the car and open the hood. I widen my eyes at the labyrinth of pipes and machinery. "Oh, Jesus," I mutter. I stick the wrench in the first place which it seems to fit over and twist. Nothing happens except for the sound of metal against metal. "Okay, okay," I say under my breath, trying to keep my cool. The sky is dark and rain has soaked me to the bone by now, sending shivers down my spine continually.

I jam it around another pipe and tighten, groaning. This whole vampire strength thing is pretty useless at the moment. I release the pipe, reeling back from the sudden loosening. I continue this process a few more times until I realise I might be using the wrong tool. I go around the back and pick up the tool that looks the easiest to use. I plunge this one into the engine and tighten it where seems fit.

I finally realise that this is the wrong thing to do when smoke starts billowing out of the metal machinery. I grimace. This just got a whole lot worse. I wave my hand around, trying to disperse the thick tendrils surrounding me. Fucking hell.

"Need help?"

I turn around, my wet hair clinging to my cheeks. "Go away, Noah."

He doesn't go away. Instead he comes closer. "Really? You look like you could use some help."

I fold my arms over my chest, jutting my bottom lip out defiantly. "Really? What gives you that idea? The smoking engine? Being caught in a storm with my car not working?"

He leans over the front of the car, peering into the engine. "I don't know what's wrong with it," he says finally. "Look, I can give you a ride if you want."

"No," I say, shaking my head vigorously. "I think I'll manage."

He chuckles, folding his arms over his chest. "What are you going to do?" he asks wryly. "Walk home in the storm?"

I nod my head. "Yes, actually."

He raises his eyebrows. "Really? Because there's someone behind you and they look like they're about to shoot an arrow through your back."

I swivel around just in time to see the arrow flying towards me. I part my lips in a silent scream, but the arrow never reaches me. Noah's hand clutches the wooden arrow right in front of my chest. The shadowy figure veiled by rain moves - probably retrieving another arrow. With a drawback of the arm, Noah throws the arrow back at a remarkable speed. The figure skirts out of the way just in time. Noah swears under his breath. I feel Noah's hand on mine and then the coolness of metal being pressed into my palm. "Run," he says. "I'll be right behind you."

And I run.

I press the button on the keys as I wind my way through the parking lot. None of the cars are Noah's. I hurry my pace, clicking the button every few steps. "Shit," I mutter. I look down at the key in my hand hopelessly. I bump into someone and gasp in surprise. "Noah," I say through a breath. "You scared me."

He takes the keys out of my hand. He faces the car behind me and clicks the button. "Really?" he asks.

"Sorry," I mumble, my voice dripping in mockery. My eyes fall onto his shoulder which is covered in blood. "Whoa, what happened?" I move to push his jacket off of his shoulder.

"It's nothing," he says. He swats my hand away and winces as he moves his arm.

I tilt my head to the side. "It's not nothing," I say. "Let me see."

"It's nothing," he says, his tone taking on a more aggressive tone. His voice softens. "Look, I just need blood. I need to go to my house for my blood supply."

I nod slowly. "Yeah, of course," I say softly. "Can you drive?"

"Yes," he answers.

I go around the other side of the car and open the door. I sink down into the passenger's seat. I suddenly realise how tired I am. Last night truly was tedious, especially considering the two murder attempts. I lean against the seatbelt, my cheek squished against it uncomfortably. Noah turns the ignition on and starts the drive to his house.

He side-eyes me. "What's wrong?" he asks.

"Don't worry about me," I mutter. "You're the one who got a wooden arrow in the shoulder."

"Tell me," he persists.

I sigh. "Just tired."

"Hungry," he corrects. "You need to keep up your blood intake." He takes a right turn, pausing his speaking. "You know, you should have some of mine."

I shake my head halfheartedly. "I don't want any."

He sighs but doesn't say anything. We get to his house and he turns the car off. I push my door open and wince as the rain comes down hard on me. I was just starting to dry off, I think disappointingly. I hurry up the steps to his house after him. He unlocks the door and gestures for me to go in.

It's underwhelming to what I was expecting. No evil vampire lair, no archaic furnishings. In fact, it seems normal. I pause in the hall, still in awe over how unremarkable his house is. I feel a hand on my back, pushing me into the room at the end. "You can sit, you know," he says. He gestures to the couches in the living room.

I nod and take a seat gingerly. "This is rather disappointing," I say, shifting in my seat. "Where's the dusty old furniture, the chandeliers, the torture chambers?"

He laughs and shakes his head. "You are such a bad vampire," he says. A crease appears between his eyebrows as he studies a very cold and wet me. "I'll turn on the heater for you."

"Thank you," I say.

When he comes back into the living room, he's brandishing two bags of blood. He drops down onto the couch beside me, a bit too close for my liking. Our thighs and knees are touching and I shift uncomfortably.

He pours some of the blood into a glass and takes a swig of it. He sighs contently. "That feels good," he gushes. He holds the glass out to me.

"No, thank you," I say, keeping my eyes off the glass. I want it so badly - no, I need it so badly - but I don't dare reach out for it.

"Why don't you drink blood?" he asks.

I look up at him cautiously. "I don't want Brett to be disappointed."

"You're not drinking blood for a werewolf? I mean, seriously, a werewolf? Why do you care?"

I shut my eyes and sigh. "Because I like him," I say quietly. "I know it's stupid of me to like someone who will probably never like me back but I can't help it."

"How adorable," he says, his voice dripping in sarcasm. "Just like Romeo and Juliet. And we all know how that ended." He shoves the cup into my hand. "Drink up, princess. What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

I look at him and then back at the cup. I raise it to my lips and drink. I feel the energy fill my body quickly, making me more alert immediately. I hold out my cup for some more. He grins and pours. It goes on like this for a while, until both the blood bags are empty.

"Feeling better?" he asks, taking the glass out of my hand and setting it down on the coffee table.

"Very," I say, smiling. I recline in the seat and bring my knees up to my chest. "Can you tell me everything you know about vampires?"

"Of course," he says. "We need blood to survive and grow weak without it. We're immortal except for if our bodies are burnt to the point of no healing, wood staying in our bodies, decapitation and werewolf bites. We can't walk in the sun unless we have one of these rings." He holds up his hand. "Vervain weakens us and so does the sun. We can't have babies. We can ignore the human side of us. To turn into a vampire, you need to die with vampire blood in your system and to complete the transition, you have to feed on someone."

"Is that all?" I ask, raising my eyebrows.

"Off the top of my head, yes," he says. "I'll tell you if anything else springs to mind."

"What about compulsion?" I ask. "I heard Peter talking about it."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot about that," he exclaims. "That's mind control. It only works on humans who don't have vervain on them."

"So I can convince a human to do anything? And they'll do it?" I urge.

He nods. "Absolutely anything."

"Wow," I gush, widening my eyes. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, absolutely."

"Why do werewolves and vampires hate each other so much?" I inquire, tilting my head to the side slightly.

He shrugs. "Something that happened a long time ago," he says dismissively. "You know supernatural creatures, never willing to let anything go until their demise."

"I don't, actually," I say. "Know supernatural creatures, that is." I press on with the questions. "Is it impossible for a werewolf and vampire to be together?" I gnaw on my lip as I wait for his answer.

He sighs. "Brett again?" He puts two fingers under my chin and tips my head up for my eyes to meet his. His breath smells of blood when he speaks. "I think that no matter how much in love you are with your pretty little dog boy, if you act on your feelings it's going to get you both killed."