I was eager to use magic again so soon, with only eight hours passed since my last run-in with those thoughtless things. It had been one hell of a night, finding four different places to stow the un

hen I was out. The same should hold true for those four strangers. I'd ended up staying in the room with the last guy I'd dragged inside. Th

izza and watching the guy sleep soundly on the bed, I couldn't dodge it any longer. Who wer

ves to extinction a few decades back. I was born and raised in a Blood family-a lineage of powerful witches. My parents, wealthy snobs who could barely stand the sight of me, sen

Girls inherit their magic from their mothers, boys from their fathers. After that, you're considered a witch. For Blood witches, magic comes from blood; fo

ey were thrilled. I was terrified-terrified because I knew it wouldn't work,

tricks eight-year-old witches could do. But not me. I tried like hell and cried for a week afterward. My parents noticed but refused to accept it. They scolded me for being weak-willed and locke

ery chance I got, and pretty much cut myself off from everyone. I was jealous, hurt, and confused

ing for a witch to do. I got so mad I refused to go inside, even when it started raining. The harder I tried, the angrier I got, and the heavier the rain fell. Call me crazy, but i

mmon lightning from my own hand, b

bed, or like what my father's books said, but it was something. I was proud of it. I

led, I moved to Manhattan alone. My family was fine with it-happy, even. As long as I stayed away, the

il

nough for a werewolf. Not a vampire, either. Not a fae-their eyes were violet, their

arlier than twenty-four hours after one of their attacks. At first, I thought he was just shifting in his sleep, but then he turned his head. Slowly, I set the pizza sli

fall, his hand twitching slightly... until he

slipped slightly in my grip. His brows shot up as he took in my damp hair and glanc

o