one
Ifeltridiculous.Iwas pretty sure I looked it too. My arms pumping, my chin lifted as if it could make me even a tiny bit faster. I power walked like my life depended on it down the sidewalk to the cute downtown where my niece’s ballet recital was taking place.
Fifteen minutes late and counting.
I hated being late. Loathed it, really.
Unfortunately, pelting through the streets at a mad dash wasn’t likely to fix my tardiness. Rather, it would only serve to draw unnecessary attention and leave me out of breath and sweaty upon arrival.
I rounded the corner, feeling a wave of relief at the sight of my destination up ahead.
Almost there.
If I’d known beforehand how stinking far this place was, I would have chanced parallel parking my precious, a burnt umber Jaguar F-Type that I’d nicknamed Gwyneth, instead of circling the block a few times looking for a garage.
As I hurried, the phone in my back pocket buzzed. The unexpected vibration made me miss a step. Cursing under my breath, I fished it out to take a glance at the screen.
Thomas. My sire. Definitely not going to answer that.
The man must have some kind of radar that only went off when I was doing something I shouldn’t be. How else could I explain his impeccable timing?
Strictly speaking, maintaining contact with your mortal family was frowned upon in vampire society. To the point where most vampire sires preferred to stage their yearlings’ deaths to make a clean break. After which, further contact was forbidden.
As cruel as it sounded, they had their reasons. Most yearlings were considered highly dangerous in the first decade or so after their transition. Our history was littered with stories of yearlings returning home only to slaughter their nearest and dearest the first time they got a little peckish.
Imagine having to spend eternity knowing you’d chowed down on Mom, Dad, and your baby sister or brother. Some vampires were so overcome with guilt they never recovered. A few, unable to handle what they’d done, sought the oblivion of true death afterward.
That’s why it was considered safer for both sides if the yearling simply disappeared from their former family’s life.
Maybe that was the reason those with fewer family ties were preferred when it came to the transition. It was just one less thing binding them to the mortal world.
Had my transition been normal, I’m sure that would have been my fate too. Instead, I’d woken up in a morgue, having no idea what had happened to me or why I suddenly had fangs. I’d been left to figure it out as I went. With no master to guide me, there was nothing to stop me from resuming as much of my former life as I could. Good decision or bad—I’d returned home to my family.
Now that I was wiser, I still wasn’t quite ready to give them up. Not unless I absolutely had to.
It was a choice Thomas and others frowned upon. And also, the reason I had kept secret the fact I was meeting them tonight.
With a grimace, I hit ignore and stuffed the phone into my back pocket. Thomas was just going to have to lecture me later. I was already late enough as it was.
I had almost reached the building when the presence of another on the street caught my attention. Half cast in shadow, the man stood eerily still as he stared at the doors of the auditorium. The absence of life in his face made it easy to mistake him for a statue.
He simply waited. Not moving. Not blinking. I don’t think he was even breathing.
“Connor, you’re not supposed to be here.” I thought I’d made that quite clear when I’d slipped out of the mansion without informing anyone of where I was going.
Life brought a hint of animation to Connor’s face as his chest started to rise and fall again.
If I was feeling poetic, I’d use words like moonlight and starlight to describe the man. From his white blond hair that looked almost silver to his pale skin that carried a certain luminescence to it. It was hard to believe he’d ever been human. His features were a little too perfect. His bright blue eyes stood out even more against his otherwise monochromatic coloring.
Connor’s gaze tracked me as I reached for the door handle. “We’re partners, aren’t we? Partners follow each other.”
I paused to stare at him. “You maybe should have run that statement through your brain filter a few more times before you let it into the open.”
Maybe then he would have sounded a little less like a stalker.
Not that it would have made much difference in this conversation. Connor was being obtuse. Deliberately so. As much as he pretended ignorance, I knew he was highly observant. It was how he’d survived so long in situations that would have quickly ended any other.
“This has to do with family,” I explained.
