Forbidden

“Psst.”

  Roseline swats at the voice that has been calling incessantly for nearly five minutes. Can’t this girl take a hint?

  “Hey, new girl. Wake up.”

  After a swift kick slams into her chair leg, Roseline bolts upright. Her bag clatters to the floor, pens rolling in all directions. “Where am I?” she slurs in her native tongue.

  “Huh?” A bright pink mohawk fills her vision; the scent of watermelon gum overwhelms her senses.

  “Forgive me,” Roseline amends, slipping into an American accent. Even after her years studying the English language, her thick accent still comes through. “Where am I?”

  “You’re in Mr. Robert’s class, and just so you know, he doesn’t take kindly to students drooling on his periodic table.”

  Glancing down, Roseline spies the open textbook, slightly damp around the edge. She winces, rubbing her lip with the back of her arm. Her thoughts are fuzzy and the fluorescent lights overhead make her eyes water. She groans and buries her head in her hands. Jet lag is a killer.

  The flights were mind-numbingly boring. Not even the bed in first class had eased the aches in her healing body as they flew over the Atlantic from London’s Heathrow airport.

  An epidemic of night terrors has followed her to America. Dreams soiled by pain and blood. She wipes her eyes, wishing she could bleach away the images.

  “I am sorry.” Roseline smiles weakly, struggling to focus on the girl across the aisle from her. “I am normally more polite when I wake.”

  “No biggie,” the girl shrugs, pursing her lips to blow a small bubble the same shade as her hair. Roseline cannot help but wonder if the girl took a pack of gum with her to the salon as an example of what hair dye she wanted.

  Amazingly enough, her obnoxious look does not stop at her hairline. Deep black circles the shade of artist charcoal ring her eyes, giving her a rabid raccoon look. Black lipstick—with nails to match—contrasts against her snow-white skin. Throw in the spiked neck collar and leather bracelet and this girl knows how to make a statement.

  “Welcome to Rosewood Prep. Home of valley girl knockoffs. Don’t let the fancy name fool you, though—free wedgies and swirlies are handed out by the football team each morning,” the girl says, leaning back on her stool.

  “Are these friends of yours?” Roseline asks, amused by Mohawk Girl’s running commentary.

  “Hardly.” The girl rolls her eyes; the ring in her upper lip rises as her lips curl to reveal two rows of perfect white teeth. Rich, but still an outcast, most likely by choice.

  Kind of like me, she muses silently.

  No, she shakes her head. She is nothing like her classmate. Eccentric as the girl might be, she has nothing on Roseline’s dark past.

  Mohawk Girl stares openly at her. “The name is Sadie Hughes. Lover of all eighties rock gods, purveyor of the right to freedom of dress, and one badass mini-golfer.” She grins. “What’s yours?”

  Sadie’s voracious chewing reminds Roseline that she failed to eat, skipping out on lunch to avoid the crowds. In hindsight, that was probably a foolish idea as she has begun to feel a tad light-headed.

  Roseline rubs her temples. “I appreciate your desire for small talk, but I am only here for the class.”

  She turns her attention back to the tweed-loving science teacher at the front of the room. By the sound of it, he is adamantly preaching at his bleary-eyed class about why science is relevant to their lives today.

  Like anyone cares.

  Sadie stares hard at Roseline’s profile. “I get it, you know. The tough exterior, moody rejection. You’ve been hurt. Join the club.” She tosses her chewed pencil onto the desk, small chucks of pink rubber falling into her lap as she sits upright. “But at least I have manners.”

  A smirk tugs at Roseline’s lip. The girl has spunk. She likes that.

  “Alright.” She turns to face Sadie. “My name is Rose Danbry. I detest summer, adore ice swimming, can run faster than a bullet, and can easily kill a man with my bare hands.” She raises her delicate fingers, as evidence of the brute strength that miraculously lies hidden within her hands.

  “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Sadie’s mirroring grin is wide and toothy. “I’d work on your intro a bit, though. It’s pretty lame. And that accent? Killer, by the way! Where are you from?”

  “Romania.”

  Sadie’s eyes light up. “Europe? Awesome. Your English is really good.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  “A tad formal, though.” Sadie frowns. “We’ll have to work on that.”

  Roseline turns back to the front of the room, berating herself for letting any info slip. She needs to remain focused and avoid drawing any attention to herself. She makes a mental note to focus on adapting to the local lingo.

  Tilting her head to the side, Roseline listens to the whispered conversations floating around the room, barely audible over the gentle hum of the heat pumping through the vents in the ceiling. She notes each sarcastic phrase, lilting laugh, and clipped slang word. She studies the sentence structure and files it away for future use.

  Several guys dart glances over their shoulders at her throughout the lecture. Some blush and turn away while others meet her gaze, openly leering at her. Roseline rolls her eyes and slumps low behind her raised textbook.

  Just what she needs—a bunch of hormone-crazed teens following her around.

  One of the things she hates most about being immortal is how she naturally attracts human males. It doesn’t matter their age; they are all drawn to her. Some are more subtle, but others are downright obnoxious. She has been the source of more fights in her lifetime than she cares to count.

  Each detail of her mortal body was perfected during her immortal birth for one purpose: to hunt and kill. That is the truth that Vladimir has spent years trying to convince her of.

  Perhaps he is right. For what other reason does she need lush ruby lips, a perfectly sculpted body, and endless legs? Her beauty is a work of art. Roseline despises it and all that it stands for.

  “Earth to Rose,” Sadie calls, waving her hand before Roseline’s face.

  She blinks, yanked back from her musings. The room has erupted into complete chaos around her. Students dart for the door, their backpacks swinging wildly behind them as they dive into the hallway traffic. Chairs screech against the hardwood floors, grating on her sensitive hearing.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Sadie asks, her lips pursed with concern. “You seem a bit out of it.”

  “Yes, I’m quite all right.” Roseline forces a smile as she snatches her bag off the floor, retrieving a pencil that rolled two desks over. She crams her science book inside, stretching the seams, and glances up to find Sadie staring blankly at her. Roseline swears internally and focuses on making her next words sound more natural. More human. More like a chatty teen. “Just daydreaming, I suppose. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Good thing that bell wasn’t for a fire or you’d be toast.” Sadie hops off her stool and leans back to study Roseline. “The parking lot can be pretty hectic this time of day. Want some help finding your car?”

  Her hesitation doesn't go unnoticed. “Let me guess, your mom is picking you up?” Sadie rolls her eyes. “Lame.”

  The well-rehearsed lie slips smoothly from Roseline’s lips. “My mother is away for work. She took the car.”

  “You only have one?” Sadie arches an eyebrow.

  Shrugging, Roseline throws her bag strap over her shoulder and glides down the aisle. “For now. We only moved here a couple days ago. Her job transfer was rather sudden. The movers have yet to arrive with our belongings.”

  Sadie gives her a once over. “I guess that explains your crazy outfit.”

  Glancing down, Roseline frowns. Her black V-neck tank narrows down to a trim white skirt and black leather knee-high boots. What is wrong with that? Rolling her ey
es, Sadie points to the window. “Did you sleep through the sleet this morning, too?”

  Roseline inwardly groans, realizing now how much her summer outfit must make her stand out among the hoodies and parkas. She forces a sheepish smile. “This is all I brought with me. I was under the impression it would be fall here.”

  Sadie snorts, shaking her head as she leads the way into the hall. “Seasons mean squat around here. We have some crazy weather come off that lake. One minute it’s sticky outside and then the winds shift and hello winter.”

  The hall is jam-packed with teens when Roseline arrives at the doorway. Sadie shoves straight through the human wall, unphased by its momentum. Her voice carries back to Roseline. “I gotta grab my brother first. He won’t mind giving you a lift.”

  “No, wait, that is not —” Roseline groans as Sadie disappears into the flood. She sucks her lip between her teeth as she glances in the opposite direction toward the exit.

  “Are you coming?” Sadie calls over the din of the crowd. Roseline can barely see Sadie’s head as she jumps up and down in the middle of the hall.

  Roseline grits her teeth. What choice does she have? Sadie’s obnoxious call has already drawn attention. Deciding it is best to avoid further peering eyes, she ducks low and dives in.

  Wading through the hall is less like swimming and more like carving a path through a wave. Teens on all sides part as she approaches—some pause to stare, others are too preoccupied with making party plans for the weekend.

  “Rose? You back there?” Sadie asks.

  “I am here,” she calls back, exiting the fast lane. She finds Sadie standing beside a wall of crimson lockers. A look of consternation pinches Sadie’s face. “Is something the matter?”

  “Darn thing is stuck again.” Sadie slams her fist into the locker door. She swears and hops about, cradling her wounded hand.

  “May I help?”

  “Have at it. The stupid thing likes to stick in the middle,” Sadie mutters around the fingers she has shoved into her mouth.

  Roseline surveys the door, noticing the hinges and general location of Sadie’s previous abuse. She places her palm against the metal. Careful not to dent the door, Roseline pushes her hand until she feels the click. When she pulls back, the door springs open and a flood of magazines pour from the overstuffed locker.

  Sadie squeals and dives for the cascade of teen gossip.

  “I am sorry.” Roseline stoops to help collect the stray magazines. She notices a pattern as a young boy’s face appears on several of the magazines. “Who is this?” she asks.

  “No one,” Sadie grunts indignantly, shoving handfuls of the magazines back into their disorganized home. “I certainly don’t like Justin Bieber. I’m just holding these for a friend.”

  Roseline smirks. She doesn’t even have to sense Sadie’s nervousness to know a lie when she hears one. Heat paints Sadie’s cheeks as she slips her hand back through the door to cram her school books inside. Maybe Sadie is not as badass as she tries to appear.

  “I wanted to tell you that your offer for a ride is not —” Roseline’s attempt to turn down Sadie’s offer cuts off as a loud whistle rings out over the hum of students. Roseline turns. All eyes follow.

  “Well, hello, new girl.” A handsome blond boy emerges from a huddle of guys farther down the hall, each one sporting puffed-up chests and lettermen’s jackets slung over their shoulders — the starting line-up for Rosewood’s football team.

  A path through the crowd opens as the boy approaches. “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

  His groupies chuckle at his corny pick-up line. Roseline rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “Does that wretched line actually work on the girls in this country?”

  The peroxide-loving boy’s eyes narrow and his mouth tightens with annoyance, revealing a hint of a goatee. “I’ve never had any complaints before.”

  Roseline snorts. “Well, consider this your first. You are revolting.”

  She turns her back on him, surprised to meet Sadie’s gaping face. Her eyes flicker over Roseline’s shoulder, widening with shock a split second before Roseline feels pressure on her backside.

  The boy howls in pain as she whips around and twists his hand up behind his back. “Lay a hand on me again and you will lose yours. Are we clear?” she growls in his ear.

  His eyes water as he sinks to his knees, nodding. “Perfectly.”

  Roseline releases his hand and shoves him away. He sprawls to the floor. His feet struggle to grip the freshly waxed floor as he scrambles back from her. When she looks up, every eye is glued to her.

  “Pervert.” She shrugs to the crowds as she silently berates herself for making a scene.

  Some heads dip in agreement while others stare suspiciously at her. All begin to move on as they realize the show is over. The boy’s friends rush to his aid. He swears, shoving them off as he stumbles to his feet. Fiery eyes glare at her as he turns and leaves without a word, his pride obviously wounded.

  “Holy crap, Rose. That was amazing,” Sadie crows, patting her on the back. “I can’t wait to tell Will. Totally freaking priceless.”

  “Who was that boy?” Roseline asks as she watches him storm down the hall and slam through the double doors.

  “My ex.” Sadie grins. “I’ve been waiting four years for someone to put Oliver in his place. I knew from the first moment you started snoring that I was going to like you.”

  “I do not snore.” Roseline sniffs indignantly as Sadie weaves her way back into the thinning crowd.

  “It sounds like someone is holding a grudge.” She knows all about those.

  “Duh. The idiot dumped me for my best friend, Claire, during the first week of freshman year. Can you believe that? Oliver is hot but he’s a total loser. I’m better off without him.” Sadie ducks around the corner.

  As Roseline’s foot shifts forward to follow, she jerks ramrod straight. Her nostrils flare and her steps falter as a scent slams into her gut—sweet and utterly delicious. She inhales deeply, savoring the unfamiliar aroma. It is not like her to have a mortal call to her so strongly.

  She whirls around, her gaze darting from face to face, in search of the human. No one stands out to her, but still the scent lingers. Her mouth waters as her thirst rises. The scent is potent, making her knees quiver with desire. Although she has never given in to the seduction of blood, her carnal nature longs for it. It is an urge that she has to daily suppress.

  Closing her eyes, Roseline inhales deeply, searching for the source. The scent is bold—definitely masculine. One heartbeat pumps louder than all the rest, calling to her, but it begins to fade away.

  Roseline’s eyes fly open as she frantically searches the crowd. There. At the end of the hall. A boy, buried in a large crowd of laughing teens, ducks out of the back doors. He is gone.

  Three