Standing back, eyeing the newly placed piece of furniture, she sighed in relief. They would never know—or wouldn’t know now. Someday her dad would find it, and he’d probably call her and tell her again how disappointed he was in her. But hell and pain later was better than hell and pain now.
Glancing up, she saw herself in the mirror and had an epiphany. She might face monsters—in her dreams and even in her real life—but the thought of facing her parents, of seeing the sheer disappointment in their eyes again, turned her into a spineless little girl.
Every change that had happened to her since she’d been turned into a vampire had been seen by her parents as a form of rebellion. They believed her to be an unappreciative, uncaring teen—probably on drugs, possibly pregnant—and out to make their lives miserable. But better to let them believe that, than to believe her a monster.
Sometimes she wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to take the easy way out and just fake her death like most teens in her situation did. Losing her family would hurt like hell, but wasn’t she still losing them? Day by day, bit by bit, she felt them distancing themselves from her. They barely talked to her anymore, hadn’t hugged her in so long, Della couldn’t remember what it felt like. And there was a part of her that missed them so badly she wanted to scream that it wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t asked to be turned.
“What are you doing?” The voice shattered the somber silence.
Della swung around. With her supersensitive hearing, she could normally hear her younger sister turning over in her bed. How had she not heard her slip into the room?
“Uh, nothing,” Della answered. “What are you doing up?”
“I heard you…” Marla’s eyes widened. “You moved your dresser.”
Della glanced back at the piece of furniture. “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep and I just … thought I’d freshen things up in here.”
“That thing’s heavy!”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been eating all my veggies.”
Marla frowned. “You barely ate anything at supper. Mom’s worried about you.”
No, she isn’t, Della thought.
Marla looked around again. “Did you ask Mom if you could rearrange your room?”
“Why would she care?” Della asked.
Marla shrugged. “I don’t know, but you probably should’ve asked.”
Della bit the edge of her lip, realizing that before she’d been turned, she probably would have asked for permission for even something that mundane. Chalk up one positive thing for living at Shadow Falls. Holiday and Burnett, the camp leaders, ran a tight ship, but they gave the students enough rope to either swing on or hang themselves. So far, Della hadn’t gotten hung. Well, not hung too bad. And in the past six months, she’d grown to like her independence.
Marla walked closer. Her pink nightshirt only came down to mid-thigh. Della realized her sister was changing—growing. Now fourteen, she’d lost the little-girl look. Her long dark hair was blacker than Della’s. Of the two of them, Marla looked more like their father. More Asian. That should make Dad happy, Della thought.
“Are you okay?” Marla asked.
Before Della realized what Marla intended to do, she’d touched her. Della pulled away, but Marla held her arm. “I’m fine.”
Marla made a face. “You’re still so cold. And you don’t act like yourself anymore. You’re always frowning.”
Because I’m hungry! “I’m fine. You should probably go back to bed.”
Marla didn’t move. “I want my ol’ sister back.”
Tears stung Della’s eyes. A part of Della wanted her back, too. “It’s late.” She blinked, dispersing the watery weakness. At Shadow Falls she seldom cried, but here, tears came easier. Was it because here, she felt more human? Or was it because here, she felt like the monster she knew they’d believe her to be if they knew the truth?
“Dad’s so worried about you,” Marla continued. “I heard him and Mom talking the other night. He said you reminded him of his brother. He said he got cold and became difficult. Then he died. You’re not gonna die, are you?”
Della pushed her emotions aside to digest what Marla had said. “Dad didn’t have a brother.”
“I didn’t know about him, either. So I asked Mom later, and she said Dad had a twin but he got killed in a car accident.”
“Why doesn’t he ever talk about him?” Della asked.
“You know how Dad is, he never talks about things that hurt him. Like he never talks about you anymore.”
Della’s heart clutched. She knew Marla hadn’t said it to be mean, but damn if the words didn’t slice right into her heart. She wanted to curl up into a pathetic little ball and just sob.