A Vampire Named Otto, page 1
A Vampire Named Otto
By Holly Day
Published by JMS Books LLC
Visit jms-books.com for more information.
Copyright 2025 Holly Day
ISBN 9781685509972
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
All rights reserved.
WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.
This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
* * * *
Thank you to Gabi Cervenka and Leonie Duncan!
This time around, we’re celebrating Keep Off the Grass Day, which is observed annually on April 21st. I, personally, think we should get rid of all lawns and have flowerbeds instead, but the first thing that came to mind when I saw the day was a grouchy man telling everyone to get off his lawn, so I wrote a story with a grumpy vampire doing the same.
A Vampire Named Otto
By Holly Day
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Zephan Amon ran. He ran between trees, jumped over creeks, and hid behind boulders. He didn’t know how he’d ended up in the situation he had. He’d been in Ulledo—less than half an hour’s drive from Bridget’s quaint house in Foolshope.
He’d stopped for some Dutch courage. Begging the sister you hadn’t seen or spoken to for seven years to take you in wasn’t something Zephan had ever imagined himself doing. Better his sister than his parents though, which was why he was there.
His parents lived in Silvermoor, a psychic community where they were, if possible, more stuck up than they were in Foolshope. Or, he believed his parents still lived in Silvermoor. He hadn’t spoken to them for over fifteen years.
He was an invisible in a family of fire gods. They weren’t gods, but you wouldn’t be able to tell from the way they acted.
Anyway, Zephan had lost his job, had been unable to get a new one, and was therefore unable to pay his rent. The only way out of homelessness he could come up with was if Bridget agreed to let him stay with her for a bit.
He’d packed everything he could fit into his car, got rid of the rest of his belongings, and steered toward Foolshope.
The closer he got, the more nervous he’d grown.
When he’d been shaking and close to throwing up, he’d stopped in Ulledo to have a drink. Worst case scenario, he could sleep in his old Toyota and go to Bridget the day after. April was chilly, but he was sure he would survive a night in the wild.
It was not what had happened.
He had no idea where his car was or if any of his things remained in it. He had the key, which had to count for something, right? Or not. If there was no car, he had no use for the key.
A howl cut through the dusk, and Zephan pushed himself to run faster. He didn’t stand a chance against shifters. They were faster, stronger, and way more deadly than he was.
Another howl split the air, but this came from another direction, and while Zephan was no expert on shifter sounds, he believed it sounded differently.
Everything stilled. For a second, Zephan did too. Were they watching him? He looked around, but he saw nothing. He erected his shield, the bubble that made him invisible to anyone who looked in his direction.
It was a pretty useless skill since it didn’t hide scent, and should someone touch him, they were able to feel him.
As a child, he’d wondered if he’d been adopted since everyone else in his family were fire gods, but nope. He looked like a younger version of his father, so there would be no long-lost parents coming to save him from being the dynasty’s embarrassment.
He ran with his shield up. It wouldn’t help when chased by monsters who had an excellent sense of smell, but it was the best he could do.
He was so close now. Foolshope had to be around here somewhere. He only had to find some houses, and he was sure he’d be able to find Bridget’s house. Maybe. Hopefully. He’d only been there once right after she’d moved in close to ten years ago. It was when he’d still been in contact with her before she tried to get him to move back to Silvermoor, so he wouldn’t soil the family name.
In Silvermoor, they could keep him unseen. No one needed to know he existed there. They could hide him away. Deny he’d ever been born.
These thoughts made his hopelessness well up. She wouldn’t take him in. And if she did, it would come at a price he wasn’t sure he was willing to pay.
All he wanted was to be free and live a normal, human life. His skill was useless. It didn’t earn him any respect or money. Most people didn’t know he wasn’t human, and it was how he liked it.
He didn’t give a damn about psychics and their leading families, he didn’t care about names, or who should continue the lineage with whom. He would never have children, not children he fathered at least. He wasn’t opposed to having kids if he met the right man to raise them with, but there would be no wife, no arranged marriage, and no planned breeding.
No one wanted him anyway.
He was a disgrace to the Amon family, which was the main reason he’d refused to change his last name when they’d suggested it. It had been his and Bridge’s last argument, the one where he’d cut all contact. If he refused to go back to Silvermoor and hide from the world, she—and he was sure their parents were whispering in her ear—demanded he change his name, so there was no visible connection to them.
Fat chance! He hoped he’d meet a guy one day who wanted to marry him and take his name.
He would make sure the news reached Silvermoor.
The air was knocked out of him as he tripped over a branch and landed on the damp ground with a thud. Damn.
Looking around, he could see no wolves. It didn’t mean they weren’t there. The beasts, giant as they were, were experts at melting into the shadows.
He wasn’t sure how he’d ended up in their care. He’d gone into a seedy bar, ordered a beer and a shot, and it was the last thing he remembered before waking up in a dank basement. Maybe they knew who he was. Maybe they believed his parents would pay a ransom. The Amon family was known for their wealth, but they’d picked the wrong Amon. No one would pay for him.
Eaten by wolves was a neat way to make someone disappear, but he couldn’t see his mother hiring a wolf to take him out. Maybe. He’d underestimated her before.
He wasn’t sure werewolves ate psychics, though. There were stories, of course, but he found them hard to believe.
Getting to his feet, he took off running again.
A snarl sounded a little too close to comfort, and it was followed by a loud whine. Were they fighting? Zephan ran in the opposite direction.
He ran and ran and ran. His lungs burned, and he tasted blood at the back of his throat.
The trees grew sparser and hope woke in his chest. He’d seen a sign hours ago pointing toward Foolshope. He hadn’t dared stay on the road where he was easily visible, so he’d dipped into the forest, but he had to be in Foolshope now.
He tumbled out between the tall beech trees and almost crashed into a white picket fence. He dropped his shield in surprise.
In front of him was the cutest little square whitewashed brick house he’d seen outside a fairy tale.
Another snarl came from in the forest, and he rushed toward the gate.
“Keep off my lawn!”
Zephan ground to a halt. On the doorstep was a huge man, tall and broad, and fangs dented his lower lip. Holy shit, was he a vampire? Zephan had never met one. They were rare, myths almost.
“I need help.”
The door was open behind the man, but it didn’t look as if he would step aside to invite Zephan inside.
“Get off the grass!”
Zephan looked at his feet. He was on the gravel walkway, not on any grass, and this time of year, there wasn’t much grass to speak of anyway. It was coming, the spring green was about to take over.
“Please. I was kidnapped, and then I—”
“Get off my property!”
A branch snapped behind him, and Zephan cursed. He erected his invisibility shield and waited. When the man on the doorstep didn’t say anything and didn’t move, he carefully stepped to the side, and swung his leg over the picket fence, praying he wouldn’t impale himself as he tried to find traction on the bottom rail. He was too short to reach the lawn without castrating himself, and it wasn’t something he wanted to try when he had to be quiet—or any time, if he was being honest.
His damp sneaker slipped a few times, and he winced at the dirty smear he left on the white fence, but finally he managed to get over it. W
He stopped and did his best not to breathe as he waited.
It didn’t take many seconds before three massive men scrambled out of the woods. Claws adorned their fingers, and there was a wild look in their amber eyes. Zephan shuddered.
“Get off my lawn!”
He looked back at the vampire. Was he talking to him?
“We’re looking for a guy—” One of the wolves held out a hand indicating a small person, and Zephan almost snorted. He might not be related to giants as the shifters appeared to be, but he wasn’t small. He was average. Average all over. “—lean, dark hair, flamethrower.”
The last bit had Zephan widen his eyes. He had no fire skills, none.
“Leave my property!” The vampire was glaring at them.
“Have you seen him?”
The vampire didn’t answer.
“Have you? We won’t bother you if you tell us where he went.”
Shit. Zephan took a step closer to the house. He didn’t think the vampire would protect him, but he believed he was safer near him. Or not. What did vampires eat? Did they eat psychics?
Most likely.
A low growl making the hairs stand on end sounded from behind Zephan, and he whirled around. Another huge man neared the picket fence from a different direction. It wasn’t someone Zephan had seen before, but he had no idea how many individuals there were in a pack, so maybe he was part of the gang that chased him.
There was an air of dominance around him, and he dipped his head in a short greeting to the vampire on the doorstep. “Sorry for the disturbance, Otto.”
Otto? A vampire named Otto.
“They’re trespassing.” Otto’s fangs were on full display, and Zephan shivered. They looked sharp.
“They sure are.” The new wolf flashed teeth at the three lingering by the gate. “What are you doing here?”
The one who’d spoken to Otto sneered. “None of your business.”
“You’re on my land, so it’s my business.”
“It’s my land.” Otto walked down the two steps and stood on the walkway. Zephan’s gaze jumped between him and the open door. Could he? Would Otto kill him if he tried?
“True, but surrounding your land is our land, and they’ve entered it without permission.”
Zephan ignored what they were saying—though a part of him realized he’d run across shifter country without permission too—and crept closer to the house. He took one slow step after the other, making sure his invisibility shield stayed in place. When he neared Otto, he held his breath.
Could he do this?
“Have them removed.” Otto’s voice made him jump. Fuck. Zephan chanced a glance over his shoulder. The man was grinning.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll take care of them.”
“It doesn’t make us even, Averett.”
The man, presumably Averett, sighed loudly. “It was years ago!”
“You wrecked my zinnias.”
Averett threw his hands in the air. “Fine. I’ll get you new zinnias.”
“I have zinnias.”
Motion caught Zephan’s attention. One of the wolves who’d chased him was slowly edging away from the fence and toward the forest. If Zephan’s life hadn’t depended on being invisible, he’d have dropped his shield to point it out to the idiots fighting over zinnias, but he stepped forward instead.
If the wolf could take advantage of Otto and Averett being caught up in some old grievance, then so could he.
He slipped past Otto and walked up the two steps to the landing.
“Remove your shoes.”
Zephan jumped.
“What? You want me to remove my shoes?” Averett sounded confused.
“No. I want the ghost to remove his shoes. I don’t want footprints on my floors.”
Shit. Zephan sighed as low as he could, hoping the wolves wouldn’t be able to hear him.
Silence followed for a second or two, then Averett made a sound of disbelief. “Whatever, dude. I’ll take these clowns with me now.”
“Good.” Otto went up one step, and Zephan hurried forward. He toed off his wet sneakers, but since his socks were wet too, he feared he’d leave footprints anyway.
He scurried into the house and leaned against the wall, hoping Otto wouldn’t walk into him.
* * * *
The door closed, and Zephan slowly let out a breath. He didn’t remove the invisibility shield.
“You can stay for ten minutes, then you have to leave.” Otto looked in his direction but not directly at him.
Zephan dropped the shield. “But your land is surrounded by wolf land. I’ll be trespassing.”
Otto’s gaze slid over him. He was sure he looked terrible. Dirty and tousled, and starving. Though he most likely didn’t look like he was starving, but he hadn’t eaten since yesterday, and he was starving.
“You are trespassing, and I think you should pay.”
“Pay?” Zephan huffed. “Pay for what?”
“A toll. For walking on my lawn.”
Zephan studied his face to see if he was serious. He looked serious. The fangs were no longer on display, but there was no warmth in his eyes, no sign of a smile, and he looked haggard. Not ill, but not well either.
“Lawns are made for walking on.”
“Not my lawn. And since it’s mine, I get to decide.”
Rolling his eyes, Zephan rubbed his neck. “I don’t have any money, so I can’t pay you.”
“I have money, I don’t want yours.”
A shiver worked its way up Zephan’s spine to his neck where it lingered. “What do you want then?” He quickly held up a hand. “I’m not saying I agree!”
“You don’t get a say.”
“My body, my choice.” He was tired of not having a say. The last twenty-four hours had not been fun.
“I’m hungry.” Otto looked straight into his eyes.
“I’m hungry too, but it doesn’t give me the right to demand things of you.”
“One bite, and you’re off the hook for the dented lawn and the trespassing on my land.”
Zephan’s mouth dropped open. “One bite? One bite of what?”
“One bite of you, and your debt is paid.”
“Hell no!” Did vampires drain their victims? “I’ll pay you. I only need to find Foolshope and talk to my sister.” Bridget would never pay to save him from a vampire bite, and he had no idea where his wallet or phone had gone. Fucking wolves. “Then I have to find my car in Ulledo. I’m sure there is something I can sell to get you the money.”
“I already have money. What I don’t have is fresh blood.”
“Three swallows!” It wouldn’t kill him, right? Three mouthfuls of blood weren’t too bad.
A sharp smile took over Otto’s face for one second and was gone the next. “Three swallows? You think you can stop me after three?”
Fear shot through him. Had he been a fire god, he could’ve burned him, but an invisibility shield wouldn’t help much when Otto was holding onto him.
“I trust you not to violate our agreement.” He straightened his back and gave Otto a harsh look. “I’m Zephan Amon.”
There was no recognition in Otto’s gaze. “I’m Otto Jones, but I’m not sure what our names have to do with my meal.”
“Jones? A vampire named Otto Jones?”
“Jones is a perfectly normal name.”
“Exactly!” Zephan threw his hands in the air. “Shouldn’t you be called Laveau or something?”
“I should be named after a New Orleans voodoo queen?”
Zephan shrugged. He’d been sure she’d had something to do with vampires, but maybe he was wrong.
“Okay, so three swallows.” He held out his arm, offering his wrist.
Otto’s eyebrows traveled his forehead in an almost comical way. “You want me to bite your arm?”
“I was thinking wrist.” He pushed up the sleeve a fraction. It was how they did it in the books, wasn’t it?
Otto grimaced. “The wrist is pretty painful.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not letting you near my throat.” His heart sped up. “Wait!” He pulled his arm back despite Otto not having moved so much as an inch. “How painful?”
Otto shrugged.
“What does that mean?” And he’d agreed pretty readily, hadn’t he? Maybe three swallows were grossly overpriced for trespassing and lawn-walking. “How much do you normally charge someone for stepping on your lawn?”
