Broken Heart 09 Only Lycans Need Apply(5)

Especially not I. Me? Not me. Damn the lack of Internet access and the heaviness of reference books. Lo, though I weep, for I cannot access grammar guides here in this sand-covered hell.

Why she picked out my essay, why she picked me, remains a mystery I have yet to unravel. The question I really wanted answered, however, was: What does she see in me that no one else does?

Not that I require outside validation of that which is my awesomeness (ha! take that, grammar!). I am merely curious why Moira deems me worthy. Perhaps I am . . . slightly more than curious. Perhaps I want to know what glimmer caught her eye. Certainly not my personality. I have been called caustic, dry-humored, sarcastic, coldhearted, an emotional black hole (bitter boyfriends are the worst), depressing, soul-despairing, and to quote my last date, “a ball-busting bitch.” Of course, that was a literal description, given that I punched him in the genitals for sticking his hand down my pants.

Men are imbeciles.

Yes, I’m generalizing and stereotyping an entire gender, but in my head space I make the rules. It’s funny how the mind works. Or maybe it’s not. Maybe I’m not interested in exploring, as I too often do, the reason I’m the only biological evidence walking the planet that my family existed. My mother was pregnant with me when a car accident took her and my father’s lives. Well, my mother lived long enough to be removed from the car. The firefighters extracted me right before she gave her last breath. My first name was Baby Jane Doe.

My second was given to me once my parents’ identities had been established.

I don’t use their name.

I never belonged to them.

I was raised by a woman named Aunt Peg, who was not my blood relation. I have no idea how I came into the care of dear Aunt Peg (whom I fondly nicknamed Peg-a-saurus Wreck). She’d fallen under the categories of “batty,” and “eccentric.” But eventually those quirks became full-on crazy.

No one understood Aunt Peg. I wasn’t sure I understood Aunt Peg. But I loved her. And I tried to protect her. Unfortunately, the fierce resolve of a thirteen-year-old is a thin shield against reality.

My nightmares are guilt-wrapped and tied with an anger bow.

Moira’s nightmares are . . . forays into memory and madness. Level Ten crazy.

I know she takes sleeping pills to avoid them. And I know there have been times, though rare, when she has not, and she has witnessed the results of my own forays into sleep’s dark realms. But I do not choose to escape bad dreams. I know my sins. I will not look away from them.

Moira is very smart, but she runs from the monsters that inhabit her past. I want to tell her that the monsters will come no matter where you hide. They will crawl under your bed, slip into your closet, creep under your covers. They will find you. And destroy you . . . unless you destroy them first.

Rumors chase Moira to this day. She lost her mind when she was fourteen. She went into an asylum for months until the day her grandfather scooped her out of that place and dragged her to the desert. Everyone within a hundred-mile radius of the college knows this about her.

Ax told me a little more about what happened. Not many details, though. He’s not much for talking. And I don’t know why he shared anything at all about Moira. He’s very protective of her. Besides, Moira doesn’t hide who she is; she doesn’t pretend the world doesn’t know she was insane in the membrane for a while. But neither does she invite you into her space—not her home, not her head, not her heart.

But not for the same reasons.





Chapter 3


Drake

“The desert sucks. I don’t think I’m ever gonna get the sand out of my underwear.”

Unsurprisingly, this exclamation arrived from Jessica, the mate of Patrick O’Halloran, both vampires and both my good friends. I smiled at Jess. She had volunteered for this trip into the Sudan because her children were grown: Her daughter was in college and her son was a successful journalist who didn’t spend a lot of time in the United States.

Jessica was also extremely proficient with the double swords her husband had gifted her with during their courtship, and she was a fierce warrior. I liked having her protecting my backside.

There were six of us: myself, my brother Darrius, Jessica, Patrick, Eva, and Lorcan. Lorcan and Patrick were twins, and their biological father, Ruadan, also happened to be the first vampire ever. Vampire families had different abilities depending on their Family lineage. Jessica, Patrick, and Lorcan had the ability to fly. Eva had the extraordinary gift of being able to glamour—beyond what most vampires could do. She was also very emotionally in tune with animalkind. I had witnessed many love matches, especially in the town of Broken Heart, Oklahoma, where we were headquartered. It always seemed a process that brought as much pain as it did pleasure. I did not really understand falling in love—nor why anyone would choose it. Jessica told me that sometimes love chooses you . . . and beats you into bloody submission.