Chapter 8 #2
Heading downstairs, I’m relieved when I don’t see Iris or Cade. I don’t know what they did after breakfast, but the reprieve from their varying levels of crazy has been welcome today.
Let’s just hope Liz doesn’t send me spiraling with whatever “answers and opportunities” she has waiting for me.
She’s waiting at the bottom of the front steps, her dark auburn hair pulled up into a high ponytail that makes her look ten kinds of dangerous and cool. The type of woman who could rescue you from any sort of dire situation and then critique your posture afterward.
She’s dressed in black yoga pants tucked into scuffed combat boots, a cropped zip-up hoodie that reveals a glimpse of toned midriff, and sunglasses perched on her head like a crown she forgot she was wearing. Casual apocalypse-chic.
Yep. I’m glad she’s on my side.
Her smile brightens when she spots me, and without missing a beat, she throws an arm over my shoulder like we’ve known each other forever. “I knew you’d come. Walk with me.”
My nose twitches at her scent—crisp, earthy, with a faint undertone of something…death-y. I’m still not used to this whole “smelling people” thing, and probably never will be.
And now it seems that I can’t stop from blurting out, “What are you?”
Smooth, Rowan. Real freaking smooth.
“I was waiting for you to ask.” She chuckles, the sound like wind chimes. “I’m a vampire.”
I freeze mid-step. “Seriously?”
She shrugs. “Don’t worry. I’m not a fan of your scent either. That wet dog smell most shifters have? It’s not exactly appetizing.”
I wrinkle my nose, but she continues before I can respond.
“Yours is sweeter, though. Less dog, more sunlight and firewood. That’s the Hollowborn in you.”
I blink at her. “This might be the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had.”
“You’ll get used to weird. Around here, weird is the unofficial love language.
” Liz nudges me forward again. “But just know, your hybrid scent is rare. Most supernaturals won’t be able to place it, which is good.
But for the ones who can, you need to stay on guard.
” Her tone shifts, shadowed with something I don’t quite have a name for.
“Attention in this world rarely comes without a cost.”
“Yeah, I picked up on that from the whole exploding into flames while trying to deliver alcohol moment,” I deadpan.
She grins. “Still bitter, huh?”
“Like black coffee and betrayal.”
Liz veers us off the gravel path, guiding me toward a break in the trees.
We leave behind the tidy hedges and perky flower beds that line the outskirts of NightShade and slip into older, unkept terrain—oversized woods, where the air smells of moss, earth, and peace.
The canopy above filters sunlight into golden threads that dance along the forest floor.
“Hurry along,” she says after we’ve already been walking quietly for a good ten minutes. “There’s somewhere I want to show you while we talk. I have a feeling you could use a place to breathe.”
“Are you sure this isn’t the part where you murder me and blame it on my attitude?” I ask, only half-joking.
“Tempting,” she tosses over her shoulder with a wink. “But no. It’s a special spot. Your mom brought me here when I was a baby vamp, all bloodlust and bad choices.”
Knowing that we’re going somewhere that meant something to my mother gives me pause, especially after my earlier conversation with Archie.
“How did you meet her?”
“She was my first friend after I was turned,” Liz says, her voice softer now. “After she saved me.”
I blink again, harder this time, thanks to my uncontrollable emotions. There’s so much to learn about who my mom was, yet I’m unsure what to say or ask next.
Less than a minute later, the woods open up just enough to reveal a sprawling oak tree, ancient and crooked like it’s been here for a hundred lifetimes.
Its branches stretch toward the sky like it’s trying to hold the clouds in place.
From one of the thicker limbs, a weathered wooden swing hangs, creaking gently in the breeze.
“This was her spot,” Liz says, gesturing to it. “When things got too heavy, when being Hollowborn felt like a curse instead of a gift, this is where Jocelyn escaped to.”
She flops onto the wide swing, then pats the space next to her like it’s a VIP seat.
I sink down beside her, my knees brushing hers. “So, you knew her well?”
“Maybe better than anyone by the time she left,” she says, tone more serious now.
“I was dumped on the manor’s doorstep by a sire who didn’t know what to do with me.
Jocelyn found me half-feral and blood-starving, and instead of having someone put me down, she took me in.
She told me that if I wanted to survive my new reality that I needed to stop feeding off pain and learn how to protect people instead. ”
That sounds exactly like Mom. Fierce, compassionate, and borderline terrifying when she decided something needed fixing.
“She trained you?” I ask.
Liz’s grin returns. “No, she wasn’t physically strong enough for that, but her words were more than enough to change my circumstances. Jocelyn taught me how to be someone I could stand to look at in the mirror after being turned into a monster with an instinct for murder.”
The smile slips, replaced by something aching.
“Jocelyn kept you hidden because she thought it was the only way to keep you safe,” she says.
“We stayed in touch after she left, but eventually, the risk was too high. She wanted so badly to give you a normal life that she shut the door on everything supernatural except Archibald. If no one knew what you were, the prophecy couldn’t take root. At least that was how she saw things.”
There it is again. That damn word.
Prophecy.
I pick at a fraying edge on the swing rope. “Can we talk about that now? The prophecy?”
Liz leans back slightly, her hazel eyes searching mine.
“Yeah. We should.” She lets out a short exhale before continuing.
“There’s an old Hollowborn myth called the Ashmark.
It speaks of a child born from two species—Hollowborn and supernatural.
Someone who would carry both bloodlines and, because of it, be invulnerable to all mythical and mortal means.
No one would be able to kill them. Not by blade, by spell, or even pure hatred. ”
Confusion floods through me, and a crease deepens in my brow. “If I can’t be killed, then why am I on some sort of hit list? Isn’t that why I’m being forced to stay here?”
She briefly pats my hand. “I told you yesterday. I won’t let them force you to stay, but I asked you to stay long enough to be informed.
But I guess you should know first, you haven’t actually become the Ashmark yet.
Until your wolf is unlocked, you’re at your most vulnerable state.
Once that finally happens, then you won’t be able to die, but that doesn’t mean you won’t wish for death should they get their hands on you. ”
I really shouldn’t ask. I read the book, and putting off that first shift sounded like a great idea, but…
“So, if someone gets into the manor and kills me, I’ll die for real this time? No second chances at figuring this insane life out?”
“Correct,” Liz says. “You’re in transition right now. You’re not human, nor Hollowborn, nor shifter. Until you bond with your wolf, theoretically, someone powerful enough could kill you, which, based upon what most believe of the prophecy… That’s exactly what they’re hoping to do.”
Great. I guess next I’ll be attempting to force myself into a human-shaped pretzel before turning into an oversized mutt.
That snide thought elicits a snarl from within. One that doesn’t come from me necessarily, but the being hanging out in the background. My wolf.
No offense meant, I think, wondering if she can actually understand everything I say.
“What exactly does this prophecy say about me to make everyone want me dead?” I ask next, needing to understand why their world is so hell bent on killing me.
She grimaces, and I tense for her reply. This should be more fun.
“Not all want you dead,” she says. “Some will want to take possession of you, figure out how to use your powers. Or worse, breed you in order to create an heir they can control. In this instance, death would be a mercy.”
The breeze picks up, ruffling the leaves around us. I sit, staring at the dirt kicking up beneath my feet as we sway. The silence does nothing to settle my nerves or fears or desire to run.
I look back up at Liz. “What if I don’t want any of this? What if I refuse to shift?”
Liz’s smile is soft, but there’s no hope in it. “I’m not sure, but we’ll figure it out together. I won’t leave you alone in this.”
I glance at her, needing to lighten the mood before I break under the weight of a destiny I never asked for. “Even if I turn into a giant wolf and try to eat you for dinner?”
She snorts. “I’ve survived rogue vampires, fae assassins, and one dinner with Iris when she made a stew that smelled like literal regret. I can survive you. In any form.”
A laugh escapes me—surprised and shaky, but real.
If Mom trusted Liz, then so can I.
I just hope I don’t end up actually trying to kill her by turning into whatever these people think I might become.