Reluctance

  "Why, Dahlia?" he asked. "Don't lie to me when you just spoke the truth loud and clear. Why Jace?"

  She didn't answer, shaking her head against his. One tear slipped from her eye, and he reached up to brush it away. As if the action opened her voice, words poured forth.

  "You don't understand, Cam. It's complicated. It wasn't supposed to be. It was supposed to be simple. Then you came along and made me want something different, want something more. "

  "You're right, I don't understand. There isn't anything complicated about this, about us. I'm in love with you, Dahlia."

  As if his words infuriated her, she pushed him away. "Cam, no, don't say that.

  Please, I can't . . . I can't love you."

  "But you do, don't you?" He stepped up to her again. "Tell me you don't love me, Dahlia. Tell me, and I'll go away."

  Dahlia shook her head miserably. "I don't . . . I don't . . . I can't love you."

  "That isn't the same," Cam said, kissing her once again, this time demanding her to admit her feelings. She kissed him back just as fiercely for long moments before pushing him away again, tears streaming down her face.

  "You don't know, Cam," she moaned. "You have no idea what I am. If you did, you would turn away from me in disgust. You would loathe me."

  "No, Dahlia," he refuted. "There isn't anything—"

  She didn't let him finish, pushing past him, grasping his hand as she went by, pulling him after her. Cam was stunned by her strength. He had to run to keep up with her and was quickly out of breath even though Dahlia was no more winded than if she were strolling.

  "Wait," he finally gasped, pulling back against her hold. "Sheesh, Dahlia, you run track or something?"

  "You have to see, Cam, you have to know what I am. I'm a monster, a creature of the night."

  "What? What are you talking about?" Cam bent over, hands on knees, taking deep, gulping breaths.

  "Once you see, Cam, you'll know. You'll know why I belong with someone like Jace, and never with someone like you."

  "Someone like me?" he asked, offended. "What does that mean?"

  "You're good, Cam, pure, kind. There isn't anything evil about you."

  "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, confused by her strange speech.

  Instead of answering, she pulled him forward again, this time going at a slower pace he could keep up with. When they came to an area of town that wasn't safe to venture into after dark, Cam dug his heels in again.

  "Dahlia, it isn't safe here," he said urgently.

  Dahlia laughed mirthlessly as she ignored him. Unwilling to let her go forth alone, he hurried to stay by her side.

  "You want to know why you shouldn't be with me," she said, stopping. "I'll show you what I am. Then you'll understand."

  Cam opened his mouth to argue, but suddenly she darted away from him, so fast he couldn't track her movement, in spite of the bright moon. Sure he was seeing things, he shook his head. And then she returned, dragging a man with her. The man was terrified—the opposite of how it should have been. Cam felt as though he were in the middle of a dream, which made no sense. The man was big, burly, tattooed, and bearded, the kind of guy who inspired terror, not one who exuded it. The man could have easily walked away as Dahlia held him by no more than the arm, and, yet he stood, docilely petrified.

  "This is what I am," Dahlia said stepping behind the man, opening her mouth to expose elongated teeth.

  Keeping her eyes on Cam, Dahlia lowered her mouth to the man's neck. Cam took one step forward, one hand lifted as if to stop her. Dahlia's eyes dropped from Cam's at the last second, as she sank her teeth into her victim's throat. Cam stumbled backward as the man squealed. Seconds later, Dahlia lifted her head, still avoiding Cam's eyes. He could see the redness around her mouth and the two dripping spots of blood on the man's neck.

  "Forget," Dahlia said into the man's ear.

  The man's eyes glazed over as he nodded and stumbled away without a backward glance.

  "What did you do to him?" Cam whispered in disbelief.

  Dahlia still had not lifted her eyes to his as she wiped her mouth with a shaking hand.

  "I'm a monster, Cam," she said, her voice full of self-loathing. " This is what I am. I live in a world of evil, a world where morals and right and wrong have no meaning."

  Finally, her eyes came up to his, and Cam saw the soul-wrenching guilt and misery within her. She gave a sad smile.

  "Don't worry. I'll make you forget what you saw. I'll make you forget me. I do love you, Cam. I didn't think I would ever be lucky enough to love someone so amazing, let alone have him love me back, even if for just a little while. Thank you for that, Cam. But now you see the truth. I'm wicked and can't begin to deserve someone like you."

  With her words, Cam's shock dissipated, replaced by a need to comfort her in spite of his confusion over what he'd witnessed, to prove to her she wasn't evil.

  "Dahlia, you aren't wicked," he said.

  Surprise crossed her face at his words. He stepped toward her, slowly, not wanting to frighten her, almost laughing at the thought he might frighten her, one who could terrify anyone.

  "I don't want to forget you. It won't make me stop loving you."

  Dahlia's mouth dropped open slightly. Her eyes reflected her doubt that what she heard was right. He stopped in front of her, slowly caressing her jaw with his thumb.

  "It doesn't matter to me," he said. "Maybe it should, but it doesn't."

  "You don't know what you're saying," she said quietly.

  "I do," he said.

  "No," Dahlia said vehemently. "I don't get to have a normal life, Cam. In less than six months, I turn twenty-one."

  "What happens at twenty-one?" he asked.

  "That's when I have to choose my mate. Or have him chosen for me."

  "Your mate?" Cam laughed. "What does that mean? And why can't it be me?"

  Dahlia spun away from him. "Don't even joke about that, Cam."

  His laughter died. "Okay, I won't. Tell me, Dahlia."

  She turned back, as though determined now for him to know everything.

  "At twenty-one, the final change occurs. We stop aging—mostly. Our hearts stop beating. We become dependent on . . . blood . . . for our survival. Food becomes a luxury, not a necessity. And, at that point, we must have a mate, someone to be . . . like us."

  "What are you, exactly?" Cam asked. He hesitated, wondering if he was truly going to say the word he was thinking. "A vampire?"

  Dahlia nodded.

  "Huh," Cam responded. "I didn't think vampires really existed."

  "We do," Dahlia said.

  "What happens if you don't choose a mate?"

  "Well, then, uh . . . ." Dahlia looked at him. "You know, I don't really know."

  "Would you die?" Cam asked, alarm in his voice.

  Dahlia looked askance at him. "I die either way, Cam."

  "No, I mean as in . . . go-away type dying."

  "No I don't . . . ." She trailed off. "I don't think so but I honestly don't know. No one has ever not chosen a mate that I know of."

  Cam stepped forward and took Dahlia's hand in his. "Come away with me, Dahlia."

  Dahlia shook her head. "They'll find me, Cam. They won't just let me go."

  "Why not?" Cam was genuinely curious.

  "Because it's forbidden to change someone you aren't taking for your mate. In order for our species to survive, we must mate in order to have children."

  Cam shook his head in disbelief. "Wait, are you saying you can have kids? I didn't think vampires could do that."

  "You probably also thought we either sparkled or burned in the sun." At his amused look, she continued. "We are allowed . . . maybe allowed isn't the right word.

  We are commanded to have two children. No less, no more. With each child, the parents age a bit, which is why my parents look thirty instead of twenty."

  Cam glanced to his right. "I think I need to sit on that bench over there." He said it teasi
ngly, but his eyes belied his tone.

  * * * * *

  Dahlia followed him. He sat, but she continued to stand in front of him. Rest did not come easy after feeding, no matter how small the amount she took. Plus, the bite had awakened the hunger, and she didn't want to sit too close to Cam, given how appealing he smelled. "So, you have kids—two of them," he said. "And then what? You live forever?"

  "Something like that," she confirmed. "The old ones are somewhere around ten thousand years old, and they look a bit . . . dusty."

  Cam burst out laughing. Dahlia's mouth dropped open at his reaction, but then she smiled.

  "Well, they do," she said. "My parents were both born in the mid-twelfth century."

  "Really?" Cam was stunned. "They waited that long to have kids?"

  "Yeah. Most creens do. When the change is completed, the person spends several centuries . . . um"—she looked at him from under her lashes—"dealing with the new cravings."

  "What are 'creens'?" Cam asked. "And are you talking about cravings for, you know, blood?"

  Dahlia shuffled self-consciously. "'Creen' is a name I have for what we are.

  Creatures of the night. Creens."

  "Why do you call them that?"

  "Because, Cam," she said forcefully, "I hate what we are, what I am. There is nothing good in me, nothing redeeming. I don't even have the beauty and grace the others have."

  "Wow, Dahlia, someone sure has made sure you have zero in the self-confidence department," Cam murmured, clearly taken aback by her vehemence.

  "No one had to. It's quite clear without being pointed out."

  "Would you like what you are better if you thought you were the same as them?"

  he asked.

  Dahlia looked at him, considering. She hadn't ever really asked herself that question before.

  "I don't know," she finally said. "Maybe. Probably not, though. I think it's just part of who I am."

  Cam stood and walked over to Dahlia. She felt the hunger rise even stronger as he came close. It took momentous effort to resist doing what she really wanted to do.

  "I'll tell you what I think, Dahlia. I think you're amazing just the way you are." At her scoffing sound, Cam put his hands on her shoulders, lightly caressing. "I think everything about you is charming and beautiful and sweet." His eyes skimmed over her Aster-produced outfit, makeup, and hair. "Even when you don't really look like you."

  Dahlia glanced down at herself. "But this is who I am supposed to be, Cam. Don't you see? I have never fit in with my kind, nor with your kind. I am nowhere. I am no one."

  Cam gave her a little shake, his voice tinged with anger. "No, Dahlia. That's not true. You're everything. Why can't you see that?"

  Dahlia shook her head sadly. "Cam, you're so good and kind. And let's face it, you're beautiful. You definitely don't belong with someone like me, even if I were human and available to you."

  "I do belong with you, Dahlia. And you belong with me, not with Ja—" His eyes came to hers, full of accusation and betrayal. "That's why you're with Jace. You're planning to have him for your mate."

  Dahlia spun away from the hurt in his eyes. How could she deny the truth?

  "Why him, Dahlia?" he demanded.

  "Because Jace is just like them," she said quietly. "Because he has the grace, power, looks they all find appealing. He will bring me the acceptance I've never been able to find on my own."

  "Do you know what he is, Dahlia?"

  "I know," she murmured.

  "I don't think you do," he said harshly. "I was his best friend once. You know about Tabby. But that isn't why I'm no longer his friend." He paused. "There was another girl . . . ."

  Dahlia tensed. That's what this was about? Stealing one another's girls?

  "It's not what you think," he said, as if reading her mind. "I didn't know her. She didn't go to our school. He met her at a party."

  He took a shuddering breath. Dahlia glanced at him, then quickly away when she saw the torment on his face. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear this.

  "He gave her drugs, claimed it was consensual . . . ."

  Dahlia gasped as horror threaded its way down her spine. She clasped her arms around her middle.

  "There was supposed to be a trial," Cam said. "But suddenly she dropped the charges. I have no proof, but, knowing Jace as I do, I suspect he had something to do with that, something that wasn't gentle persuasion. It was just her and her mother, no father, no brothers, no other family—no one who could help them stand up to him and the community that held him on a pedestal because he knew how to throw a football."

  Another pause.

  "She was thirteen."

  Dahlia shivered and shook her head. It didn't matter. Once he was changed, she could control him. She could force herself to look at him and not remember.

  "It doesn't matter," she whispered.

  Cam grabbed her arm and forced her around to face him, a move he would never be able to accomplish had Dahlia not allowed it. But that was something she wouldn't tell him, not now, not ever. After tonight, he would no longer remember her.

  "Really, Dahlia?" he asked incredulously. "You would give up your own happiness just to gain acceptance from your people? From your family? Shouldn't they love you anyway? Isn't that what families are all about?"

  "Not my family," she answered. "Vampires are corrupt. We have rules and regulations because, without them, we would be murderous beings with absolutely nothing to stop us. There is nothing that can stop us, Cam, save another vampire.

  Crosses and garlic are myths. How can you put a wooden stake through the heart of a creature with the intent to kill when it has no heart?" She took a shuddering breath. "I am forced to live with them, be a part of them forever. There isn't any personal happiness to be gained from being what I am, but if I can have their acceptance, if I can have some power"—she looked him straight on—"at least then I will have something."

  "Then have me," Cam said. "Make me your mate. Let me be the one who will bring you happiness. Not Jace. He will never make you happy. He'll never even be faithful to you."

  "You're wrong," she said grimly. "He will because when we transform someone, they are bound to us forever, in loyalty. He won't love me, that can't be forced, but he'll stay by my side. He'll never stray."

  "It isn't enough—" Cam began.

  "It has to be, Cam. I won't do it to you. I won't turn you into something so despicable. I won't force this life on someone who doesn't deserve it. I think we can both at least agree Jace deserves it. He's already a creen, he just doesn't know it."

  "Dahlia, please," Cam pleaded. "Don't do this."

  Dahlia stepped toward Cam, ravenous now. Her fangs began to extend. "Kiss me, Cam," she commanded. He obeyed, as she knew he would. The hunger receded until completely gone. Tears streamed down her face as she pulled back slightly.

  "I love you, Cam," she said.

  She gave him one final kiss, one she would remember for the rest of her days, the thing that would get her through her despised life. A kiss Cam would not remember.

  "Forget," she whispered.

  * * * * *

  Cam watched Dahlia from across the cafeteria. Something about her drew him, something he couldn't quite define. He hadn't had much interaction with her, nothing beyond polite pleasantries, but for some reason he felt like he was missing something when it came to the quirky girl.

  She walked behind Jace toward his table. She stumbled and nearly dropped her tray. Cam grinned, amused, but the grin turned to a scowl when Jace turned and shot her a dirty look. Dahlia smiled apologetically, a smile completely unacknowledged by Jace. Then she did an odd thing—she looked toward Cam. She shifted her gaze away quickly, but Cam's heart lurched at the eye contact.

  Dahlia wore tight, black jeans, a red shirt, and flat boots. Her hair was pulled back into a fashionably smooth ponytail. Beneath the thick fall of hair he spied a rhinestone-laden barrette, tacky and gaudy, and yet somehow more appropriate for her t
han the rest of her outfit. He wasn't sure why he thought it, but he would have bet his life someone else was in control of how she dressed. His eyes went to Jace.

  Dahlia did not seem the type Jace usually went for. She was beautiful, no doubt.

  He thought she might be the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. But Jace's girlfriends were usually more traditionally beautiful, like a supermodel or actress—like Tabby. His stomach tightened as it always did when he thought of her. Not because he still loved her or wanted her—that boat had sailed—but because Jace had targeted her simply because of him. Dahlia . . . he could understand if she had been Cam's girlfriend because Jace would take her just to prove he could.

  Jace sat at the table, not even glancing to see if Dahlia was still with him or had gotten safely to her own chair. Cam couldn't pin them down. They didn't seem to like one another at all, and, yet, with a glance toward Cam, Jace slung his arm over Dahlia's shoulders and pulled her near. Cam bristled, jealous. Jealous? Why in the world would he be jealous of Jace and Dahlia when he didn't even know the girl?

  * * * * *

  "Let's stay in tonight."

  Dahlia felt relief flow through her that she wouldn't be required to go out and keep up the public image Jace demanded. She suspected the reason he wanted to stay in had to do with Aster, who sat across from Jace, casually draped across the sofa, as if posing for a magazine. Aster glanced at Jace with an alluring smile, and Dahlia felt her warning bells go off.

  "Fine," she said, more sharply than she had intended.

  Jace flicked a look her way, with brows lifted.

  "What do you want to do, then?" she asked, not acknowledging his look.

  "I rented this great new movie I'm going to watch if you two want to join me."

  Aster purred.

  "No, tha—" Dahlia began.

  "Sounds great," Jace's voice overran hers.

  "Super. I'll make popcorn," Dahlia said.

  Neither her sister nor her future mate acknowledged her. "Want to help me, Aster?"

  Aster rolled her eyes. "I hardly think it's a two-person job, Dal."