reputation; other hunters would not trust someone who had befriended the monsters. At worst, Dominique could call her to trial, and that would be a disaster.
“I’ve got to go,” Sarah said abruptly.
The two vampires seemed startled, but they did not try to stop her. “See you later,” Christopher said amiably.
“Yeah . . . maybe.” She hoped not.
She ducked out of the cafeteria and swung into the girls’ bathroom, shuddering as she caught sight of herself in the mirror. What had she thought she was doing? She had dropped her guard around them. Already she thought about the pair with some affection—they were Christopher and Nissa, not two leeches she might one day have to kill.
That was dangerous. Knowing your prey can cause hesitation, and when one is a vampire hunter, hesitation ends in death.
Sarah managed to avoid them for the rest of the day. She had calculus with Christopher, but the only free seat was across the room from him, and for that she was grateful. She needed some time to decide on how she would deal with them before she had another chance to talk to them.
CHAPTER 5
SARAH SLEPT POORLY that night. With her broken arm, she felt like a caged leopard with too much energy and nothing to use it on. It was nearly three o’clock when she finally drifted into sleep, and even then she was restless, plagued by nightmares.
By the time she got to school, she felt less like a leopard and more like a slug. It was a pity that human drugs were neutralized by her system upon absorption, because she could have used some serious caffeine.
It took her two tries to get the combination to her locker right, and as she tossed in her coat, she managed to knock something down from the top shelf.
The vase shattered upon impact with the dirty school floor, scattering water, glass, and three white roses. The sound of breaking glass drove a shiver up Sarah’s spine, bringing back all too vividly her dream from the night before.
Memories of her father’s death often haunted her sleep. Though she had tried to forget that day, to perfect her control the way Dominique and Adianna had, she wasn’t strong enough, and she never had been.
At seven years old, she had stumbled across her father’s body on the front step of the house. The vampires had caught the hunter and kept him for weeks, bleeding him a little each day. Bloody kisses marked his arms where the leeches had cut into his skin so they could lick the blood away.
Adianna had dealt with the news calmly, as had Dominique. Every hunter knew how dangerous his life was, and was prepared for death. But Sarah had been so young, and when she had stumbled over the cold body of her father, when his blood had coated her hand, she had lost control.
She had hit a window, demolishing it pane by pane until Dominique had dragged her away, horrified not by her husband’s death, but by her daughter’s reaction.
The death had become a lesson. Dominique had bound Sarah’s powers for a week afterward, both as a punishment and to teach her how to deal with pain. She had healed as slowly as a human, from three broken fingers and numerous lacerations on her hand and arm. In the meantime Dominique had her train with the older hunters, fighting until her hand throbbed and every muscle ached. Though binding her magic could not take away the years of training, her reflexes, or even most of her strength, the loss had left her shaken and her abilities meaningless. That weakness had terrified her ever since.
Shuddering from the memory, Sarah dragged herself back to the present. Ignoring the glass, she carefully picked up the roses and the card that had been tied to the vase with a white ribbon.
The white blooms were beautiful, perfect, with the sweet scent that so many long-stemmed roses lacked. A picture done in professional charcoal accompanied them—a pair of eyes framed with the pale lashes Sarah saw every time she looked into a mirror.
She read the poem at least ten times before she even reached class, and finally resolved to speak to Christopher.
Blue like sapphire beneath a morning sun,
Burning with fire of a crystalline soul.
A laughter that never quite reaches inside,
Where secrets weather like untouched gold.
The words were beautiful—and truer than Christopher realized. If he had known even the slightest of Sarah’s secrets, he would never have spoken to her in the first place.
She had steeled herself to talk to him by the time she reached her history class, only to have Mr. Smith immediately divide them into groups for a project. Her group included two humans she had not met before, and the mysterious Robert, who was not hiding his hostility any better today.
“What’s eating you?” one of their other group members demanded after he shot down yet another of their ideas. “If you don’t want to help, then just keep your mouth shut. Don’t make
By the time the class was over Sarah was glad to get away from Robert—the human had been putting out waves of contempt and distrust strong enough that they were making her stomach churn. She would need to speak to him sometime soon, but not here, not in front of other humans.
She had calmed down slightly by sculpture, where she continued to work on the sickly dog Nissa had named Splotch. Nissa finished her figure. Under her expert hands, the violinist gained clear Roman features, sympathetic eyes, and wicked, sensual lips.
“Someone you know?” Sarah asked. The face was so vivid, so alive, she felt like she should recognize it.
Nissa nodded, pausing in her work. “Yeah.” Her voice was soft, sad.
“Who is he?”
“A . . .” She trailed off, as if none of the words she had been thinking of would work. “Someone I used to love. His name is Kaleo.”
Sarah’s heart skipped as she heard the name. Kaleo had a reputation for ruining lives on a whim, and changing young women into vampires whom he fancied himself in love with.
If Nissa was one of Kaleo’s fledglings, Sarah had to pity the girl.
“Anyway, it’s over,” Nissa stated. “I miss him sometimes, but . . . it’s over.”
“Then why are you sculpting him?” The question was sharper than Sarah meant it to be.
“He is beautiful,” the girl said wistfully. Then she jumped as the bell rang for lunch.
They did not speak as they cleaned up their stations, and Nissa stayed behind to talk to the teacher while Sarah swung by her locker. Inside she found another present from Christopher—a picture of her left hand, which she had been writing with since she had broken her right arm.
Her nails were cut short so they wouldn’t hinder her grip on her knife; there was a small scar on the back from the glass window she had punched the day her father had been killed. It looked like a pale teardrop.
On the back of the drawing was another poem.
Skin like ivory, perfect; A goddess, she must be.
Slender fingers, unadorned; beautiful simplicity.
A single teardrop; when did it fall?
Could this goddess be mortal, after all?
Yet somehow Christopher had made the flaw beautiful, no longer a badge of her dishonor, but a mystery for an artist to unravel.
