Authors: A. M. Hudson
I wandered over to the windowsill to watch the night rising, and a glimmer of light, just a flash in the corner of my eye, caught my attention, stopping my footsteps. There, settled on the white oak sill was a tiny gold band, turning orange under the evening sun: my wedding band—the one David ripped from my finger.
I picked it up and angled it to the sky, catching the first star of the evening within the golden circle. All my wishes had come true with this little gold band, and it all had come undone so easily with just one mistake.
Just one night of letting my heart run free.
But, although I wished I could take back the argument I had with David, I no longer wanted to take back what I did with Jase, no longer wished it hadn’t happened. For the first time since I moved to my dad’s and started my first day of school, I felt alive and free. I knew who I was, where I belonged in the world, and I didn’t need anyone: not David, not Jase, not even my dad, to make me feel safe, or like I deserved to be here. I made mistakes, and I still had a lot of learning to do, but I was strong, and learned fast, and no matter what anyone thought of me now, I knew I deserved to be alive.
And
I deserved to be happy.
I turned and walked away then, taking the stairs to the second floor, back to my life, leaving the past, and the ring, behind on the windowsill where David had. I wasn’t sure anymore what tomorrow would bring, or if I’d ever talk to him again the way we had on the stairs just now, but one thing I did know was that his absence from my life would no longer make or break me. I didn’t need him anymore to know who I was. I didn’t need him anymore to be okay. I was finally free. Finally, just me.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I wouldn’t know where to begin to thank everyone that helped make this novel possible. From the earliest days of dedicated readers, to those who’ve joined only recently, and to those I’ve spoken with so often we now consider ourselves friends, you are all contributors to this story. Some of you in more ways than you know.
But many, many thanks must go to the tireless efforts of my Facebook Beta Team, who have read draft after draft, spotting things that didn’t make sense and discussing each section at length, more often than not giving me ideas or prompting further chapters, even major elaborations on scenes I might have left alone. There are way too many names to list here, but you all know who you are, and I hold you all very dear to my heart.
I must also thank my family—kids and husband, for their constant support. To Jake, my eldest son, who is always herding the little ones out of the room, yelling, “Mummy’s writing. Leave her alone!” you’re a great kid, Jake. And despite my daily absence from my own head, often not even hearing what you’ve had to say, I am very proud of the way you’re turning out.
And to my husband, Mike, you’re a warrior. You suffer the grind of daily blue-collar so I can bring the world these great stories, and it’s finally paying off. I couldn’t have done it without you.
In fact, I couldn’t have done it without the support and love of everyone I chat to online, in the supermarket, or even those who’ve just sent me a quick message or word of encouragement.
This book is dedicated to all of you.
Look out for the final book in the Dark Secrets series. . .
Echoes & Silence
Coming in 2014
Before you read this, I must first warn you: it contains
explicit content
that
may disturb
some readers.
Not for readers under 15 years
. I will also warn you that anyone totally in love with David may find his vampire past a little disturbing. But please keep in mind that this is a vampire without any human compassion at all.
David Journals: Emily
Committing to a teenage human life meant fulfilling dull obligations, such as homework and extracurricular activities. And often, that left little time for food. So when Emily arrived at my apartment, unannounced, and decided to “hang out” for the afternoon, the vampire in me instinctively began to lure her. His intention was not to kill, maybe just to taste—just a little, but the law-abiding citizen I’d always prided myself on being knew that was a lie.
One taste of her and she was dead.
“
David, what are you doing?” Emily brushed my hand down, shrugging away to focus on that screen again. And the fight in her only burned the hunger in me, making it roar with fury.
“
I want to taste you.”
“
Well, stop it,” she said, but made her neck longer as my tongue drew circles over her salty flesh. “My mum says I have to be home at six, and if she sees a hickey, she’ll send my dad around after you when he gets back next week.”
“
Easy,” I whispered, my breath coming back icy off her warmth. “Don’t tell them it was me.”
“
Who will I say it was?” She turned slightly. “She knows I’m with you this afternoon.”
“
What?” My blood ran cold—desire for the lustful kill dying, replaced by the kind of kill driven by anger; I stood tall to get away from her.
“
What’s wrong with that?”
“
Emily, I’ve warned you about this.” I rubbed my head savagely. This had to be the most annoying girl on the planet. Why on earth had I let her live this long?
But as the question entered my mind, the voice of my uncle came to answer it, soaking me with a sudden and cold dose of common sense; “We do not feed on the community in which we reside.”
“
Are you—” The girl looked back at me, turning in the chair so her legs sat slightly apart, and I could smell her—almost taste her. “Are you mad with me?”
“
Furious, Emily.” I walked over and spun the chair around, cupping the sides, leaning right down to make my voice as clear as day. “When we first started hanging out, you were told it was on the condition no one knew.”
“
Yes, but—”
“
But nothing!” I pushed the chair back; it rolled a centimeter and hit the edge of my desk with a thud, startling the girl. “Don’t you understand what could happen, Emily? If—”
“
I get it.” She stood up, breaking to tears. “You don’t want to be seen with a nobody—don’t want anyone to think, for one second, that you might have feelings for me.”
“
Everyone already knows we hang out. It’s not that.”
“
Then what is it?”
I looked her square in the eye, almost considering a full confession. But there wasn’t enough in her to like long term. If I told her my true nature, she’d follow me around everywhere like a lost puppy for the next year and a half of my leave—probably expecting me turn her. “Never mind. Just sit down and finish your homework.”
She sat down quietly, but instead of doing as she was told, stared at the pages—tears dripping onto my desk intermittently in the most annoying, pathetic sound.
“
If you’re going to keep that up, you can leave, Emily. The last thing I need right now is a sobbing teenager.”
She sobbed harder.
“
Argh!” I ripped her away from the desk again, spinning the chair to face me. “Why are you crying? Do you have any idea how annoying that is?”
“
I—” She snivelled, wiping snot on her wrist. “I’m sorry.”
“
Don’t be sorry.” I cringed, my lip turning in disgust at this mortal race. “Just shut up,” I said, but as I turned away to sit on the couch and finish my book, the timid, sweet Emily I’d come to enjoy stood up, her face contorted into an ugly twist.
“
I’m tired of you talking to me like that all the time,” she screeched.
I laughed, shaking my head as I sat and crossed my ankle over my knee. “Look at that; little Emily’s trying out her
big girl
voice.”
“
Why do you do that to me?” she whimpered. “You know I’ve been through enough this year, David. I thought you were my friend.”
“
Friend?” I looked up from my book. “Emily, I put up with you because Mr Thompson asked me to.”
She didn’t know that. I’d spared her the truth of our supposed friendship until now, and as she heard it for the first time, her tiny human heart broke. “Oh, my God.” She covered her mouth, her whole face streaked with tears. “I’m so . . . I’m so stupid.”
“
Emily, wait.” I put my book down beside me, but the girl pulled the door to my apartment open and left, without permission.
I sighed, shaking my head. It was a relief, if anything, that she was finally gone. She’d been on my nerves enough lately that this was the third time I’d planned to eat her. “Could’ve at least closed the door, Emily,” I muttered under my breath, turning my eyes back to my book.
The gate in the yard swung closed, and the quick footsteps of Emily retreated down the quiet street. It was getting dark outside, and she’d walked home in the dusk shadows often enough to prove she was capable of making it without being mugged or raped, but a small pang of worry rose in my gut. I laid a hand to it and focused on my book.
Grey wolves circled their kill,
I read, and Emily’s tear-streaked face came to mind.
The girl’s hands came out to shield her body as these beasts of the night lunged forward, their powerful jaws closing down first on her ankle and fingers, and with one shake of the Alpha’s head, her dreams came away—the very tool she used to create the images she’d brought to life torn from her bones.
I lowered the book and looked at the clock. She always called to say she’d made it home. I wondered if she would this time.
But of course she would. She always did. Even if she was upset with me.
The hands on the clock moved slowly, the breeze coming in through my open door cooling the room as the sun moved lower and lower in the sky.
Fifteen minutes. She always called within fifteen minutes.
I reached into my pocket and checked my phone. No calls. She must have been really pissed.
A small smile settled around my lips. She was such a sensitive, almost sweet little thing, really. And now that I’d finally ridded myself of her presence, a small part of me regretted that. In a lot of ways, she was annoying and chatty, but she was also a good girl—never spoke ill or out of turn, always did as she was told. Well—I thought about our argument—until today. What
had
sparked that? Why had she suddenly decided I was the bad guy?
I checked my phone again. Still no calls.
Twenty minutes gone by—each one dipping the world further into darkness. I was sure she made it home safely, but she knew damn well I’d be waiting for her call, which meant she was trying to torment me by not calling—probably trying to force me to realise I care about her.
I laughed to myself, going back to my book. Tough luck, girl. Not gonna happen.
Something about the way her blood spilled across my hands as I lifted her lifeless body stirred a restless voice within
, I read, feeling my hunger roil.
Every ounce of purity and innocence in this being seemed to have bled out of her soul as she died, and it wasn’t enough for me just to feel it on my skin. I wanted it in me—wanted to breathe this innocence, steal it—destroy it, and then weep it out over her dead body.
I lowered the book again and looked at my phone. “God damn it, Emily.” I knew she was okay, and that was worst part. If she’d been beaten and killed in alley, I could handle that. But she was being defiant. She was trying to upset me—probably thinking right now that I was worrying. Stupid bitch.