Chapter Two
Isadora and Ambrose
Holding a map in her hands, Isadora Dumas let out a shrill noise of discontent as she stared at the fir trees that surrounded her and her younger cousin, Ambrose Amonette. Every direction looked the same. Endless green needles. Dark trunks. No landmarks. No path that felt certain or intentional.
The forest around them seemed to swallow the sound, leaving only the faint rustle of branches overhead and the soft crunch of earth beneath her designer boots.
Maybe they weren’t the right ones to leave home with, but she had made the decision on a whim and now she was stuck with it. And struggling as a result.
Human maps were so hard to read. Lifeless trees scribbled on with lines and symbols that expected the owner to already know where they were going.
The maps made by warlocks were enchanted to guide the holder wherever they wished to go, regardless of the direction or distance.
You simply followed, and the magic did the rest. This mundane one offered no such mercy.
She would have used her phone, but there was no cell service where they were. No signal bars. Not even enough for a drop of data to reach through. Therefore, they were completely and utterly lost with nothing but a paper map to mock her frustration.
"Admit it, cousin." Ambrose sighed as he gently swiped blood from the corner of his lips.
He had caught an unsuspecting deer on its nightly jaunt, leaving it discarded behind him to be devoured by those who enjoyed the taste of death.
"You don't have the ability to read that map.
Now you have gone and caused us both to become lost."
Isadora's amber eyes moved in the direction of her cousin. Their eyes were nearly identical in color, yet entirely different in presence. Where hers flickered with irritation and wounded pride, his remained still and unreadable, as if emotion were something he observed rather than experienced.
It was only because of his insistence and his inability to conceal anything from her father, their coven leader, that she ultimately agreed to bring him along. Worse, he wore that loyalty like a badge of honor. It was pathetic.
If she had been given the opportunity to make a different decision, Isadora would have left him behind in Shadowhaven.
She closed her eyes and drew in a slow breath through her nose before releasing and drawing another.
She forced the familiar heat of her temper to settle before it could erupt.
"Forgive me for saying,” she replied at last, her voice clipped with the annoyance that didn’t subside with her irritation, “but if you want to reply like such a smart ass then maybe you would be better at map duty.”
She shoved the folded paper into his chest and turned away before he could come up with another clever response. Her boots carried her a few steps farther down the uneven forest floor. Pine needles crunched beneath her heels as she put distance between them, her hands flexing at her sides.
If he believes that he is more capable of doing it. Then he can take on the duty of leading the group.
In his usual calm and collected manner, he responded, "I never once said I was capable. I was simply pointing out your shortcomings."
The insult landed exactly as he planned, mirroring the efforts of his idol she called her brother. Lucien Dumas.
Isadora bared her fangs, a jagged hiss tearing from her throat before she could stop herself. Her restraint snapped momentarily under the weight of his condescension. Ambrose did not flinch. He did not retreat. He only watched her, unimpressed by her reaction. It was predictable for Isadora.
He had recognized how she had been more short-tempered as of late. He had heard her pacing at night, muttering to herself about their grandmother and having a need to speak with her. When he saw her packing and carrying a forbidden mundane map, his curiosity compelled him to accompany her.
It worked after only a few minutes. Far shorter than the usual length of time it took to wear her down.
Ambrose knew her quick agreement had little to do with his skills of persuasion and everything to do with his respect for their coven leader, as well as whatever restless thoughts had been plaguing her lately.
Whatever she was running toward, or running from, he intended to uncover it.
Ambrose would never allow his dignity to be called into question by lying for a deserter.
Once he discovered her motives, she would be brought back home. He would observe for now. And the moment her reasons were revealed, she would be subdued and forced to face the repercussions of her desertion.
It was not cruelty, it was order. The rules existed for a reason, and Isadora had broken them.
The only drawback was that he would have to complete the task without letting the elderly witch of a grandmother know about his intentions.
Agatha was a cruel woman by most standards.
Sharp-tongued and unforgiving to most. Yet she adored Isadora with a ferocity, loving her as though she were her own daughter rather than a grandchild.
As a result, she would defend her with the full weight of her magic and influence if given the chance.
Ambrose was well aware that he stood no chance of winning against both of them should it come down to it.
This strategy demanded discretion.
Ambrose was still turning these thoughts over when Isadora’s demeanor shifted so abruptly it was almost jarring.
“Ambrose, do you hear that?" she asked, her voice suddenly brimming with excitement.
The change pulled him, lifting his gaze toward her. She had tilted her head, eyes alight as she strained to pinpoint the sound drifting through the trees. Faint music carried on the air, uneven but unmistakable, accompanied by the low rumble of an engine cutting through the forest’s quiet.
“It’s a car!” she exclaimed, already making her way in the sound’s direction. He had no time to respond before she disappeared.
Ambrose had to exert himself a little in order to keep up with her as she darted through trees. Isadora sped up deliberately, smirking as she sensed the distance growing between them. For all the power his eyes granted him, his speed didn’t compare to hers.
She reached the roadside first, bursting from the tree line just as the vehicle came over the hill and into view.
Isadora transformed herself, changing to be more human in appearance.
Her body curved slightly, twisting into distress as she waved the car down with one hand while extending the other, thumb pointed outward that she had learned from mundane television.
She had seen this maneuver in some of the shows she watched in secret.
The car slowed, then pulled over.
The driver was easily drawn in by her crafted damsel appearance she had masked herself with. Ambrose emerged from the trees moments later.
“What seems to be the matter, miss?” asked the young adult male behind the wheel.
Isadora leaned down toward the open window. She was met with light brown eyes and neatly kept ash blond hair. He reminded her faintly of her brother, causing annoyance to flare again, but she kept it contained.
“I’m so lost,” she replied, her voice sifting into a mundane cadence she had borrowed from popular high school shows.
“We were on our way to Burrow Hills when our cabbie kicked us out and drove away. We tried walking, but the map was hard to read without knowing where they dropped us off. Do you know where Burrow Hills is?”
She held her breath, waiting.
“Actually,” the man said after a brief pause, “I was driving there myself. I am visiting my cousin. I could give you and your little brother a ride.” His tone lifted slightly at the end, leaving the offer open, a choice placed politely in her hands.
Relief flashed across Isadora’s face, not entirely an act as she realized she wouldn’t ruin her boots. She stepped back and motioned Ambrose forward with a small tilt of her head. He joined her at the roadside, already smoothing his attire in his boredom.
He wasn’t disgusted with humans, but their presence was worthless if it wasn’t there to be food.
Behind the polite mask, Ambrose considered draining the man dry and taking the vehicle for themselves.
It would be quicker, but neither of them knew how to drive, and the inconvenience alone made the idea no longer appealing.
“That would be a big help,” Ambrose said, his voice adopting the same accent as Isadora’s. “Thank you, sir.”
The man smiled and unlocked the doors. Isadora slipped into the passenger seat without hesitation while Ambrose settled into the back. They weren’t afraid of entering a stranger’s car. Fear was for prey, and they were anything but.
As the doors closed and the engine started, warm air poured from the vents, carrying the scent of the driver with it.
Blood. Rich and sweet, humming faintly beneath the surface of his skin.
Both vampires reacted instinctively, their lips parting as the hunger stirred.
Yet beneath the familiar pull was something else.
Something that made Isadora's stomach twist with unease.
He wasn’t entirely human and they could smell it.
“What’re your names?” the man asked, glancing in the rearview mirror at Ambrose. His eyes shifted to the corners, looking at the blonde beside him. Isadora didn’t need to look at him to feel the heat of his stare.
“I’m Isa,” Isadora answered easily, choosing her nickname instead of her given name. Then she gestured over her shoulder to the backseat, caring to have the came consideration for his privacy. “His name is Ambrose.”
“Nice to meet you two, I’m Jeremy Pickens. I used to live in Burrow Hills for a time, but I got out as soon as I could.” His grip tightened slightly on the steering wheel. “It’s a town that will dig its claws into you and never let go, if you let it.”