CHAPTER 1
Ashe lay on the roof of the music building looking up at the foul grey clouds as they raced across the sky. Her head lay on her backpack and her feet rested on the raised lip of the flat roof. Anyone looking up would only be able to see the worn soles of her shoes peeking over the ledge. A book lay open across her stomach: a collection of short stories for her English literature class. Though it was November, Ashe wore nothing more than a simple t-shirt and a pair of tight jeans with holes in the knees and up the thigh. She was never bothered by the cold. In fact, she loved the winter and the quiet cool months leading up to them.
Ashe was in the first semester of her final year at college. While those around her were preparing for their lives after graduation, Ashe found herself feeling just as lost as when she had first stepped onto campus three years ago, everyone had told her she would find her passion in time and to take as many different classes as she could until she found the ones that fit. However, in all this time nothing had sparked her interest in the slightest. She liked to read— she knew that much— and she liked to play the piano in the music building below her, but those two things alone did not make a future. She wasn’t enrolled in any music classes. She only liked the building for its practice rooms and easily accessible roof. Besides, she had been reading books and playing music long before coming to college.
What she needed was something to wake her back up. She sighed and stretched her arms out in front of her. The bell in the tower of the campus cathedral started chiming out the hour, its somber melody ringing out across the quad and distorting against the sides of buildings before it reached Ashe’s ears. She had a few minutes yet until class. She sat up, letting the book tumble off her stomach as she reached for her backpack. She tossed the book inside and zipped it up then got to her feet, dusting the concrete grit from the back of her jeans.
The door to the roof was set in at an angle, like the trapdoor to a tornado shelter. Ashe yanked it open with a grunt and slid herself in through the opening. When her boots hit the metal rungs of the ladder, she reached up again to close the door behind her. She wasn’t really supposed to be up there, but the door to the roof was never locked and she hadn’t gotten in trouble about it yet. She climbed down the ladder into the vast room that comprised half of the music building’s third floor. Once used as a rehearsal studio, it was now filled with dusty old boxes and empty instrument cases. Ashe often took loose sheets of music from the boxes and tried them out on the pianos downstairs. Their melodies were often macabre; sometimes atonal, and Ashe could see why they had been hidden away in the unused part of the building.
Ashe could almost feel the energy crackling in the air outside. It wasn’t a matter of if it would rain, but rather when. The wind whipped her long auburn hair in front of her face and she tucked it behind an ear so she could see. Students hurried between buildings with their coats clutched close, hoping to get inside before the downpour. Ashe set off towards the lecture hall with a small smile on her face. She liked the idea of a coming storm.
Angry red marks glared at Ashe from the paper. They slashed down the page like cuts wet with blood. Ashe glanced up at the students filling the lecture hall around her, but no one was paying her any mind. They never did. At the bottom of the last page was her failing grade and a message from the professor: SEE ME. The way it was written, in all caps with two sharp underlines for emphasis told Ashe this was just the beginning of her headaches. Three years of college and she was still just dragging herself along. She swept her long hair to one side and shoved the paper into her backpack. As she stood up to leave the lecture hall, a pen toppled onto the floor. She stooped to pick it up and hooked it onto the collar of her loose black V-neck so that she wouldn't lose it a second time.
She hadn’t studied for this test, not really, and if she was being completely honest with herself she could have done better. But her midterm on medieval European folklore had come at a time when all she wanted to do was curl up in her bed and sleep all day, hiding away from the world’s crap. Days like that happened more often than Ashe would have liked to admit, especially since going to college and realizing that the drama didn’t stop after high school. She kept to herself mostly and could count on one hand the number of people she bothered to keep in touch with. Campus was small, but her world was microscopic.
Ashe was nearly out the door when Professor Sharp called her name. She debated pretending she hadn’t heard him, but she had tried that tactic before and the man had followed her out into the hallway making the situation all the more embarrassing. This time she stopped and turned around, facing her professor with a poorly-hidden scowl on her face.
Her mythology professor was like a library come to life, not so much in his vast knowledge of all things related to folklore and myth, but rather in his appearance. He wore a corduroy jacket of a dusty brown with matching brown leather elbow pads sown in. His trousers were of the same fabric as the jacket. Though he couldn’t have been much older than Ashe’s father, his hair was a uniform white as if he had personally watched the centuries go by instead of merely studying them.
The man gave Ashe a searching look through his thick wireframe glasses. “You know I have office hours after class,” he said. “And if there’s anyone who could benefit from them right now it would be you.”
“I was going to go to the library,” Ashe replied. “There’s a book I need for my next class.” This was not entirely the truth, but Ashe was not prepared to spend an afternoon listening to her professor’s motivational words about the value of education and the rewards of hard work. She already knew what her problem was—she just wasn’t that interested in mythology.
Professor Sharp smiled. “I’ll make sure you still have plenty of time to get to the library when we’re finished. Walk with me to my office.”
Ashe hated how the professor refused to give up on her, even after a semester and a half of unimpressive grades. It made it that much harder to disappoint him. She begrudgingly waited as he shuffled his papers into his brown leather shoulder bag and followed him out the door.
“You know, a lot of lessons can be learned from folklore,” the professor said as Ashe walked with him through the hallway. “For example, the dangers of pride and the value of friendship and asking for help.”
“I’m not proud,” Ashe said, though immediately she regretted it. The words made her sound childish, insolent.
Professor Sharpe chuckled good-naturedly. “I didn’t say you were. I just think it would be good for you to reach out to your fellow students a little. Share the burden of studying for my impossible midterms and maybe make a friend or two along the way. It wouldn’t hurt.”
Ashe felt the prickle of anger, though she knew she had no reason to be angry. Professor Sharp may think people were the answer to all life’s problems, but Ashe knew just how much trouble they could bring. It wasn’t that she hated other people, but that she was trying to protect herself. Her past had taught her all she needed to know about the follies of relying on others.
As they rounded the corner to the professor’s office, Ashe could see someone already there waiting for him, someone she had never seen on campus before. If she had, she surely would have remembered. He was tall and a little gaunt, but the arms crossed in front of his chest looked stronger than his thin build would otherwise suggest. The dark circles under his eyes on an otherwise pale face made him look like he was in desperate need of a good night’s sleep. A lock of raven hair spilled over his brow, which he brushed to the side as he looked up to greet the professor. His smile made Ashe feel naked, as though any small move would betray just how fast her heart had started beating upon seeing him. Worst of all, she had no idea why she was feeling this way.
“Peter,” the professor greeted the student with a wave of his hand.
“Professor Sharpe,” the student nodded.
Ashe slowed as the professor approached the waiting student, not wanting to draw attention to herself or be unnecessarily pulled into the conversation. She was still trying to puzzle out the strange effect the man had on her.
“Need something?” the professor asked.
Peter gestured down at the rather large book in his hand. “I just wanted to return this.” It was a copy of one of the texts that Ashe should have been studying before the midterm, but she didn’t recognize Peter from her class. Her own copy of the book was currently wedged under a wobbly desk leg in her apartment.
“I found the section on Slavic vampire beliefs to be especially interesting.”
The professor laughed. “You’ve gotta give them credit for imagination, at least.”
“Yeah,” Peter agreed. “Though it makes me wonder how people were ever able to separate myth from the truth.”
“The truth?” the professor asked.
Peter’s brow furrowed. “I mean, these stories appear in the belief systems of people from all over the world, and this was way before anyone was trading information across cultures. Even a scholar like you would have to think there’s at least some truth to the idea of vampires.”
The professor shook his head, a humoring grin creasing the wrinkles around his eyes. “You’re a smart man, but you have to stop taking things at face value. There’s a difference between understanding information and accepting it as true. Try not to let my books get to your head so much. Vampires, hah.”
Rather than feeling ashamed or perhaps angry as Ashe would have, Peter seemed untouched by Professor Sharp’s criticism. He simply shrugged his shoulders and handed the professor the book. “Maybe I have been taking these stories too much to heart.”
The professor chuckled to himself. “I’m looking forward to hearing what else you have to say about the book, but for now I’ve got a student here in desperate need of my sage guidance.”
As he gestured back towards Ashe, Peter’s eyes met hers for the first time. They were a confusing green-grey, like storm clouds rolling in on the ocean. If Ashe had been asked to pick the color out of a box of crayons, she would not have been able to complete the task. It was as if the color was alive and constantly changing. She had to force her own amber ones from their tight grip.
Professor Sharpe thanked Peter for the book, opened the door of his office, and stepped inside.
Before Ashe could follow him, Peter said, “Hey, can I borrow your pen?”
Ashe looked at him in confusion and he pointed at the collar of her shirt. She looked down to see her pen hanging where she had put it earlier. Crimson rose in her cheeks, realizing that the weight of the pen had pulled the neckline of her t-shirt a little lower than she would have preferred.
“Yeah, whatever.” She unclipped it and tossed it at Peter, deliberately not returning his gaze.
He caught it deftly in his hand and gave her another killer smile. “Thanks. By the way, don’t let Sharp’s air of intellectualism get to you. He doesn’t know nearly as much as he thinks.”
Peter tucked the borrowed pen in the back pocket of his jeans and set off down the hall. Ashe watched him for a moment before remembering she had a meeting with Professor Sharp. She reluctantly entered his office, still thinking of Peter and wondering how she had never seen him around before.
Peter couldn't get her out of his head. As ridiculous as it was, those few moments outside Professor Sharp’s office were enough for Peter to know that there was a lot more to that girl than met the eye. For one, there was that t-shirt she was wearing, which bore the name of a 60’s occult rock band that most people their age had probably never heard of. The shirt was deeply faded, too, as if it was an original print. There was also the matter of Sharp having to talk to her, meaning she had likely done poorly on her midterm. Peter was glad he wasn’t taking any of Sharp’s classes. The professor could be a hardass, and seemed to forget that the students he was teaching did not have the benefit of six years of graduate school under their belts like he did.
Despite the girl’s t-shirt, and her grades, the girl he’d met in Professor Sharp’s office had seemed quiet and studious. It was almost as if she wanted to blend into the background, like she feared human connection. Peter knew that he too had to be careful around humans, but for entirely different reasons. He was a vampire, and though most did not know of his true nature, he always had to be on guard in case his careful control slipped. Though he had an iron will when it came to keeping others safe from his bloodlust, Peter had a feeling he had just met the girl who could cause him to slip up. Which was a pity because she was beautiful.
Peter strolled around the campus green trying to rid his head of its visions of the girl with the amber eyes. The loud sounds of construction coming from the library did little to distract him from his thoughts. The library was an old, musty building that rose up in three stories over the busy sidewalk. The school was building a new wing onto the existing brick building, and had been for what seemed like ages. The project had been stopped and started countless times as the college president kept using the funding for other endeavors, such as getting a certain high-profile businessman to talk at last year’s commencement. The man seemed to think the student body needed a half hour of motivational speaking more than they needed new books and computers. The businessman had talked of how he had never graduated from college. Peter found the whole thing counterproductive, but then again, his immortality gave him wisdom beyond his apparent 21 years.
A voice from behind finally brought him out of his reverie. It was strangely familiar.
“You’re really fitting in here, aren’t you?”
Peter cringed as a firm hand grasped his shoulder. Though Peter was tall, Landon was a few inches taller, giving him a looming presence that always unnerved Peter. Landon walked with his hand around Peter’s shoulder as if they were old friends, though they were nothing of the sort.
“Are you liking classes? I heard you’ve been a bit slow to make friends. Probably because you don’t belong here.”
“I’m not trying to fit in. We only go wherever the blood goes,” Peter replied.
Landon sneered. “And you just happen to show up on my clan’s doorstep? I don’t think so.”
Peter’s eyes scanned the quad around him for a way out. He did not want to get into a fight with Landon over something as stupid as territorial rights. Vampire clans could get along with each other, quite well in fact, as long as their members weren’t alpha-male dicks. Sadly, Landon’s clan was beset with them.
“My family’s just been back from a bit of a vacation, I guess you could call it,” Landon said. “We were jonesing for some of the fresh stuff and popped out to the country for a feast. It’s amazing how much can go unnoticed in the middle of nowhere.” He smacked his lips as if he had just eaten a delicious meal.
Peter felt sick. He hated vampires like Landon and wanted to get away from him as soon as he could. As Peter weighed his escape options, he happened to notice the girl with amber hair and black t-shirt from Professor Sharp’s office walking towards the library. She had on a pair of large headphones and was looking down at the ground as she walked, seeming to be lost inside her own private world. She was going to pass the unfinished wing and head straight for them. If he could catch her attention again, maybe by returning the pen he had borrowed from her on a whim, he might be able to get her name. But to do that, first he had to get rid of Landon.
“I should get to class,” Peter said.
“Not so fast.” Landon’s grip on Peter tightened. Peter didn’t want to draw attention to the two of them, so he went along.
Landon was steering Peter in the direction of the library. Peter dreaded the thought of Landon setting his sights on the girl. The sounds of hammers banging on metal and the buzz of an electric saw filled Peter’s ears. He had a hard time hearing Landon over the noise.
“What is it you want, anyway?” Landon said into Peter’s ear. “Why’d you come to the city?
Peter raised his voice, “Our blood supplier moved out here. That’s the only reason our family moved. We’re not looking for trouble with your clan.”
Landon let go of Peter and looked at him with curiosity. “Blood supplier? What are his rates?”
Vampires that procured blood for others, through either stealing from blood banks or more nefarious means, were more valuable than gold to the clans they served. But the nature of their work meant that clans had to move from place to place as people started to get suspicious. There was no way Peter was going to let Landon’s family try and take their supplier from them.
He shouted at Landon over the din of construction, “He’s ours. You’ll have to find your own.”
They had just stopped in front of the metal scaffolding covering the face of the new wing of the library. The girl was not far away; though Landon; watching the construction, blocked Peter’s view of her.
Peter followed Landon’s gaze to the workers guiding a crossbeam down from a crane perched above. “Why did you bring me here?” he asked.
Landon gave him a mean smile. “No reason, except that crane’s about to give way.”
Peter had no time to ask Landon what he meant by his words, because already their meaning had become frighteningly clear. Peter heard the loud groan of metal and the snap of thick wires as the crane came free of its moorings. He leapt out of the way, nearly tripping as he cleared the sidewalk and made it a safe distance from the machinery. Landon was nowhere to be seen. Peter knew that he had used his weak precognition gift to lure Peter into a trap.
The beam that the crane had been lowering pitched wildly to the side as the workers shouted for everyone to get out of the way. As Peter looked down the sidewalk, he noticed the girl standing as if frozen to the very spot the crane was about to fall. Her lips were parted in a gasp as she looked up at the swinging beam, but her body seemed unable to obey her mind, which was undoubtedly screaming for her to run.
The crane lurched another few feet towards the sidewalk and Peter dashed towards her without thinking. He grabbed her up in his arms and carried her out of the way. There was a huge crash behind him, the violence of the impact of metal on concrete sending vibrations up Peter’s legs as he lowered the girl back down on a much safer part of the sidewalk. She looked up at him with those amber eyes, their corners glistening as if she were about to cry.
“Th—thank you,” she stuttered.
Peter ran a hand through his messy hair. “Sorry I had to grab you like that. You’re not hurt or anything, are you?” He was glad his fast reflexes had been able to get to her in time.
“No,” the girl shook her head. She was breathing hard, but she looked otherwise unharmed.
“Good. That’s good.”
The girl was looking away from him, instead watching the construction workers as they dealt with the aftermath of the accident. Angry voices drifted their way, but Peter could only think of the girl and the way she had felt in his arms.
“Hey, I still have your pen.” He reached into his back pocket and held it out to her. She took it back with a slight frown. “You remember me, right? From earlier today?” he felt the need to ask.
“Yeah, outside Professor Sharp’s office. Peter,” the girl replied. Peter hadn’t thought she’d been listening to his conversation with the professor, but apparently she had: enough, at least, to remember his name.
Peter replied, “Yeah, but I never got your name.”
“Ashe,” the girl replied.
Peter was worried about the way her arms were shaking. She rubbed them absentmindedly as she watched a passing bicycle. He said, “You’ve had a shock. You should probably sit down somewhere for a while.”
“I’m fine.” The way her eyes kept wandering everywhere but towards him was driving him crazy.
“There’s a café down the street—”
“Thanks for saving me, really, but I’m fine. You don’t owe me anything.”
Peter knew when he was being snubbed. Though the accident had felt almost like fate bringing them together, he did not want to tempt it by pursuing her. After all, she was a human and human blood was his vice. He let her go, for now.
Ashe swept her hair to one side and straightened the headphones around her neck. She seemed to have shaken off the shock of the accident.
“Maybe I’ll see you around then, Ashe,” he called as she turned to walk away from the library.
She made no reply as she left.
Peter watched her go, trying his hardest to figure out just why that girl kept such an impenetrable wall around herself. It was almost like a challenge to him to try and break it, and Peter always liked a good challenge.
Ashe pounded her fist against her pillow. She couldn’t believe her mom was pulling a stunt like this and on a day when things already felt like they were crashing down around her. She looked around her childhood bedroom and its four pink walls that she had not been able to escape even after going to college. Polaroids were pinned to her walls with Ashe’s twelve-year-old smiling face beaming down at her, unaware of the dark times that were to come. She turned her back to them and curled up on her bed, hugging her pillow close to her chest.
She hated that her mom didn’t have the money to allow her to get a place on campus, and that the paychecks from her part-time job ended up paying utilities and gas for her mom’s car. She also hated her flowery comforter and the matching lace curtains and the cream-white antique dresser where she still kept all her clothes. It was almost if her mom had punished her for being born a girl, by making her drown in everything pretty and delicate.
“You were supposed to be our son and you were supposed to go into business. Since you already messed up one of those, the least you can do for me is change your major.”
Her mom was talking to her through the door, but Ashe was in no mood to open it. At least she wasn’t in a yelling mood today.
“It’s too late, mom,” she called back through the door. “I’ve only got two semesters left. I’d never get all the credits in on time.”
Her mom let out a frustrated sigh, loud enough to penetrate the wooden door. “I mean, what are you going to do with a degree in English literature? You’re wasting your time, and my money, and if your father was here he would make you see reason.”
Ashe felt a ball of anger tighten in her chest. She had saved up money all through high school, working every summer since she was sixteen so she could go to college. Ashe wondered just how much of that money her mom supposed was hers.
“Open the door, Ashe. I want us to talk like adults.”
There was never a mature talk when her mother was involved.
“Please, just consider it. For my sake and for yours. You may love those dusty old books of yours now but in the future, they’re not going to do you any good. You’ll be burning the pages for warmth. I’m not going to be able to support you forever, you know.”
Ashe lurched off the bed and opened the door. Her mom stood there with her hands on her hips, the overhead light from the hallway making her red hair look ablaze.
“Are we talking like adults now?” Ashe asked in a biting tone.
Her mom refused to acknowledge her daughter’s sarcasm. “Yes, we are.”
“Since I’m such an adult, wouldn’t you think I’d be able to take responsibility for my own life?”
“Well yes, but—”
Ashe crossed her arms in front of her chest. Her mom withered under her glare, her words fading away into a frustrated silence.
Ashe took the opportunity to get a couple words in. “Maybe I want to go to graduate school, you know? Or maybe I’m planning to work at a publishing company. But how would you know, because all you do is lecture at me about things I should be doing instead. I’m going to be moving out in less than a year. You can’t keep trying to micromanage me for the rest of my life.”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “You haven’t lived enough life to know what’s best for you. You can’t just go off into the world and expect things to work out. You can’t leave me here all alone, you just can’t.”
Ashe stepped back from the door and closed it with her mom still lecturing her from the other side. There was no reasoning with her when she got like this and Ashe knew if she waited long enough her mom would tire out and leave.
Eventually the hallway was quiet again and Ashe was left with some peace and quiet to study. If her mom had wanted her to go into business so badly, why hadn’t she mentioned it three years ago? It was only now that Ashe was getting ready to graduate that she suddenly felt the need to interfere. Ashe could tell that her mother’s issue was not with Ashe’s college major. The issue was that she didn’t want Ashe to move out. She didn’t want to be alone again, not after what had happened.
Ashe flopped back on the bed and reached for her backpack lying against the headboard. She pulled books out until she found the one she was looking for and flipped to an earmarked page, running her finger along the notes written in the margin. She tried to let her mind calm around the words, to escape into the world of literature that she had wrapped around herself like a cocoon to keep out the rest of the world. Her mom’s word’s kept ringing in her head as Ashe twisted and turned on the bed trying to make herself comfortable enough to focus on the words in front of her.
She dug in her backpack for a pen and pulled out the one she had lent to Peter. It jumped from her hand as if alive and rolled along her comforter until it rested against the side of her leg.
Peter.
The name needled her brain like a burr in her sock. She had never seen him on campus before, but today she had run into him twice. Part of her wished she would never see him again, as the feelings his presence awoke in her were foreign to her and more than a little uncomfortable. She knew nothing of him, apart from the few minutes they had spent together, but his hold over her was already too strong. Just the memory of those hands pulling her to safety brought goosebumps to her skin. Not to mention his eyes like storm clouds full of concern for her safety.
He had saved her and that should have counted for something. But Ashe could not bring herself to give him even that much credit. It wasn’t a problem with him so much as that there was a part inside of Ashe that was broken. Years ago, she had told herself she would never trust anyone again. People were the root of the pain of the world. They lied, took advantage of your love, and ultimately left. There was no one for Ashe to trust except herself. She was the only one who would always be there, for better or worse.
Even as she told herself this, a small place in the back of her mind rebelled strongly against the distrust. That was the part that wanted to see Peter again. She picked up the pen and twirled it in her fingers. She wanted to know which of Professor Sharp’s classes Peter was taking and why he had been lent the text for her class. She also wanted to know why, when she hadn’t been able to open her heart to even a friend in the past few years, Peter had suddenly re-awakened the part of her that yearned for the chance to connect to someone again. These feelings fighting in Ashe’s chest were all at once lovely and terrifying. She didn’t know if she should trust them.