Page 114 of Poison Sun

My breath hitches as I wait to see if all those hours of practice are going to pay off.

The guard, still confident in his magic and overestimating the harm caused by his attack, doesn’t see it coming. He’s too focused on summoning another gust, his eyes narrowed in concentration, oblivious to the immediate danger flying at him like a speeding bullet.

The dagger finds its mark, the blade burying itself deep into his heart.

Bullseye.

He just stands there, a statue carved in horror, and collapses to the ground without a sound.

His body disintegrates into ash.

My first vampire kill. Which, somehow, feels like a mix of victory and betrayal. Because with the vampires—with Damien’s clan—I’ve found a second family. A home.

This vampire, however, wasn’t part of Damien’s clan. He was our enemy. He killed Yannick. He was going to kill Abigail, and Cassandra, and me.

I did what I had to do. And I don’t regret it for a second.

Then, there’s movement in the corner of my eyes.

Lucas launches at me, fangs bared, and crashes down on me, slamming me to the ground. He’s on top of me in a second, using his weight and a surprisingly strong gust of wind to pin me down.

I struggle against him, but he’s fueled by rage.

His feral growls sound more like the ones made by zombies than anything I’ve ever heard from a vampire. It’s like my attack fried his brain, turning him into something more ruthless than he already was.

Time slows around us. I push, and push, and push, but his teeth are an inch away from my neck and getting closer by the second. I try to call on my magic, but it’s an empty well. There’s nothing left.

Just as his fangs are about to pierce my skin again, an eerie howl fills the air, sending chills to my core and making the hairs on my arms stand on edge.

Shadow souls.

They’re here.

They’ve found me.

And I know with sinking certainty that everything I’ve worked for these past few weeks has all come down to this.

Amber

Lucas stiffens on top of me, and he yanks his head up to stare in the direction of the howls, which are coming from somewhere near the entrance of the island.

Using his hesitation against him, I shove him off me.

He tumbles to the side, giving me the precious moments I need to scramble to my feet and grab my remaining dagger—the one that isn’t currently sitting on top of the guard’s ashes.

“Amber,” he says. “We have to get out of here.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I say, but he already has my hand, and he’s pulling me across the back of the stage, toward the aisle closest to the river that will take us up and out of the theater.

I resist.

Then, they appear.

Behind the back benches, at the top of the aisles, looking down at us from their perches in the night. They’re slightly taller on average than humans should be, and lankier. Darkness surrounds them—a darkness you can’t really see, but that you can feel.

There are maybe ten of them in all, although I have a sinking feeling from the attack in Central Park that there are more of them coming.

This is bad.

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