Текст книги "Unbroken"

Автор книги: Jessica Sorensen

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Unbroken
Shattered Promises – 2.5
Jessica Sorensen

Chapter 1
(Alex)

I’m trying not to fucking freak out, but Gemma’s been gone for hours. It’s driving me literally crazy and that dying feeling that I get whenever we’re apart for too long is starting to surface. The electricity dwindles. Tiredness sets in.

I miss her. Need her here—want her here. I've never wanted anything this badly before and it’s confusing the shit out of me.

“Alex, would you please try to relax?” my sister, Aislin, begs while she watches me pace the small living room, raking my fingers through my brown hair over and over again as I veer toward the brink of insanity.

“I can’t,” I tell her, quickening my pacing despite how tired I’m getting; the energy draining from my body. “You don’t get it. I can’t even think straight.”

She shifts on the sofa, leaning forward to grab a bottle of water from the coffee table.

We’re at the beach house where we’ve been sitting for hours, waiting for Gemma or Laylen to show up, but they’re both missing. Part of me is worried they’re together; that when Gemma went looking for Laylen, she found him, and then they wandered off to do God knows what. I actually have a few ideas. Ideas that make my blood burn beneath my skin. My muscles tighten. My fists clench. The need to smash them into something is so overwhelming that it takes a lot of control not to go over to the wall and punch it.

Then there’s always the other alternative, and that one makes me ache. That something did happened to her. That maybe the Death Walkers got a hold of her. Or Demetrius. Or maybe my father. It’s the one explanation I don’t want to admit. I hate thinking of him as evil, but not because I don’t believe he is. I do. It’s more because it’s been engrained in my mind to think of him as being good.

Everything he’s said I’ve had to agree was right otherwise I’d be punished, and even though I’m a Keeper and have a higher pain tolerance than the average person, my father is an Immortal and is way stronger than I am. The punches. The kicks. Being whipped. Locked up without food. The torture. It wasn’t easy to endure. If I cried, he’d only make my life more of a living hell, so I learned not to cry. Not to feel pain. Not to feel anything. Yes, sir. That’s how I learned to be around him.

Now, though… everything’s all screwed up. I think even when I was younger, deep down I knew there was something messed up about my father, more than just the beatings. But I didn’t think he’d been working against everything the Keepers represent, which is to protect humanity, not destroy it.

“Oh, for the love of God. I can’t watch this anymore.” Aislin gets up from the sofa and steps in front of my pacing path and I have slam to a stop, almost running over her, and she has to step back. “Would you settle down? You’re seriously going to wear a hole in the floor.”

“That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” My tone is clipped, but that’s just how Aislin and I are together. We’re brother and sister. We fight. We’re rude to each other. Deep down, however, I’d never want anything to happen to her. In fact, a lot of the times when she’d get in trouble as a child, I’d take the fall and the beatings to spare her the pain. I can handle it better anyway. “And I can’t settle down.” I swing around her and continue pacing the length of the room. “If I do, then I’ll lose my mind.”

She sighs and then sinks down on the armrest of the sofa. “I’ve never seen you act like this over anyone before. It’s… interesting.” She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. “And really unsettling.”

“I know.” I fold my arms across my chest as I continue pacing, pacing, pacing. “I’m not even sure what’s causing it... I just feel so…” I trail off. I fucking hate talking about my feelings. After an emotionally numb childhood, I find it easier not to feel anything at all, but with Gemma… Well, it’s out of my hands. Although I’m not one hundred percent sure what exactly I feel for her yet, it’s really confusing and intense amongst a thousand other things.

“So what?” Aislin wonders curiously. “Because I’m dying to know.”

I raise my eyebrows questioningly at her. “Why?”

“Because in the twenty-five years that I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you act like this over someone.” She sits back down and crosses her legs. “And I find it fascinating.”

I open my mouth to try to explain it to her, but then realize I don’t want to and probably couldn’t even if I tried. My thoughts jumble as I attempt to sort through everything going on in my head. “Why the hell are you so calm?” I change the subject. “Laylen’s missing, too.”

She swallows nervously, like she’s just realizing this. “I know.”

“We need to do something.” I stop in front of the window and glance outside at the front yard. It’s dark, though the stars and moon are bright in the sky. I remember all the times when I was a child and Gemma and I would look at the stars, obsessed with them. It makes sense now that I know we’re both carrying around the energy of a fallen star, but at the time I just thought we were two weird kids that understood each other. “We need a plan to figure out where she is.”

“I could do a locating spell,” Aislin suggests as I turn away from the window. “But I’d have to run to a Wicca Shop because my supplies are really low.”

“Yeah, that might work,” I mutter, trying to get myself to focus on fixing the problem instead of just the situation itself.

“Might work,” Aislin says arrogantly, getting to her feet. “You mean it will work.”

I’m not so confident, considering the many spells I’ve witnessed go awry over the years. Still, I collect the car keys from the coffee table. “You drive to the Wicca Shop.” I toss her the keys and she catches them. “I’ll stay here just in case one of them comes back.”

She throws the car keys back at me, scowling. “Or I could just transport like a normal witch. Jesus, you are really out of it, aren’t you? You need to get your head into the game or we aren’t going to get anywhere.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I mutter, tucking the car keys into my pocket. She’s right. I need to focus. “Alright, I think I’ll go search the beach some more while you go get supplies.” I cross the living room, heading for the back door that’s in the kitchen. “Meet you back here in a bit?” I ask and she nods, walking toward the hallway that leads to her bedroom.

After I grab a flashlight, I walk out of the house and step off the porch onto the sandy beach. I start to relax a little. Fresh air. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore. It’s distracting and relaxes me slightly from my worries. If only I could make the goddamn stars go away, then maybe I could completely clear my head.

Hiking down the shoreline dotted with beach houses while sweeping the flashlight from side to side, I look for any sign of Gemma or Laylen. There are no fresh footprints nearby—nothing at all—and this ridiculous, helpless feeling emerges inside me. It’s not the first time I’ve felt it. In fact, I’ve felt it a few times.

Once when I was younger and my father was getting ready to detach Gemma’s soul, something he hadn’t told me until later on in life when I was more brainwashed and would react less. I had felt helpless watching her leave, knowing I’d never see her again and I was too young to do anything. I also felt the same way when I was reunited with her at the college campus. The first time she touched me again and I didn’t think I could have her, yet I wanted her so fucking bad. The last time had been at the cabin in Colorado while I was waiting for my father to show up and detach her soul again. I didn’t want to let it happen, yet I was torn between what I had thought was right and wrong. I ended up doing what I thought at the time was the wrong thing and tried to flee with her. Then my father showed up with the Death Walkers and I realized that everything I’d thought was wrong might just be right.

My head is swimming with the helpless sensation by the time I arrive at the end of the beach where a cluster of rocks blocks me from getting any further. I’m about to head back when I hear the soft sound of footsteps move up from behind me. I turn around and startle back when my flashlight highlights a very familiar face.

“Gemma?” I pause, shining the light into her strikingly beautiful eyes, feeling a wave of electricity rush over me from the connection we share. But whether it’s from the star or something else, though, I’m unsure.

I immediately sense there’s something off about her. It definitely looks like Gemma, but there’s something missing…. Something’s vanished from the last time I’ve seen her. She looks so hollow, and the sparks are merely a lull of warmth; nowhere near as intense as they usually are. It’s how I’ve imagined she looked when her soul was detached, and the thought of it sends a chill up my spine.

I reach out to grab her, but she quickly raises her arm, moving way faster than she normally does; the sparks suddenly going haywire. Before I can tell what’s happening, there’s a shovel in her hand, and seconds later, something smacks me in the head. Hard. With way more strength then Gemma has ever possessed before. The flashlight slips from my hands and I raise my arm as I stagger, the number of stars in the sky multiplying. She easily dodges my advances and swings the shovel back around, hitting me on the head again. I’ve taken a lot of beatings and know that I won’t go down without at least a few more hits, but I need to get my shit together.

I work to get my footing and blink my vision back into focus, then hurry away from her. I just need a few seconds to get the dizziness and the throbbing ache out of my head, and then I can concentrate. But she easily chases after me, her long legs moving quicker than I remember as she runs through the sand.

Shit.

I dodge to the side and then try to circle around her, but she matches my moves and we end up colliding. She drops the shovel as our legs tangle together as we both lose our balance and fall toward the sand. I instinctively grab onto her, wanting to protect her from the fall despite the fact that she has just hit me in the head with a shovel. She lands on top of me with a leg on each side, her breasts pressing against my chest, her lips inches from mine, and my fingers digging into her waist to support her weight. There’s a brief pause where I feel so turned on; not just by the feel of her, but from the pain, which is extremely fucked up. It’s not the first time it’s happened, either.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I ask as she pushes back and sits up on top of me.

She doesn’t say a word. She just lifts her arm above her, the glow of the moon hitting her hauntingly empty expression. That’s when I spot it; the triangular mark on her forearm. It feels like every part of me has died. My heart stops beating. My lungs stop working.

“No,” I whisper.

She simply smiles in response and I know what I have to do. I hate it, though I have no choice. It’s either do this or kill her. So I channel all my inner strength and flip us over so she’s lying on her back in the sand. She struggles, kicking and trying to knee me in the gut, but I restrain her by the shoulders, pinning her down.

“Relax, I’m not going to hurt you,” I say as she writhes her body beneath me. “I’m just going to make this a little easier on me.”

She pauses and then starts to laugh, her chest heaving, hot and feisty sparks seem to flow from her, and my skin feels like it’s on fire. “Oh, my God. You think you can hurt me.” Her laughter cuts off so quickly that it’s creepy. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Then she dips her head to the side and her teeth graze my skin.

I hate what I’m about to do—hate that I’m controlling her in any way, shape or form—but I still clear my head and prepare myself to take her energy away, making her exhausted. She doesn’t know that I can do this to people—make them disoriented—only because I’m afraid of what she’ll do if she finds out. She’s big on trust, which is understandable, and this is downright manipulation. I don’t do it very often, but it’s the only thing I can think of to do at the moment.

Taking a deep breath, I gradually start draining her strength, forcing her to become weak and drowsy, careful to only drain enough that she gets sluggish yet doesn’t pass out. Her eyes start to roll into her head, but then she manages to get one of her hands up and grabs ahold of my arm. She starts clawing at my skin, splitting it open over and over again. Blood pours out and trickles down my forearm. She starts laughing at the sight of it. It’s an annoying laugh that doesn’t belong to her and sounds more like it belongs to a hyena. Her head is tipped back in the sand, her hair surrounding her head, while she totally disregards me as if I couldn’t conquer her.

“You stupid, little boy,” she says, shaking my head. “You never can do anything right.”

And just like that, something snaps inside me. Breaks. Shatters. I see red as she utters the words my father used to say to me all the time.

%

“Fuck it,” I growl, and then quickly and callously drain all the energy out of her. Her eyes widen for a split second, however she has no time to react, and seconds later she blacks out.

She’s still breathing. Still alive. But she also still has the Mark of Evil branded on her.

Chapter 2
(Alex)

After Gemma goes unconscious, lying dazedly in the sand below me, I hop off her and scoop her up, carrying her toward the house. Her arm with the Mark of Evil hangs lifelessly to the side and her head bobbles around with my movements. I feel vaguely bad for what I’ve done to her, but at the same time, there was no other choice. Do what you have to, no matter the cost. That’s what I was taught to do, and although sometimes I hate it, it’s times like these where I’m glad I don’t think twice.

When I get inside the house, I gently put her on the sofa in the living room. Aislin’s still gone, so I sit and wait for her while thinking of any possible way to fix this along with how the hell it has happened to begin with. The Mark of Malefiscus is only supposed to appear on those that are of evil descent, and Gemma can’t be; there’s no way.

So how did it get there? Did it appear like a normal mark does? Or did Nicholas have something to do with this? That damn Faerie seems to have some sick obsession with her. Or maybe it’s my father who put it on her. Is that where she disappeared to for the last few hours? Has he had her trapped while she’s been missing?

As she lies there, out of it on the sofa, I stroke her cheek softly. We used to be so close, but now it seems like we barely know each other anymore. It’s my own damn fault for letting everything get between us. A childhood friendship, one made of promises to be friends forever. Then, just because my father had said so, I’d let it go. And now I want it back. I want to tell her what we had… What I want… What do I want?

As I’m trying to figure that out, she starts to stir. I hold onto her arms, figuring I’ll let her come out of her daze before I put her back under so she can have a few minutes to recuperate. Suddenly, though, like the snap of a lightning bolt, her eyes shoot open and she springs upward onto the sofa. Our foreheads slam together like bricks smashing together. I fall off the edge of the sofa, blinking my eyes as my head starts to buzz, however Gemma doesn’t miss a beat. She jumps up and lands on top of me, crouched over me like a cave woman.

“I have to kill you,” she says in a numb voice, her hair hanging over her face, a rabid look in her eyes.

My fingers wrap around her wrists. “No, you don’t.” I know it’s probably useless to reason with her, but I have to try. “Just back off me and as soon as Aislin gets here, we’ll get you taken care of.” I hope.

She laughs that snide laugh I’m not fond of while throwing her head back. “Take care of me. Don’t be absurd.” She lowers her head, cocking it to the side as she eyes me over. “Besides, I don’t know why you’d want to change me.” She lowers her hips so she’s straddling me, then she places a hand on each side of my head. “I figured you’d like me like this better.” She leans in, her violet eyes looking more like a shade of dark lavender veering toward black. “Think of the things I could do to you.” She grabs my shoulders and her nails pierce my skin through the fabric of my shirt, drawing blood, and for a split moment, sheer ecstasy flows through my body… Maybe she knows me better than I thought, knows how to get under my skin… maybe I should let her…

I shake the thoughts from my head. This isn’t Gemma. Just a warped, evil version of her. “Is that what you want?” I slip my hands out from her hold and grab onto her hips, pressing my fingers into her skin. “To show me the things you could do to me? Because I thought you said you had to kill me.”

She seems both amused and confused by my statement, which gives me hope that my Gemma is still in there somewhere. “I don’t know…” She leans closer, like she’s going to kiss me. “…what I want to do.” Her lips touch mine and I don’t move, even when she sucks my bottom lip into her mouth and bites on it.

Fuck. This isn’t her. This isn’t her. That’s what I keep telling myself over and over again.

But I’m about to give in, flip her over, and tear off her clothes—the feel of the sparks, pain, and scent of her too overwhelming—when her fingers wander up my chest to my throat. Grasping tightly, she starts to strangle me, her grip tight as it restricts my airway.

“Like I said,” she whispers in my ear, her teeth grazing my lobe. “I have to kill you. I was just trying to have a little fun before I did.” As she continues to choke me, her free hand slides down my chest to my stomach, her fingers wandering all over my body. She smiles, enjoying herself, as I reach up and grab her arm.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper and her smug expression briefly falters.

“For what?” she asks, confounded.

“For this.” With one swift breath, I begin to drain the energy from her body, not taking it easy on her this time. I take as much as I can until her eyes roll into the back of her head, until her body slumps to the side, until her fingers leave my neck. Before she can fall to the floor, I hurry and sit up, catching her in my arms.

“I’m sorry,” I say again because I feel bad. She’s going to be out for quite a while, and when she does wake up, it’s not going to be the most pleasant experience.

Gathering her in my arms, I pick her up, carry her into the bedroom, and lay her down on her bed. Then I get the ties that hold the curtains up and bind them around her wrists and ankles, securing them to the bedposts as I attempt to ignore the fact that I’m enjoying this way too much.

After staring at her for longer than I should, I head through the house to check and see if Aislin has transported back, hoping she knows a spell that can remove marks somehow. But, when I step into her room, I realize I have much bigger problems then a possessed Gemma because my ex-girlfriend is sitting on the bed.

My ex-girlfriend that has the touch of death.

Chapter 3
(Alex)

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask as I stop in the doorway, knowing that space is always best whenever Stasha is around.

She’s sitting on the bed, her legs crossed, her blonde hair curled, and her hands covered with tan leather gloves. “Now is that any way to talk to an old lover?” she asks, faking a frown as she rises to her feet, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor.

“Old lover?” I question, bracing my hands on the doorframe. “I think you’ve gotten your words a little mixed up. We were never lovers, Stasha. You were just there to pass time when I was bored and I’m pretty sure you knew that.”

Her fake frown deepens as she slowly strolls around Aislin’s room covered with bags of herbs, candles, vials of powder and other Wicca ingredients. She’s pretending to simply glance around at everything, but I know Stasha well enough to know that everything she does is calculated and she has to be looking for something.

“You know, I’d say I was hurt by what you just said.” She runs her finger along the desk, pausing to look at Aislin’s open spell book. “But you know me well enough to know I don’t get hurt.” She cocks her head to the side, reading something on one of the pages. It makes me nervous. Stasha’s not a Witch, so I know she can’t actually cast a spell, yet I do know her well enough to know it’s not good for her to be interested in magic. Besides, if she does get a witch to cast a spell for her—which she easily could—it will be for her own benefit. And Stasha never wants anything good. Everything she does is based solely on greed.

I cross my arms and lean against the doorway. “Why are you here?”

She wavers, and then turns around with an innocent look on her face. “Who says I’m not just here to see you?”

“Why are you here?” I repeat, giving her a blank expression.

She rolls her eyes as she lets out a sigh, slumping back against the desk. “Oh, fine. Pretend to be annoyed that I’m here, but deep down I know you miss me,” she replies and I can’t help it, I laugh at her. She scowls at me, losing her cool.

If I’m not careful, then she could very easily take off the gloves and drain my life simply by touching me. At the same time, though, I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of letting her think she has the upper hand.

“I’m sorry,” I retort without any real sincerity. “Did I hurt your feelings?”

She narrows her eyes at me and seconds later she’s slipping off her gloves, taking out one finger at a time, attempting to torment me. “Need I remind you what I am, Alex?” She takes a few steps forward, holding the gloves in one hand. “What I can do?”

Despite how much I want to stand here and push her as much as I can, I also want to get her the hell out of the house. The last thing I need is a crazy ex-girlfriend of mine running around while my current girlfriend is possessed by what seems like the devil. It seems like that could be a disaster in the making.

“Tell me what you want,” I say, irritated.

She gives me a conniving grin, stopping just a few steps away from me. “Not without a price. You know that.”

“And why would I give you anything?” I ask, standing up straight. “Especially when I don’t even know if you’re here for a good reason or not.”

dpg is the wtg

She stretches her hands out in front of her, pretending to examine her nails. Blackish vines appear beneath her skin, curving all the way up her forearm. She’s channeling her energy to make it appear as if she’s about to kill me, but I still have some time before we get to that point… I think.

“Tell me something,” she asks, wiggling her fingers and making the vines spread up to her shoulders, her power amplifying. “Have you by chance lost something over the last few hours?”

My muscles tighten. Shit. Does she know about Gemma? Does she have something to do with what’s happened to her?

“What did you do?” I step forward, reducing the space between us as anger begins to burn under my skin. At the moment, I don’t care if she canreach forward and kill me. I’m too fucking pissed at the idea that she’d be vindictive enough to do something to Gemma, though I’m really not at all surprised.

“Hey, I didn’t do anything,” she says, trying to be offended. “He came to me, okay?”

“He?” I’m confused. “Who the hell are you talking about?”

She gapes at me. “Um, the super tall, sexy vampire that I’m pretty sure belongs to you… or, well, belongs to Aislin.” She pauses, a malicious look rising on her face. “Or maybe it’s that star girl you’ve always secretly been in love with. Gamma or whatever. He did talk about her a lot.” She scrunches her nose at the thought. “It would be pretty funny. The girl that you could never let go, falling in love with your best friend. Or ex-best friend anyway.”

I’m not even sure what comes over me. I’m usually good with insults—especially Stasha’s—yet something about Gemma and Laylen and her accusations makes me lose control of my anger. Something snaps inside me, and before I can shut it down, I’m charging toward her outstretched hands of death.

“I’d watch it if I were you,” she warns, waggling her fingers, the movement just enough to cause me to freeze just inches away from them.

Composing myself, I back away from her, telling myself to settle down because I’m not going to get anywhere with any of this if I’m dead. “Either you can put the gloves back on or leave,” I tell her calmly.

She rolls her eyes, but starts to put her gloves back on. “What’s gotten into you?” She gets her fingers snuggly into one glove and then moves to the other hand. “You used to be so much stronger and had it together more than this while we were dating. “ Once she gets the gloves on, she lowers her arms to her sides. “But you’re acting so erratic.”

I hate to admit it, but she’s right; although I’m not going to tell her that. Just like I’ve never admitted anything to her during the four years I dated her.

Our relationship was built solely on one thing—sex. I got bored and went to her to fill up my time, and she was a cold enough person that she didn’t mind.

In fact, sometimes I think she’s as dead inside as me, but that might be because she actually has death in her.

“We haven’t dated in a couple of years,” I say blankly. “Things change.”

She eyes me over with disgust. “And not for the better. Jesus, look at you.” She crosses her arms, her face pinched. “All worked up over some girl.”

“How do you know about Gemma?” I wonder. “Is it just from Laylen or has word been traveling?”

Her mouth turns up to a grin as she struts up to me. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She places a finger on my chest and traces a line all the way up to my chin. “You know, I could easily tell you if you gave me something in return.” She bites her lip as her finger slides under my chin.

I lean out of her touch. “Get out,” I say coldly. “I don’t have time for your shit, and trust me, whatever you want from me, you’re not going to get.”

She scowls. “Fuck you. You don’t have to be such a douche.”

“I thought you liked the douche,” I challenge, arching my brow.

Her face reddens with anger and I wait for her to unleash her wrath, maybe even pull off the gloves, but instead she simmers down and steps back. “Fine. Be that way.” She walks toward the back of the room and something occurs to me.

“Wait, how did you get back here?” I ask, inching into the room toward her.

She flips her hair off her shoulders as she squares them. “Oh, Alex, you really have gone downhill, haven’t you? Forgetting that anything’s possible.” Then with a smile, she picks up Aislin’s spell book. “Besides, I never even came here for you.” She raises the book. “Only this.”

“Shit.” I run toward her, but I hit an invisible force field in the center of the room that flings me back through the air. I land on my back, the impact so intense it knocks the wind out of me. After I recover, I jump to my feet, but by the time I get up, she’s gone, and I have no clue where she went or how she even got here in the first place.

This is bad. Very bad. At least from my point of view. The only way to find out for sure is for Aislin to get here and tell me what Stasha could possibly want with her spell book. I mean, she’s only a Keeper with the gift of death, which she inherited from her mother who had a slight bit of Plant Nymph blood inside her.

My first instinct is to go check on Gemma, so I hurry across the house and am both relieved and frustrated when I enter the room because she’s there, but she’s awake.

“Don’t look so disappointed to see me,” she says, wiggling her arms which are still tied to the bedposts. She’s trying to sit up; her head lifted so she can look at me, her hair’s tangled around her face and her shirt’s riding up so that her bare stomach is revealed. So sexy except for that stupid smirk on her face. “I’m not that bad to be around, am I?”

“It depends,” I reply, entering the room on guard. The arrival of Stasha has reminded me that at any moment anything could happen. Besides, if Gemma’s here like this, then whoever possessed her in the first place might show up here, too. “Who am I talking to?”

She laughs, rolling her eyes. “You’re talking to me. Gemma Lucas. The girl I’ve always been. The girl that both annoys you and enthralls you. The girl you love to fuck.”

“Yeah, the Gemma I know wouldn’t say that,” I say, walking up to the bed. “And if she did say it, her cheeks would turn pink with her embarrassment.” I sit down on the bed beside her and lightly stroke her cheek with my finger. “This isn’t the Gemma I know.”

Her amusement rapidly shifts to anger. Turning her head, she tries to bite my finger and manages to knick the skin. “That Gemma was weak,” she snaps. “This one is so much better.” She shuts her eyes and breathes in deeply, like she’s ravishing the taste of the air. “God, I feel so alive at the moment… like I could do anything.”

It kills me to see her like this, my chest aching in a way I didn’t think was possible. “Look, I don’t know who you are, but you need to bring her back.”

Her eyes shoot open and I’m startled by the amount of anger blazing in them, smoldering lavender. She looks as enraged as my father would get whenever Aislin or I would do something wrong. “I already told you who I am. Gemma Lucas. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

“Who did this to you, then?” I ask, reaching out to touch her, yet when she scowls at me, I draw my hand away. “Who put that mark on your arm?”

She tips her chin down to look at the mark branded on her skin. “Does it really matter?” she asks. “You and I both know that regardless of how it got on there, it’s on there, which means I have evil in my blood.”

“No, there has to be a different reason,” I insist. “Like maybe the star allowed it on you.”

She shakes her head, laughing. “Don’t be stupid. It’s on me because I have evil blood inside me. Because I’ve been evil all along and this,” she jerks her marked arm upward, “just allowed me to let it out.”

I ball my hands into fists, fighting the urge to yell, but she’s pissing me off. “I’ve known you since we were kids and trust me, there’s not a single damn drop of evil inside you, whether you think so or not.”