Danielle Rose - Dark Power

For Martha

Chapter One

The concept of time is fascinating.

After Will and Amicia died, my nestmates were broken, left to pick up the shattered pieces of our lives while the world forgot about our fallen comrades. Time did what it always doesmoves on, the seconds ticking by in steady streams like blood pulsing through my heart.

Losing them nearly destroyed me. Until one day, it didnt. I was fine. I just had to stop thinking about them.

Until now.

Because now, death is all I can think about. Death and time.

I think about my mother, about all the things she told me about the undeadsome true, some not. I tell myself the rogue vampire staring back at me is not my father, yet he wears his face like a wickedly cruel and obnoxiously deceitful mask.

There are lines etched in the corners of his eyes and silver in his hair. His usually tan skin is paler now. He is still tall and lean, and as he smiles at me, showcasing two pointed fangs, his cheeks dimple. He looks exactly like I rememberexcept for all the features that make him a vampire.

His irises are crimson, and the soul that should swirl like magic within them looks dead.

Mam warned me that this day might come, that true evil would reveal itself to me in the shape of someone I love. It will be formidable, but my resolve must be more resilient. I cannot falter. I cannot succumb to its will.

Debes ser fuerte, hija, my mother would say, reminding me that I must remain strong when I am faced with my harshest reality.

El Diablo intenta engaarte

Her words echo in my mind, her warning of trickery as raw and real as the red-hot flesh sizzling in my palm.

Only moments ago, the black onyx crystal denied my request for aid, choosing instead to strike me down. Its lashing mirrored its attack from earlier tonight, when I was lost in the forest and desperate enough to harness its magic to locate this rogue nest.

My mother taught me vampires are evil creatures, but what she really meant to say is rogue vampires. It is rogue vampires that the hunters have warned me about. These soulless abominations are ruled by their hunger, by the blood lust. They do not value life, and they certainly have no desire to coexist.

But if this is true, if rogue vampires are as evil as I have come to believe, why am I still breathing? Why am I not fighting for my life in what is so obviously an outnumbered and lopsided battle?

Te he echado de menos, hija, Pap says.

When he smiles at me, the lines in his skin deepen. It is a stark contrast to the face I see when he does not smile. When he is neutral, his skin is smoother, making him appear younger. But when it creases, the mask is revealed, and it is so startling, I want to reach forward and rip it off. This is the face I look at right now, the one that reminds me this vampire cant possibly be my father.

I have missed you too, I say, responding to his earlier sentiment.

I speak the truth, but I do not yearn for an impostor. Still, the honesty of my words cut straight through to my heart. They plunge deep, like worms burrowing through the softened earth, and tears threaten, stinging my eyes where they pool at the corners. I refuse to release them. I cant show weakness, even if I am one soft breeze away from crumbling.

The cave system the rogues have made into their home is vast and dense, a labyrinth of interconnected tunnels that lead deeper into the abyss. Even though I have explored much of this space while searching for the rogue nest, I know I have seen only a small fraction of it. And that thought terrifies me. What else will I encounter? How many more rogue vampires are surrounding me?

As I stand with my father in a small passageway, I am acutely aware of what is in the room behind me. My skin prickles, my senses alerting me to the dozens, if not hundreds, of rogue vampires watching me, waiting for the directive to end my life.

I was taught control is impossible. The hunters said rogue vampires are incapable of leadership, but clearly, that is not true. Amicias assurances, the hunters promises, the witches lies Too much of what I have learned is not true.

What if the hunters intentions are no different than the witches intentions? What if they are using my abilities to further their personal agenda: to wipe out a superior race? Rogues, by nature, are stronger and faster, but clearly, they are also capable of self-control. If they werent, they would be attacking. And I would be dead.

My thoughts may be racinghopefully making me worry for nothingbut one thing is certain: The vampires lied. The witches lied too.

Can I trust anyone anymore?

Hija? my father says, garnering my attention. Ests bien?

I nod, but uneasiness continues to rise in my chest, like bubbling bile burning the back of my throat. Every fiber of my body wants to flee, to run from the caves and escape the rogue army at my back.

But I cant leave. Its daylight, and even though I know the sun will kill me, the words spill from my lips.

I want to leave, I say firmly.

Again, my father smiles at me, eyes sparkling with admiration. I have seen this very look countless times. He always appreciated my headstrong, stubborn personalitymuch more than Mam ever did. She wanted to extinguish this quality, turning me into a drone who survives on following orders, while Pap wanted to nurture it. He knew I was destined to lead our coven, and a good leader is no drone.

The lines etched around his eyes are sunken crevices now. Wrinkles alone are a jolting sight. Most of the vampires I encounter were turned at a young age, forever marked in history as a teen or young adult. But my father was older when he died, and the remnants of his age punctuate everything he does, from the way he looks to the way he sounds to the way he moves.

When I look at him, even though I know I shouldnt, I can see past his piercing crimson irises and pale skin. I can block out all the things that make him a vampire and see only what made him mortalhis salt-and-pepper hair, his age, the scars from previous battles. I see the man who cradled me in his arms, not the monster who stole his mortality.

I want so desperately to believe he is the same person who helped birth me, who gave me his lifes blood to bring me into this world.