She knew he meant trouble.
Yet she loved him.
When seventeen-year-old Quinn Sophia Richards leaves New York to live with her grand-aunt, Helen Deveraux in Blue Haven, Georgia, she is confronted with a dark life changing revelation : her whole life w...
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"You jerk!," Shade yelled as he caught up with Ash. "Your idea of curing last night's hangover with fresh air is costing us dearly." A cold damp breeze slapped his back.
It was past four a.m, yet still obscure in the eerie woods. Droplets of rain moistened the soil as they fell, wiping off their footsteps.
Ash threw him a quick backward glance. "Spare me the lecture. Just run!"
"What do you think I'm doing already?" Ash beckoned him to run faster.
"Ash, because of you I'm into this mess. You better find a solution." He darted a look behind him, then touched the ground and sighed. "These vampires are moving faster. We can't cover our track for long."
"Damn! This whole thing about being chased is stressing me out," Ash muttered.
"Don't tell me you're losing concentration to connect to Dravon telepathically!" Shade glared at him. Ash nodded, a fearful look passed across his face.
He was in no mood to be killed because of Ash William's stupidity. "Well do something Williams," Shade tapped Ash's back as he outran him. Ash easily followed his pace.
"You know, at times like this, it crossed my mind how we would have been better if we had teleportation powers like Blackwell."
"We don't. That's why we are in this mess. Our powers are fading too along with him."
"That power of his is still intact." He faced Shade. "I seriously envy his powers. Sometimes I wish I had them."
"There's still a hope for us, Williams." Ash's silver grey eyes gleamed with curiosity.
"Quinn Richards," Shade said confidently.
"Princess! She's busy in that underground library. She can't help us."
"I'll try to communicate with her." Shade closed his eyes and focused on Quinn Richards. The telepathic call he sent out was almost a scream.
***
Quinn mindlessly drove back, her thoughts preoccupied by that old book and its disturbing contents. The blood running in her veins was that of cold blooded murderers, not that of saviours. She wasn't a witch, a saviour fulfilling her place in the scheme of the prophecy by finding a way how to keep everyone alive with her dark magic. She was a descendant of murderers. She carried the powerful blood of monsters.
It had stopped raining, and although the sky was still dark grey and overcast, pale beams of sunshine were dauntlessly trying to spread their warmth.
The beautiful picture of Georgina Blackwell still haunted her mind. She was pierced by the mental vivid image of Dravon's mother, her pale complexion and her gorgeous smile. How could her ancestors kill an innocent soul when their target was Saul Blackwell?
