Aurora Sky: Vampire Hunter
Aurora Sky
Vampire Hunter
Vol. 1, Transfusion
By Nikki Jefford
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and
incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or the author has used them
fictitiously.
Copyright © 2012 Nikki Jefford
All rights reserved
Cover Design: Najla Qamber
Copy Editors: Christine LePorte and S.M. Boyce
For Sébastien, till the end of time.
1
I was outnumbered six to one… at least that’s how it
felt.
My supposed teammates stood by uselessly as the volleyball
hurtled over the net and whopped me in the shoulder.
The beautiful Brooke Harris high fived the boy beside her
before switching corners. It didn’t matter if she served from the right or the
left. The ball flew at me—again.
I ground my teeth together and tried to pelt the ball back,
but launched it into the net instead. God, I sucked at team sports.
“Come on, Aurora!” Clayton Wilcox snapped beside me.
I grimaced. A junior the size of Napoleon shouldn’t be
speaking to a senior that way, but that was just my opinion.
One of my teammates bent down for the ball and tossed it
back to Brooke, who smiled as though auditioning for a teeth whitening ad. Brooke
served again, and the volleyball sailed over the net once more—toward me, of
course.
Clayton’s patience had apparently worn out. He stepped in
and bumped into me, but managed to smack the ball back. Fine. Whatever. My
teammates should get in the game.
Behind Brooke and her team of Olympians the bleacher crowd slouched
against the benches like sloths while the rest of us got wrist burns. I’d tried
everything from flu symptoms to a twisted ankle to get out of participating,
but Mr. Mooney saw me as an active member of the student body, unlike the loafers
who regularly got out of gym.
Fane Donado and Valerie Ward, the reigning king and queen of
gym exemption, seemed to believe that making out substituted for physical ed.
Valerie was gorgeous, in a classical sixteenth century courtesan
sort of way. Curves graced her hips and hair, which fell in thick waves of
strawberry-brown down her back.
Fane had The Worst Hair: ink black and buzzed on the sides
with a mass of blond on top. Combing it back was a big mistake. It drew further
attention to his long forehead and wide set eyes. He had one of those
disastrous looks that captured my attention—like Edward Scissorhands.
Every day Fane dressed in head to toe black and a long
leather jacket which he wore at all times, like a second skin. Maybe he was
packing…or dealing. Neither would surprise me.
I usually had a thing for tall, skinny guys, but I made
exceptions, especially when the guy in question had trouble keeping his tongue
inside his own mouth.
I wanted my first kiss to be a pleasant experience, not
pornographic.
Mr. Mooney’s whistle announced the end of gym at the same
time Brooke slammed the ball over. This one hit me in the chest.
“Ow!”
I know guys are sensitive between the legs, but a woman’s breasts
aren’t exactly made out of sponge cake.
My classmates pattered across the gym floor toward the
locker rooms. The bleacher crowd rose slowly and stretched their arms.
Yeah, try not to exert yourselves or anything.
I leaned down for the volleyball and walked it over to the
roll out cart. As I nestled the ball into place, three more toppled off and
rolled in opposite directions.
Groan
. I spent enough time chasing balls around
during gym, never mind running after them when I needed to change and book it
to Algebra II.
By the time I retrieved each ball and set them on the cart,
everyone had cleared out of the locker room, leaving hairspray fumes in their
wake.
Gag
. My hair tumbled down my back as I freed it from its ponytail.
As I yanked the zipper up my jeans I heard a snicker and
stopped. All was quiet and then I heard it again. Resisting the urge to call
out a feeble “Hello?” I finished securing my pants then rounded a wall of
lockers.
Valerie straddled Fane on the locker room bench in her
corset top and black lace-up boots. Her arms circled his neck.
As she leaned back to look at me, Fane’s face emerged.
I would not blush. Not in front of Fane Donado. Too late. My
cheeks flamed rouge.
From this close up I could see that among Fane’s
aforementioned defects, his lips were mismatched; the top one smaller than the
bottom.
Those lips curled back as Fane took note of my presence. I
swear I heard him make a sound of disgust from deep within his throat, like I’d
crashed a private party or barged into their hotel suite.
I stood staring like an idiot waiting to be dismissed.
When our eyes met, Fane smiled. Not a friendly ‘hello’ smile
or the cute ‘you caught me in the act’ kind. Eyes locked on mine, Fane ran the
tip of his tongue along his upper lip.
The lewd gesture made me feel somehow involved in their foreplay.
My mouth went dry.
Fane cocked a dark brow. “See something interesting?”
I should have squared my shoulders and informed him, “No,
not at all” or “Yeah, I find it interesting that there’s a boy in the girls’
locker room. So you had that sex operation, did you?”
Instead, I turned and fled.
I didn’t have time for comebacks. That’s all.
If I hurried maybe I could still catch my friend Denise at
our hall lockers before she left for math.
As I speed walked toward my locker, a football whooshed
across the hall, barely missing my shoulder.
Again?
I glared at the boy
who had chucked it to his friend. He laughed and said, “Whoops.”
God, I couldn’t wait to graduate and get the hell out of
Alaska and Denali High School.
Sure enough, when I reached my locker, Denise had long since
departed. I did a quick book and binder grab, then sprinted to math. The
warning bell rang as I hurried in and took my seat beside my friend. She
already had her book open and pencil in motion on notepaper.
Denise used to laugh at my gym recaps. Now she didn’t even inquire
after my lateness and here I was dying to tell her about the sex show in the
locker room. Okay, not exactly a sex show, but practically!
“Hey, Denise,” I said. “You’ll never believe what happed
after gym.”
Denise’s eyes narrowed as though I had interrupted her in the
middle of a pop quiz.
I hesitated for a second. Then the words tumbled out.
“Remember that guy I told you about in gym…”
Denise stopped me before I could go any further. “Can this
wait till lunch?”
Suddenly I felt stupid with my mouth hanging half open seeing
as my closest friend pretty much told me to shut up.
All part of Denise’s new attitude “un-makeover” starting the
day Notre Dame accepted me while her own first choice college, Carleton, had turned
her down.
She wasn’t the only student at Denali High with senioritis.
Mom warned me this would happen. Friends began focusing on
finishing senior year and imagining their lives in that great place beyond:
College.
Guilty as charged.
If it were up to me, I wouldn’t be puzzling over an algebra
graph, I’d already be enrolled at Notre Dame, set up in my dorm, attending
class.
That’s the thing about universities—they wanted you to
finish high school first.
After eighteen years in Anchorage I could hardly wait to
trade in snow and cold for civilization.
Till then, six more months before graduation.
At the end of the hour, Denise said an abrupt, “See you at
lunch.”
Well, she could forget about juicy details ’cause I wasn’t
dishing. Bitchy behavior deserved no rewards. Maybe Tracey Rowen in third
period French would appreciate the story.
At least I wasn’t running late for French because in about
three seconds, Scott Stevens would pass me in the hall.
Speaking of juicy delights.
I swore he moved in slow motion when he rounded the corner.
Scott had the thin, towering build going for him. He didn’t
wear a letterman jacket, which he could have as captain of the basketball team,
but Scott was the kind of guy who had his own killer style. Best of all, he
looked me in the eyes and smiled whenever he saw me. And that is why I, Aurora
Sky, for the first time in my life, had a major crush on a jock.
Too bad he and Emily Horton were an item.
“Hi, Aurora.”
“Hey, Scott.”
After he passed, I ducked into the girl’s bathroom at the
end of the hall. A group of juniors huddled together and leaned into the mirror
as they applied makeup. They’d all dyed their hair jet black with varying
streaks of colors, as if to help tell each other apart. One had blond streaks,
one red, and another blue.
The girls moved several inches to give me room. When I
looked in the mirror, I tried to recreate the same smile I’d flashed Scott. My
lips curved over a set of straight teeth. I pulled my hair over my shoulders. That
would have looked better, but I always pushed it out of the way.
The group beside me finished their faces and lips. The girl
with the blue streaks rubbed concealer with two fingers over a massive hickey
on her neck.
As I headed out, the warning bell rang.
