That was my biggest fear. That I’d tell him what I’d found, and he’d force me to turn into a vampire so his family could be free from a centuries old curse. My stance on that hadn’t changed, though—I didn’t want to become what he was. I didn’t want to be a vampire.
But not changing meant dooming him to an existence of loneliness. Even though I was his soulmate, I would eventually die, and he’d never be able to love again. How could I do that to him? Could I really be that selfish?
With a huff, I kicked my blankets off but didn’t get out of bed. What was I supposed to do now? Tell Trent the truth? Destroy all the evidence and go about my life like I knew nothing? Did I stay here with my father and tell Trent I didn’t want any part of whatever was going on that brought him back here?
I rubbed my chest, trying and failing to ease the sudden ache there. The thought of life without Trent was like a knife to the heart.
“Chloe?” Larissa knocked on my door and then cracked it open. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay.” I was far from okay, though, but I wasn’t going to tell her that because she’d want to know why.
“You were up late last night. Everything all right?” She leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms.
My gaze darted to the other side of my room, to where my backpack rested against the wall. Last night, I’d gathered everything I’d found, stuffed it into an old shoebox, and then hid it in my backpack.
“Yeah, just couldn’t sleep,” I said.
She was quiet a moment, then pushed away from the door. “Are you planning to get out of bed today? It’s almost two o’clock.”
“Yeah.” I yawned and stretched. “Hey, is Dad home?”
“He’s in the den.”
I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. “Thanks.”
Larissa left without another word. I hurried to the door and locked it before crossing the room to retrieve my backpack.
How much did my dad know about his family history? He must know something if he had all these documents in his possession. I wanted to ask him, but I wasn’t sure how to broach the topic. I mean, it wasn’t every day you learned your family was descended from witches who cursed vampires.
I pulled out the stack of papers, the ones I didn’t go through last night, and set them on my bed. A sheet folded in half slipped out of the pile. Picking it up, I opened it. A photograph of a young woman was tucked inside.
I studied it—she was pretty with big hazel eyes, long black hair, and a pale complexion. Who was she? There was a name scrawled across the back of the photo: Samara Rose. Pretty name, too, but still—who was she? How did she fit into everything?
This entire thing was a living nightmare, one I couldn’t wake up from no matter how hard I tried. And right now, I was tired of trying. I couldn’t make sense of anything, and I was getting a massive headache. Shoving everything back into the shoebox, I set it on my nightstand. I gathered my clothes and headed for the shower.
As I stood beneath the spray of hot water, my shoulders slumped with the weight of the choice looming over my head. Either I told Trent the truth, or I didn’t. Either I wanted to be with him for an eternity, or I didn’t. But I couldn’t tell him the truth and then refuse to do anything about it. That was cruel.
There were no doubts in my mind or heart that I loved Trent. Did I love him enough to give up my life, my mortality, to spend an eternity with him? I was only seventeen. How could I make such a huge life changing decision?
And I couldn’t even think about Jax right now. Despite how much his betrayal hurt, he was the least of my worries. Eventually, I’d have to face him, but not yet.
The water turned cool, so I shut it off and climbed out of the shower. I dressed, applied some makeup, and pulled my hair into a ponytail. Then, I stood in my room and looked around.
Despite how badly I wanted a family, this place didn’t feel like home. I didn’t belong here. Regardless of whatever I chose to do about Trent, I knew I couldn’t stay here a day longer.
I spent the next thirty minutes packing a single suitcase with clothes and shoes. I shoved the shoebox of papers into my backpack, along with my mother’s urn and the framed photo of us. Nothing else really mattered to me. But before I left, there was something I needed to do.
I made my way to the den and knocked on the door. “Dad?”
“Come in,” he called.
I stepped into the room and lightly closed the door behind me.
Dad sat in an oversize, high back leather chair facing a large, flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. Smoke billowed around his head. Since when did he smoke?
“Can I talk to you?” I asked, taking the seat next to him.
“Sure.” He snuffed the cigar into an ashtray. “What’s on your mind?”
I took a deep breath. “Why did you walk out on me and Mom?”
He coughed, then took a drink of whatever liquor was in the glass that had been sitting on the stand beside his chair. “Excuse me?”
“Why did you walk out on me and Mom?” I asked again.
“Honestly, Chloe. That was such a long time ago. What does it matter?”
“It matters to me, Dad. I loved you, and you just left me.
