My first instinct was to throw off my covers and prepare for the day I’d nearly slept away, but I quickly realized that the silky sheets I grasped were neither the high thread count sheets on my bed at home nor the cheap cotton set I’d brought to Haiti. Unfortunately, my abduction by vampires hadn’t been a nightmare. It really happened. I tucked a dark curl that had weaseled its way out of my ponytail behind my ear and stared at the oil painting of a peaceful landscape that hung on the wall opposite my bed as I contemplated my predicament. According to Emmanuel and Augustus, I was supposedly half vampire and I had the opportunity to choose my own destiny. While the idea of lording over my own kind — possibly even some of my friends — made my stomach turn, living as someone’s slave and being subjected to various forms of abuse was almost equally abhorrent … Almost. Being born different doesn’t make my comfort more important than theirs.
