“I mean, it’s like being a vampire, right? Minus the bloodsucking?” Her sparkling eyes eagerly search mine. “Oh, and without all the coffins and sun avoidance too!” Her voice rises with glee. “This is so amazing—like a dream come true! Everything I’ve ever wanted has finally happened! I’m a vampire! A beautiful vampire—but without all the gruesome side effects!”

“You’re not a vampire,” I say, voice dull, listless, wondering how it got to this point. “There’s no such thing.”

Nope, no vampires, no werewolves, no elves, no fairies—just immortals, whose ranks, thanks to Roman and me, are quickly multiplying . . .

“And how can you be sure of that?” Haven asks, brow raised.

“Because Damen’s been around a lot longer than I have,” I say. “And he’s never met one—or met anyone who’s met one. We figure the vampire legends all stem from immortals, only with a few big distortions—like the bloodsucking, not being able to go out in sunlight, and the whole being allergic to garlic thing.” I lean toward her. “It’s all been added on for extra drama.”

“Interesting.” She nods, though her mind is clearly elsewhere. “Can I still eat cupcakes?” She motions toward the dented strawberry mess, one side caved in, flattened against its cardboard container, while the other side remains fluffy, begging to be eaten. “Or is there something else I’m supposed to—” Eyes going wide, giving me no time to reply before she slaps the table and squeals, “Omigod—it’s that juice, isn’t it? That red stuff you and Damen always drink! That’s it, huh? So, what are you waiting for! Hand it over already, let’s make it official—I can’t wait to get started!”

“I didn’t bring any,” I say, seeing her face drop in disappointment as I rush to explain. “Listen, I know you think it sounds really cool and all—and some of it is, there’s no doubt about that. I mean, you’ll never grow old, never get zits or split ends, you’ll never have to work out, and you might even grow taller—who knows? But there’s other stuff too—stuff you need to know—stuff I have to explain in order to—” My words are halted by the sight of her jumping out of her chair so quickly and gracefully she’s like a cat—yet another immortality side effect.

Hopping from foot to foot as she says, “Please. What’s to know? If I can jump higher, run faster, never age or fade away—what else could I possibly need? Sounds like I’m good to go for the rest of eternity.”

I glance around nervously, determined to curb her enthusiasm before she does something crazy—something that’ll draw the kind of attention we cannot afford. “Haven, please. Sit. This is serious. There’s more to explain. A lot more,” I whisper, the words harsh, brutal, but having no effect whatsoever. She just stands there before me, shaking her head and refusing to budge. So drunk on her new immortal power she skips past defiant and heads straight for belligerent.

“Everything is serious with you, Ever. Every—single—thing you say and do is just so dang serious. I mean, seriously, you hand me the keys to the kingdom then demand I stay put so you can warn me about the dark side? How crazy is that?” She rolls her eyes. “Come on, unclench a little, would ya? Let me try it out, take it for a test drive, see what I’m capable of. I’ll even race you! First one to make it from the curb to the library wins!”

I shake my head and sigh, wishing I didn’t have to do it, but knowing a little telekinesis is in order. It’s the only thing that’ll put an end to all this and show her who’s really in charge around here. Narrowing my eyes, I focus hard on her chair, driving it across the pavers so fast it buckles her knees and forces her to sit.

“Hey—that hurt!” She rubs her leg and glares.

But I just shrug. She’s immortal, it’s not like she’ll bruise. Besides, there’s plenty more to explain and not enough time if she continues like this, so I lean toward her, making sure I have her full attention when I say, “Trust me, you can’t play the game if you don’t know the rules. And if you don’t know the rules, someone’s bound to get hurt.”

two

Haven hurls herself into my car, scrunching her body tightly against the door and propping her feet on the seat. Frowning and glaring and mumbling—a full litany of complaints leveled at me—as I pull out of the lot and onto the street.

“Rule number one.” I glance at her, pushing my long blond hair out of my face, determined to ignore her openly hostile gaze. “You—can’t—tell—anyone.” I pause, allowing the words to sink in before adding, “Seriously. You can’t tell your mom, your dad, your little brother Austin—”

“Please.” She shifts, crossing and uncrossing her legs, tugging at her clothes and jiggling her foot in a way so antsy, so squirmy, it’s clear she can barely stand to be contained here with me. “I barely talk to them anyway.” She scowls. “Besides, that’s a repeat. You already sang that one loud and clear. So, come on, keep it moving, let’s just get ’em over and done with, so I can get out of here and start my new life.”

I swallow hard, refusing to be either rushed or swayed, gazing at her as I stop at a light, determined she understand the full importance of this when I add, “And that includes Miles. Under no circumstances whatsoever can you tell him.”