Jenna Black - Dark Descendant

I know I’m not ugly. But I’m no Steph, either. Usually, I do a pretty good job of shoving my jealousy into a back corner of my mind, where I can ignore it. But the stress of recent events, and my relentless worries about the future, made it impossible to keep the green monster completely under control. Especially when Steph came out of her dressing room wearing a stunning, fire-engine red cocktail dress that clung perfectly to her curves without looking even remotely slutty. I swear, if you’d teleported her to the red carpet before the Oscars, she wouldn’t have looked out of place.

I had on a simple black number at the time, and I couldn’t help comparing our reflections in the mirror. Steph, tall and blond and sophisticated, wearing a dress that would draw every eye in the room. Me, short and average-looking, in a dress meant to blend in with the inevitable sea of little black dresses. And then, of course, there was the glyph that only I could see. The glyph that meant I had to give up even the semblance of a normal life that I had built.

We went out for coffee afterward. I kept trying to spot Anderson’s private security team, but I hadn’t caught sight of anyone following us. Maybe they felt Steph was safe enough with me. Or maybe they really were just really good at being inconspicuous. I knew the typical tricks of covert surveillance, but even knowing what to look for, I couldn’t spot anyone.

“So,” Steph said when we sat down in a cozy corner with our coffees, “what’s going on with your stalker-client? I’m guessing since you’re still not at home and you’re in a crappy mood that he’s still giving you trouble.”

I grimaced and took a sip of my coffee, burning my tongue. I thought I’d been hiding my state of mind better than that. Probably if it had been anyone but Steph, they would have been fooled.

“Yeah,” I admitted, because there was no reason not to. “The situation’s still complicated.” I gave her a half smile. “And I still can’t talk about it.”

“You ever consider that talking about it might help?”

My half smile turned to a full one, though I doubted Steph would miss the strain behind it. “No, I never considered that possibility.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whoever said ‘no man is an island’ obviously never met you .”

I bit back the urge to go defensive, but it was hard. If she’d been through what I’d been through as a kid, she’d understand why I didn’t make a habit of blabbing out my problems. You learn to talk about your problems when you have a sympathetic ear available. I hadn’t had any truly awful foster parents. No one molested me or beat me, at least not beyond the occasional spanking. But until I’d moved in with the Glasses at age eleven, there’d been no real warmth, either. My fault, entirely. I was one hell of an angry little girl. But by the time I had something like a warm, supportive family environment, I had already settled into the habit of keeping to myself.

Steph reached over and put a hand on my arm, the touch light and brief. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that to hurt. I was just teasing.”

I did my best to shake off the gloom. “I know. I’m just grumpy and not very good company today.”

“Think it might cheer you up if I told you about this new guy I’m seeing?”

I’m sure my eyes lit up at the idea. For all my unworthy jealousy of Steph, I really, truly loved her. I wanted to see her happy, and though so far she hadn’t shown the greatest taste in men, I was always hoping she’d meet Mr. Right.

“Ooh yes, do tell!” I urged.

There was a twinkle in her eye as she smiled at me. She was proud of herself for chasing away the little black thundercloud that had been hovering over my head.

“It’s all very preliminary,” she warned. “Maybe saying I’m ‘seeing’ him is a bit of an exaggeration. I only met him a couple of days ago, and we’ve been on exactly one date.”

“I have a feeling I’ve just been conned,” I muttered, but I couldn’t go back to being as surly as I’d been. I’d much rather talk about Steph’s love life than keep evading her questions about my “stalker.”

“Where and how did you meet? Details, please.”

“You know that little bakery around the corner from my house?”

I nodded. It was the kind of place I didn’t dare set foot in for fear of surrendering to I-want-one-of-everything syndrome.

“Well, I’ve gotten into the habit of going over there every morning. I take my laptop and do a lot of my correspondence. It’s got a nice atmosphere, and it smells heavenly.”

And unlike me, Steph could smell the various pies, cakes, breads, and assorted goodies and resist gorging herself. Just one more reason to hate her.

“Well, Blake came in to pick up a cake he’d ordered, and we got to talking, and …” Steph frowned as she watched my face go white. “What’s wrong?”

“Please tell me his name isn’t Blake Porter.”

“You know him?” she asked, looking both confused and worried. “Oh, God, is he someone you’re interested in?”

“Blake?” I cried with a comical squeak. “Hell no!” The blood that had drained from my face when Steph said Blake’s name came back in a rush, my cheeks heating with rage I did my best to tamp down. “I am going to kill him,” I muttered under my breath, though of course I wasn’t physically capable of killing him. But shooting him a couple more times might turn out to be therapeutic. No wonder he’d taken to playing friendly with me lately—he must have found it really amusing to hold out an olive branch while secretly stabbing me in the back.

“What’s going on?” Steph asked, shaking her head. “This isn’t the stalker guy, is it? Please tell me my taste in men isn’t that bad.”

For a split second, I was tempted to lie, tempted to tell Steph that yes, indeed, Blake was the wannabe client who was making my life miserable and who had indirectly threatened her. I resisted the temptation, but it wasn’t due to any goodwill toward Blake. I just didn’t want Steph to let her guard down because she thought she knew who the bad guy was.

“No, he’s not the guy,” I said through gritted teeth. “But he’s bad news anyway. He’s messed up in this whole business.”

“You’ve got to give me more to go on than that.”

“I can’t,” I told her for the millionth time. She was getting sick of hearing it, and I was getting sick of saying it.

“Fine,” Steph retorted, thumping her coffee cup back down on the table. “If you’re not going to tell me why you think he’s bad news, then there’s no reason for me not to see him again.”

“Please just trust me on this.”

She folded her arms. “I’ve had enough, Nikki. I like Blake a lot, and it’s going to take more than your cryptic warnings to make me give up on him before we even have a chance.”

I wanted to kick the table in frustration. I almost wished Steph really were my biological sister. Then I’d have a good reason to tell her everything I’d learned about Descendants and the Liberi . But that was selfish of me. If I could go back to the days when I’d been blissfully ignorant, I’d have done so in an instant, immortality be damned. I wasn’t going to shatter Steph’s perfect world, even if I thought there was any chance she’d believe me.

“He’s not what he seems, Steph,” I said, knowing I was still being too vague to convince her of anything. “Just like Alexis called me on your phone to get to me, Blake is trying to seduce you to get even with me for … something I did.” I was slipping a bit—I’d almost said “for shooting him,” which would have left me majorly screwed.

Steph pushed back her chair with a loud scrape. “You know, Nikki, the world doesn’t actually revolve around you, no matter what you might think.”