from the silver of his vampire excitement back to his calmer topaz, pacing the retraction of his fangs.
Even more afraid now, Dawn all but stumbled from the main bedroom and into the marbled bathroom, where she flicked on the light and peered into the mirror.
As she saw the second beauty mark stamped on her jaw, her pulse crept up to choke her. It wound itself into the fresh bite on her neck, pounding like a creature caught and unable to escape.
A second mark—a jagged little circle without much of a shape. A small sign on her skin that was just beginning to form into something new and unpredictable.
It took a few seconds for her to really get it—that this was her she was looking at in the mirror. That this was her skin, her face, not some stranger’s. But then the fear and panic caught up to her, and she headed for the toilet, her stomach roiling.
As she got to her knees, Costin put his palm on her back. His touch singed into her, even through her shirt. The braid she wore flopped down to smack her bite wound, and Costin pulled the hair back again, pressing his fingers to the injury, seeing to the last of the healing.
Minutes passed and she didn’t get sick, so she kneeled back from the porcelain god. Costin took a washcloth out of a drawer, wet it, then offered it to her. When she wiped it over her face, it was cold.
Why wasn’t he saying anything? Didn’t he know that some comment, any comment, would do wonders right about now?
“No feedback?” Dawn sounded like she was gagging on her words. “Haven’t you ever seen a hunter mutate before your eyes?”
They’d had discussions about why he’d always switched out his teams with every new Underground hunt. He said it was basically because a few “employees” had learned too much information and used it to pursue their own agendas with the vampires, thus, ignoring his orders, so he’d taken great caution to see that this would never happen again. But Dawn had also found out that he was trying to prevent his hunters from going insane, as the humans he recruited had the habit of doing after too much mind-boggling stress.
He’d only kept Dawn’s team intact because of what he’d become: something other than a Soul Traveler. A weaker creature next to what he used to be. A desperate leader in need of all the trusted backup he could get so he could hit the ground running with this new Underground.
He’d probably been right to dismantle his previous teams before they became walking disasters like Dawn. Maybe he was always right about the precautions he took, the moves he made, the secrets he kept.
“I have never seen the likes of this before,” he finally said. “These marks, coming out on the skin.”
“During all your years of fighting Undergrounds, you never noticed any of the other vampires-turned-humans react like this after their maker was terminated?”
“No.”
So she was something brand spankin’ new. A real trailblazer.
“However,” he added, “until now, I have never kept in contact with reformed vampires. After being freed from their master and receiving their souls again, they have always tended to react just as the Hollywood crowd did, committing suicide or running away, never to be heard from again. When some are turned human, they even die an accelerated death because of returning to their true age.”
When Dawn had gotten her soul back after becoming one of “them” for a few minutes, she’d felt something different, just like her mom had. But as far as Dawn could see, Eva hadn’t exhibited any outer changes.
Dawn got to her feet, her legs still shaking, then met her own gaze in the mirror. She had her mom’s eyes.
But the thought died right there as she angled her head, looking at the new beauty mark again. It was barely there, but screamingly obvious just the same.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “When I got the first one, it was when I was raging at Claudius. But I thought I felt this spot pop out when .
Even more afraid now, Dawn all but stumbled from the main bedroom and into the marbled bathroom, where she flicked on the light and peered into the mirror.
As she saw the second beauty mark stamped on her jaw, her pulse crept up to choke her. It wound itself into the fresh bite on her neck, pounding like a creature caught and unable to escape.
A second mark—a jagged little circle without much of a shape. A small sign on her skin that was just beginning to form into something new and unpredictable.
It took a few seconds for her to really get it—that this was her she was looking at in the mirror. That this was her skin, her face, not some stranger’s. But then the fear and panic caught up to her, and she headed for the toilet, her stomach roiling.
As she got to her knees, Costin put his palm on her back. His touch singed into her, even through her shirt. The braid she wore flopped down to smack her bite wound, and Costin pulled the hair back again, pressing his fingers to the injury, seeing to the last of the healing.
Minutes passed and she didn’t get sick, so she kneeled back from the porcelain god. Costin took a washcloth out of a drawer, wet it, then offered it to her. When she wiped it over her face, it was cold.
Why wasn’t he saying anything? Didn’t he know that some comment, any comment, would do wonders right about now?
“No feedback?” Dawn sounded like she was gagging on her words. “Haven’t you ever seen a hunter mutate before your eyes?”
They’d had discussions about why he’d always switched out his teams with every new Underground hunt. He said it was basically because a few “employees” had learned too much information and used it to pursue their own agendas with the vampires, thus, ignoring his orders, so he’d taken great caution to see that this would never happen again. But Dawn had also found out that he was trying to prevent his hunters from going insane, as the humans he recruited had the habit of doing after too much mind-boggling stress.
He’d only kept Dawn’s team intact because of what he’d become: something other than a Soul Traveler. A weaker creature next to what he used to be. A desperate leader in need of all the trusted backup he could get so he could hit the ground running with this new Underground.
He’d probably been right to dismantle his previous teams before they became walking disasters like Dawn. Maybe he was always right about the precautions he took, the moves he made, the secrets he kept.
“I have never seen the likes of this before,” he finally said. “These marks, coming out on the skin.”
“During all your years of fighting Undergrounds, you never noticed any of the other vampires-turned-humans react like this after their maker was terminated?”
“No.”
So she was something brand spankin’ new. A real trailblazer.
“However,” he added, “until now, I have never kept in contact with reformed vampires. After being freed from their master and receiving their souls again, they have always tended to react just as the Hollywood crowd did, committing suicide or running away, never to be heard from again. When some are turned human, they even die an accelerated death because of returning to their true age.”
When Dawn had gotten her soul back after becoming one of “them” for a few minutes, she’d felt something different, just like her mom had. But as far as Dawn could see, Eva hadn’t exhibited any outer changes.
Dawn got to her feet, her legs still shaking, then met her own gaze in the mirror. She had her mom’s eyes.
But the thought died right there as she angled her head, looking at the new beauty mark again. It was barely there, but screamingly obvious just the same.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “When I got the first one, it was when I was raging at Claudius. But I thought I felt this spot pop out when .
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