Chapter One

Allow Me to Reintroduce Myself

Texas

I’m fighting.

Fighting to control the unyielding power of the Maximus raging inside of me.

Fighting in the middle of Prussakovs’ state-of-the-art gym at the bottom of their immaculate mansion—because vampires invaded our Slayer Society’s headquarters nearly two months ago, forcing us out.

“Too slow.” Anton’s tight voice is like razor blades to a chalkboard. “Get in position.”

He’s no longer the calm, detached, hybrid vampire-slayer I met just over a month ago. Back then, his mother, our commander, was alive. Back then, he hadn’t fought his resurrected vampire father, Alexander the Great, and nearly lost his life.

Now, Anton appears disheveled without the military-stiff attire and the stiffer gait. His curly brown hair is tied back in a low ponytail, wisps of hair slipping out of the elastic I loaned him. Now he almost always wears slayer fighting gear—a fitted black rash guard and pants.

It’s what I wear, too, because all we do is practice fighting.

You know how in superhero movies there’s a montage of, like, five amazing minutes of weightlifting, a few high kicks, and just the perfect amount of dew-like perspiration under a pink-hued sunset?

That’s not real life. Not my life. Six weeks ago, said life changed when I became Maximus, the most powerful slayer on the planet. Let me be super clear: I did not choose for the Philosopher’s Stone to hurtle itself inside of me where it became a squatter—living in my palm, rent-free.

But I’ve sort of accepted my fate. I’m—mostly—not angry anymore.

And the darkness? That uncontrollable power that manifests when I battle vampires? That thing that made me go berserker so much that I nearly killed my ex-vampire-boyfriend and killed his grandfather, the vampire king? It’s still here.

Lurking, lingering. Not real fun when your opp lives inside of you.

“Again.” Anton backswings his fist.

I duck, shift, on the defense as he waylays me—knees, elbows, fists. So hard, so fast, so excessive I can’t tell if this is a gang initiation or I’m training to save the world.

“Stop avoiding. Attack me.” Anton’s voice is deeper than usual. His tone goes to the depth of a pit when he’s annoyed or angry.

“I’m trying.” Truly, I am, but he’s like a tornado, and I can’t keep my feet on the ground.

If I attempt to get a hit in, he spins me around, and then my ass is on the pad.

Anton tosses his gloves to the ground. He backs away, staring at me. His pale skin is flushed red, like he’s ready to erupt.

I’ve trained with Anton for the past few weeks, and he’s usually unflappable and frustratingly cool. But the last few days, it’s like he’s got a stick the size of a redwood up his ass.

The weight of his stare, of his irritation, sticks to my skin like salt water. But as my Grandma Lou says, I can’t hold onto the weight of someone else’s expectations. Not even for my mentor. So, then, I close my eyes and imagine pressure-washing away his frustration.

Still, I get it. God, do I get it.

Missing people and homicides have spiked around the country. Vampires are feeling themselves ever since the resurrection of Alexander the Great, their vampire fang daddy. Now, humans are suspicious, with conspiracy theories ranging from wild animal attacks to serial killers.

And, of course, the government is breathing down our necks. I can’t even allow myself to think about how they’re treating Charlotte, the first Black female commander in the history of the American Slayer Society. They want results, like yesterday, and they’re threatening to pull their support and figure out how to eliminate vampires their way. Now, we have a bunch of scared old white dudes deciding the fate of our country. I mean, that’s a day in the life, but add vampires and its banana-split-crazy.

“What happened to the girl I met?” Anton tugs my attention with his snappy tone.

My shoulders slump forward. “What do you mean?”

“What happened to the girl who attacked me?”

“When did I attack you?”

“The day we first met,” he says. “The day your powers surged, and you called me the bastard son of Alexander.”

Right. That attack.

“I’m still here.”

“Are you?” When he crosses his arms, his forearms bulge with muscles and veins. And at some point during our fight, he’d removed his shirt.

It’s not for vanity’s sake, purely because he’s working up a sweat—a frustrating sweat in his attempts to make me a better killer.

So yeah, he’s cute and all, but he’s also a pain in my ass. And he’s…much older than me. Centuries older. He’ll make a nice snack for an older lady. I can’t think of him as anything other than a pain-in-the-ass mentor.

“You are imprecise,” he says.

“Impre—”

“Your movement,” he cuts in, “your mental acuity, your breathing.”

Damn. I’m not even good at breathing?

“We’ve been at it all morning,” I say. “Maybe if I could get a break—”

“We don’t have time for excuses.”

“It’s not an excuse. I can fight better… be better, if I had a break.”

“Fine,” he agrees. “If you manage to win a round with me, you can earn a day off.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Anton lifts his eyebrow, as if he can’t conceive that I can put him on his ass.

My blood races like a galloping stallion. The sharp back pain from when he kidney-punched me doesn’t hurt as much anymore. My hands and feet feel like I’ve dipped them into a bowl of swarming fire ants. I shake them out, jump around. Energy oozes, and suddenly I feel like I’m plugged into the city of Atlanta’s power grid. Whatever this is, I need to release it.

I snap my fingers and wave him closer. “Let’s go again.”

“Your energy feels different,” he comments in a slow, careful way, narrowing his eyes.

“Yeah, it is.” I circle him, still bouncing. “You want to see what it feels like?”

Before he can answer, I grab his leg, lock my hand around his knee, and swing him down to the padded floor.

His back smacks the mat, and he lets out an oomph .

“Focused enough for you?” I taunt. But I don’t dance around him. I’m on the move, and I get to work.

First things first, I hook his leg with my own and then trap his knee so that he can’t buck or push me off.

But Anton’s already recovering from the shock. The sweat from his body—our bodies—makes it hard to keep my grip. Still, I manage to hold him, pushing off my toes, and swing my body near his head.

I lean to his ear and whisper, “Is this precise enough?”

He swings out his arm and rolls us over. My head slams against the floor so hard I’m literally seeing stars. But seconds later they disappear, and I finally notice his brown- and blue-eyed glare.

We’re breathing—hard.

Chest to chest, his puffs of breath warm my skin. It’s a warning—we’re too close. He looks at me like a guy who hasn’t eaten in a thousand years. He’s a hybrid vampire, so…maybe he hasn’t.

“This is what I want,” he says.

“You want me to get mad?”

When he nods, the thick bristles from his scruffy jaw scratch against my skin before he pulls back. His eyes are wide and wild and hungry.

“I want you to show up and fight me like this every day. Every time we train. If we must argue to bring your anger to the surface, then I’ll do whatever it takes.”

There’s chaos swirling in his eyes. I don’t know him all that well, but I know this ain’t it.

And just like that, my anger surges. I push him off and jump to my feet. “Are you for real right now?” My jaw is so tight my teeth may shatter.

He shuts his eyes and then reopens them. When he does, the wildness is out, and the cool has returned.

And I…I remember that look. The look of a vampire going from wild to tame, hot to cold.

Khamari, now the vampire king and always the lying, mind-altering jerk. The memories that I’ve been trying like hell to repress boil my anger like a stockpot of heated water.

Khamari lied. Grandma Lou lied. Richmond, the former Maximus, lied.

“Boys lie, Maximus. But you can rely on us. Rely on your power,” a voice, a woman’s voice, whispers inside of my head.

It’s not the first time I’ve heard her.

Heard them .

When I lost control. When I nearly got us all killed…

“Please,” I say. “Don’t start right now.”

“Now is the right time,” Anton answers me, though I wasn’t speaking to him. “And you must be serious if you ever want to defeat Alexander.”

I topple the figurative pot of boiling water that held my anger, letting it splash and burn. “I am serious. I’ve been here every day, putting my body through the ringer.”

“Are you tired, Texas?” He scoffs.

Scoffs!

“Are you ready to give up and lose the time you covet? Time that we do not have?” His eyes burn into mine.

“Let us help you. Let us show you what we can do…together.”

I throw my head back in defeat. “Fine. I’ll give in.”

Anton frowns, confused. “Give in to what?”

I shake my head, not ready to share everything. Not sure what he or anyone here would think of me hearing the voice of my darkness.

I don’t want the thing inside of me to take over, but I can’t lose.

Maybe I should trust it, though. Maybe trusting the darkness is like trusting myself?

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s do it.”

Sinking into my stance, I close my eyes and let go.

“You aren’t mindless. Open your eyes and see what we see.” The voice is stern, brittle, but there’s something in her tone that I know I can trust.

Opening my eyes, I see opportunities. Like the fact that his weight is off-centered—he’s flat footed instead of balanced on his toes.

“Yes. Take out his knees, back leg first, lower to the ground, then sideswipe. Work his sides, then land an uppercut to the chin.”

I don’t think, I just do it—feel it.

He topples over like Humpty Dumpty.

I pump my fists in the air. “You were right! Thank you!”

Anton jumps to his feet. “Who are you talking to?”

“I’m talking to you,” I say quickly. “The loser. I’ll see you the day after tomorrow.”

“Something feels amiss.”

“What? Nothing is amiss.” My heart slaps my chest. I need to be more careful. “Are you…are you really going to renege on our deal? I told you I need to rest.”

“Are you really that tired?”

I brace my back with my hands, my ponytail hanging askew from the fight, my hair drenched in sweat, drooping like a dehydrated flower. I probably look like someone’s tired mama waiting in the pickup line at school.

“Oh, nooo. Not me. We only practice techniques from six in the morning ’til noon. I get like a thirty-minute break. Then you make me calm my mind—after you’ve beaten me black and blue—but yes, sure, I’ll quiet my mind.” I lift my arms and wiggle my fingers like jazz hands. “I just have to get good enough to save the world, definitely slay Alexander, and maybe kill my former roommate and ex-boyfriend.”

His stormy expression rolls away. He gives me an uneasy smile. “Ah. I’ve put too much pressure on you.”

I blow at one of the droopy curls dangling in front of my eye. “Ya think?”

He clasps his hands together. “You’re dismissed. As we agreed, you may take off the next day for yourself.”

He turns to leave the dojo, then stops.

“If there is anything going on with you,” he says, “like what happened with your dark energy, I expect you to share. You cannot win this alone.”

“Trust me, I know I’m not alone.”

The darkness further reminds me with a brush to my biceps. I swear this thing is like a creepy cat.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” He gives me one last soul-shuddering stare, then turns away, moving across the padded floor without another word or a backward glance. The door slams shut behind him.

He doesn’t know…does he?

No. I shake my head. No one’s mentioned voices that come with the power of the stone.

Only Richmond would know, and he hasn’t said a word. I could ask him, but I really don’t trust the former Maximus. He was the one who tried to keep the power of the stone to himself when he already knew his time was up.

But he really is the only one who will know. Maybe I can ask him without giving away what’s up with me?

I’ll have to hit him up. Maybe ask Charlotte to set up a meeting tomorrow, since it’s my free day.

Me: Hello, great and mighty Commander Charlotte. Can you ask your Rich if I can meet up with him tomorrow to talk about Maximus stuff?

I send the text and notice the read receipt right away. Charlotte’s one of those people who lets people know they read their text. Weirdo.

Charlotte: Of course, Sweetie. We can come over tomorrow.

And have them listen to my conversation? No, thank you.

Me: I’d like to have some privacy tomorrow. Just me and Rich.

Charlotte: Sure. If not tomorrow, then soon. Is everything okay?

I roll my eyes. This is why I need privacy.

Me: All good. Just want his perspective on how to access the stone’s full potential. I don’t want to sound like a dummy in front of you, Grandma Lou, and Anton. That’s all.

Charlotte responds with the salute emoji, and I pray her infamous intuition doesn’t get in the way of my chat with Rich.

I creep up the stairs, and if I could grant myself one wish, I’d sleep for a hundred and one days. Maybe then the Slayer Society can figure out a way to kill Alexander and leave me out of the equation.

…

“Pssst. Slayer. Slayyyyer. Time to wake up!”

This isn’t the new voice I’ve been hearing inside my head. It’s the familiar voice. Rose-effin-Prussakov, the vampire who lives to annoy me.

I curl my fists and sling an arm over my eyes. But she persists.

“Hey. You. Wake up.”

I roll over, check the time, and wince. I haven’t slept for a hundred and one days, only twenty-four hours. It’s the next morning.

“Come on, Little Miss Maximus. It’s time to train.” Rose lets out an evil chuckle.

Another thing I didn’t have on my Vampire Slayer Bingo card is befriending and living with vampires, but here we are.

“Can’t wait to see what Anton and Grandma Lou have in store for you. Her throat chop was perfection.”

I rub my throat, remembering the throbbing pain dealt by Grandma Lou’s steely hands. Minimum effort. Maximum damage. I shudder, thinking about how much of a baddie she was in her vampire slayer youth.

“Get out of my head, Rose,” I mentally yell at her but growl out loud. “Besides, Anton gave me the day off. We can train tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine, just come downstairs, all right? You can tell Grandma Lou yourself. She already threatened to toss her shoe at me if I didn’t get you out of bed.”

“Just because I’m forced to live in your Monster Mansion doesn’t give you the right—”

“Your grandma scares me more than you do. Don’t make me come up there.”

“Fine. I’m up.”

I’m not up. Not yet. I roll over, sink my head into the decorative silk pillow, and scream—my daily routine.

After my muted screamfest, I get up, wash my face, brush my teeth, then stare at myself in the mirror. Based on my reflection, I look fresh, fun, youthful. My mahogany skin is blemish free, and there aren’t any bags under my eyes. My midnight-black hair has a nice, healthy sheen that slicks back just right when I pull it back into a high bun.

But on the inside, I feel rotten. Today, the darkness wants to be a diva. It curls its heavy claws around my body. So heavy it hunches my shoulders. And when I’m alone like this, when no one is watching, I let it have its way.

I look down at the red, glittering stone fused into my palm. Some folks see it as a beacon of hope, for others, the epitome of power.

To me, it’s a jeweled leash.

I change into a long-sleeve, thin black shirt and black yoga pants, then slide my spiked jewelry over my wrist and ring finger and hustle downstairs.

When I hit the bottom of the stairwell, all the lights are out.

But I hear breathing—lots of it—human and vampire.

I sniff the air. There’s the lemon scent that I know of the Prussakovs, but there are other scents mingling—salty ocean air, earth after a rainstorm, candy of all things. My hands clench.

There are whispers. Not outside whispers, inside whispers. Indiscernible whispers.

We’re under attack.

My breath doesn’t speed up. I inhale, slow it down, focus.

Flicking my spiked ring, I slice my index finger, let the blood drip onto the white marble floors.

Before I can slap my hands together and summon the power of the Maximus, someone squeezes my shoulder from behind. I spin, twist their hand, and smack the heel of my other hand into their chest.

“Gah!” They hit the floor.

Light floods the room. Heart pounding, my eyes quickly adjust to the brightness. Surrounding me are vampires, slayers, some from class, and a few teachers. I recognize my attacker, Rose, on the floor, swiping blood from her nose.

“Idiot.” She shoots me the bird, then, with a quick glance at the people around us, she turns her frown upside down and yells, “Surprise! Happy Birthday!”