A Castle of Sand (34 page)

But when I saw her face that night, I could immediately tell that something was different about her. She wasn’t looking at me with delight. She was looking at me the same way I did the cookies stashed in one of the kitchen jars.

“Hello, baby,” she greeted me before pushing my bedroom door wide open. “I want you to meet someone.”

A man stepped in. I didn’t know who he was, but I was immediately terrified at the sight of him. He stared at me and I wanted to shrink away from his gaze. “What’s her name? How old is she?”

“Sofia. She’s nine years old.”

“She’s young, but she’ll do.”

I couldn’t make much sense of what had happened next. All I knew was that he took me in his arms and bit my neck. I lost consciousness from the pain. When I woke up, my mother and the man were gone. Only my father was there and I felt sicker than I’d ever been in my life.

“Shh, Sofia…” My father tried to calm me, terrified by my burning fever—a fever that should’ve already killed me. “You’re going to be alright. Daddy’s here for you. Daddy will always be here for you.”

I woke from my dream and sat up, utterly confused…but then the pieces of the puzzle suddenly came together all at once, and the realization hit me full force:
I should be a vampire. Borys Maslen tried to turn me and it didn’t work. That’s why I was so sick. That’s why Borys kept calling me ‘the immune.’
I checked the space on the bed beside me and found it empty. I ached for Derek’s touch, his strong arms around me, his soothing voice calming my nerves. He wasn’t there.

I then recalled what Vivienne’s memories had revealed to me:
they are strongest together. They are weakest apart.

“Derek?!” I cried out.

Panic was beginning to take over, so I sighed with relief when he stepped into the bedroom from the balcony.

“Sofia?” he asked, concern traced in his choked voice.

I said the words before I could think them through. “Turn me into a vampire.”

“What? No! Sofia…we can’t…”

“Do it, Derek. Do it now!”

“Why?”

“Because
I can’t be turned
. I can never become a vampire. I will never be immortal.”

His blue eyes darkened as he furrowed his brows. “Sofia…why would you…”

“I’m the immune.”

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Beautiful Monster

As seen on
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Happy Ever After blog

"Bella Forrest has done it yet again! I am a HUGE fan of her Shade of Vampire series, and now she's gotten me hooked on her latest tale with the mysterious and sexy Liam Swift!"

- Autumn Reviews

"Beautiful Monster was hauntingly beautiful, in its complex simplicity. The connection between Amy and Liam was stunning and powerful."

- Fluffy Pink Hearts Reviews

"What a great book! Amy is such an amazing strong, beautiful, loving character that I fell in love with. [...] This story was a page turner that had me wrapped in it from page one! I am dying for the next one! BRAVO MS. FORREST."

- Paranormal Book Fairy

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Synopsis:

Liam Swift is a young man Amy has always admired from afar. She's seen his face a thousand times; on the screen and in magazines. He seems unstoppable as his talent and beauty send him hurtling toward becoming a Hollywood legend...
Until one day - in what appears to be a fit of madness - he stuns the world by throwing it all away. Not even the most persistent reporter can fathom the reason behind Liam's decision. 
Never in Amy's wildest dreams could she have imagined this God of acting would go on to accept employment at her local boarding school. Or that he'd personally start teaching her drama lessons.
It seems life can't get much better for Amy ... until the sound of tortured weeping starts echoing through the thin walls of her dorm room each night, leading her to stumble upon a horrifying secret Liam had hoped to keep hidden forever.

 
I always used to picture myself in some sort of fairy tale. I had my life all planned out. I would be a famous actress and everyone would tell me my talent was beyond words. I would be able to bring tears of joy or happiness to any audience’s eyes in seconds, and be able to portray even the hardest of characters in the blink of an eye. If I were really famous, and there were tabloids written about me, they would say I was beautiful (somehow, my hair color was always a perfect blond and I was tall and graceful). And I would have a perfect husband by my side; who supported me, loved every part of me, and was just as beautiful. He would always be fun to be around, and we would never argue. The world would adore him too; but they would respect our love.

And, in these dreams, I wasn’t sick. I never was. There were no endless needles or pills; no concerned looks and long hours in the doctor’s office. My purse wasn’t filled with medication; I was always full of energy, I didn’t have “bad days.” I was the picture of health and nothing could hold me back.

Falling in love with Liam hadn’t been exactly what I pictured; but when I look back, I wouldn’t have it any other way. All those men whom I imagined as my perfect love don’t compare to him.

Liam isn’t perfect, of course, but somehow, I love him in ways I never thought possible. His pain, his past, who he is, everything that would be considered an “imperfection” are just reasons why I love him more. What we have been through in this short period is more than any couple has been able to withstand in a thousand lifetimes.

He is always there for me; always supports and protects me; always finds a way to make me feel safe, even in the darkness. At first, when we met, I thought he was distant, emotionless, and there wasn’t a thing in the world that could make me give him a second thought. But time heals all wounds and changes thoughts. And of course, here we are now.

I don’t know what the future holds for Liam and me. My mortality looms every day, and every second I draw breath is one step closer to being six feet under. But I do know, as long as I draw breath I will be by his side.

I had known something was different about her from the moment she walked onto the stage, looking like a startled deer. Had it been any other auditionee—and there were hundreds who showed up looking afraid—I would have immediately drawn an “x” through their name and written them off without a second thought. But she was different, and not just because she was good. She was better than good. When she spoke, the words came out as if they were natural—something I continuously tried to beat into students’ heads without much success.

And she was beautiful, but that was inconsequential. Most actresses are some type of beauty, or they make you believe so. And this is a tough industry. It’s not seen through rose-tinted glasses. If I can’t see some sort of physical beauty in them, even at this young age, then they don’t get a shot. Better they learn it here than somewhere else.

Speaking of shots, I had certainly had at least two too many last night. It was a rough night - rougher than most. It seems closer to a full moon, the cravings always get worse. I’m not sure why, and I haven’t bothered to figure it out, but come the full moon, the urge to feed on human blood is never stronger. The alcohol helps, although it isn’t always a cure.

Which led to that morning, and my pounding head. Curse immortality that comes with hangovers. I still suffer the effects nearly every time. And when walking into a room full of energized, over-dramatic teenagers, the symptoms double.

I nodded curtly to a few of them and made my way toward the front of the room. Some of them called my name—no doubt they had questions about the latest simple assignment I’d given them. No matter how simple I made the homework, they had questions.

I was leaning against my desk with my back to them to try to drown out the noise, when suddenly the pain started to subside. The room was growing quiet, and the scent of human blood was neutralized.

I took a deep, pain free breath and turned around, proud of myself for controlling the urge. But then I saw I had not done so at all.

She was standing in the center of the now quiet room, blushing at the curious stares. Her long hair was hanging straight down her back, her huge brown eyes that had first attracted me were staring right into my own. But it was her scent; calming my urges, that made me hold her gaze as I wondered what she was. I felt better almost instantly, swallowing to find the words to speak.

“Take a seat, Amy.” I said, gesturing with my free hand, and she nodded, sitting down almost instantly. “And the rest of you...” I said, giving them my usual glare. They scuttled to their seats, pulling out notebooks. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her the entire lesson. What was she? What was drawing me to her? What story of us was just beginning?  

Write about what you want to be when you grow up. What made you decide that? Use all the proper formatting described in the previous chapter
. I read the assignment over and over again before I clicked the start button. The thing with being homeschooled, or ‘online schooled,’ was that once I clicked the start button for the test, I couldn’t do things normal students did, like negotiate for extra time to go to the bathroom, or argue my grade. I had to do it right the first time.

I glanced at the clock, seeing that I still had about forty five minutes left before Dad came home. The assignment was only allotted at thirty minutes, maximum, which meant I could probably finish it in twenty. They always gave you too much time with these things, which was silly really, because it meant you had extra time to use the textbook and cheat.

I never cheated, of course. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. My father had taught me that something worth doing was worth doing right, and even if he wasn’t home, his lessons rung loud in my ears. If I started this assignment right away, I could finish it and start dinner. I was planning stuffed peppers worthy of a five star restaurant—my father would expect no less—and when I read the recipe for them, I almost drooled. However, they would take some time to make, and I didn’t want him home and waiting on food, not after a long day at work.

I clicked start, taking a deep breath, and positioned my fingers over the keyboard.
Go.

I want to be an actress. I think I’ve always wanted to be an actress. I can remember, when I was young, putting on plays for my parents and my stuffed animals in the living room. Nothing thrilled me more than dressing up in costumes, making up stories and performing at the top of my lungs. However, I think there was one day when it became more than just a childhood fantasy.

I was nine years old, and my father and I had just moved here. After months of job searching, he finally got a job at a prestigious theater school just down the road. He was to be a cook, helping with not just the students’ three meals a day and snacks (about 50% of the students are boarders), but also the catering for the fancy theatrical events and any food props needed for the shows. It meant long hours, but that made up for the low pay. I remember him working late at home one night trying to develop a way for meat to be raw on the outside, but cooked on the inside. Whatever show they were doing at the time was not ‘appropriate for a child of my age,’ but he succeeded, and they put his name in the program and gave him ‘special thanks’ along with the rest of the chefs.