Book 16 - Page 77 (1/2)

At eleven years old. Though she was only twenty-five, she’d experienced more shock and uncertainty than some immortals who’d lived for centuries.

“That same day, I slit the a.s.shole’s throat.”

Already dead. Pity. “Go on.”

“When his blood sprayed, it hit my mouth.”

“You didn’t bite him?”

“I was squeamish about putting my lips on him, much less my tongue and fangs.” She peered up at him to say solemnly, “I’m a very picky eater, Rune.”

“Noted. Why were you separated from Thad?”

“After I ‘died’ from gunshot wounds, this librarian took him in. MizB. When I went to steal him back, he didn’t recognize me ’cause I was all vamped up—my looks change with proper nutrition, I guess. MizB and her husband were good for him, and I thought I was some kind of evil resurrected demon or something. I thought Thad should be with his own kind,” she said evenly, but she was alternating between intangible and embodied, betraying her feelings. “I should’ve been in a grave; what right did I have to him?” She lifted her necklace. “That’s why I wear this. It’s a reminder of the day I became something that should never be around an innocent boy.” She frowned. “Or it was a reminder.”

Not to know about the Lore . . . or her own species? How had she developed such a strong sense of herself? Where did her confidence come from? As before, these answers only begged more questions.

“I tore myself away, letting Thaddie live his life. Somehow I kept my distance, never seeing him again.” She fixed her gaze on Rune’s. “Not until the night I thought you were trying to kill him.”

FORTY-THREE

Jo had left out certain parts of her story, like her fear of floating away, but she was proud of herself for revealing so much. Baby steps. Alcohol had made it easier to confide stuff and had her feeling . . . spectacular. Specter-tacular! So what would Rune think about her history?

Though his expression gave away nothing, his grip had tightened on her. “What will you do now that you know Thad is a Lorean, the same as you?”

“I’m not sure he is. I don’t think he drinks blood.” A few months ago, he’d been in a hot-dog-eating contest for charity. “And he’s not pale like me, was never sickly like me.”

“But if he’s your full blood brother . . .”

“He is. I sense that strongly. Sometimes I have the vaguest memories of a woman with shadowy eyes. I think she might be . . . our mother. But why would I have powers while he has none?”

“Perhaps your shooting was a catalyst, speeding up your transition.”

“You talked about females freezing into immortality in their twenties. How’d I regenerate so young?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I can’t think of another species where the young regenerate. That must be a hybrid power.”

“So I couldn’t have been transformed from a human or anything?”