Sanguine Summer: A Novel, page 1
SANGUINE SUMMER
A NOVEL
ABE MOSS
Grim Heart Publishing
Copyright © 2025 by Abe Moss
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design by James T. Egan of Bookfly Design LLC.
ALSO BY ABE MOSS
THE WRITHING
BATHWATER BLUES
BY THE LIGHT OF HIS LANTERN
LITTLE EMMETT
UNDER THE WICKED MOON
GILLS
A GHOST ARRIVES
RUBY HOLLOWAY READS AFTER DARK
OUR MOTHER IN THE LAKE
WICKED WAS THE NIGHT
THE RESTLESS ONES
MORSELS
THE DREAD VOID SERIES
CONTENTS
Prologue
I. WATCHERS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
II. BLOOD RELATIONS
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
III. HELL HATH NO FURY
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
IV. HOUSES AND HOMES
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
V. SANGUINE SUMMER
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Epilogue
A SPECIAL THANKS
MORSELS
SANGUINE SUMMER
sanguine
adjective
1 optimistic or positive, especially in an apparently bad or difficult situation.
2 blood-red.
3 bloody or bloodthirsty.
- New Oxford American Dictionary
PROLOGUE
THE STRANGER
Ned Phillips was no stranger to strangers. As the proud owner of the Silver Lining Motel, all manner of humanity had at one time or another sauntered, stalked, or stumbled through his lobby doors, most commonly down on their luck. A bit desperate.
Whatever that might suggest about his establishment, Ned never took it to heart. He was more than happy to cater to the lost and downtrodden. Thrilled, in fact. Whatever circumstances may have led them to the sticky nook of Brewster, Tennessee, Ned hoped to be their silver lining for the night. Hence the name.
“Welcome to the Silver Lining Motel,” he liked to say as they entered, and watch as those strange faces brightened, even if just for a fleeting moment.
But no matter how accustomed he might have been with the wide array of personalities the world had to offer, nothing could have prepared him for her.
Because until that fateful, heat-drenched night in June, Ned Phillips had never met a vampire before.
The Silver Lining Motel squatted dark and lonesome along the deserted outskirts of Main Street, where the railroad was loudest and the cicadas never slept. Steeped in shadow, the motel’s singular streetlight provided little more illumination than the stars themselves across its pockmarked parking lot. Three vehicles were parked there tonight, one belonging to the owner himself.
Ned Phillips sat behind the front desk, feet kicked up, streaming old Star Trek episodes on his laptop while he waited for any last-minute guests to arrive.
The time was 10:49 p.m.
There was a distinct heaviness about the place. A weariness, between the smothering summer heat and the unyielding gloom along the traffic-sparse street outside.
Ned glanced from his laptop to the front door’s freshly wiped windowpane, where the hot, fragrant breath of night pressed against the glass. Main Street was slower than usual tonight, he thought.
Soon it was 11 p.m.
No one’s coming, he told himself.
Finally Ned shut the lid on his laptop. His shirt, damp with sweat, unstuck from his back as he stood and gave a long, groaning stretch toward the ceiling. He switched off the desk lamp, grabbed his laptop, and turned for the door behind him when the entrance rang its little overhead bell, announcing someone.
Startled, Ned turned on his heel, a Pavlovian smile already finding its way to his lips. With the lamp turned off and the parking lot so bereft of light, the figure that now stood in his lobby was mostly featureless—a modest pillar, standing narrow and delicate. Regardless of its form, big or small, the silhouette across the desk struck Ned with an undeniable foreboding.
You’re the one I’ve been waiting for.
He froze with his laptop still cradled under his arm, uncertain what his next move should be, as if he’d never greeted a guest before in his forty-eight years on this earth. As he remembered himself—as his voluntary thoughts returned to him—he returned to his desk, set down his laptop, and flipped on the lamp once more.
The young woman was made no less mysterious in the lamp’s warm glow.
She was already smiling as the light revealed her, white teeth twinkling, dark eyes—so dark Ned could hardly tell the difference between pupil and iris—catching sharp pinpricks of light in them. Ned was instantly lost in those eyes as she stepped closer into the lamplight, trapped in the tar-black wells of her gaze.
“Welcome to the Silver Lining Motel,” he recited in a quiet stupor, the words drawn dreamily from habit alone.
Her smile broadened, the sharp corners of her mouth flexing, humored by his greeting. It was then Ned noticed something else about her. Her teeth. Sparkling white and…
“I would like a room, please.” Her voice was soft, sweet. She tilted her head expectantly, exposing the slender length of her neck to the light, her skin the color of pale cream. “One room in particular, if I may.”
Ned would wonder about this later, but he could have sworn that her eyes changed shape then. Those black pools spilled into the whites, elongating in odd directions. By some strange means, Ned’s own eyeballs wobbled in reply. A vibration.
“One room in particular,” he repeated.
“That’s right. Room Ten, at the very end.”
“Room Ten, at the very end.”
“That’s the one.”
Ned couldn’t look away, mesmerized by those dancing, shifting oblongs of black. Then, without warning, her eyes snapped back into their appropriate shapes. Ned blinked. He gave a shake of his head, forgetting himself once again—like walking into a room and forgetting what you’ve come for.
“Excuse me,” he said.
He reopened his laptop and opened his property management software. The young woman waited patiently.
“Room Ten,” Ned said, reconfirming.
“That’s right. Room Ten.”
“Hmm.” Ned paused. “I’m sorry, but there’s already someone checked in to Room Ten. But I can offer you… well, any other room, really. Besides Ten and Four.”
“I’ll take Room Ten,” the woman said. Her voice remained sweet, congenial.
Ned glanced up as she leaned in upon the desk, her chin propped in the palm of her hand, watching him with vague interest.
“I’m sorry, but Room Ten is currently occupied—”
“I want you to stay right where you are,” the woman interrupted, as she began to perform her curious ocular trick a second time, her eyes like Rorschach blots. Ned’s came to life likewise, quivering in their sockets, a tickling sensation as his soft eyes fluttered against his eyelids. “Wait there until I return.”
“I’ll stay right here until you return,” Ned said.
She offered him one last smile before she departed through the lobby door, out into the warm night. Gone. For now. Ned straightened from his laptop the moment she was out of sight. He scratched his head curiously.
There’s something about her, he thought, though he couldn’t place what it was, exactly.
For starters, there was the sickly pallor of her skin. She was practically translucent, the blue of her veins vivid and bright through her temples. Even in her absence, her visage burned across Ned’s vision. Those dark, shifting eyes. Those pink, supple lips which gave life to a voice so buttery-smooth it was difficult not to hang on her every word. He was hanging on them even now, he realized, her command repeating in his mind like an echo.
Stay right where you are.
Wait there until I return.
He did just that. He waited.
In the meantime, he allowed his gaze to wander to his illuminated laptop screen, where the Rooms & Scheduling chart notified him that the roo
Stay right where you are.
Wait there until I return.
The only other unavailable room was Room Four. That young man was a regular—more a tenant than a guest. Ned would find it harder to relocate him, as he’d made his room into a bit of a temporary home, but that was neither here nor there. She was only interested in Room Ten.
Oh, gosh, Ned thought. She wasn’t out there knocking on that man’s door, was she? At this hour? Waking him up in the middle of the night to negotiate a room swap? Was that her plan?
And you’re just standing here instead of stopping this bothersome intrusion?
He should have insisted, he should have—
The bell dinged loud and merry once more, and the woman appeared in a gentle stride across his dimly lit lobby. It was only now he finally noticed the black dress she wore—so dark you could almost miss the tattered fabric, the popped seams along her left shoulder where her pale skin peeked through in an icy sliver.
She stepped back into the warm light of the lamp, and Ned nearly cried out at the sight of her.
“The room should be available now,” she said, her once-pink lips now caked in crimson—a messy smear forming a mask across her lower face. Her dark eyes blinked prettily.
Ned was nearly unable to tear his gaze from the gruesome scene of her mouth. He regarded his laptop, the Rooms and Scheduling chart, which showed that the man called Dwight Miller was currently checked in to Room Ten for the next two nights.
“But that room…”
“Is available now,” she repeated.
Ned glanced at her as she spoke, catching another glimpse of the gore rolling down her chin before he lowered his gaze once more.
“Look at me, Ned.”
He did as she told him. He looked into those ever-changing eyes, staring more deeply into them than ever before, as their sucking depths allowed him to forget the rest of her.
He vaguely wondered how she knew his name.
“Very good. Don’t look away.”
“I won’t look away.”
“Room Ten now belongs to me.”
“Room Ten…”
“It’s mine now. The previous guest is no longer in need of it.”
“The previous guest…”
“He’s gone. He’s left. The room is now available, and it’s mine. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
“Are you sure?”
“Room Ten is yours.”
“Excellent. You’re a very good boy, Ned.”
A shiver traced the length of Ned’s spine, up the back of his neck, a pleasurable tingle across his scalp, like someone running their fingers through his hair.
“I’m a very good boy,” he agreed.
“Yes you are. In fact, you’re such a good boy, you’re not going to charge me for my stay. And I’ll be staying for some time. Room Ten will remain mine until I say otherwise. Do you still understand?”
“I understand.”
“You’re not to allow anyone in the adjacent room, either, nor in the rooms above. Do you understand?”
“No one in the adjacent room, or… or…”
“You will not allow anyone in Rooms Nine, Nineteen, or Twenty.”
“I won’t let anyone stay in Rooms Nine, Nineteen, or Twenty.”
“That’s great, Ned. Very good. And if anyone should ask about me, you won’t tell them a thing, because you value your guests’ privacy above all else, isn’t that right?”
“That’s right.”
“That’s right,” the woman repeated. “God, you’re good, Ned. I could just eat you right up.”
“Eat me right up.”
The woman laughed—a conspiratorial little giggle under her breath.
“Now hand me the spare key to my room.”
Ned turned to the cabinet on the wall behind him, where each of his rooms’ keys hung on their designated hooks inside. He grabbed the spare key to Room Ten and handed it to the pretty young woman at his desk—gorgeous, she was gorgeous, actually, even with all the blood—and as he placed the key into her palm, she closed both her hands over his, holding him there like a precious thing.
“Thank you for this,” she said, her black eyes swelling, shrinking, swelling. “You don’t know how much this means to me. You’re a lovely man. A gracious man. You should be proud of yourself, for being so generous. You’re one of a kind, Ned. Truly.”
Her hands were utterly frigid. Ned felt his own warmth leeched away in her grasp, and yet a different kind of warmth altogether filled him up in hearing her kind words. Tears sprung into his eyes. His pounding heart bloomed with affection, with flattery, with a genuine sense of yearning he hadn’t felt in some odd years.
When at last she left him, taking the key to her new room and stealing into the dark parking lot outside, Ned had already forgotten the otherworldliness of her—her incredible gaze, the manner in which she spoke his name without being told, or the disturbing aftermath of a terrible meal worn across her mouth.
Instead, he only remembered that she was full of adoration, full of gratitude, full of love. In a world made up of mostly strangers, Ned Phillips hadn’t been lucky enough to receive such kindness in years.
It hardly occurred to him that he’d never learned her name.
PART ONE
WATCHERS
1
FAMILIAR FACES
Twenty-seven-year-old Ruth Sheridan was the fastest, most reliable cashier employed at Dollar Delights—an accomplishment she normally took pride in, regardless of whether or not her wages reflected her abilities. But no such feats would impress her customers tonight.
There were about eight of them lined up now. Occasionally, as she swiped their items in quick succession, she glanced at those tired, puffy, impatient faces gathered single file, and saw only contempt in their eyes as they listened to the shrill sobs coming from the tiny corner office behind her check stand.
Ruth was one of only two employees in the store tonight, which meant that the sounds of despair pealing from the corner office not only belonged to her boss, but also the only help available to her… which of course meant she would be receiving no help whatsoever.
She handed another full bag across the counter, smiling as pleasantly as possible as the customer snatched it from her grasp so abruptly that she jumped. Her smile only faltered for a moment. She turned to the next assortment of dollar items waiting on her conveyor belt, and beamed with as much simultaneous cheer and apology as her face could muster.
“You have quite the line,” her customer said—an older woman with salt-and-pepper hair braided over one shoulder. “Don’t you have any help?”
Another pitiful burst of blubbering erupted through the door at Ruth’s back.
“Just me at the moment,” Ruth said, and flashed another sheepish grin.
The woman glanced toward the corner office, eyes narrowed. “Doesn’t sound like it’s just you.”
Ruth forced another half-smile, half-grimace and shrugged, dragging another item across the scanner.
Beep, beep, beep, each item went, as she stuffed them into the bag.
“They should give you a raise,” the woman said with a secretive smile of her own, her narrowed eyes saying ‘just between you and me.’
