Previously on Trancing Miranda

Miranda meets Nick outside the rundown Botanica-style business where Layla Peterson works. Miranda is trying to keep her fae vampire-sensing abilities a secret and pretends not to notice Nick’s approach. He has paid her $500 to help him track down leads and find her attacker, Tony Gyari. Nick assumes the money will make it possible for her to take time off work to recover from her injuries and blood loss but Miranda has no intention of doing so.

Conjure Moon

Close up, the window of Conjure Moon was dusty and crowded with at least a dozen South American and Caribbean gods and goddesses. In the center of the display, a big, vintage-looking statue of Our Lady of Guadalupe prayed over a tangled pile of Catholic rosaries and Santa Muerte beads.

The door of the shop was turquoise. It was probably a good color once. Now the paint was grimy and worn. Miranda stepped onto the cracked stoop and pushed open the door, and Nick followed her in.

The interior was dim and almost as cluttered as the front window. The floor-to-ceiling shelves overflowed with books and herbs, and Hoodoo candles.

A long, narrow table in the center of the room bowed under the weight of rows of brightly painted Day of the Dead skulls, assorted crystals, and even more statues. On the counter, next to the register, a chalkboard easel announced a half-price sale on black candles and Florida water.

Dust motes drifted in wide spiral patterns, and a heavy, vaguely floral incense filled the air.

“It’s a tourist trap,” Miranda said. “Everything is fake.”

“Not everything.” Nick took off his sunglasses. “Some of it’s legit.”

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He was right, Miranda realized. It wasn’t the kind of energy most vampires would notice, but it was definitely there, stale and shadowy, more sad than frightening.

Layla was behind the counter, smiling at her phone. Then she looked up and frowned. “Oh no. You can’t be here.”

“I’m not mad,” Miranda said, holding up her empty hands in way that was supposed to make her seem harmless. “I just want to talk.”

But Layla wasn’t buying it.

“Leave,” she practically squeaked. “Or I’m calling security.”

Who would notify Daniel the second they found out Miranda was involved. “So you want my cousin to know?”

“Do you?”

Miranda thought about telling Layla that Daniel already knew, then decided against it. “If he finds out about me, he finds out about you.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Layla said. “You did. Maybe someone should tell him.”

“Then go knock on his door,” Miranda said, calm but not kidding around either. “And fill him in. Make sure you tell him about how you introduced me to Tony.”

The cockiness evaporated. Layla took a step back, elbow grazing a metal carousel stand of Santa Muerte beads. The stand wobbled for a moment, beads swinging wildly, then crashed to the floor.

And before Miranda could even think about telling her to just take a breath, Nick stepped in between them.

“We just want to talk, Layla,” he said. “You don’t need to call anyone.”

Layla looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time, realized she was in trouble, and went for her phone.

And everything changed.

There was a fullness in Miranda’s ears. A split second warning before the magic hit, cutting through the air so fast that reality rippled. It was the kind of distortion that looked harmless. But wasn’t.

The almost but not quite invisible shock wave hit Layla hard enough to blow back her hair.

Then the hair settled. Layla’s hand dropped. The little leather gris-gris swung harmlessly back and forth.

The atmosphere went back to normal. But Layla did not.

Instead, she just stood there, smiling the wide, stupid smile of somebody who had just been blasted with hardcore vampire magic.

Miranda turned and glared at Nick. “Really? We’ve been here two minutes.”

He picked up a Day of the Dead skull and studied it. “You were scaring her.”

“That was you.”

He shrugged and took the skull up to the counter. “I’ll take this and two bottles of Florida Water.”

“Sure,” Layla said, but she didn’t move, even though the Florida Water was immediately behind her.

“So you know Tony Gyari?” Nick asked, like they’d just met up at a party.

The sappy smile widened. “I do.”

He pulled out his wallet and counted out two fifties. It would have been a decent bribe if Layla had bothered to look at it. But she had eyes only for him.

“Where is he?” Nick asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Then what do you know?”

His voice had changed. He didn’t sound like he was at a party anymore. He sounded serious. The kind of serious that scared people—and even though Miranda couldn’t see it, she could feel the darkness gathering all around him.

Layla had stopped smiling. Or rather, the smile had frozen into something that was no longer a smile. “Not a lot, really. I only met him a couple of weeks ago.”

“Do you know where he is now?”

She shook her head.

“Can you call him?”

“I already did. Ten times at least. He’s not getting back.”

“I want you to write down everything you remember about him,” Nick said. “Friends, acquaintances, places he goes, whatever story he gave you. Everything.”

Layla just stood there.

“Get a piece of paper and a pen,” he said, giving her the step by step.

Layla grabbed her purse off the floor and started to rummage.

Miranda didn’t like Layla. But the puppet show was too much. “Why not just ask her?”

“She can’t handle the energy. She’ll remember more if I give her space.”

Layla held up a little skull notebook, eyes shining. “I found it.”

“That’s good,” he said. “We’re going to look around while you write it out.”

“I guess there’s something you want to buy here?” Miranda asked as they walked away. “For your occult library?”

He rolled his eyes, which would have been a normal thing if they weren’t all sparkly from the spell. It was almost pretty, in an eerie kind of way. Silver sparks in a sea of black. Tiny bursts of light against the darkness.

“There’s a Santa Muerte altar in the back,” she said. “If you want to pay your respects.”

He gave her another look, but this time his eyes were normal. “You’re thinking of drug dealers. Not vampires.”

“It’s all the same black hole, though, isn’t it?”

They stared at each other, and Miranda was not afraid.

She wondered if he saw it. She wondered if he knew that she had seen worse, that what he did was nothing compared to the things she had seen.

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“I need more paper.”

They turned. Layla was holding up a skull-shaped piece of paper filled with careful cursive writing.

“How cute,” Miranda said. “You said a piece of paper and she doesn’t want to get anything wrong.”

Nick waved a hand. “Use all the paper you need.”

He turned and walked to the book section, as if there was something in between palmistry and root working that might actually interest him.

Layla went back to writing with a focus she’d certainly never displayed when she and Violet used to get together to study. “Maybe you can brainwash her into going back to community college,” Miranda suggested.

Nick ignored her.

She tried to browse, but he wasn’t wrong. The vibe inside Conjure Moon was dark and chaotic. It was the kind of thing she could shut out, ordinarily, but not this time.

Because the real problem wasn’t the shop.

The real problem was Nick Markovich and his inky black energy.

He pulled a book from the hoodoo section and leafed through it. “You’re probably still tuned into my energy from the other night. If you’re sensitive, you should step out.”

He was fishing again, trying to find out what she could do, and she had no intention of showing him.

Miranda had worked long and hard to learn how to protect herself—how to build walls, how to hide her abilities, how to stay sane in a world that was bright and loud and seething with energy.

She had a feeling Nick knew some of that already. But she wasn’t about to confirm it.

“I’m not sensitive,” she said. “And I don’t need to step out.”

He put the book back on the shelf. “Suit yourself.”

“I’m done,” Layla said brightly.

Nick skirted a table full of junk and picked up the papers. There were three. Each filled up, front and back, with the same childish script.

Layla frowned. Then, her bottom lip began to quiver. “Is that okay?”

“It’s perfect.”

She smiled so wide it must have hurt.

Nick picked up the little leather pouch around Layla’s neck, then put it down again. “A gris-gris only has power if it's real.”

Layla just stared.

“The only viable amulet you're going to find in the Regio is a crucifix.” He paused like he was waiting for it to sink in. “So you should find one and get it blessed.”

“Okay.”

He pulled out a wad of money and peeled off six fifties.

Layla was frowning at the money stacked up on the counter. “That’s too much.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

The dazed look gave way to confusion. She was trying to figure out what had happened. “Will there be anything else?”

Miranda pointed toward the front of the shop. “The Our Lady of Guadalupe statue in the front window.”

NEXT SCENE

Thank you for reading! New installments of Trancing Miranda post weekly!

© 2025-2026 Barbara Graver. All rights reserved. This is an original work of fiction. Do not reproduce or redistribute without written permission.

CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 | CH 5: Sc 1 | Sc 2 | Sc 3

Previously on Trancing Miranda

Nick and Miranda meet. Miranda chooses a sunny restaurant because most vampires are unable to compel people in full sun. While this is not true of Nick, he likes that she’s strategic. He notices that she is wearing an authentic fae amulet. Hoping to secure her cooperation, he tells her he is with the Vampire Council and that her attacker, Tony Gyari is dangerous, and must be stopped. Nick asks Miranda to take him to see Layla Peterson because Layla knows Tony. Miranda doesn’t like the Council and wants to know what’s in it for her.

Wheeling and Dealing

Miranda agreed to take the blueblood to see Layla, but she insisted on taking her own car. Now she was sitting on the hood of the ancient Honda Civic, scrolling on her phone while she waited for him to park.

She didn’t see him find a spot or get out, but she caught his energy from down the block. Pretending she hadn’t noticed him, she kept her eyes on her phone until he was directly in front of her.

“You’re going to ruin the paint job,” he said.

Miranda uncrossed her legs, and the heel of her boot made a long black streak on the faded silver hood. “I hate to break it to you, but it’s already ruined.”

He smiled, and it was a nice smile. Bright and charming and surprisingly normal.

Nick Markovich handled sunlight better than any blueblood she’d ever met. He was casting an actual shadow, completely at ease. And, creature of the night or not, daytime suited him.

The sun warmed his dark hair, reflected off the black wraparound sunglasses, and caught the pale gray threads in the trendy charcoal-colored suit.

The suit looked built for him instead of tailored, reminding Miranda of Russian TV mafia, or old money, or some magazine guy in an overpriced cologne ad.

None of which was bad.

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“Is that it?” he asked, nodding at the shop across the street, and Miranda looked too, even though she’d seen the place a hundred times before.

It wasn’t much to look at.

One of the stained glass inserts flanking the door was cracked and the whole shop seemed to be listing a little to the left, as if something was weighing it down.

Under a ratty burgundy awning, the front window was crowded with statues and books and colored bottles of various sizes. A faded purple banner dangled just behind the merchandise.

Conjure Moon. Come on in and shop for a spell.

“It’s where she works,” Miranda said. “Her name is Layla Peterson. She’s friends with my sister, Violet, or was before Violet went away to school.”

On Daniel’s dime, which was kind of funny, given how much Violet disliked him.

“Okay.” Nick pulled out his wallet and counted out the 500 agreed-upon dollars. “But you owe me another lead if this one doesn’t pan out.”

“No.” Miranda twisted to shove the money into the back pocket of her jeans. “I don’t owe you anything. I give you the info. If you don’t know what to do with it, that’s on you. If you need more help, you have to ante up—and it can’t be today because I have work.”

“You just made 500 dollars.” He frowned. “Why not take a day to get back on your feet?”

It was a nice thought, but Daniel would make some kind of crack and she didn’t want to hear it. And if she got through one shift, she could get through another.

“Not your business, Nick.

Trancing Miranda is finished. New installments now posting weekly!

© 2025-2026 Barbara Graver. All rights reserved. This is an original work of fiction. Do not reproduce or redistribute without written permission.

CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 Sc 1 | Sc 2 | Sc 3 | Sc 4 | Sc 5 | CH 5 Sc 1 | Sc 2

Previously on Trancing Miranda

Regio Authority, Daniel Boucher, goes to the Vault to speak to the manager about the new safety directive. Daniel meets with one of his own employees. Disappointed with the employee’s performance, he reflects on Miranda’s ability to hold people accountable in spite of her emotional damage. Daniel knows he shares some of the blame for this. We learn that Miranda was once his donor, in spite of being his (mostly fae) second cousin, and that vampires in this world are complicated and not necessarily nice.

The Pancake House

Nick spent the rest of Friday night wrapping up loose ends on his last case and getting up to speed on recent events in the Regio. There was not a lot of drama, considering the number of people in and out.

Even the half-vamps, who were so problematic in human territory, were largely well-behaved inside the gate. Thanks to Daniel.

Technically, Daniel Boucher had limited authority over any half-breed vampire who lived in human territory. Practically, no one cared. The half-vamps knew they were on their own inside the Regio. Most acted accordingly.

And it was no surprise so few chose to live there.

Nick finished his work and got a shower. At sunrise, he sent a text asking Miranda to meet. She texted back hours later with a link to Pan-American House of Pancakes and the message “Be there at 11 AM.”

He parked in the sun-drenched parking lot at eleven, as instructed.

The Pan-American House of Pancakes was one of several restaurants that catered to the Regio’s human population. The interior was spacious and sunny and packed with people. The smell of syrup and bacon mixed with the steady drone of conversation and the delicate clink of flatware.

Miranda was in a booth. On her immediate left, an enormous plate-glass window magnified the sunlight. Nick sat down across from her. Without makeup, the freckles stood out sharply against her chalky skin. Under her eyes, the circles were blue as bruises.

She’d washed her hair and skipped whatever chemical she’d used to stiffen it when he saw her last. In the slanting sun, her long red curls gleamed with golden highlights.

The club clothes had been replaced a gray hooded sweatshirt, bunched up enough at the neck to hide the bite. A polished green and red flecked teardrop pendant dangled over the folds of gray cloth, the stone glowing faintly all around the edges with pale leaf-green light. Looking closely, Nick saw an eight-pointed fairy star etched into its surface.

The stone was a charm—an authentic fae charm—and it had magic.

It had been centuries since Nick had seen a real fae talisman. He wondered if Miranda knew what it was or if had just been handed down through the generations without an explanation.

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“Thanks for meeting me,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if you’d show.”

She gave him a quick, hard smile. “I almost didn’t. But you helped me out, so I felt like I owed you. One meeting.”

“I appreciate it.” Nick squinted at her through the polarized shield of his sunglasses as millions of photons rained down upon them. “You do know I’m a vampire?”

“I guess I wasn’t thinking.”

But she had been. She’d been thinking quite clearly. She knew that compelling someone was almost impossible in this kind of light.

Nick was an exception to that rule, but only to a point.

He scanned the menu. “How’s the neck?”

“It’s fine.”

But not healed. Some fae lived almost as long as vampires, but they healed slow and dirty, just like humans.

“How are you otherwise?”

“I’m good. It takes a couple of days to bounce back, but I’m getting there.”

Nick closed the menu. There were five different syrups on the table, but no pancakes. “Did you order?”

“For me. I didn’t know what you’d want.”

Nick motioned to the waitress and ordered coffee.

Miranda studied him with the unwavering intensity of a very young child, and Nick had the distinct impression she didn’t like what she saw.

“Do you know who my cousin is?” she asked.

There was no point in lying. “Daniel Boucher.”

“So you know he’s the Authority?”

“Yes.”

“Is that why you helped me?”

“I would help anyone in that situation.”

It was true, or close enough, but it didn’t explain today. He was here for a reason. It wasn’t about Daniel. It was about Miranda’s ability to track.

“Okay,” she said. “Say that’s true. You helped me. You fixed me up. You’re done.” She took a sip of coffee. “So, why are we here?”

“Maybe I have an interest.”

She laughed. “In me?”

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“Why not?”

“I’m not your type, Nick. We talked about that already.”

He remembered. “You said I liked innocent women.”

“Innocent and obedient…” She tilted her head and studied him. “With long, silky blond hair.”

“That’s every guy.”

She smiled, not offended like some women would be—because she was used to immortali, probably, and the way they objectified people.

Then the waitress was there with the pancakes and coffee.

Miranda lined three of the five syrups up in front of her plate, then used all of them, separating and folding back the layers of pancake with her fork as she poured until the entire stack was saturated. She cut the stack into uniform squares and took her first bite.

“I got the impression,” Nick said, “that your attacker was on good terms with your friend at the Black Goddess.”

She kept on eating, watching him carefully over dripping forkfuls of pancake. “So?”

“I thought maybe we could talk to her. I was hoping you’d take me by her house.”

Incredibly, she was pouring more syrup, the liquid a bright sapphire blue in the beaming sunlight. Her gaze drifted left as if she had figured him out already and was no long interested. “Why?”

“You know her.”

“I mean, why talk to her?”

He took off the sunglasses and gave her just enough energy to make her receptive to what came next. “I want to find Tony Gyari.”

“Because?”

“He’s a danger to others.”

“No kidding.” If the energy was affecting her, it didn’t show. “But that’s not what I want to know. I want to know why that matters to you. Specifically.”

And she wasn’t going to let it go until he gave her an answered that made sense. Nick pulled out his Council ID and laid it down on the table in front of her.

She dropped her silverware with a clatter. “You work for the Council?”

“That’s right.”

Miranda’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t like the Council, which was par for the course, really. Inside close-knit vampire districts like the Regio, people usually didn’t, and in this instance, Nick understood.

The Council had failed the Regio seven years ago, and anyone close to Daniel Boucher would know that.

“I don’t know my way around,” he said, wondering if she would buy it. “And people aren’t going to talk to me.”

“Unless you zap them?”

It was how he operated ordinarily. Energy was efficient. Getting people to trust you was not. “Probably.”

A car door slammed out in the parking lot, and a man in a faded sweatshirt dragged two crying kids across the asphalt. Miranda watched, expressionless. In the streaming sun, the freckles seemed to soften, spilling over her nose and skating lightly across her cheekbones.

The man was on the grass now, beside the front door, hunkered down to talk to the children. Behind him, the late morning sun sliced down between the cars, bouncing off windshields and mirrors in a blaze of white.

Miranda picked up the knife and fork and cut a big triangle of pancake. “What’s in it for me?”

He grinned. “The satisfaction of taking a dangerous vampire off the street?”

She gave him the same hard smile she’d led with. “Try again.”

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Trancing Miranda is now finished. Installments will be posting every two weeks as I edit! New installment coming soon! Subscribe for free to received future installments via email.

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© 2025-2026 Barbara Graver. All rights reserved. This is an original work of fiction. Do not reproduce or redistribute without written permission.

CH 1 Sc 1… | CH 2 Sc 1… | CH 3 Sc 1… | CH 4 Sc 1 | Sc 2 | Sc 3 | Sc 4 | Sc 5 | CH 5 Sc 1

Previously on Trancing Miranda

Miranda’s second cousin and Regio Authority, Daniel Boucher, confronts her at works. She learns that Daniel found out about the swap gone wrong attack at the Black Goddess and that she left the Regio with Nick. Daniel uses energy as a show of power and tells Miranda to find out what Nick’s after. Because she’s fae, he can’t compel her outright but they have a long and complicated history and Miranda feels she owes them. We learn that she loved Daniel when she was younger. Daniel tells her to see Nick as soon possible and to make sure Nick knows they are related.

The Hot Seat

The Vault was not Daniel’s club, and that was part of the reason he liked it. He didn’t care if the drinks were weak or the glasses were dirty—but security was still his responsibility. Like it was everywhere in the Regio.

He was in the VIP section overlooking the dance floor, sipping a blood-shot espresso, while the owner told him about the upgrades to the system. There were new CCTV cameras inside and out, random searches, and a special box for customers to dump their drugs when they saw the “You may be searched” sign.

Things Daniel had done at the Foundry five years ago now made mandatory for everyone.

“We’re in full compliance with the directive,” the owner was saying. “I think it’s made a difference—“

“That’s my guy,” Daniel said, interrupting him. “Thanks for the update.”

Then Ricardo was there, in the hot seat.

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“You’re late,” Daniel said, more incredulous than angry. “Again.”

Ricardo was sweating now, just like Miranda had been. “A couple of people asked for more time. I told Tomas, but he said you didn’t want to be interrupted.”

It was an excuse and Daniel wasn’t in the mood.

The surface of his drink began to vibrate. On the outside of the glass, tiny frost crystals were already forming.

Ricardo swallowed so hard Daniel heard it. “I have one more guy to see, boss. Then I’ll have it all. I thought it made sense to just turn it in complete.”

“Make the drop now,” Daniel said. “Get the rest in at the end of the night.”

“Sure, boss. Of course.”

Daniel took a slow breath in and out.

The vibration stopped.

The tiny crystals turned back into condensation.

“And I’m sorry for the mixup,” Riccardo said. “I really am.”

As if it was an actual mix up, instead of complete incompetence. “My cousin’s a junkie, Ricardo. But she was a hundred times better at this than you are.”

Talking about it made Daniel nostalgic for the old days, when he was taking the Regio back, and Miranda was helping him. She was on the edge even then. Thanks to her mother. Thanks to Julien.

And thanks to him.

Because he had been thirteen years old and curious, and she had been thirteen and curious back.

And they had decided to swap.

It had seemed harmless, but it was not. Because blood magic was a dark, seductive power, and Miranda had wanted more.

Back at school, on the other side of the world, he had been oblivious—while Miranda stepped into the darkness and came out damaged and difficult and capable in a way that put most of his guys to shame.

She could handle Markovich. Daniel needed intell.

It was win-win.

He finished the espresso and looked up to see Riccardo still hovering, not sure if he had been dismissed or not.

“That’s it,” Daniel said. “Don’t screw up again.”

Riccardo was already backpedaling. “Don’t worry, boss. I won’t.”

Down below, at the edge of the dance floor, a girl looked up and smiled. Her dark hair was long and silky, and he liked the Cleopatra makeup and sequined purple top.

Daniel gave her a nod, and she made her way upstairs to join him.

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Trancing Miranda is now finished. I will now be posting installments every week!

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© 2025-2026 Barbara Graver. All rights reserved. This is an original work of fiction. Do not reproduce or redistribute without written permission.

⚠️Trigger Warning: Control and manipulation. Abuse of power.

CH 1 Sc 1… | CH 2 Sc 1… | CH 3 Sc 1… | CH 4 Sc 1 | Sc 2 | Sc 3 | Sc 4 | Sc 5

Previously on Trancing Miranda

Nick goes to VCU (Vampire Crimes Unit) Headquarters and meets with his friend and colleague, Special Agent Ed Harris. Harris got information on both Miranda and her attacker, Tony Gyari. The information on Gyari is unremarkable. But Nick learns that Miranda has been in trouble before and that is the second-cousin of Regio Authority, Daniel Boucher. He sees a picture of Miranda and Daniel coming out of a club together and is curious about their relationship. In the world of the immortali, relationships between second-cousins are as accepted as they were in medieval times.

Of Energy and Emeralds

Miranda was half-way through her shift when she heard him say her name, but she didn’t look up.

She didn’t have to. She knew who it was. He’d cloaked his energy coming in. Now he let her feel it.

Daniel.

Her heart picked up speed, building steadily until she was breathless. But she kept right on pouring drinks. Move by move. Order by order.

He knew she’d been outside the gate—in defiance of his orders—that was a given. He wouldn’t be happy about it, but he wouldn’t overreact.

The thing at the Black Goddess was another story. If he knew she was swapping again, he would have a stroke. Hopefully, management at the Black Goddess had been too worried about the optics to loop him in.

Miranda went up and down the bar, passing out the drinks.

Finally, when there was nothing left to do, she came back and faced him.

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His moonlight blond hair was shorter, parted on the side and cut blunt at the jaw, tucked back behind one ear and hanging down past the other.

He gave her the ghost of a smile. “Could you take out the earplugs?”

“I can hear you.”

“I don’t want to shout.”

She took out the earplugs and stuffed them into her pocket.

“You’re pale,” he said. “Under the makeup.”

The bandage was hidden by the ribbed black turtleneck she was wearing. Miranda knew he couldn’t see it, but she had to stop herself from touching her neck to double-check. She felt the sweat pop up on her upper lip, and she knew that Daniel had noticed. “I’m fine.”

“Even though the bathroom at the Black Goddess was full of your blood?”

Miranda swiped at her sweaty lip. “How did you—“

“They called me, so I swung by.”

He’d seen it then. Her blood traveling out along the grout lines. Her vomit backing up the sink. He’d seen it and he’d smelled it, and known it was her.

Then he would have found out who was responsible. There was absolutely no chance that he would let it slide.

Miranda took a slow, steadying breath. “What did you do?”

“What could I do?” He gave a small, graceful shrug. “Tony Gyari didn’t even know you were my cousin.”

Meaning that Tony was probably still alive, but wishing he wasn’t. “I guess it makes you look kind of bad, either way.”

“Thank you for noticing, Miranda. But I’m used to it.”

He probably was. She had been swapping off and on since Julien. It was old news. But that didn’t stop people from talking.

“I didn’t mean for it to turn out like that,” she said. It wasn’t an apology exactly, but it was as close as she was willing to get. It was her blood on the floor, after all, not his.

“I had my guys out looking for you. Imagine my surprise when I learned you had left the Regio.”

“I needed stitches.”

“So you went to the emergency room? In the city?”

“No.” There was no point in lying. His men had seen her coming back with Nick. “There was a vampire. He sewed me up. At his house.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about him. I don’t know his address. Or his—“

Daniel held up a hand, and Miranda stopped talking.

“I know who it was, Miranda. What I don’t know is why an old-school immortali like Nicolai Markovich would go out of his way to scrape you up off the floor.”

It wasn’t a nice thing to say, but Daniel wasn’t wrong. It was out of character for any blueblood, let alone some top-tier kind of guy like Nick.

She picked up her chin. “Maybe he likes me.”

“Maybe.” But his voice was skeptical. “Does he know who you are?”

“I don’t think so.”

“When you see him again, tell him. He'll find out anyway. It's better if he hears it from you.”

“I’m not seeing him again.”

“Yes, you are. I want you to. The sooner the better.”

“No.”

The chatter and the music stopped like someone had thrown a switch.

And that someone was Daniel.

Miranda knew that people were still talking, but she couldn’t hear them. And now there was a different noise—like the noise inside a shell, but louder—Daniel’s energy seeping into her mind before she could even think about keeping him out.

And then there was a voice.

I need you to see him and report back.

It wasn’t a compulsion—but it was a reminder of what he could do.

Not that it mattered. She wouldn’t have held out. She never did. Because the truth was that she owed Daniel, and she owed him for a lot more than rehab.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll do what I can.”

The energy faded, and the sounds of the club rushed in to fill the void.

Daniel was leaning toward her, forearms on the bar, smiling widely. His eyes were absolutely, perfectly green. Clear as emeralds, bright as sunlight. And for a moment, she loved him as she had once, in the sweet purple and white summers of childhood.

Then he was gone, his tall, lithe body weaving gracefully through the crowd.

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© 2025-2026 Barbara Graver. All rights reserved. This is an original work of fiction. Do not reproduce or redistribute without written permission.

⚠️ Trigger Warning: Reference to past abuse.

CH 1 Sc 1… | CH 2 Sc 1… | CH 3 Sc 1… | CH 4 Sc 1 | Sc 2 | Sc 3 | Sc 4

Previously on Trancing Miranda

Depleted from healing Miranda, Nick brings home a woman named Alecia from the club where he met Ragnar and feeds. While he is at home he speaks with the head of the Vampire Crimes Unit (VCU), Special Agent Ed Harris, who is an old friend. He asks Harris to get information on Miranda and Tony Gyari, the half-vamp who attacked her.

Vampire Crimes

Nick sent Alecia home with a council driver and slept. He woke up well before sunset and saw that Harris had texted back, asking him to stop by the VCU field office in downtown New Boston. By the time Nick got there, the parking lot was almost empty.

It was after five, but the glass double doors that led to the lobby were still unlocked, so checked in with security and went straight to Harris’ office.

The office was government issue, circa 1955. The surfaces were covered with cheap birch paneling and speckled gray linoleum. Fluorescent lights shone above a putty-colored desk and army green file cabinets. If not for the electronics, Nick would have thought he’d dropped a hundred years into the past.

Special Agent Ed Harris looked like what he was—an Ivy League professional who could have any job he wanted, as out of place in this office as he had been in all the others Nick had seen him in.

He was standing on the far side of the desk when Nick stepped through the open door, looking out through the gaps in the venetian blinds. Each gap blazed with sunlight.

Nick took off his sunglasses and tried not to squint, and Harris closed the blinds without being asked.

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“I ran the names,” Harris said. “Tony Gyari’s last known address was in Sacramento. He worked in the service industry up until three months ago. Kept his nose relatively clean for a half-vamp. No ties to New Boston or the Regio, if that’s what you’re looking for. I can email what I have.”

Harris sat down behind his desk, opened a drawer, and got out a tablet. “The girl has a file you have to read on-site. I’ll share it, if you tell me what this is about.”

“Tony Gyari attacked Miranda last night at the Black Goddess. She’s okay because I was there to fix her up, but I’d like to locate him before he does it again. If he’s in human territory, he’s yours, of course.”

“And your interest in the girl?”

Nick sat down in the old vinyl and metal chair on the other side of the desk. “Is personal.”

Harris tapped the edge of the tablet as he considered, then stretched to hand it to Nick. “It’s unlocked.”

Nick swiped. He saw the familiar VCU logo. Then two words in bright neon red.

Restricted Access.

The next screen was an arrest file.

It began with Miranda’s demographics—name, date of birth, social security, a short list of addresses, a work history. He scrolled through scars, marks, and tattoos. No tattoos. More ear piercings than should have been possible—and a catalog of scars.

Multiple paired punctures in all the usual places. Extensive scarring overlying the femoral arteries. Five to seven centimeters in length. Too close together to count.

Nick wasn’t surprised by the puncture wounds, but the long scars were unusual and probably not voluntary.

He’d been wrong about the marks he’d seen on her neck. The vampire responsible wasn’t careless about doing damage—he was deliberate. “She has a history.”

“She does at that,” Harris agreed.

The arrest record followed.

The last arrest was a drunk and disorderly, and Miranda could have been convicted on the mugshot alone. Toxicology showed a blood alcohol of .18.

The next charge was so unexpected Nick laughed. “She carved up a vampire?”

“She did. About four years ago. She was twenty-four years old.” Harris straightened a silver monogrammed cufflink. “Law enforcement was not unsympathetic.”

Nick could see why. He studied what was probably a hospital photo. One of Miranda’s eyes was purple and puffy, and her lip was split open. According to the report, she had partially severed the vampire’s thumb and cut off his entire left ear, which was a problem if he was a half-vamp who couldn’t regenerate.

For whatever reason, however, the charges were dropped.

Nick scrolled down to known associates. There was a picture of a man with short white-blond hair and bright green eyes.

Below the image was a name.

Daniel Boucher.

The next photo showed Miranda and Daniel coming out of a club in some other city. Boucher had his arm around her shoulders, and she was smiling up at him. She looked young and happy.

“What’s her relationship to Boucher?” Nick asked.

“They’re cousins,” Harris said.

“First cousins?”

“Second, I think. But they’re definitely close. She works at his club and lives rent-free in one of his properties. Drove one of his cars, too, until she smashed it up a couple of weeks ago.”

“Any injuries?”

“Nope. Single car. She walked away without a scratch, and New Boston PD lost the report.” Harris paused. “If you want this guy, you’ll have to get to him before Boucher.”

Assuming Boucher knew. “Are they a couple?”

“Maybe. I mean, they are related. But you guys do that, right? Like royalty back in the day?”

“Sometimes,” Nick said without looking up. “Why is her file restricted?”

“Above my pay grade.”

Nick studied the club picture. Miranda didn’t have Daniel’s high cheekbones and aristocratic nose, but there was a resemblance.

It was the eyes. Bright emerald green eyes with a slight upward tilt. Both Miranda and Daniel had fae eyes.

Fae eyes. Fae energy.

He’d heard that the Bouchers had fae blood. Now he knew.

Nick scrolled up to the hospital picture and enlarged the image. It wasn’t the injuries that interested him. It was the expression.

The girl in the picture wasn’t cowed or humiliated or frightened.

She was mad.

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⚠️ Trigger Warning: Vampire-donor interaction. Coercion. Manipulation. Lack of consent. Predatory behavior. Primarily, but not entirely, off-page

Previously on Trancing Miranda

Nick met with his friend council enforcer, Ragnar Erikson, at a club called the Vault. They discussed the politics of the vampire-run walled community of the Regio. At present, Daniel Boucher is the Authority—the single vampire in charge of the Regio. Seven years earlier, Daniel’s stepbrother Julien Suzera attempted to take over. Sentenced to 10 years house arrest, Julien has been released and may be a threat. Nick and Ragnar have been sent to the Regio by the vampire counsel to monitor the situation.

In the Falling Moonlight

Nick brought home the girl from the Vault. Her name was Alecia, and there hadn’t been a mark on her—until tonight.

As was usual after a break, he’d fed hard. Not B-12 and energy healing hard, but hard enough.

He had tranced Alecia as he fed, inducing a euphoric state humans called the rapture. She was on the couch beside him, sleeping it off, when his phone started to vibrate.

Nick stepped out onto the balcony. The lake was dark, and the moon was on its way to full. Dark clouds drifted quickly across its bright face.

“I’m sorry, I’m just getting back now,” VCU Special Agent Ed Harris said by way of hello. “But I knew you’d be up.”

“No problem,” Nick said. “I wanted to let you know I’m here.”

“Here in New Boston?”

“North Lake.”

Nick had met Harris some fifteen years earlier when the Council and VCU, or Vampire Crimes Unit, were trying to find a solution to the swap epidemic—an epidemic created and sustained by the half-vamps.

Like all vampires, they needed blood, but most didn’t have the magic to attract or keep a donor.

So they swapped instead. Giving the victim just enough of their blood to mimic the rapture. Not caring that this would trigger an addiction so overpowering and so deadly, it became a problem no one was able to solve.

“Are you here to kick back and fish?” Harris asked.

Nick sat down in one of the big Adirondack chairs that faced the lake. The moon broke free of the clouds to cast a narrow, sparkling path across the dark water, and the leaves of the willows were blue in its light. “I don’t fish, Ed.”

“Don’t tell me there’s another uprising on the horizon?”

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The VCU would have been notified of Suzera’s release. Harris, in particular, would understand what that could mean.

“Were you here then?” Nick asked.

“Before my time. But also not my headache. Then or now. What happens inside the gate is your problem.”

“Unfortunately.”

Harris chuckled. “Where were you anyway?”

“Croatia.”

“You’re from there, right?”

“My family is.”

Or was. But Visoka had never really been home. Nick had moved around too much to feel that way about anywhere.

“Is there a castle?” Harris asked.

Nick smiled. Harris would be disappointed by Visoka’s moldering walls and collapsing outbuildings. “More like a fort.”

Alecia was up. Nick could hear her crossing the floor, her steps heavy and human and completely unlike Miranda’s.

“I have a couple of names for you to run.” Nick gave Harris Miranda’s name, and then Gyari’s, spelling it with and without the Y. “It’s a personal matter. Not council-related.”

“I’m home. So it will have to be tomorrow.”

“That’s fine.”

Nick reached back and opened the door, and Alecia stepped out onto the deck.

He tipped back his head and looked at her. Her little black dress was wrinkled, and her skin was pale. In the falling moonlight, the blood on her neck ran black. “Are you all right?”

She gave him a soft, dreamy sort of smile, still high on his energy, still more asleep than awake.

Nick patted his leg. “Do you want to sit with me?”

She sank down on the deck in front of him and rested her head on his thigh.

“So you have someone there, listening,” Harris said, “while you call a federal agent and ask for a favor?”

Nick brushed back Alecia’s soft blond hair. “She won’t remember.”

Because Nick would see that she didn’t.

Alecia wouldn’t remember anything after she left the Vault. She would decide she’d had too much to drink. And if she noticed the tiny double-dot marks at the base of her neck, she would dismiss them.

Like Ragnar, Nick would leave her just as he found her.

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© 2025-2026 Barbara Graver. All rights reserved. This is an original work of fiction. Do not reproduce or redistribute without written permission.

The Cover

The cover is below. I ended up doing it myself after running into creative differences with the artist. There is NO AI used!

The base image is a 3D rendered image from Unsplash and the font is stock. I did some graphic editing to the image and font and used multiple layers to get the effect I wanted.

I used Canva Pro and GIMP exclusively.

My Blurb

This is the new blurb. I tried to fit in as much detail as possible so people would know what they’re getting. There is no kick-ass heroine. The world as we know it isn’t saved. Trauma is a theme and the character arc is subtle. That’s the story I wrote.

📖 Blurb | When fae energy reader Miranda O’Malley comes to after a brutal attack, she learns that blueblood vampire Nick Markovich has saved her life. Now Nick wants her to help track down the dangerous half-vamp who attacked her. Miranda’s life is already complicated: her old tormentor is on the loose, her vampire ex is pressuring her, and her PTSD—and everything that goes along with it—is spiking. After spending her life around vampires, Miranda knows what they are capable of. Nick seems different. But that doesn’t mean she can trust him. Or herself.

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CH 1 Sc 1…| CH 2 Sc 1…| CH 3 Sc 1 | Sc 2 | Sc 3 | Sc 4 | Sc 5 | CH 4 Sc 1 | Sc 2

Previously on Trancing Miranda

Miranda leaves Nick and goes into her house. She thinks about blocking his good night text, then keeps it. She puts on her grandmother’s fae necklace and notice a shimmer of green energy along the leaf of her jade plant. She falls asleep thinking of Nick.

The Vault

Nick met his friend, council enforcer Ragnar Erikson, at a club called the Vault. The Vault was the largest club in the Regio, a converted factory, with exposed brick walls and open steel beams. The interior was packed, but Ragnar stood out from the crowd.

There was nothing unusual about his dusty biker garb and low dirty blond ponytail—and his neon blue eyes were glamoured. But there was something about him that commanded attention, something beyond the height and the sinewy strength—a dark, dangerous sort of energy that was surprisingly attractive to women.

Ragnar turned away from the pretty dark-haired girl he’d been talking to without a second glance, clapped Nick on the back, and smiled broadly.

Greetings completed, the two vampires ordered beer and found a table near the back.

Ragnar wasted no time. “So, why are we here, Nico?”

Nick had asked Ragnar to join him in the Regio via text and Ragnar had flown in from somewhere out west without question. Now he deserved an explanation. “Julien Suzera.”

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“I thought he got ten years.”

He had.

Suzera had been confined to his father’s Italian villa after a failed attempt to take the Regio from his young, untested stepbrother, Daniel Boucher, seven years earlier.

“He got early release,” Nick said. “We have intell that he is here in the states. And Ludari is worried.”

Nick’s great uncle, Hurin Ludari, was acting head of the International Vampire Council, and his instincts were good. If Ludari was worried about Suzera, Nick was too.

Ragnar shook his head. “Would he really try it again?”

Julien had made his move while his Daniel was overseas and held the Regio for a matter weeks before Daniel had taken it back. It was a pathetic attempt but people had died and Suzera had been lucky to escape with his life.

“If he succeeds,” Nick said, “his father will say he has a claim.”

And others would agree.

Ragnar and Nick, fell silent, considering the politics.

The women were already noticing them. And Nick was noticing them back.

It had been over a week since Nick had fed from a an actual living donor. He tried to rely on bag blood as much as possible, but healing Miranda had wiped him out, and it was going to take real life force energy to bring him back up to speed.

Nick watched a group of girls pass by their table. Just before they got lost in the crowd, a pretty blond in a tiny black dress looked back and smiled.

“How long has it been?” he asked Ragnar. “Since you’ve been tempted to keep one?”

“A week. Then I remember how easily they break—so I leave them as I find them.”

Nick nodded. For the last hundred years, he’d done the same. Taking what he needed, then erasing the memory. Over and over again.

How Ragnar, who was centuries older, had not tired of it, was a mystery.

“What about you?” Ragnar asked. “How long since you’ve been tempted?”

“Decades.” Last week it had been true. This week it was a lie—because of Miranda. “Hours.”

Ragnar laughed. “Which is it?”

“I met a girl.” Nick took a drink of his beer. “Earlier tonight. She’s fae. Mostly fae, anyway.”

“A fae girl?” Ragnar asked. “Here in the Regio?”

Where you would least expect it. The fae, or what was left of them, kept to the forest. And they were very hard to find. “Yes.”

“Can she track?”

“I don’t yet,” Nick admitted. “But she’s good with energy. Sensitive, too, across the board. If she can’t track, she can probably learn.”

“You met her in one of the clubs?”

“The Black Goddess,” Nick said. “She was attacked by a half-vamp. I came to her aid.”

Ragnar watched as a tall, dark-haired girl hurried to catch up with her friends. “And the half-vamp?”

“I let him go to save her.”

“Do you want me to locate him?”

“Not yet. I’m going to ask the fae girl to help me. It will be a good four or five days before the half-vamp needs to feed again. That will give me time to see what she can do.”

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CH 1: Sc 1…| CH 2: Sc 1…| CH 3: Sc 1 | Sc 2 | Sc 3 | Sc 4 | Sc 5 | CH 4: Sc 1

Previously on Trancing Miranda

Nick takes Miranda back to the Regio—the gated vampire-run community she calls home. They talk about the weak effect of traditional amulets. Before getting out of Nick’s car, Miranda gives him her number against her better judgement.

The Magic in the Memories

Miranda ignored the vampire and walked to her house alone. By the time she got to the front stoop, Milo was waiting. His orange fur was scruffy, and his ears were pinned back flat.

She opened the door, and he walked in ahead of her, stiff-legged and sour.

“The cat door is right around the back,” she said, a little out of breath—on account of the blood loss. “There’s no reason you have to wait.”

Milo stalked into the kitchen, and she followed him in. Just as she put her phone down on the counter, it chimed, so she read the text.

Sleep well.

She tapped once, and then she tapped again. But when the pop-up asked her if she was sure she wanted to block this number, she wasn’t.

Milo meowed again, so low in his throat it was almost a growl. “You ate all the canned food I put out,” Miranda said. “You came in through the cat door and ate it.”

The yellow eyes narrowed.

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She filled the empty bowl with kibble, and Milo sat down next to it and glared. He was holding out for another tiny, overpriced tin of gourmet food, but Miranda refused to be manipulated.

“I know you get fed at other houses.”

She went into the bathroom and peeled up the edge of the bloody bandage to take a look at the bite. It wasn’t pretty, but the stitches were a hundred times better than anything she would have gotten in the ER. In between the sutures, the edges of the bite were stuck together in a thin, delicate line—as if they’d been glued.

Which was weird.

No ordinary injury came together that fast. The vampire had done more than make her clot. He’d kick-started the healing process. She guessed that was why it didn’t really hurt either.

Vampires couldn’t heal, that she’d ever heard of. But they could regenerate after an injury. She guessed that maybe some could regenerate someone else, too.

It was surprising, but she was too tired to think about it. She pulled off the vampire’s T-shirt and changed into her oldest, softest pajamas. Then she picked up her grandmother’s bloodstone pendant up off the dresser and put it back on.

It was a fae amulet, not Christian. But the vampire wasn’t wrong. Amulets didn’t do much, and the bloodstone was no exception. It was good for insomnia and anxiety and grounding. But it wasn’t because of some spell.

The real magic was in the memories.

The memory of her grandmother’s cottage. The chipped pansy teapot. The call of the crows. The energy of the trees. The illusion of safety.

Miranda picked up the jade plant on the windowsill and held it under the faucet. She saw a fleeting shimmer of green. Not the plant itself, something running like a current along the edge of a single leaf.

Her imagination, probably, or just wishful thinking.

She brushed her teeth, turned out the bathroom light, and crawled into bed. A few minutes later, Milo curled up between her feet and started to purr. And just before she drifted off to sleep, she thought about Nick, the vampire, and the steady, comforting hum of his energy.

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CH 1 Sc 1…| CH 2 Sc 1…| CH 3 Sc 1 | Sc 2 | Sc 3 | Sc 4 | Sc 5

Previously on Trancing Miranda

Nick and Miranda stopped at diner where the blood from his hamburger triggered a brief PTSD flashback of the attack. As they prepare to leave, Miranda senses another vampire outside the diner. The vampire passes without incident but Nick appears to have noticed her reaction.

Weak Magic

Miranda was almost home. The rooftops and streetlights of the Regio were already visible on the other side of the wall. Far away in the valley at the foot of the mountain, you could see the lights of New Boston twinkling away like tiny fallen down stars.

New Boston was an actual city. Hundreds, maybe even thousands, of half-vamps lived there, in human territory, where they were protected. The Regio had less than 3000 residents. Most were human. Only one in fifty or sixty was a full-blooded vampire.

Daniel said it was a good ratio and, given the way he fed, Miranda guessed it probably was.

The walls around the Regio had been built to protect Miranda and Daniel’s great-grandfather, Lucien Boucher, and his retainers. Now, a mere fifty years after the vampires went public, there was a tourist trade.

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The business district, where Miranda worked, had two big clubs with bookshops, occult stores, and a handful of small restaurants in between. Most of the buildings were Victorian-era. The roads were cobbled, and the streetlights were real, re-purposed iron gaslights. When the mist rolled in, it was picture perfect, drawing tourists from far and wide.

The vampire drove all the way around the wall to the main entrance, where the intricate iron gates were open to the public four days out of seven.

Two members of Daniel’s security team stood talking quietly just outside the entrance. They weren’t full vamps, like most of Daniel’s foot soldiers, but the bluebloods called them hybrids—not half-vamps—because most were more than fifty percent vampire.

Unlike the renegade half-vamps congregating in New Boston and other human cities, hybrids knew the code and everything that went along with it.

Some were almost as dangerous as full-blooded vampires.

The guys at the gate didn’t look twice when the vampire’s car passed, but Miranda knew she’d been spotted. They’d probably seen her leave too, meaning Daniel would want to know what she was up to.

Miranda checked her texts, and there it was.

Where are you?

She thought of texting back, but didn’t.

He’d probably been notified already. He knew she’d left and now he knew she was back, but he wouldn’t be happy.

He’d told her to stay inside the gate until they knew what was going on with Julien, and she had agreed to it. Now he’d know she’d broken her promise. Hopefully, that was all he knew.

If he found out about the Black Goddess, he would lose it.

Miranda and the vampire passed the Vault with its garish crimson spotlights, then the Foundry with its tasteful white footlights and made a left onto Tedrick. The architecture here was turn-of-the-last-century, and on Miranda’s block that meant brownstones—tall, elegant buildings with ornate cornices and attractive bay windows.

Her block was mostly human with the occasional low-profile hybrid. The bluebloods lived in the big Victorian and neo-Gothic houses south of Woodward.

The vampire pulled up in front of Miranda’s house and put the car in park.

“You live across the street from a church,” he said, not shocked exactly, just a little put off.

“Catty-cornered.” Though still close enough to see the big green double doors of St. Peter and Paul’s from her front stoop. “I went to school just down the block.”

“Our Lady of Angels?”

It surprised her. She’d thought he was just another newcomer buying property on Vampire Lake. “You know the Regio.”

He frowned at St. Peter and Paul’s. “Do you go to church?”

“Why?”

“Just curious.”

She sighed. “Sometimes.”

“I thought the Roman Church was an all-or-nothing proposition.”

“Technically.” But people didn’t really care about the rules anymore. “A lot of people just come for the holy water. Mostly tourists. They pull up at the curb and run in. Sometimes they don’t even bother to turn off their engines.

And Miranda wasn’t really any better.

She showed up at Mass a few times a year to get something blessed—but she didn’t get anywhere near the altar rail aside from that.

The vampire shook his head. “You know holy water just gets us wet?”

“Of course.”

“And that a crucifix provides minimal resistance to mind control?”

“Yes.”

“Amulets are weak magic,” he said. “Whatever the system.”

It was like something Daniel would have said. To a vampire, Christianity was just another magic system.

“You know that I live here, right? In the Regio?” She rolled her eyes. “It’s a vampire stronghold. We know the basics.”

He smiled. “Just checking.”

“I appreciate the concern.” She picked up her backpack. “But I should get going.”

He pulled out his phone. “Would you give me your number?”

Miranda looked straight into the shifting silver of his eyes, like she needed to be reminded that he was the most beautiful creature she’d ever seen. “Why?”

It came out breathy instead of demanding, and she knew that he noticed.

He smiled. Charmingly. “So I can text you mine.”

“I don’t need it.”

“On the off chance you do.”

It was a mistake, and she knew it—but she gave it to him anyway, and watched as he entered it into his phone.

“Call if you get into trouble again,” he said, dialing up the smile a little, even though he’d already charmed her out of her number. “Or even if you don’t.”

“Sure.” She put her hand on the door, then stopped. Because she actually had to say it. “Thanks. For everything.”

“You’re welcome.”

He opened his door, but Miranda got hers open first. By the time she got out, he was standing on the sidewalk, ready to walk her to her door.

As if the neighborhood wasn’t completely safe. As if she wasn’t completely safe anywhere inside the gate.

Except when she wasn’t.

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⚠️ Trigger Warning: Brief PTSD flashback. Trauma reference.

Previously on Trancing Miranda

Nick and Miranda order food at the diner. Nick comments on Miranda’s fae blood and expresses concern over her behavior and the dangers of swapping with half-vamps. Miranda pretends to be human and challenges on his arrogance, then explains that she was addicted swap in the past and that she sometimes takes Vamprax when she’s struggling. Internally, she reflects that Julien’s release is triggering but doesn’t mention. Nick offers to get a doctor to give her Vamprax but she declines, as Vamprax no longer helps.

Geometric Patterns

The French fries were cold and rubbery and completely inedible. So Miranda pushed the plate away, hoping Sandra would come and get it.

The vampire had eaten everything. All that was left of the burger was a big puddle of blood in the middle of his plate. It was pink and watery and lighter than actual blood, but it was close enough to remind her of her own blood pooling on the dirty tile floor at the Black Goddess.

Except that her blood hadn’t just pooled, it had spread out—following the grout lines between the tiles like little black city streets.

It was odd. She hadn’t even remembered that detail until this moment. Now she could actually see it. The blood spreading in endless geometric patterns until it was almost three dimensional.

The vampire moved his plate to the left, out of her direct line of vision. “So, what do you do for work?”

Miranda blinked, and the patterns were gone. “I tend bar. At the Foundry.”

She always made it sound like a real job. Even though she only worked one or two nights a week and went home whenever it was slow because that’s what Daniel told her to do, and it was his club and he got to make the rules.

For the club. For the Regio. For everyone.

Just leave when it slows down. Chatting up the customers isn’t your forte. At all.

“That’s a tourist place?” the vampire asked.

“Basically.” The Foundry was housed in the old Boucher Ironworks. Daniel had kept the exposed brick and iron girders. And the tourists loved it. “Most of the customers are from outside the gate. We sell a lot of alcohol. Some blood.”

Her eyes drifted back to the vampire’s bloody plate.

The memories of the attack were right there. Just beneath the little imaginary trapdoor in her head, but she was still having a little trouble keeping them down where they belonged.

Maybe if there had been an actual trapdoor, it would have worked. But the whole thing was only a trick. One she had come up with when she was with Julien. It worked, but only to a point.

The vampire raised his hand, and Sandra was there so fast Miranda was pretty sure she’d been hovering. She picked up the vampire’s plate, but she didn’t walk away with it.

“I’m done, too,” Miranda said sharply.

Sandra remembered she was a waitress. “You didn’t like the fries?”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“Oh.” Sandra’s gaze returned to the vampire. “Is there anything else?”

He smiled his dazzling blueblood smile. “Is that the check?”

Sandra looked down, then laughed self-consciously. She’d crumpled the check, so she put it down on the table and smoothed it out.

But she didn’t walk away until the cook shouted the next order.

The vampire put a fifty-dollar bill on top of the wrinkled check. Then he stood up next to the booth and made a sweep with one hand. “After you.”

Miranda got up, reached for her backpack, and froze.

A second vampire was moving in.

She could almost feel the energy vibrating faintly against the plate-glass. Outside, a dark shape moved through the fog at the edge of the parking lot. The fog broke, and she got a better look.

The unfamiliar vampire wore a leather coat that was long enough to conceal the ridiculous, archaic swords some bluebloods still carried. Then he disappeared around the edge of the building and the only energy Miranda could feel was standing next to her.

Miranda picked up her backpack and swung it over one shoulder as if nothing had happened—but when she glanced at the vampire, his look was appraising.

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CH 1: Sc 1…| CH 2: Sc 1…| CH 3: Sc 1 | Sc 2 | Sc 3

Previously on Trancing Miranda

Miranda and Nick stopped at a diner on the way back from his place. Miranda is annoyed by Nick’s apparent perfection. Because she is autistic, she finds the lights and noise of the diner distracting. She doesn’t want Nick to know she’s fae, but has already slipped up by commenting on his eyes, which are currently glamoured and would appear ordinary to a human.

Beneath the Buzzing Lights

The food came so fast Miranda was pretty sure Sandra had put a rush on it. The lights were still buzzing away overhead, and Miranda was itching to put in the earplugs she wore for work.

They weren’t as good as listening to the ocean, but she could still hear people talk.

She was just about to dig the earplugs out of her backpack when she remembered what Daniel had said the last time she’d pulled them out in public.

That makes you seem particularly autistic, if you were wondering.

Miranda didn’t think she seemed autistic at all. Or ADHD. She thought she seemed like someone who didn’t like most people and didn’t try to pretend that she did. But Daniel was her second cousin, and she had always relied on him for that kind of feedback.

So she left the earplugs in her backpack and soldiered on beneath the buzzing lights, pushing her fries around her plate until irritability won out. “What’s with these places and fluorescent lights?”

The vampire was eating his burger. It was so rare that the bottom of the bun was a pale, soggy pink. “Humans like them.”

“I’m human.”

“Marginally,” he said. “If at all.”

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For a minute, Miranda wondered if she’d misheard him. But she was pretty sure she hadn’t.

He put the hamburger down so it could soak up more blood. “You’re fae. You know that, right?”

But that was the wrong question. The real question was, how did he know?

Vampires could barely sense each other coming. They were good at throwing energy around, sure, but they knew next to nothing about reading it.

Except for this one. This one definitely knew something.

“That’s random,” she said, trying for rich-girl-bored and feeling pretty sure she nailed it. She stuffed a French fry into her mouth like nothing was happening and went for the pivot. “So what happened to the Dracula brides?”

“The what?”

“The girls. The three creepy goth-girls.”

“What goth-girls?”

She wondered how he could be so completely oblivious. “The ones hovering around you at the Black Goddess.”

“Oh, right. I don’t know.”

Miranda narrowed her eyes. “Not your type?”

“Not really.”

“Because you like fresh, innocent girls without a mark on them?”

“Sometimes.” He took another bite of his burger. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What about your type? You like half-vamps, right? Ones that are hungry enough to trade?”

The lights seemed louder. It was the vibration. Like something short-circuiting. “Sometimes.”

He gave her a long, level look. “Did you know him?”

It was a crap question. “Of course.”

“What’s his name?”

Like she was too strung-out and desperate to do a basic safety check.

She picked up her chin and gave him a level look back. “Tony Gyari. I asked about him, too, in case you were wondering. I was specifically told he never caused any trouble.”

The vampire did not seem impressed. “Probably not. With an ordinary girl.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning fae blood is like catnip. Meaning most half-vamps are raised by human women. They never learn the code or how to feed safely—which makes them especially dangerous for fae.”

Miranda’s jaw tightened. “And whose fault is that? I mean, who is responsible for the problem in the first place?”

“We are. Obviously. But it’s gone beyond that now. Some half-vamps are reproducing. Outside of vampire territory, our ability to take responsibility the way we used to is—“

She cut him off. “By take responsibility you mean literally take it. As in take the child?”

“In some cases.”

It had been a routing thing once, and it still happened in spite of the laws. Her vampire blood was minimal. But she’d ended up being raised by vampires, anyway. “And you think that’s your right? To do that?”

“I think,” he said evenly, “that swapping with half-vamps is dangerous.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” she said, laying on the sarcasm. “First, I’ve heard.”

He finished off the burger. Giving her time to calm down, probably. “You almost died, Miranda. If I wasn’t there, you would have bled out in ten minutes, maybe less.”

He was right. He’d saved her life. And now he thought she owed him, and he was going to keep hammering the safety thing until she convinced him she was fine.

Miranda looked at a spot on the wall just above his head instead of at him because all the eye contact was starting to get to her. “I was strung out on swap at one point. Past tense. But I still take Vamprax off and on. Like when I’m having a bad day.” Or month. Or year. “I couldn’t find any earlier, so I made a bad call. That’s it. End of story.”

But it wasn’t.

There was more.

The fight with Daniel. Finding out that Julien got early release.

The memories that were pushing every possible button.

“Do you need a doctor?” the vampire asked. “To write a prescription?”

She rolled her eyes. “Because you have one? In your back pocket.”

“I might.”

It was a surprisingly nice offer, but Vamprax wasn’t an off-ramp anymore. It was just another road leading in the wrong direction. Reminding her of vampire blood and vampire energy, just enough to make her want it. But never really delivering.

“I’m good.”

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The Wrong Kind of Bright

The diner was pretty from a distance. Up close, it was crazy bright. Not a friendly, sunshine kind of bright. The kind of bright Miranda hated.

Wide plate-glass windows blazed with fluorescent light. On the other side of the glass, patrons chattered away, immune to the glare.

The vampire parked and walked around and opened her door, but without the energy running between them, Miranda was her usual self.

She didn’t need his help. So when he offered her his hand, she pushed past him and walked through the parking lot on her own shaking legs. But once she got inside, she stopped.

The air was heavy with the smell of fried onions. People chattered like monkeys. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.

For a moment, it was almost too much. Then the vampire slipped past her, and she followed him, cutting through the tables like he did, noticing how the humans looked up at him as he passed.

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There was something surreal about all of it. The humans were pasty and just a little green in the weird, artificial light. Most had stopped eating. Some lapsed into silence when the vampire got close.

They didn’t know he was a vampire, obviously, because outside the gate vampires always caused some kind of stir, but they knew he was something special.

Because he was. Even glamoured, even passing as human, his basic attributes were hard to ignore.

The whole Greek god slash professional athlete thing. How you just looked at him and knew he had money. The way he was completely oblivious to the attention he was getting.

It was what all bluebloods were like, more or less. And it was not endearing.

The vampire stopped at the very last booth. There were no tables in this part of the diner. Just booths and a long, mostly empty lunch counter. Not so coincidently, two guys at the counter picked up their checks and left, along with a man and woman in the nearest booth.

Later they would wonder why they didn’t finish their food. Or maybe not.

Miranda knew it should make her mad. She had some human blood after all. Enough to be offended on behalf of the entire bloodline, but she wasn’t. She was just glad she didn’t have to listen to people talk.

She slid into the booth without a word, and the vampire sat down across from her.

He’d ditched the velvet jacket, but kept the tapestry vest and the flowy white shirt. And there was something about the silky black hair and the rolled-up sleeves that made him seem old world and just a little exotic.

Miranda imagined vineyards and stables and villagers who both loved and feared him. Odds were all of those things existed, too, at any one of a dozen estates. Probably he was as rich as Daniel. Maybe even richer.

Not that she cared. It was just another thing that made bluebloods a little less likeable.

Miranda pulled out her phone and scrolled until the waitress came over to take their order. The woman didn’t know he was a vampire, just like she didn’t know why she didn’t walk away after they ordered. She just stood there, staring, like she was waiting for a command.

Finally, the vampire gave her one.

He did it graciously too, making it even more annoying.

“Thank you, Sandra,” he said with a smile. “That’s all for now.”

The smile was perfect, just like the rest of him. Even white teeth, fangs nowhere in sight. The usual.

Half-vamps didn’t have perfect teeth, and you could see the fangs if they smiled big. In bluebloods, the fangs retracted completely. Like cat’s claws.

But it was the smile that Miranda kept coming back to. It was the eyes. Even accounting for the horrible lighting, the vampire’s eyes were the brightest thing in the room. And not in a bad way.

“You have weird eyes,” she said, all casual until she realized what she’d said.

She went back to her phone, but she could feel him staring at her.

“What?” she asked, not looking up.

“Are you seeing through the glamor?”

She was still a little high on his energy, evidently, and it was making her sloppy.

“I just remembered from before.”

It wasn’t a lie, exactly—she had remembered—but it wasn’t answering the question as asked either. Sometimes that kind of dodge got you past a vampire’s natural lie detector. Sometimes it didn’t. Because it wasn’t really the truth.

The truth, as the vampire was asking for it, was that she could see through the illusion. She always had.

When she was young, she’d thought everyone saw vampires like she did, up until her blueblood great-grandfather told her otherwise.

Her great-grandfather wasn’t especially interested in her ordinarily. He didn’t care what she did or if she was happy or if people knew about her tiny dribble of vampire blood—but he didn’t want anyone to know she was fae. “Don’t talk about it,” he had said. “It will make them wonder what else you can do.”

What she could do was nothing compared to a vampire, but she could do a few fae tricks. She knew when a vampire was close. She could tell one vampire from another by their energetic signature. And she could follow a trail all the way until the end.

But that was a secret. Not even her own half-sister or her best and only friend knew about her abilities. And Daniel would have a fit if she let some random blueblood figure it out.

So Miranda kept her eyes on her phone, scrolling aimlessly while the vampire waited politely for the food to arrive.

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Purple Sky with Stars

Miranda slouched in the passenger seat of the cushy black sedan. Outside, the fog was drifting in off the water, gray and heavy, all but obscuring the big vampire owned homes that dominated the lakefront.

“So this is the swanky side of Vampire Lake?”

The blueblood laughed. “Is that what they call it?”

“Why shouldn’t they? Vampires own most of it.”

Which had caused all kinds of trouble.

The north side of the lake was Regio land—and people were fine with that because all the property around the Regio was vampire owned. When bluebloods started buying up the entire lake, it was a different story.

People protested. Anti-vamp talking heads were on the news. The conspiracy crowd churned out the same old content. But in the end, money talked. The vampires had money to pay for what they wanted. Most humans did not.

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“We have human residents,” the vampire said.

Miranda imagined the homeowners’ meetings. The humans sweating bullets in their loafers and blazers. The vampires, haughty and elegant, no matter what they wore.

She smiled a little at the visual. “For now.”

“Why for now?”

“Because you guys are buying up the entire United States. Or that’s what everyone is saying—outside the gate.”

People on the inside said it too, if you asked them. They just didn’t care. They knew they had it good. Most liked their community.

They even liked Daniel.

The vampire didn’t answer. Because what could he say, really?

Everybody knew it was happening.

It was a powder keg, according to Daniel. But the full-blooded vampires kept merging their wealth. And the half-vamps kept right on luring people away from their families and killing them with their poison blood.

It made vampire-run districts like the Regio a necessity.

Miranda shut her eyes, and when she opened them again, they were turning out onto the main road.

The fog was lighter now—a wispy, almost transparent mist sweeping across the roadway and winding into the forest. The pavement stretched up to the top of the hill and disappeared, and the trees made a dark arch over the roadway.

The vampire turned down the brightness on the dashboard display panel until it was almost invisible. The remaining lights were a warm cherry red that made the car seem almost cozy.

“Do you want the seat back?” he asked.

She did, which was odd. “Did you give me more energy?”

“A little.” He passed a slow-moving car. “You were in pain.

Which explained why the whole stitching thing had gone so apparently fast.

Miranda knew she should be indignant. But she wasn’t. She felt too good to be mad.

The seat whirred into a reclining position. Miranda gazed up through the sunroof. The dark leaves of the trees arched overhead. Now and then, she caught a glimpse of purple sky dotted with stars.

They rode along in silence, and the night was warm and friendly.

It wasn’t real. It was the energy, but Miranda didn’t care. All she wanted to do was drift. Floating along, skimming the surface, watching the trees.

Looking at him from time to time from the corner of her eye. “Do you have a last name?” she asked, even though everyone did, not caring if it was stupid to ask, just wanting to connect with him.

“Markovich.”

It had a nice ring to it.

“Nick Markovich,” she said to the trees.

He laughed. A low, intimate kind of laugh that Miranda couldn’t help liking. “You need to level out.”

She sighed because she did, and she would. It was inevitable. “I know.”

The trees thinned out overhead. Lonely businesses materialized through the fog at the side of the highway.

They were back on Regio land, but the only people who stopped here were travelers taking the state highway in or out of New Boston. Aside from the occasional convenience store or gas station, everything was closed for the night.

“The Skyliner is up ahead,” he said. “We can stop for something to eat.”

Miranda didn’t want to eat, but she did want to bask in the vampire’s energy just a little longer.

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© 2025-2026 Barbara Graver. All rights reserved. This is an original work of fiction. Do not reproduce or redistribute without written permission.

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It Was Time

Nick looked up from his laptop to see Miranda standing in the doorway. She was unusually light on her feet, moving almost as quietly as a vampire.

The circles under her eyes were so dark it looked like someone had punched her, and the little black top was stiff with blood.

“I can get you a shirt,” he said. “If you’d like one.”

“If you want.”

He went down to his room and came back with a black T-shirt and hoodie. Miranda took the clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. A minute later, she was back.

“You should keep the bite covered for the next forty-eight hours,” he said. “Don’t get it wet. The stitches should come out in five or six days.”

“I know.”

Of course she did. “Do you want something to eat?”

She rolled her eyes. “You can swap, or take me home. But I don’t want to hang out.”

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He smiled. Miranda O’Malley wasn’t impressed with him at all—and there was something in her attitude and the lift of her chin that reminded him of another fae girl, long dead.

Arianne.

For a moment, Nick could almost see her. With her long, pale hair and her bright purple eyes.

In the memories, she was always laughing, even though in the end there was nothing but silence between them.

“Last chance,” Miranda said, bringing him back. “Do you want to swap with me or not?”

She was nothing if not persistent.

“I can’t.”

It was time.

He’d done all he could. There was no reason to keep her.

Once, not that long ago, a reason wouldn’t have mattered. But the world had changed, and Nick had changed along with it.

“I’ll get my keys.”

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© 2025-2026 Barbara Graver. All rights reserved. This is an original work of fiction. Do not reproduce or redistribute without written permission.

CH 1 Sc 1 | Sc 2 | Sc 3 | Sc 4 | CH 2 Sc 1 | Sc 2 | Sc 3

The Energy of Blood

Nick caught the fae girl before she hit the floor, carried her to the nearest sofa and laid her down with a pillow under her head and another elevating her legs.

She was out cold—eyes closed, limbs loose, little black skirt riding up to show the elastic top of one tattered stocking.

It was what they all wore. Skimpy black skirts. Tight black tops. High heels usually instead of combat boots, but she made the deviation work.

At first glance, she was just another donor. Just another girl hooked on vampire energy or vampire blood or vampire cruelty. But while all of that was probably applicable, there was more.

The way she’d cut the energy running between them was like nothing Nick had ever seen—which made him wonder what else she could do.

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She was still bleeding. So he put his hand over the wound, and let the energy go just like he had at the Black Goddess. Except that now she was stronger, and he could sense her energy in a way he couldn’t before.

It was perfect and pure and nothing like human.

Fae life-force energy, a fine vibration, reminding him of earth and iron and sunlight sifting down through the trees.

Which was a temptation he did not need.

He cut the connection and got his first-aid kit.

Then he wiped off the blood and studied the scars on her neck. Some were precise and no bigger than they had to be. Others were jagged and rough. Whoever he was, he had been careless.

He stretched her little v-neck top to uncover her shoulder and gave her a shot of B12.

Her eyes fluttered open.

For a moment, she seemed disoriented. Then she sat up quickly, in a single fluid movement. “Where is my weapon?”

“You dropped it.” He gave her the dagger, and she held it tight against her thigh, ready to strike.

He took out the suture kit and a small bottle of sterile water. “I’m assuming you’ve had stitches before?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you have a medical kit?”

“Because people get hurt.”

“By you?”

“The sutures are part of the kit, Miranda. I’ve never torn anyone up. Not once.”

“I asked you if you had to fix people up after you fed and you said, not anymore.”

He had. “I used to feed a little too hard from time to time. The B-12 came in handy. It doesn’t hurt to have it.”

She studied him, the slant of her cheekbones and bright, tilted eyes reminding him of fae as they had been once. Not fae as they were now.

“You can clean the bite and bandage it,” she said at last. “But I don’t want you to stitch me. Or inject me.″

He held up the empty syringe. “The B-12 ship has already sailed.”

“Without my consent.”

“If you want to choose, feel free. The hospital, or me.”

“I don’t need the hospital. And I don’t need stitches either.”

“It will heal faster and cleaner if it’s sewn.” He appealed to her vanity. “The scars will still be visible but not disfiguring.”

She frowned. “How do I know you’re even qualified?”

“Eleven actual wars.” He opened the suture kit. “Innumerable battles.”

“Were you a medic?”

“When I had to be.”

She took her time deciding.

“Fine,” she said at last. “Go ahead.”

“Put your head back and look at the painting.” He pointed. “To your left.”

“What’s it supposed to be?”

“Just color.” He opened the sterile water. “I need to clean it first.”

Nick flushed out both sides of the bite and blotted it dry. Then he picked up the needle and needle-driver. “First stitch,” he warned. “It will probably take a couple of dozen to do it right.”

She tensed as the needle pierced her skin, then loosened her shoulders and fixed her eyes on the painting, taking the pain like someone who’d done it before.

He kept the stitches small, tying them off and cutting them one by one as he went. She hadn’t flinched yet, but her lower lip was between her teeth, blanching a little from the pressure of her incisors.

“I can give you some energy,” he said. “To take the edge off.”

“A sip of your blood would be better.”

His blood was ten times as potent as what she’d almost died for earlier. “Our blood is toxic. You do know that?”

“So is heroin.”

He laughed. “That’s your argument?”

“Okay. So is morphine.”

“Morphine is a bad argument, too.”

She didn’t argue. She was still biting her lip. Now it had started to bleed. So he gave her the energy, knowing she needed it.

Her eyes drifted closed. He finished the stitches and took the blade out of her hand, and lifted her legs to settle her back on the couch.

Nick took off the combat boots and got her a blanket. By the time he came back, her breathing was deep and steady.

He went into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and took out a bag of AB negative. Compared to the fiery red-orange of Miranda’s blood, human blood was a dull brick red. And the energy of bagged was a lot like the color.

He didn’t bother with a glass. Instead, he pulled the tab, threw back his head and emptied the bag straight into his mouth, grimacing at the salty taste of the preservative.

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© 2025-2026 Barbara Graver. All rights reserved. This is an original work of fiction. Do not reproduce or redistribute without written permission.

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A Room Bordered by Night

Miranda stood in the middle of the vampire’s huge, open-concept living room and took it all in. The space was upscale and modern, and so clean it sparkled.

Almost everything was gray. Two charcoal gray sofas, a couple of steel gray lounge chairs, and a polished mixed gray granite floor.

The entire back wall was one big window. On the far side of the room, a long line of abstract paintings stretched out, one after the other, vivid splashes of color against the fog-colored wall.

But the artwork was nothing compared to the vampire.

He was standing in front of the window, and the air around him was pulsing with color, rainbow waves shimmering delicately across the dark glass.

It was energy. Visible energy. And Miranda didn’t see energy. She felt it.

This was a completely new thing, but before she could figure it out, the color was gone.

Now it was just the vampire and his shiny silver eyes and the wide-angle view of black water swallowed up by fog.

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It was the lake, probably. The same lake that bordered the Regio. But there was no wall here, which put her in human territory—where Daniel could not, as he liked to remind her, protect her from anything.

“Doesn’t the window creep you out?” she asked. “It’s like living inside a fishbowl.”

The vampire, whose name was Nick, took off his stylish black velvet jacket and tossed it across the back of the charcoal gray couch. “Not really.”

It was unusual. Daniel and every blueblood he knew had video covering every possible angle. This vampire seemed oblivious. And the fog was dense. Anything could be out there, or anyone. “You wouldn’t even know if someone was watching.”

“I would, actually.”

But Miranda didn’t believe him. “You’d know? In this kind of fog?”

He smiled. “Maybe not.”

He wasn’t really agreeing with her. He was just being polite because he grew up in a time, probably, when people expected that.

Miranda didn’t have a response, which wasn’t unusual, but it wasn’t just awkwardness. He was distracting her.

She didn’t want to stare at him, but the eyes were really hard to ignore. Blueblood eyes were like human eyes, usually, except for the irises, which were crystalline and kind of backlit.

His irises were metallic and reflective, and so like a mirror, she wanted to get closer just to see herself in them.

Which wasn’t a good idea at all.

Miranda forced herself to look away and focus on what was real.

There was a huge old broadsword perched like a museum piece on the bare wooden mantel. On each side of the fireplace, ancient leather books filled sleek, slate gray shelves.

“Is that your sword?” she asked. “Or some kind of heirloom?”

“It’s both, actually. It was passed down from father to son. Now it belongs to me.”

She nodded. “This isn’t what I expected.”

He walked past her, not making a sound. “What did you expect?”

“Gilt mirrors. Old woodwork. A couple of butlers.” She wondered if one was lurking. He would be called Kyle, though, instead of Winston, in keeping with the contemporary slash minimalist aesthetic. “Do you have one?”

“I don’t. Sorry.”

“You don’t have an accent either. It seems like you should.”

The vampire was on the other side of the room now. To the left of a big opening that led into a shiny chrome and black kitchen. He opened what looked like a closet, and there was a tiny, recessed refrigerator. “They fade if you let them.”

Most vampires kept them, though. This one moved with the times. It was unusual, but so was the architecture and the whole super casual, ordinary guy vibe.

He got out a bottle of water and held it up. “You should drink.”

“I’m good.”

“You’re not good, Miranda. You’re hypovolemic. Water will help.”

But his blood would help more. And that was why she was here. It wasn’t about hanging out or getting to know him or being romantic. It was about energy

“Maybe we should just go ahead and do our thing,” she said, “and I can get out of your way.”

He put the water down on the big, free-form glass coffee table. “Do our thing?”

“Swap.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I just need a little.” She held out her wrist and let him get a good look at the scars so he’d know she could handle it. “You can take whatever you need.”

He shook his head a little like he couldn’t quite believe it. “You’re already down a liter—or more. Your heart is racing because the blood you have left isn’t enough. And you’re bleeding again.”

Miranda knew how blood-loss anemia worked, but she thought the bleeding had stopped. Now that he mentioned it, she could feel it. A slow trickle of blood snaking its way down over her collarbone and onto her shirt.

She wiped the trickle away with a flick of her hand. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll feel fine when you’re high on my blood. But tomorrow you’ll wake up in worse shape than you’re in now.”

But Miranda didn’t care about tomorrow. She cared about the next ten minutes.

“You said you were going to fix me up.”

“Not like that.”

Then why had he brought her here?

But that wasn’t the real question.

The real question was, why had she come?

Getting a blueblood who didn’t even know you to swap was almost impossible. And Miranda knew that, but she’d come here anyway, which was weird.

And there was something else that was weird.

She didn’t remember anything after the bathroom at the Black Goddess. She didn’t remember leaving the building or getting into the vampire’s car or sitting next to him on the ride to the lake. And the only thing she really remembered about the short walk from the car to the house was that it had been dark.

Miranda knew she was on the lake. But it was a big body of water, and parts of the shoreline were undeveloped. She didn’t know if there were other houses nearby or how far they were from the road or what kind of lock was on the front door—or if she would be able to open it.

And up until this moment, she hadn’t cared, and she knew exactly why that.

She dredged up every ounce of energy she had left and pushed the vampire out of head. Then she pulled up her psychic barriers, hard and fast.

And everything changed.

The sparkly, happy feeling was gone. The room was empty and cold and bordered by night. And she was alone, with a vampire unlike any vampire she’d seen before.

Her heart was beating even faster than it had been before. Not blood loss this time.

Fear.

It was one thing to take a vampire home. Where there were weapons, and panic buttons, and Daniel’s guys patrolling the streets. It was even marginally okay to go to their place once you’d seen their ID and told somebody where you were going and who you were with.

But this was beyond reckless.

This was as bad as what she’d done at the Black Goddess.

No, not as bad. Worse.

Miranda took a slow, careful step back, dropped fast, and whipped the dagger out of her boot.

She came up too quick, and a wave of dizziness almost took her down again—but she held onto the dagger, raising it in front of her, as if would actually save her. “Don’t touch me.”

“I’m not...” The vampire took a single step in her direction, then stopped. “I can call an ambulance if that’s what you want.”

The dagger was heavier than she remembered, but if she used two hands, he’d know she was flagging. “Why did you bring me here?”

“Because you wouldn’t go to the ER.”

Miranda’s arm was starting to shake, and she could see the dagger shaking right along with it. “I don’t believe you.”

He took a step back. “Let me give you a shot of B-12 and fix you up. And then I’ll take you home.”

But that did not reassure her. “Why do you have a medical kit?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to answer. She knew. But she asked him, anyway. “Because you feed so hard, you have to fix people up?”

“Not anymore.”

Not never.

Just not anymore.

“Let me help you, Miranda.”

Miranda shook her head—but the room was starting to spin.

What choice did she have?

She lowered her arm, and the darkness rolled in.

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© 2025-2026 Barbara Graver. All rights reserved. This is an original work of fiction. Do not reproduce or redistribute without written permission.

⚠️Trigger warning: Aftermath of violent attack described in detail.

Previously on Tracing Miranda:

Vampire addict Miranda O’Malley has been brutally attacked by a half-breed vampire in the back room of a night club. Vampire Nick Markovich has come to her rescue, using his energy to stop the bleeding. While Nick and Miranda exchanged a glance earlier in the evening, this is the first time they have met.

Blood on the Tiles

Miranda opened her eyes cautiously. The world blurred, then cleared.

And it was familiar. She was in the back bathroom at the Black Goddess, but that was all she knew. She didn’t know how she’d got there.

She didn’t remember anything after finding a table and texting Sketcher. But she didn’t have to.

She knew.

Someone had fed from her, and they had fed hard.

And he was still here, standing against the wall on the other side of the bathroom.

His black velvet jacket was open, and his arms were folded across a purple and gray tapestry vest. He had silver eyes and silky black hair and the drop-dead, over-the-top beauty of a full-blooded immortali vampire.

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It was a pretty picture, but something was off.

Bluebloods didn’t hang out. They took what they needed and wiped your memory and left. But this one had not.

There was no reason for him to still be here. No reason at all.

Unless he was getting ready to clean up his mess.

Which meant she had to get out.

Now.

Miranda reached for the sink and pulled herself up. The edges of her vision dimmed, the darkness slowly working its way in to center. She was about to pass out. She could feel it coming, just like it had dozens of times before.

Then he was beside her, hand on her elbow, holding her up.

She tried to pull away, but she was too weak.

Too weak to resist. Too drained to walk away. Too beat to stand. Leaning on a guy who had used her like meat. Helpless. Dependent. Pathetic.

Not even caring especially if he was going to kill her.

Almost ready to just let him do it.

Her face was cold and sweaty, and her stomach was churning. Her mouth flooded with spit. “I’m going to throw up.”

He turned her a little toward the sink and gave her space. “Go ahead.”

The vomit splattered against the dirty white porcelain, and then it splattered again. When Miranda was sure she was done, she turned away from the mess and leaned against the wall, pressing her cheek against the cool of the tile.

“You got what you wanted,” she whispered. “Go away.”

He took a step back. “You think I did this?”

She put her back to the wall and looked at him straight on—and, just like that, she remembered.

He was the guy. The one who’d caught her staring. The one with the entourage and the arrogant nod and the perfect, energetic signature.

It was only a fragment of memory. For a single blissful second, it was all she had. Then the rest of it unspooled inside of her head.

Layla Peterson. A half-vamp named Tony. The taste of blood in her mouth. A wave of euphoria, lowering her defenses. The full-thickness burn of shredded skin. Her dagger too far away to reach.

The damp, stifling pressure of a hand clamped down hard over her mouth. The need to scream welling up inside her until it was stronger than the need to breathe.

The fade to black. The wake-up call. This moment.

Which was nowhere near as terrifying as it should have been.

Because the pretty blueblood vampire was trancing her blind. And she needed her A game.

“Stop,” she said. “Get out of my head.”

He did. And just like that, her neck started to burn.

“You were bleeding when I came in. I gave you a jolt. To make you clot.”

“You can do that?”

“Yes.”

She swallowed hard. The burning was getting worse instead of better.

“And then you tranced me? Just to do it?”

He shrugged. “I thought it probably hurt.”

Meaning he wasn’t using energy to mess with her or manipulate her. He was using it to help her.

“I can give you more,” he said. “If you want it.”

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Miranda looked at the blood pooled on the old tile floor and sprayed a little on one of the walls. It wasn’t the kind of bleeding that stopped on its own. He’d done it.

He was a good guy which wasn’t actually possible. But for now, she was willing to go along with it.

“Fine.”

The burning stopped like somebody had thrown a switch.

So Miranda took a deep, shuddering breath and turned back to the sink to assess the damage. The face in the mirror was white as wax. The blood smeared across her neck and chest looked black. And the bite was bad.

Two long parallel wounds gouged into the side of her neck. The entire area pulpy and swollen and clotted with blood. Serious scarring. Obvious scarring. In a place that was going to be very hard to hide.

She had scars all over her body—but this scar was different. This scar was upfront and visible. This scar was going to remind her of her own stupidity for the rest of her life.

Her stomach pitched again. She gagged until she heaved up bile, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m good now. You can take off.”

“You think you can get home by yourself?”

She didn’t think she could get out of the bathroom on her own. Let alone home. “I’ll call someone.”

“Go ahead.”

But there was no one to call. Violet was at away school two states away. Kate would have nightmares for weeks. Daniel would take her straight back to rehab and tell them to keep her.

She could see the vampire in the mirror, standing back against the wall in his fancy velvet coat. He wasn’t invisible, obviously, or some half-resurrected human. Even though some people outside the gate still believed in those things.

He was an enigma, like they all were. The product of gods or angels or aliens. Or maybe nothing more than some ancient race.

Terrible and magical and predatory.

And almost irresistible.

Except when they were frowning at you like this one was now.

“You need stitches.”

But if she went to the emergency clinic here, inside the gate, someone would call Daniel—and if she went outside to New Boston, somebody else would call the police.

“No,” she said. “I don’t.”

“And blood.”

But she didn’t want human blood. She wanted his.

And maybe she could get it.

Getting an immortali to swap wasn’t easy. Mostly because they didn’t have to.

Unlike half-vamps, immortali could trance a human into giving up their blood for free. But Miranda had done it before. There was no reason she couldn’t do it again.

She didn’t say anything. She just stood there and let him get a good look at the blood.

“Call someone,” the vampire said. “Or go to the ER.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Does it matter?”

He studied her with his strange, silvery eyes. “Come with me, then. And I’ll fix you up.”

Next Chapter

© 2025-2026 Barbara Graver. All rights reserved. This is an original work of fiction. Do not reproduce or redistribute without written permission.

⚠️Trigger Warning: Violence happens off page but aftermath is graphic.

CH 1 Sc 1 | Sc 2 | Sc 3 | Sc 4 | CH 2 Sc 1

Something Was Wrong

Nick tuned out the donor chattering into his left ear. The fae girl was still at her table. Her dark-haired friend was gone, and a half-vamp vampire had taken her place.

After a few moments of conversation, the girl slung a backpack over one shoulder and led the half-vamp into the back. And it was the last thing Nick would have expected.

Fae blood had an energy that was attractive to vampires. They might not know why they wanted her, but they would want her. Even immortali would want her. There was no reason for her to make do with a half-vamp. Or no good one, anyway.

Which was nothing to him. The fae had as good as lost the ability to track, and he did not need a donor he might want to see twice.

So it didn’t matter who she was with or what she did with them—or that her blood was a siren song only he could hear.

Except that it did.

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It mattered that he could hear it, and it especially mattered that he could hear it from here.

Something was wrong.

Nick was up and moving across the floor, and halfway down the hall before anyone else knew what was happening.

He rounded a corner and pushed through the door. And there she was.

Sitting on the floor like she’d been dropped.

Her back was against the wall, and her head was tipped back. She was drifting in and out of consciousness. Eyes half-closed. Lips parted.

Teeth stained black with vampire blood.

Throat torn open.

Ragged parallel channels. Raw weeping flesh. A slow current of blood, running down a long, graceful neck, catching in the hollow just above the clavicle, and overflowing onto her chest.

The blood was still fresh. Still breathtakingly red.

He squatted down beside her. She smelled like absinthe and gardenia and iron.

“What did you do?”

The full lips curled. “You know.”

He did.

Swap.

She wasn’t a donor. She was a player.

Swapping blood with half-vamps. Chasing the high.

He touched her hand, already cooling. “Tell me your name.”

She licked her lips, tasted blood, and frowned.

“Tell me your name,” he said again.

“Miranda.” Her voice so low a human wouldn’t have heard. “Miranda O’Malley.”

“Let me help you, Miranda.”

The heavy lids lifted. The green eyes brightened with fear. Instinct told her to fight. He asked for surrender.

Let me help.

Almost imperceptibly, she nodded.

Nick pressed four fingers flat against the raw meat of the wound. “Swallow.”

The bright, frightened look faded. Her throat lifted. The swallow slipped beneath his fingers, and he let the energy go along with it.

The current traveled slowly out from center. It vibrated through the hollow bones of his arm, hummed into his hand, and seeped into flesh. Cells clumped. Blood clotted. The wound began the long, tedious process of becoming a scar.

The girl’s eyes closed. She drifted back into the dark fold of her unconscious.

Nick stood and looked down at her.

He’d never torn into anyone. Not even when he was a young vampire with the hunger roaring in his ears, but he was still a predator—and the predator would remember her just as she was.

With her bright hair and her bloody neck and the little leather skirt riding high on the elegant, wide open sprawl of her legs.

Next Scene

© 2025 Barbara Graver. All rights reserved. This is an original work of fiction. Do not reproduce or redistribute without written permission.