But I’m not just a vampire.
I’m something more, something better.
“What are you?” someone hisses, her voice betraying her disgust with all that I am.
They may not know everything, but they have witnessed some of my peculiar traits. In addition to my newfound ability to touch religious relics, I also have access to magic—and not just any magic. The power within me is pure, formidable. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
I’ve wielded this magic in several attacks against rogue vampires, and the witches watched as my enemies were turned to ash by my mere touch. My hands contain the very flames of the fiery depths of hell, and I will eagerly use this magic to aid my comrades.
The witches act surprised now, but I wonder how shocked they really are. They know I can use magic. They’ve seen it with their own eyes. Wouldn’t they expect more from me? Did they come here to ask for my help because they want to see what else I can do? Is this why they’re here now, begging for help? Just yesterday, they wanted nothing to do with me. Now they consider me an ally. They trust me to save one of their own?
I grab my cross pendant, trailing my fingers over the cool metal. Rather than harm me, it gives me strength. I was given this necklace by Papá before he died, and since Mamá has stolen my stake, this cross is all I have left of him.
“How is this possible?” someone asks.
“Because the world is not just black and white,” I say. “Nothing is ever that simple. You condemn us all based on the actions of a few. That’s not fair or right. Even this cross trusts in me, so why can’t you?”
I tuck my necklace back under my shirt, letting the metal slide against my bare skin. It tickles as it slides down to its rightful place between my clavicles, but it does not burn me. The only thing that stings is the way Mamá looks at me, her only child, with such disdain. She hates what I am, but I see the wheels turning behind her narrowed gaze. She’s up to something.
“Are you certain you want the vampires’ help?” I ask. I need to hear them say it aloud, especially her. The witches have come to the vampires for help. They need us. I won’t agree until they realize it.
Mamá’s eyes are hard. They’re so dark brown, they’re almost black. Our eyes used to be identical, right down to their shape. Now my irises are crimson—the same color as the blood of the innocent. Or, in my case, the blood from blood bags.
“We can find her without you,” Mamá says.
“But you can’t stop them,” I clarify. “Not without us.”
The witches know I’m right. This isn’t about who’s naturally stronger or who’s the better fighter—both titles go to the vampires, though. This is about putting aside our differences to save someone. To stop the rogues. This is about protecting Darkhaven.
“And you speak for everyone?” Mamá asks.
I shake my head. “No. I make no decisions for anyone. We agree together, as a family.”
Mamá narrows her eyes. It was petty of me to say the vampires are my family now, but I couldn’t stop myself. In the past few months, these vampires have been more of a family to me than Mamá ever was. They trusted me, trained me, and even risked their lives for me. They believed in me when no one else did.
Mamá never respected me or my power. She never believed in me. Sure, she loved me. I was her daughter after all. She’s not totally heartless, but in her eyes, I was a novice compared to her. Now the student has become the master, and she must admit it.
“No tenemos tiempo para esto,” Mamá says.
“You will make time, Mamá.”
I know I’ve upset her. Her hands are balled into fists at her sides. Her jaw is clenched, her eyes narrowed. Her nostrils flare with every sharp inhalation. She wants to tear me down. She wants me to submit to her. Before I was a vampire, I wouldn’t dare betray her. Not like this. Especially not in front of her peers. Everything I did, I did for the coven.
But I’m not that girl anymore.
“Do you want our help?” I ask again, emphasizing each word.
There is a long pause, and then she says, “Yes. I want your help.”
She is seething, her anger almost to its boiling point. Before she can erupt and ruin our unexpected truce, I smile.
“I need a minute,” I say.
I turn and face the manor. Two large double doors welcome me home, and I can see several blurred figures standing behind the stained glass.
The vampires are waiting inside. No doubt they’ve been listening to our chat, and they know I’m coming in to convince them we should help. I know they’ll be upset with me. Just yesterday, I promised this was over. I assured them I had no intention of helping the witches ever again.
I meant the promise I made, but this is different. It’s not about Mamá or the coven. This time, Liv is missing—Liv, the weak firestarter who begged for my help because her mother wouldn’t let her practice magic in the house.
I’ve known Liv all my life. In fact, I can’t remember a time I didn’t know her. That bond is special. She may hate what I am, but she can’t label me a monster. I’ve yet to do something deserving of that title.
So I twist the knob and walk into the foyer. Closing the door behind me, I shut out the witches and stare into the crimson irises of several angry nestmates.
Surrounded by vampires, the space feels small, suffocating. I step backward until I’m flush against the stained-glass door. At my right, a doorway opens to the parlor, which is just a fancy word for our living room. Straight ahead is the sitting room, which connects to the dining room, solarium, and upstairs. Everywhere I look, I see vampires staring at me. No one looks happy.
“Do I really need to point out that this is a horrible idea?” Hikari asks. She’s leaning against the doorframe that connects the foyer to the parlor. She glares at me, her arms crossed over her chest. Her black pixie locks are messy, the gelled spikes granting a defiant edge to her looks.
“If anyone else was missing, I wouldn’t ask this of you,” I say.
“You made a promise, Ava,” Jeremiah says. He stands beside Hikari, his right leg kicked back so the sole of his shoe rests against the wall. He fingers the zipper of his jacket as he stares at me. His dark skin is ashy, and his eyes are hard. He looks exhausted. I’m certain that has something to do with Holland, his ex-boyfriend who is now living with us.
“I know, and I hate to break that promise,” I say.
I don’t dare look at Malik. Since I transitioned, he’s become too brotherly, and I know my request to aid the witches will only disappoint him. The last thing I want to do is upset him, seeing as how he’s also my trainer. Last time, he took out his frustrations with my bad decisions while we were on the mat. I felt sore for the rest of that week.
Jasik and Malik have one striking characteristic in common: they’re practically unreadable emotionally. I take a peek at the vampire standing beside me. His eyes are hard, cold. I know Jasik is upset with me. It seems like I’m choosing the witches over the vampires—again—but I’m not.
“Liv was my best friend,” I explain. “She’s seventeen and far too weak to handle herself against rogues. She won’t survive.”