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“Solon and Lenore are in Italy with Valtu,” Atlas eventually says. “There is no real protection in the house with Solon gone. If I can get through to Ezra, then—”
“You’re not doing this alone,” Bellamy interrupts him, tapping his long nails against the worn desk. “Get us the first plane out of here.”
“Sir, I can handle it—”
“No. I am not taking any more chances with my subordinates. Look what happened the last time I did. She’s dead, Atlas. Do you want that to be you? No. We will take the twins, we’ll take the mother, kill the rest. I’m going to personally step inside that blasted house.” He pauses, his eyes going to the anemic sunlight coming through the stained-glass window. “Besides, it would be nice to trade in the gloom of Scotland for the gloom of San Francisco, wouldn’t you agree?”
And so, they make their plans.
Chapter1
Rose
NOW
It’s funny how we’re taught that the secret to life is knowing who we really are. That once we look deep, spend years soul-searching and find out who that person really is at the core of us, that the rest of our life will fall into place. Finding our “authentic, true selves” means we will finally find peace.
It’s a lie, like all the other lies that our identity-obsessed society tells us.
It’s not that we can’t know who we are, rather that we are always changing. We are fluid. The moment we think we have figured out who we are and what we want, something inside of us changes. Always in motion, never in stasis. Even those that fear they are stuck are actually on the move, doing what they can to break free, flinging themselves against a wall again and again, hoping their confines will crumble.
My whole life I was told I had one identity: a vampire.
Or rather, that when I turned twenty-one, I would become a vampire.
So my identity has been someone waiting for that clarity of self. I was Rose Harper, I moved around a lot, I had an older brother, parents who loved me, I spent my childhood as most humans did, and one day I would rely on human blood for survival. My biology and chemistry would change, I would go through The Becoming, and come out the other side as something more than I was before. I would finally be whole.
I had prayed my whole life, in silent, pitiful cries inside my mind as I lay in bed at night cast toward an unknown creator, that once I turned, once I became what I was supposed to be, that everything else would fall into place. That I would know peace, instead of this raging, turbulent chaos inside of me, one that jerked me from one emotion to the next my whole life. That the feeling of being incomplete, of missing something, of not being able to fit in with society, of being seen as another, would finally go away.
I always felt there were different people locked inside me and I kept pinballing between them all, not knowing where I’d land.
But now I know the truth.
Now the truth has blasted through my veins along with the primal drive to drink blood.
I just turned into a vampire.
I just discovered who Ireallyam.
And there will be no peace.
I’m standing in the garage, staring at the bags of blood in the fridge. I want to drink them all in one go because the need for blood is insatiable—like a painful combination of thirst and hunger that makes me believe I’ll go mad without it. And yet the realization of who I am—who I have been—makes me feel just as crazed. I need the truth and I need it immediately.
I relent to my vampire instincts and grab the bags, tearing them open with teeth that have turned into fangs, a process that’s seamless, just a warm sensation in my gums as they sharpen in real time. The blood goes down my throat in seconds and it isn’t until both bags are empty that I feel that incessant hunger subside.
Then I yank open the door with newfound strength and step into the house. I had been locked inside for the last few days, but my mother had untied me earlier when she realized that I was no longer a danger to myself or anyone else, and now I’m free to leave. I know I need a shower something fierce, my sense of smell is so strong now it’s overwhelming, but all of that pales in comparison to the true need I have inside me.
The need for the truth.
I head right down the hall toward the kitchen where I can hear my mother laughing about something. I can hear my father talking as if he were right next to me. My senses are heightened to the point of being uncomfortable.
They both stop to stare at me as I barge into the kitchen and stop at the granite island in the middle, my hands gripping the counter like I’d crumble to my knees without it.
“Rose?” my mother asks, her violet eyes filled with worry. “Are you okay?”
“Where is Dracula?” I manage to say, my voice sounding foreign, deeper, like I’m hearing someone else speak.
My mother frowns. “What? Dracula? Honey, you should sit down, you’re going through a lot. Have you had your blood yet?”
