CHAPTER 13 #2
“Level one, but somehow maxed out in charisma.” I lift a finger with mock gravitas. “I need a spreadsheet just to track all his special stats.”
Ivy joins my posture, her shoulder snug to mine. “Oh, stat sheet looks promising. Curious to see if he’s multiplayer-compatible.”
“I hate you all,” Haden mutters, then drains his glass in one long pull instead of answering.
“Coward!” Beth laughs, already moving to refill his glass.
The game continues, with questions ranging from secret desires to embarrassing childhood stories.
By the third round, the alcohol has completely loosened everyone up, and the truths become increasingly revealing.
“Ivy,” Kyla says, her words slightly slurred. “Truth or drain: who was your first crush?”
Ivy’s cheeks flush purple against her pale skin. She fidgets with her glass, clearly debating whether to answer or drink.
“Come on,” Kyla teases. “It’s now or never!”
With a defeated sigh, Ivy meets my eyes. “It was your brother, Saul.”
I nearly choke on my drink. “Excuse me?”
“I know, I know.” She raises her hands defensively. “This was years ago, before everything. He came to our school for a field day, and he just had that, like, you know…” She trails off, noting my expression. “Never mind.”
I force my face into something resembling neutrality, though I can’t quite suppress the grimace. “I’m here to listen, not judge.”
“He had that bad boy look, alright? If it helps, I’m over it,” Ivy says, her tone apologetic. “The whole ‘joining a murderous vampire cult’ has totally killed the appeal.”
“That’s what killed the appeal?” My nose scrunches in a parody of surprise. “Not being sent to juvie at the age of nine?”
Saul was lucky to be a child, and luckier still that our father was able to pull some strings.
Turning a human is pretty much murder. In Penn City, it is therefore considered a felony, about as illegal as it gets.
They don’t just slap your wrist for that—they erase you.
He only got five years, but he wasn’t the same after that.
It happened at school, of all places. They were stuck in detention until dark. Saul had sunk his fangs into Evan first, then Haden when he tried to pull Saul off, draining them both dry. Dying with vesia in their system made them transition.
Although Evan and Haden were his friends before they were mine, after that day, it was me they clung to. Somehow, we all carried that wound together.
Vending machines with blodas were installed in every school ever since.
“Juvenile delinquents are kind of hot,” Ivy shrugs.
Beth flings a pillow at her. I manage a laugh alongside everyone else, though the mention of Saul has brought all my worries rushing back.
While I’ve been shopping and drinking, my enemies have been planning and plotting. My brother’s still out there, still with them. But as much as I hate him, I miss him, too.
“My turn,” Haden chirps, rescuing me from my thoughts. “Evan, truth or drain: what’s the real reason you dyed your hair baby blue?”
“First off, can you not call it that? It’s ocean blue.” Evan sighs, his elbows on his knees. “Truth is, I lost a bet to Seraph five years ago.”
“What?” the whole table exclaims in unison, their heads swiveling between us.
I smirk, fond memories of that night flooding back. “He bet me I couldn’t take down three vampires by myself in under five minutes.”
Evan puts his hands up. “In my defense, she was completely wasted, and I’d never seen her in action before. Well, not that kind of action.”
Jaxon whistles low, knowing just as well as everyone else here what was implied by that.
I slap Evan’s face. “Not the other kind of action either!”
“Okay, okay,” he laughs, putting his arms up to shield himself from any more potential slaps. “That was a joke.”
“Three minutes and twenty-seven seconds,” I remind him, unable to keep the smugness from my voice. “I picked the brightest blue I could find.”
Evan runs his fingers through his vibrant locks. “I hated it at first. Thought I looked like a cartoon character from those comics Haden reads.”
“But then the women started noticing him more,” Haden explains, disregarding Evan’s attempt at mocking him.
“You should’ve seen him,” I say. “The man went from threatening to shave it all off to suddenly deciding blue was his signature look.”
Beth ruffles Evan’s hair. “I like it. You made a good choice, Seraph.”
Kyla reaches over and slides her hand through it as if inspecting the ‘work of art.’ Ivy does the same, brushing a lock behind his ear with a teasing smile. Jaxon smacks his forehead gently, tugging at a stubborn strand. Evan groans, but his grin betrays how much he secretly enjoys the attention.
As the night progresses, I find myself withdrawing, observing rather than participating.
My friends’ faces blur slightly as fatigue and alcohol catch up with me.
Their laughter sounds distant, though they’re right beside me.
The pendant in my pocket seems to grow heavier, a physical reminder of the strange woman’s words.
Those caught between worlds. Marked by fate.
By the time we stumble out of Hot Shot, the night has deepened to its darkest point. The others head toward shore for a midnight stroll, or a skinny dip, but I beg off, claiming exhaustion. My body aches with a weariness that has little to do with physical exertion.
“You sure?” Evan asks, concern breaking through his tipsy haze.
“I’m sure,” I reply, already signaling for a transport. “I want to visit Max tomorrow, and I have to be moderately presentable for that.”
He nods, giving me a quick hug before rejoining the others.
I watch them continue down the street, their figures receding into the neon-lit distance, occasionally glancing back at me until they turn the corner.
For a moment, I feel a pang of something like envy.
Despite the war and constant threat of violence, they’ve managed to carve out normal lives.
They have futures that don’t revolve around hunting monsters, or being hunted by them.
During the momentary solitude, my fingers move to the pendant in my pocket, tracing its irregular edges. What had the woman meant? What services had I rendered, or was I yet to render?
That’s when I see her.
Not in dream nor hallucination—I think—but in reality, walking up to me with a smile that reaches her crinkled eyes. She looks exactly as she did hours ago, yet somehow more substantial in the moonlight, her weathered face cast in relief by the neon signs flickering above.
“We meet again,” she says, stopping to stand beside me. “Though you are not wearing my gift.”
My hand instinctively moves to my pocket where the pendant rests. “Just waiting for the right moment. I don’t typically wear jewelry I get from strangers.”
She clicks her tongue in disapproval. “Caution is wise, but there is such a thing as being too careful. Especially when protection is freely offered.”
“Protection from what exactly?” I ask, skeptical yet curious.
“The storm that is coming, Seraph Rosen.” Her eyes twinkle. “Wear it. If not for yourself, then for those who will depend on you.”
Her cryptic manner of speaking is starting to irritate me. “How do you know my name?”
“I know many things about many people.” She waves a dismissive hand. “But few are as interesting as the dhampir daughter of Roman Rosen.”
The mention of my father cracks something inside me. “Who are you?”
“Someone who knew him well,” she says, her eyes softening with what might be genuine sadness. “He would be disappointed to see his protection charm sitting unused in your pocket rather than around your neck where it belongs.”
“My father gave you this?” I withdraw the pendant, studying it with new eyes. The heliotrope stone seems to pulse faintly in my palm, the twisted metal setting warm against my skin.
“As I said, it has been waiting for you.”
The transport arrives, its doors sliding open with a soft hiss.
“I have to—” I start, but the woman has disappeared. How strange.
I give my address to the driver and sink into the seat, letting my head fall back against the cushion.
The city slides by outside the window, a blur of lights and shadows.
Never in my life have I seen my father wear a pendant like this, but what if it wasn’t for him to wear?
What if he’d saved it because he meant to give it to me someday?
Something he never got to do.
My apartment is dark and quiet when I return, the silence conspicuous compared to the past two nights. I don’t bother with the lights, navigating by memory to my bedroom.
The pendant goes on my nightstand, its surface seeming to absorb what little light filters through the curtains. I don’t remember falling asleep, only the restless slumber that followed.