of what—or who—I might find. At first glance, there is nothing there, but quickly, my vision adjusts, revealing my deepest fears.
The woods surround me. The trees loom overhead, casting shadows that move as the wind blows. The nightmarish creatures that dance among the shadows laugh at my pain and my fear. They know the secrets hidden in the night. They know I am not alone.
I am shaking so viciously I teeter back and forth on my heels. My feet are bare, my toes frozen. My hair is loose around my shoulders, and every time it sways in the breeze, it tickles my skin.
Squinting, I search the forest, desperate to confirm my suspicions, even though that seems like a far worse situation to be in. There is a difference between believing you are not alone and knowing you are not alone. That startling truth feels like the tip of a blade that teases a throbbing vein. The difference is life and death.
I see nothing unusual at first, so I tear my vision from the forest and look for the gargoyle. I used to greet him daily with a pat atop his smooth stone head, but I rarely leave the manor now. I think hard, but I do not remember the last time I sat beside him, I cannot even remember the last time I crossed the threshold from the vampires’ world into the witches’. I suppose it was the night I returned home, after the bloodshed, after the spell, after the curse that condemned me to this hellish existence.
Once again, I feel eyes on me, a gaze that penetrates deep inside, as if my stalker can see straight into my soul. That thought terrifies me because I am forced to acknowledge the truth. If he can see into my soul, does he recognize the evil that now resides there? Does he know it is not me?
This foreign entity that consumes my life is nothing but an intruder. Even as I internally justify its presence, I know whoever lurks within the shadows does not care. Very few who stalk the night care about those who can walk in the sunshine.
In a rare moment of strength, I take a step forward, allowing my toes to dangle over the edge of the top stair. Facing the woods, my courage dwindles steadily. I pump my hands at my sides, trying to keep away the chill while also reminding myself that I am safe. I am only footsteps away from the vampires inside.
But a thought occurs to me. How did I get here? I do not remember how I got outside or when I left my bed. I am desperate to return to those sheets, where I should be slumbering just like the other vampires.
I consider shouting, yelling for Jasik, but something stops me. A set of irises glow in the darkness. They are bold, striking, and crimson in color. I gasp, stumbling backward, falling against the door. The doorknob jabs me in the back, and my kidneys protest the assault. A throbbing pain shoots through my core, and I wince, sucking in a sharp, cold breath.
I do not turn my back on the monster before me, even when his eyes grow larger as he stalks closer. With my arms behind my back, I twist at the doorknob, but it does not budge. Again, I twist it, almost losing my grip from my too-slick hands. The icy air sends constant shudders down my spine, yet my skin is moist from perspiration, from my fear of becoming food for the very creatures I fear.
It feels like a lifetime has passed since I last encountered a rogue vampire, and now that I am far too weak to even stand tall, I am to face one. I will never survive, not without help, for a powerless witch is no greater threat than a human.
I was beginning to think my reputation preceded me, keeping rogues away from Darkhaven once and for all—and maybe it did. But that was before. That Ava—strong and stubborn, powerful beyond her years—died the very night I cast that spell. Powerless, I am forced to fight a superior predator with nothing but my fingernails, which have been chewed down to stubs.
The rogue vampire is charging forward now, and as he steps out of the shadows and into the moonlight, I can see him more clearly.
Wearing only pants, the skin of his torso is smooth and pale. His hands are dirty, his jeans scuffed. His head is