Chapter One
I thought the vampire was dead. After the witches dabbled with the black arts, I assumed my punishment for all my misdeeds and bad choices was to live a life just barely grasping the power that lies beyond my fingertips.
It turns out I was wrong.
The vampire has always been inside me. She is now, but we are disconnected, and I have only myself to blame.
Now that I know she is simply slumbering, I feel her. I sense her desires. When she has a particularly restless night, I crave the sweet aroma of blood on my lips and I yearn for vengeance against those who cursed me to live as neither witch nor vampire.
Before, when I only had to worry about Mamá’s spell, I was still a witch, but now I am not even sure if I am human. Because of my choices, I am cursed to remain in darkness without the ability to truly appreciate the shadows.
My exile feels permanent, as if I am forever condemned to the void that is nestled within my very soul. I should feel happy here, because I know the vampire is trapped with me. But I do not. Lifeless and still, I remain within the abyss, just waiting for the moment the witches come for me. Because I know they will. The spell I cast was nothing like the black magic they used against me. Hexes can be broken, and therein lies the irony.
I damned myself.
When I cast that spell, the link Mamá formed between us ensured I doomed myself as well. I knew what I was doing. I used the power of both my coven and the moon, harnessing enough energy from the vampire to formally take a stand against the witches. When I used our link to suppress their magic, I suppressed mine as well.
But even though I know I am to blame for the cost I must now bear, my situation never gets easier. I never become less of a burden to those I now consider family.
For one month, I have lived with the vampires as a mortal, but I do not fear for my life the way I do when the witches are near. In fact, the vampires have given me something priceless, something I never experienced under Mamá’s roof. Peace.
It has been thirty days and thirty nights since I hexed my former coven, and not a day passes when I do not think about the ramifications of all that has happened since Jasik sired me. He feels responsible. He refuses to listen when I argue that this is not his fault. Over the weeks, I have grown tired of trying to convince him, so now we live in an uncomfortable silence.
I roll over in bed, repositioning my pillow as quietly as I can, desperately trying not to wake the slumbering vampire beside me. If I were still a hybrid, I could have leaped from this bed and run down the stairs without ever making a sound. Unfortunately, the spell that I cast severed my connection to my magical side also suppressed my fantastical abilities.
So I ask myself, what is left when I am no longer a witch or a vampire?
A clumsy human.
Something I have never been but now must embrace.
I open my eyes, letting my senses adjust to the unlit room. Even though my sense of sight is no longer heightened, if I wait long enough, I can make out Jasik’s features. Tonight, it does not take as long as it normally does for me to see him clearly.
He is lying beside me. I shimmy closer to him, desperate for warmth I know I will not find in the body of a vampire. Deep down, I know the chill nestled in my bones is because I am sleeping beside the undead, but in my heart, I cannot force him away. I feel safe when Jasik is near.
I poke my head up, peering into my dark bedroom. I do not know the hour, but I know it is daytime. Thick burgundy curtains block out the sunlight except for one solid line at the corner of the window. The sun splashes into the room, illuminating what should be a pitch-black space.
Cursing inwardly, I gnaw on my lower lip. Soon, the sun will make way for the moon, and the chance it will harm Jasik is unlikely. Still, I feel compelled to draw the curtains even tighter.
An invisible force pulls me to the window, summoning me to its side, and all I can do is obey its silent order.
I pull back the covers and rise from bed before I even make the decision to stand. I tiptoe, walking around the four-post bed, trailing my fingertips along the mattress top. My fingers snag in the blankets, and I freeze, glancing over at Jasik.
We decided he would stay in my room the night I returned home. For the first week, he slept in a chair. The next week, I woke to find him on the floor. He balled his jacket into a makeshift pillow. After that, I told him to come to bed with me. He was hesitant, but he conceded when I starting having the nightmares. After several nights in a row of waking the entire manor with my screams, we knew we needed to try something else.
The first night I dreamed, the other hunters—Malik, Hikari, and Jeremiah—rushed into my room, expecting to find a bloodbath, only to see me drenched in sweat, cradled in Jasik’s arms as I screamed about the witches and how they were coming for their revenge. The details are still fuzzy. I do not remember most of the nightmares, but I do remember the way they made me feel. That fear has clung to me since the day I escaped captivity, and it is tightening so ruthlessly around my chest, I can barely breathe even when I am awake.
I feel it now. The familiar sense of being asleep leaves a stagnant odor in the air, but still, I have to ask myself.
Am I dreaming?
I cannot always tell. I feel controlled, as if I am not aware of my actions until after I commit them. But this does not feel like a dream. This does not even feel like a nightmare. It is just me and Jasik and the horror my life has become.
He seems unbothered by the rustling of sheets, even though I have pulled them tighter over his frame. I am surprised he is using them at all. He rarely sleeps with the covers on. Too often, I wake to find them bunched all around me, but today, he is covered from his waist down. Still, one leg dangles free.
I am still staring at him when I step on a loose floorboard. I hold my breath. I freeze, letting the room settle into silence once again before I continue—this time actually watching where I am walking.
At the end of the bed, I grip the footboard, my heart steadily hammering in my chest. The constant thump has reached my ears, and it is all I can hear. I try to breathe slowly, calmly, chastising myself for being far too emotionally invested in this window. But even as I mentally berate myself in a sad attempt to regain my composure, my fear never lessens.
I do not know why I am so scared. I am not even sure if my concern is for the sunlight, which is slowly creeping closer to my bed, or because I am desperate not to wake Jasik. After disturbing his sleep more times than I care to admit, I worry that he is not resting enough, especially when he still has his daily patrols.
I have already rounded the bed, and I am now on the side Jasik sleeps on. I glance at him, and he still sleeps peacefully. I find myself wondering what he dreams about and if he sees me. I used to dream about him all the time.
“Are we happy?” I whisper mindlessly, but I quickly suck in a sharp breath, scolding myself for being so stupid.
Jasik frowns and shifts in his sleep, but he does not fully wake. I release the breath I was holding and try to calm my nerves.
I want to touch him, but I do not. I know he would wake. So I allow myself to hover above him. Using my hand, I map the sharp edges of his strong body, balancing my arm several inches above his frame. He never moves, and I am certain he does not even know what I am doing here.
My bed is encased in sheer fabric, but it is pulled back now. I have not used it as an enclosure since the night I returned, when I awoke screaming, fearing I was still in captivity. I looked around, and even with Jasik assuring me that I was safe, I felt trapped. I could not escape. Now, the fabric twists around the four posts that nearly reach the ceiling. I have no intention of pulling it free.