The following is a short story set in the world of my Mia Graves novels I wrote while editing The Perfect Host. It takes place a few weeks after The Perfect Host, and contains some minor spoilers for Bloody Damn Rite.

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There was gold in her hair. In their six years together, Lucy had never noticed that before. Of course this was the first time she'd ever seen Jayla standing in direct sunlight, where its rays could reflect back those hues. Lucy just stood in the doorway and took in the sight of her, Jayla standing on that back deck, dressed in a thick wool sweater and jeans, the sunlight hitting her long, dark brown hair.

Dark brown hair that apparently had flecks of gold in it.

Lucy had been alive for a very, very long time. Centuries. But in all of her endless nights, she had never met anyone she loved as much as Jayla. She had a singular mind, and challenged Lucy in ways no one else ever had. In the end she knew their time together would be fleeting – Jayla would never choose immortality – but Lucy was going to treasure every moment they had.

Even if it would just be a few decades in the end.

"Lucy! You're here!" Jayla beamed, having finally turned around. "Took you long enough!"

"The families in Detroit were more difficult to negotiate with than expected," Lucy sighed. She focused herself and took hold of the deep hunger within herself and held it down, like grabbing a snake by its head, and stepped out of the shadows of the house and into the bright, autumn afternoon. The sun hadn't burned her in over a hundred years, but it still filled her with dread every time she did it.

"But it's done now?" Jayla asked, pulling the shorter woman into her arms. "Everything is settled?"

"Emma's on her way back to Indiana, but yes," Lucy nodded, holding Jayla tightly. "I think we're past it. I just hope that I did enough for all of them."

"I'm sure you did," Jayla replied, running her hand through Lucy's black hair. After a moment, Jayla released Lucy from the welcome embrace. "Did my dad let you into the house or..."

"It was both of your parents," Lucy smiled, sitting down on a deck chair, carefully smoothing her long black skirt as she settled in. "Your father insisted on carrying in my bags, and your mother asked if I wanted anything to eat. She attempted to give me food immediately. She said I was skin and bones. If she keeps trying to give me human food we may have a problem. I can only eat so much in a day without feeling ill."

Jayla stifled a laugh as she sat down in the chair next to Lucy's. "Speaking of... have you fed recently?"

"Last night," Lucy sighed. "The families in Detroit were quite... generous. Perhaps too much so. I do not enjoy the society."

"You've complained about them often enough."