Pretty When She Dies (Pretty When She Dies #1)(6)

For twenty-four, she was at times, incredibly stupid.

“Where am I? What the hell are you talking about?” she said in a low voice.

“You are in a fraternity house on the edge of campus. What the hell I am talking about is about what you are now. Three nights ago, correction, four nights ago, I killed you and buried you in the woods.”

Like a slap, the memory of her date with him returned with brutal clarity. He had seduced her behind the dorm. Shoved her up against the wall and had frenzied sex with her. She remembered how cold he had been against her. At some point, she had become afraid and tried to push him off of her. He had not relented and drove his teeth into her.

“You bit me,” she said softly.

“Yes, I did.” His voice, always so melodic and warm, was still mesmerizing, but now it seemed cruel. “I drank from you as I had for two nights before our little date when you were sleeping. But this time was much more interesting because you fought me. And this time, you died.”

Blinking slowly, she remembered how her life drained away. The disbelief she had felt as his sharp teeth had ravaged her and her blood spilled over her breasts. It had not felt real, yet her world had grown dark. Her vision had narrowed as her heart became sluggish. Her life had become a narrow little window of consciousness, a window that had been filled with the handsome face of her killer.

“As your heart beat slower and slower, I gave you my blood. It doesn't always create the change. I wasn't too sure if I had actually managed to feed you in time. You died faster than I thought. Then I took you into the woods and I buried you. And I waited. Waited for you to rise.

And you did, last night.”

“You're my Psychology professor,” she protested.

None of this was making sense, yet it was. Memories of her fight out of her grave filled her mind. The shower to remove the grime from her body, the strange flashing in and out of reality her reflection had done in the mirror; she remembered it all.

“And now your Master.”

“I don't understand,” she whispered. Her full lips trembled. Tears hovered on the edges of her lashes. She was lying. She did understand. She may not truly believe it, but she did understand.

“Now, this is the interesting part. What will you do next? You're in a room full of dead people. There are exactly thirteen bodies strewn about you. You're naked, covered in dried gore, full of fresh blood, and just awakening to this life.” He smiled, tilted his head, and settled back in the chair with his arms crossed over his chest.

She stared at him aghast. His strong aristocratic features seemed so cruel and harsh now. His beard made him look like a devil. Slowly, she looked around the room to see people lying around her.

Tears quivered in her eyes. She swallowed hard.

Looking down, she saw that she was covered in dried blood. Flakes of the brown stuff came off her skin as she drew back the covers.

Slowly, she understood. It all made sense. Her great need last night.

Coming here where there were plenty of people from which to feed.

She had hunted last night without realizing it, and now, they were all dead.

“Ah, I see you understand. You're awakening to the reality. Yes, last night you rose as I watched you. I followed you to see what you would do. I have to say you have reacted better then some of the others I have created. You went home, cleaned up, and then you hunted. Look at the wonders you found yourself. A secret orgy. Perfection.”

She tilted her head to regard the professor with growing horror.

“What did you do to me?”

“Why do you ask if you already know the answer?”

“What did you do to me?” Her voice was shrill.



He stood and brushed off his clothes. “Now to see what you will do.

You know what you are. You are fully transformed now that you have fed. You are just at the beginning of your new existence. But, you have difficulties. Such as the room full of bodies and the inability to venture out in the sunlight.”

“It's night time,” she said, her dull reply automatic. She wasn't sure how she knew this, but she did.

He smiled slowly. “Yes, it is. Frankly, I am curious to see what you will do. Will you try to hold onto your old life as so many of my former children have? Or will you strike out on your own?”

Amaliya slid off the bed and looked around for her clothes. To her dismay, she saw they were soaked in blood. “Give me your jacket.”

“What?”

“Your jacket. Now.”

With a little smile, he slid it off and handed it to her. “Just this one time of assistance. No more.”

“Fuck you,” she answered. She pulled it on. Trying not to panic, she stepped over the bodies until she found her shoes. They were black, so blood was not immediately noticeable on them.

“You're not like them, you know? It's not the tattoos, the piercing or your rocker girl persona; it's your strength. How old were you when your mother died and your father married your cousin? Ten, was it?

Living in a house full of boys and knowing that your father was f*cking your cousin while your mother lay dying of cancer.”

“Shut up,” she growled. She had to escape this nightmare right now.

Her thoughts were jumbled. She needed to get away to think.

“You went to work at what age? Thirteen, wasn't it? Saving for college. But everyone made fun of you. That wasn't what the daughter of Samuel Vezorak was supposed to do, was it? No, no; you were supposed to get married and have babies. School grades were sufficient, but not enough to get you a scholarship. Yet you managed to get one through your drumming. Off you went to Austin, to the University of Texas, where you dyed your blond hair black, got a few nifty tattoos, and learned how to rock with the best of them.”