Almost Midnight

 

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About the Author

Copyright Page

 

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Dear Reader,

You've asked for it, and you've finally got it! Since
Turned at Dark,
Della's e-story about being inadvertently infected with the vampire virus, was first released, I've gotten e-mails from fans begging me to put my Shadow Falls novellas in print. You want to be able to hold that book in your hands, you tell me. You want to see it on bookshelves. And so it is!

Almost Midnight
is a compilation of all four of my previously published e-novellas. You can follow Della through
Saved at Sunrise
where she's rescued by the hot shape-shifter who vied for her attention. In
Unbreakable
your heart will break for all that Chase Tallman endured before he became the mysterious and alluring new vampire whose presence stirred up trouble at the camp and caused all kinds of havoc for Della. Ahh, and let's not forget the lovable Miranda, who until now felt lacking in her supernatural potential. In
Spellbinder,
you learn that deep down this witch is a force to be reckoned with. And if her ex, Perry, doesn't come around soon, there's a new sexy warlock who'd be happy to take his place.

But there was someone else in my fictional world of Shadow Falls who kept tapping on my mind and insisting she wanted her own story. She wasn't even a likely candidate. Frankly, most of the time, she wasn't even likable. She was Kylie's nemesis—someone everyone wanted to root against. Yet even archenemies have stories. Some of them, like Fredericka Lakota, even deserve to be redeemed. In
Fierce,
you'll not only get inside this werewolf's head, but into her heart. You'll see her struggle to overcome her past, and you'll see her win the future—and the hot guy—she truly deserves.

Enjoy your stroll through the enchanted world of Shadow Falls—a world where friendship, romance, and laughter make everything a little more magical. And prepare yourself for one last book in 2016, where Miranda's new powers will be challenged, her heart finally won, and there will at last be a graduation that brings this amazing journey to a close.

Thank you for being a fan.

Happy Reading!

C. C.

 

T
urned at
D
ark

 

 

Sixteen-year-old Della Tsang had never seen a ghost until she saw her dead cousin zip across the street and duck into the alley. If it hadn't been for the streetlight spitting out its spray of wattage overhead, she might have missed him.

And if it hadn't been for a scar that ran along his chin, she might have thought it was just someone who looked like Chan. Then again, it was after midnight. But she
had
spotted the scar. A scar she'd sort of given him when they'd been six, jumping on the trampoline and he'd collided with her head.

Hardheaded Della had been her family nickname after that. Sometimes Della wondered if she'd really been obstinate then, or if the name had just been another thing for her to live up to. Being of Asian descent, there were high expectations, sometimes too high. But because she and her sister were half-white, her father insisted they work twice as hard to prove that their parents' love hadn't tainted the family tree.

A pair of headlights moving down the road pulled Della's attention from the alley where Chan had disappeared. Not that she completely believed it was Chan. Did she?

The car drew nearer, and thinking it was Lee to pick her up, Della stepped off her best friend Lisa's front porch, leaving the sound of the party still going on behind her.

At least twice a month, Della and Lee tried to sneak away so they could be together for an entire night. She knew her parents would freak if they knew she and Lee were sleeping together. It wouldn't even matter that they were practically engaged. But at least Lee had gotten a stamp of approval from her father. Luckily, she agreed with him, too. Not that she agreed with her father on everything. However, Lee was everything Della wanted in a boyfriend—hot, popular, smart, and, thankfully for her father's sake, Asian. It didn't even bother her that Lee wasn't totally into the party scene.

She gave the alley one last look. It couldn't have been Chan. She'd attended his funeral less than a year ago—had seen his casket being lowered into the ground. She remembered she hadn't cried. Her father had insisted she not. She wondered if her father would be disappointed if he knew that very night, while alone in bed, she had cried her eyes out.

When the car drove closer, Della realized she'd been wrong. It wasn't Lee. She watched as the car moved down the street, past the alley. She stood there, staring, suddenly feeling alone in the dark, when her phone beeped with an incoming text.

Pulling it out, she read the message.
Parents still up. Will b late.

Frowning, she repocketed her phone and her gaze shifted back to the alley. What would it hurt to just … go check? To prove that ghosts didn't exist.

Moving slowly in the shadows, she neared the alley. The cold of the January night seeped through her leather jacket and the soft tap-tapping of her footsteps seemed loud. Maybe too loud. No sooner had she cut the corner than she heard yelling. She stopped short. Her breath caught at the sight of the fight—or out-and-out war—taking place. The sound of fist hitting flesh filled the cold darkness and she saw bodies being tossed up in the air like rag dolls.

Della might not have been familiar with this darker side of life, but she immediately knew what she'd stumbled on. A gang war. Her heart jumped into her throat. She had to get out of here and fast.

She stepped back, but the heel of her shoe twisted and she lost her footing. Her leg shot up in the air and she went down with a loud thud.

Slamming butt first, her hands went back to catch herself. She felt a sharp pain in her palm, no doubt from a piece of glass from a broken beer bottle a few inches away. Wincing, she muttered, “Shi…” The one-word curse hadn't yet left her lips when the dead silence suddenly drew her attention upward. The fighting had stopped and at least six guys, young, about her age, starting moving toward her. Moving oddly, as if … Their posture reminded her of a pack of animals coming to check out their prey.

Della's focus shifted from the group's strange body movements to their eyes. Her heart jolted when she saw their eyes glowing burnt orange. Then low growling noises filled the shadows. “What the—”

Before she could finish her sentence, they were upon her. “Human. Yum,” one of them said.

Tension filled her chest. “I'm leaving.” She jumped to her feet.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps behind her, and knew they had her surrounded. The growling escalated and for a second she could swear the sounds weren't human. She turned, hoping to find a path to run, but instantly something grabbed her around her middle and a cold wind blasted against her face. She felt dizzy, disoriented, as if she were suddenly traveling at high speeds like she was on a roller coaster. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. Darkness surrounded her and it took a second to realize she had her eyes closed. She tried to open them, but the rush of air coming at her stung so badly she slammed them shut. What the hell was happening? Now it felt as if … as if she were flying.

Or falling. No, not falling—someone, or something had her.

Her lungs screamed for air, but what she thought was an arm wrapped around her stomach and cut off her ability to breathe. She tried to yank herself free, but her efforts were futile. Whoever had her was built of steel, and his flesh felt cold, hard. Something wet seemed to ooze from her hand and she realized it was her blood from where she'd cut herself.

Right then, the cut started to burn. Burn badly, as if someone had just doused it with rubbing alcohol. The searing pain seemed to follow her arm upward, all the way to her chest, and for a second, her heart didn't beat. She gasped, hoping to breathe, but nothing seemed to get through to her lungs. Refusing to let the fear stop her, she forced the words out, “Let me go, you asshole!”

A jolt shot through her body as her feet hit the ground. The arm released her. Her knees buckled, but she caught herself at the last second and shot her eyes open. Blinking, she tried to focus, but everything appeared blurry.

“Breathe,” someone said and she recognized the deep, masculine voice. Recognized Chan.

Ghosts did exist?

No, they couldn't.

A couple more seconds later, her vision cleared and holy mother of pearls, she was right. Chan stood directly in front of her. Nausea hit. Her palm still burned. She grabbed her middle, bent over, and puked all over the front of her dead cousin.

“Oh, shit!” He lurched back.

She stood upright again and stared, thinking that any minute now she'd wake up. Or maybe it wasn't a dream. Had someone slipped something into her drink tonight? She pressed her palms into her eyes and didn't care that she was probably smearing blood from the cut on her hand all over her face.

When she dropped her hands, Chan stared, only now his black eyes glowed a bright green color.

He jumped back from her. “You're bleeding!”

“You're dead.” She pressed her bloody hand on her middle, hoping to squelch the nausea and wipe away the sting.

He pinched his black brows together and stared harder. “Friggin' hell! You're turning.”

“No, I'm not! I'm standing still. In one spot,” she snapped. “Then again, I do feel dizzy.” She closed her eyes and then popped them back open again.

“You needed help so I … I didn't know you'd cut yourself or—”

“I did not need your help, I would have … I would have figured something out.”

He shook his head. “Still hardheaded, huh?”

She hugged herself. “What just happened? No, what
is
happening?” She looked around and saw they were no longer anywhere near Lisa's house or that dark alley where she'd gone looking for … “You're dead, Chan. How can you be here?”

He shook his head and stared at her forehead. “If I'd known you were bleeding, I wouldn't have … I should have known you were a carrier. But if I hadn't got you out of there, the dogs would have eaten you alive.”