Amelia Atwater-Rhodes - Shattered Mirror

Sarah’s instincts took over as Kristopher pulled her to his own throat. Graceful as any predator, she wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and sealed her lips over the pulse point. She felt the weight of her own fangs in her mouth, the moment of resistance as they pierced the skin, and then only the rich, warm blood that flowed over her tongue.

Then there was only the sweet, rich taste, and a million images that accompanied it. She was not prepared for the flood of memories and emotions, but she understood that Kristopher could not have blocked her from his mind if he had tried. Not while she was this close, not while his blood flowed past her lips.

Some of the memories were pleasant, some harsh, and as she flickered among them she lost track of her own self.

“Nicholas, or Christopher?” the girl asked with a toss of her golden curls. Dressed in pale cream, with an ivy wreath and a white rose in her lap, Christine Brunswick was every inch the May Queen. He flinched at the question, but it was common enough. Only from Christine did it have the power to cut.

Power like lightening struck him, knocking him away from their willing prey. Pain worse than even the searing torture of the bloodlust, as Elisabeth Vida’s knife sank into his chest, only missing his heart because his brother had hit the witch’s arm. He thought he was going to die, like this, but somehow they got the knife out. The witch’s blood was sweeter than the richest honey, and the pain dimmed as he took it, with his brother beside him.

He remembered when the human world had found her body. The names Nikolas and Kristopher had been on the lips of the world that they had lost. Christopher Ravena—the name he had been given when he was born—was not a hunter, and so he had changed the name when he signed it on his prey. Such a small change, but a symbol of his difference, the last break he had made from the world he had been born in.

Nissa, at one of their bashes, the first time the brothers had seen her since they had been changed a hundred years before. She was nervous of Kaleo and the others, but eventually she relaxed in the heady atmosphere of predatory contentment. No one here hid his nature.

One human got out of hand and made the mistake of insulting Nissa while her brothers looked on. He never would have lived through the night, and Nissa had known that. The Devil’s Hour fell, and no one thought to stop Nissa as she bared the man’s throat and fed.

Nissa, dying as she refused to feed again. Dying as her own guilt tore her apart. He wasn’t sure he could survive without Nikolas, but he knew Nissa couldn’t live without him. Later, when she was strong again, he could go back to his brother, but right now . . . she needed him.

Even before he spoke to her, he adored her. Her beauty, her grace, and the thoughtful expression she wore that told him she was not listening to a thing the teacher was saying . . . all of that enthralled him. After he spoke to her, after he had laughed with her and learned about her, he could not have helped being fascinated by her. She was too polished, too impossible, and he kept wondering what lay beneath.

Sarah Tigress Vida, youngest Daughter of Vida. Finally he understood the strength he had seen in her. And only then, when she told him to leave her alone, did he realize that he loved her.

Fighting the desire to argue, he had fallen back into the neutral mask Kristopher wore when he was not in friendly territory. He wanted to kiss her, but instead he had been cold, because otherwise he would not have been able to keep himself from asking her to defy all the rules. He would never ask her to give up so much, not for him.

When the spell finally broke and Sarah stepped back, the hunger and the pain were gone, but a duality remained. Though Sarah tried to ignore the sensation, it was like turning her back to a conversation. The direct thoughts and memories disappeared, but there remained a lingering sense of Kristopher’s mind.

Kristopher stepped back, and Sarah knew that he would have blocked the connection, if it had been his decision. The wound that Christine had left was still healing. He had adored Christine; she had been the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. The last thing he wanted was for Sarah to see what Christine had been to him.

“Kristopher?” The question came from Nikolas, who had been standing quietly at the other side of the room.

Kristopher shook his head as if to clear his mind. “I’m . . . fine,” he answered finally. Forcibly turning his mind from the memories, he raised his gaze to Sarah’s and said simply, “What you do now is your choice.”

He was not going to mention it aloud, but she could easily feel his fear, and she understood it. He was worried that she was going to kill herself.

But if she didn’t, what could she do? Her life and everything she had known were gone. Her own mother would kill her if she tried to go back.

A true Vida would have fallen on the knife the moment she had become a vampire, but Sarah did not want to die. She had made friends with Nissa, and with Christopher, and they had taught her that the vampire blood did not turn a person into a monster.

WHEN SHE GAVE NO RESPONSE, Kristopher took a breath. After a hesitation that told her he was bracing himself for her answer, he said, “Sarah, I don’t give a damn about your past—I love you. If you want to, you’re welcome to stay with us.”

She saw Nikolas’s surprise when he heard the “us,” but the vampire didn’t argue. The idea gave Sarah pause, however.

If the “us” had meant Christopher and Nissa, she would have said yes immediately. But she knew how Nikolas lived, how he hunted. He killed, and whether his prey was willing or not didn’t matter to Sarah. She couldn’t live that way.

Before she could voice her refusal, Nikolas spoke.

“Sarah . . .” He paused and looked to Kristopher for a moment before he continued, as if for approval. “I’m not expecting your instant forgiveness. I’m not even asking for it.” He started to take a step in her direction, but then seemed to think better of it and stopped. “But if nothing else, trust me when I say I won’t ever hurt my brother, or let him be hurt if I can stop it.” Again he glanced at his brother, but this time only for a moment, as if he already knew how Kristopher would react. “We don’t own you. Whatever you choose today . . . I’m no threat to you. But don’t blame Kristopher for what I’ve done, and don’t leave just because I’m here.”

Sarah opened her mouth to disagree, but then closed it as Nikolas’s words sank in. Her instinct was to argue with anything he said, but right now what he said made sense.

She couldn’t stay, but it wasn’t because of Nikolas. Quite abruptly she realized that her hatred for him seemed to have faded. Her brush with Kristopher’s mind had caused some of that; it was nearly impossible to completely hate Nikolas once she had felt the intense love and loyalty Kristopher held for his brother.

Yes, he had hurt her physically, but pain was only fleeting. Honestly, the most brutal thing Nikolas had done to her had been to open her eyes and force her to see reality—the shades of gray that existed in the world, beyond the world of stark black and white, of evil and good, that Dominique had taught her long ago.

She took a breath, but her mind was made up. “I can’t stay,” she said finally, and she saw—and felt—Kristopher flinch. “You know I can’t survive—and hunt—the same way you do. Even if I could, I don’t like to be dependent. Give me some time to find my own way to live.” She lifted her gaze and met Kristopher’s. His fear, which was still ringing clear in her mind, prompted her to add, “I don’t hate you, Kristopher. I don’t hate you or your brother.” On a burst of impulsiveness that would have made Dominique cringe, she stepped forward and hugged him. “I’ll miss you, Kristopher, but I can’t stay here. For now at least.”