Chapter One
There’s a moment in one’s life when everything changes irrevocably. It’s usually after an awful decision. I don’t think we’re usually privy to the timing of this moment. It happens, we react, and we must deal with the consequences.
Somehow, I know this is that moment for me, yet I can’t stop myself from running steadfast into the unknown. After everything—the promises that were broken and the lies that were told, after I was forsaken and abused by the very people who shared my life’s blood—I am still tethered to them.
I can’t see our link. If I could, I would break it. I would cut it into a million pieces so no one could braid it again. I can’t see it, but I know it’s there, tying my soul to theirs. I want to break free, to run wild with my vampire clan, but I can’t. I’m secured to the ground, rooted in place, until someone speaks.
“Liv is missing, mija,” Mamá says, her voice soft, her eyes tired.
I stare at them in silence. The moonlight casts shadows across their faces, distorting their features into hellish expressions. In this light, they look like monsters.
They don’t want to be here, but they’ve come seeking my aid. For months, I wanted nothing more than to end our feud. I truly believed we could have peace. After all, we fight for the same cause—to stop rogue vampires—but then I dreamed about a spell gone awry. Mamá cut me, sinking her dagger into my flesh. My arm still aches where blade met bone.
Of course, this never happened, but I feel it as sharply as I feel the cold wind against my face and the crunch of frozen ground beneath my feet. I hold my arm against my chest, rubbing a wound that never existed in reality. I tell myself that was only a dream. But was it?
I may be undead now, but I was born a spirit witch with an affinity for clairvoyance. This isn’t the first time a dream morphed into something more, something solid I can fight. After I woke from the nightmare, I was of the firm belief that the witches were up to no good. Now I must decide if my premonition is coming true. Are they here for retribution and vengeance?
But Liv is missing.
A rogue vampire has taken her, and it’s only a matter of time before she becomes a meal or something worse… Something like me.
A witch-turned-vampire is a curious creature. I am not vampire, not witch, but both. I have one foot firmly planted in both worlds, yet I belong to neither.
As I think about what my former best friend must be experiencing, I feel ill. I was blessed to have been saved by Jasik and his comrades. Unlike rogues, my saviors follow a set of unspoken guidelines to maintain peace and anonymity—like not eating people. It’s generally considered poor form to do so.
I know Liv isn’t as lucky, and if she has been taken, she’s running out of time.
My mind is a mess, my emotions clouding my judgment. I replay Mamá’s words over and over again. Each time, I still don’t know if I can believe her. Is this another lie? After the witches’ last betrayal, I vowed never to return to my old life, never to aid them or fight on their side again. I fell asleep yesterday believing I was free, but I woke to another nightmare.
“Will you help us?” someone asks.
Among the witches is Liv’s mother. Her eyes are bloodshot and sunken, her skin pale and wrinkled. Her nose is pink, her lips dry. Her dull hair is frizzy and flutters in the breeze. She shivers from the cold and wraps her arms around her chest.
Liv’s mother never liked me or my coven, but the two seem to have merged into a single covenant. Their intention is to protect Darkhaven, the small village we all call home, from those who keep to the shadows. I once fought beside them, but now I see their prejudice has blinded them from the truth.
Not all vampires are evil, soulless fiends who need to be sent straight to hell.
I find it ironic that Liv and her family are intent on killing us. In the past, Liv had to sneak out just to see me. Her mother, a self-professed flower child and free spirit, didn’t believe in violence. Now she joins the fight as often as she can—and so does Liv.
I saved her from a rogue vampire just last night, and he’s dead. So how is she missing? Who took her? What happened after I left the witches?
“Perhaps she ran away?” I say, finally speaking. While unlike Liv, this is the most obvious conclusion. The rogues from that nest are supposed to be dead.
“No seas tonta, niña,” Mamá chastises.
“I’m not being foolish, Mamá,” I say. “This doesn’t make sense. The rogues are gone, so who could have taken her?”
“There are always more vampires! Don’t be naïve,” Liv’s mother says.
In the distance, something catches my eye. The woods are eerily dark tonight, and even the moonlight struggles to find its way through the thick branches. I squint at a shadow. It moves when I focus on it, returning behind the base of a thick tree.
“Someone is out there,” I say.
I rush forward, pushing past the witches. Mamá grabs on to my arm, yanking me backward. She squeezes me tightly in the very spot her dagger slid into my flesh. The raw sensation of her angry glare and bony fingers sends shivers down my spine. Being a naturally stronger predator, I pull free easily and step backward, putting space between the witches and me. I hold on to my arm, rubbing my skin. I don’t like the feel of her skin against mine. Not only because of the hell she put me through since I’ve transitioned but also because mortals are scorching to the touch. I still feel the heat of her body on mine. It takes several seconds for the sensation to dissipate.
“No te preocupes por eso,” she says, but I do worry. Someone is watching us, and whoever it is might know what happened to Liv. I live in a particularly deserted part of the forest. The only people this far into the woods either reside here with me or are looking for trouble. And this isn’t the former.
I glance back at the woods, and I see a set of eyes staring back at me. The unsettling feeling that I’m being watched washes over me, and all at once, I realize how vulnerable I am. I’m standing in the forest with known enemies. I’m alone, my only allies inside Amicia’s nest, the Victorian-style manor behind me, waiting for my call.
I recognize the onlooker as a member of Mamá’s coven. It’s distressing to know there are more witches hiding behind trees, but I don’t show my fear. The witches need to understand that bringing the fight to our doorstep will never end well for them. We are at our most powerful here, and an attack would be fatal to them.
Maneuvering through the overgrown yard, I backpedal until my heels knock into the steps of our wraparound porch. I take each one at a time, never breaking eye contact with our unexpected visitors. I’m so distracted, I almost forget to pat our watcher—an old stone gargoyle perched on the top step—on his head. This has become a ritual for me. I reach for him, running my hand along his smooth scalp.
As I bend over, the necklace I was hiding under my shirt falls loose and dangles atop my black T-shirt. The chain glistens in the moonlight. Prominently featured, the silver cross is shimmery against my shirt. Its sparkle catches the eyes of the witches, who gasp.
“Eso no es posible,” Mamá says. The other witches mimic her response, shouting that it’s not possible for a vampire to touch such a sacred object. Internally, I agree with them. Vampires cannot touch crosses. Jasik just proved that to me.