CHAPTER THREE

Vivian woke with a start to find herself lying on a chaise lounge in her back yard. The sun was long gone, and moonlight glittered off the surface of the swimming pool. From the windows of her family’s mansion, a warm orange glow spilled across the perfectly manicured lawn.

___Vivian sat up and was hit by a wave of pain. It seemed to radiate from her very pores, as though every single one of her nerve endings was on fire. Her throat was dry, her head pounded, and there was a pulsing sensation like daggers behind her eyes.

Vivian gripped the sides of the chaise lounge to steady herself as nausea rippled through her.

What’s happening to me?

Memories began floating to the surface of her mind, of teeth bearing down on her, of an excruciating pain in her neck, of the sound of someone’s grotesque breathing in her ear, the smell of blood filling her nostrils.

Vivian gripped the sides even harder as horrifying memories flashed through her mind. Her heart beat hard and her stomach plummeted as she remembered all at once the moment Joe___ had turned her into a vampire. In her grasp, the chaise lounge cracked.

Vivian leapt up, alarmed by her strength. As she did, the pain she’d been feeling immediately dissipated. She felt different, almost as though she were inhabiting a new body. A power that had not existed before surged through her veins. As a cheerleader she had been strong and athletic—yet what she felt now was something more than just peak physical fitness. It was beyond strong. She felt invincible.

It wasn’t just power. There was something else building up inside of her. Anger. Rage. The desire to cause pain. The desire for revenge.

She wanted to make Joe suffer for what he had done to her. She wanted to make him hurt as much as he had hurt her.

She’d just begun walking toward the mansion, determined to pick up the pieces, to find him, when the patio doors flew open. She stopped in her tracks as her mother, dressed in her pink fluffy pom-pom slippers, silky dressing gown, and Prada sunglasses, peered out. Typical that her mother would wear sunglasses even when it was dark. Her hair was in rollers, a sign she was preparing to go out, probably to one of her stupid society functions.

At the sight of her mother, Vivian’s newfound rage began bubbling to the brim. She clenched her hands into fists.

“What are you doing out here?” her mother cried, using the high-pitched critical voice that set Vivian’s nerves on edge. “You’re meant to be getting ready for the Sandersons’ party!” She paused as Vivian took a step into the light. “Dear God, you look like death! Come inside quickly so I can sort out your hair.”

Vivian’s long, blond hair had once been her pride and joy—the source of envy amongst her school peers and a powerful magnet for hot boys—but right now, Vivian couldn’t care less about how it looked. All she could think about were the new sensations ricocheting through her body, the gnawing hunger in the pit of her stomach, and the desire to kill that pulsated through her veins.

“Come on!” her mother snapped, making the rollers on her head quiver. “What are you just standing there for?”

Vivian felt a smile tug up the corner of her mouth. She took another slow step toward her mother. When she spoke, her voice was cold and emotionless.

“I’m not going to the Sandersons’ party.”

Her mother glared back, her glance filled with hatred.

“Not coming?” she cried. “That is not an option, young lady. This is one of the most important events on the calendar this year. If you don’t come all kinds of rumors will start flying. Now hurry, we only have an hour before the car arrives. And look at your nails! You look like you’ve been crawling through dirt!”

She wore a look of incredulity, mixed with disbelief and shame.

Vivian’s anger only deepened. She thought of the way her mother had treated her her entire life, always placing her prized society functions first, only caring about Vivian inasmuch as she fit into the perfect image she wanted to project to the world. She hated this woman, more than she could say.

“I’m not going to the Sandersons’ party,” Vivian growled, as she stepped ever closer.

She realized then that there was a word for what she was doing: stalking. It was what pack animals did in the wild as they approached their prey. A thrill of anticipation ran through her as she watched her mother’s expression change from frustrated to fearful.

“I’m not going to the Sandersons’ party,” Vivian said again, “or the Johnsons’, or the Gilbertons’, or the Smythes’. I’m not going to another party ever again.”

The look in her mother’s eye was something Vivian never wanted to forget.

“What’s gotten into you?” she said, this time a nervous tremble in her voice.

Vivian stepped closer. She licked her lips and cracked her neck.

Her mother stepped back, horrified.

“Vivian…” she began.

But she did not get a chance to finish.

Vivian pounced, teeth bared, hands outstretched. She grabbed her mother, wrenched her head back, and sank her teeth into her neck. Her Prada sunglasses flew to the ground and she trampled them beneath her feet.

Vivian’s heart beat faster as the sharp metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. And as her mother fell limp in her arms, Vivian felt an overwhelming sense of triumph.

She let go and her mother’s lifeless body crumpled to the ground, nothing but a heap of twisted limbs and designer clothes. Her dead eyes stared directly at Vivian, unseeing. Vivian stared back down and licked the blood from her lips.

“Goodbye, Mother,” she said.

She turned and ran across the shadowy garden, running faster and faster, and the next thing she knew she was flying, up into the night air, over their immaculate estate, and into the cold, cold night. She would find the man who did this to her—and she would tear him limb from limb.