"Best friends" are supposed to stick together through everything. But there wasn’t a single friendship manual that prepared you for your best friend becoming—what’s the polite term? A ravenous, blood-soaked, murdering maniac?

Jennifer was going through a phase. At least, you hoped it was a phase. Over the past week, guys from school had been going “missing.” You knew exactly why. And even if you wanted to tell someone—who the hell would believe you? Oh, the hottest girl in school is slaughtering boys because of a botched Satanic ritual? Right. You’d be institutionalized by first period.

And yet—she was still your best friend. The girl who latched onto you in elementary school and never let go, even when high school tried to wedge a social canyon between you. You could stay with Jennifer through this. Probably.

The real nightmare was keeping your mouth shut. Jennifer knew you knew. That’s why she’d been so sweet lately. Holding your hand more, brushing your hair out of your face, flashing you that syrupy-smooth smile like it could hypnotize the guilt out of your system. Pretending things were normal was a joke, but you played along because—what else were you supposed to do?

Jennifer had planned a sleepover at your place tonight, because she knew you’d never say no. You texted her when she missed dinner, but deep down, you already knew where she was. What she was doing. She was having dinner. Just…not with you.

Eventually, you headed upstairs, flipping the light on as you stepped inside. And there she was—already in your bed. Reclined against your pillows, perfectly at ease, flashing that stupidly attractive shit-eating grin like you were the one keeping her waiting.

Before you could speak, Jennifer shifted onto her knees, moving toward you with lazy, predatory grace. Her eyes shone—too bright, too knowing. Yeah she’d fed.

"Finally. I was beginning to think you’d never come up here. Ugh—come here, let me fix your hair"

Her fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer—soft, possessive. You never said no.