“Tristan, the bell’s about to ring,” Savannah muttered.
Time was up. I grabbed him where his left shoulder met his neck, driving him back into the nearest pole. “Don’t make me lose my patience.”
Dylan closed his eyes. “Just do it already.” If you don’t kill me, he will.
“Why would he kill his own son, Dylan?” Savannah asked.
“Get out of my head, you b—” Dylan tried to scream.
Shaking my head, I tapped his left cheek with my open palm. I’d meant to barely slap him, but his pupils dilated and he started to slump. Cursing, I held him upright.
Turn me, Dylan thought as he fought to hold on to consciousness. Just turn me or kill me.
Whoa. Surprise almost made me let go of him. I regained my grip on his shoulder before he fell all the way to the cement. “What are you talking about?”
His eyes rolled as he blinked slowly. “I know she can do it. She pulled it off with you.”
“You don’t mean it,” Savannah muttered. “You can’t really want this.”
But he did. He blinked hard, trying to clear his vision enough to stare at her. “You don’t know him. I’m dead either way. At least if I were like you...”
Heat built in my chest, but this time the anger had a whole new target. Mr. Williams. “If your dad’s using magic on you, tell the Clann. They’ll put a stop to it—”
Dylan let his head drop back against the pole. “You don’t get it. They don’t care. Besides, it’d be my word against his. He’s got too many friends on his side. The Clann will never stand against him.”
“My mother would.” The words slipped out of me as quickly as I thought them. Then I realized it was true. For all her faults and fears against vamps, she would never knowingly allow any Clann kid to be abused.
“She’s not as powerful as she thinks,” Dylan whispered. His pupils slowly contracted to their previous size.
What did he mean by that?
At first, I thought he was still trying to tick me off. But his tone was wrong, flat and unemotional now. Like he was just stating a fact.
“She’s the Clann leader,” I said. “Not even your dad would be stupid enough to mess with her.”
He looked me in the eye, uncaring whether he got gaze dazed in the process. “Want to bet?” Before I could react, he looked away again. “Now either kill me or let me go, man.”
Noise as other students drifted out of the cafeteria and headed in our direction.
“Tristan,” Savannah murmured, her tone a warning.
I released Dylan and stepped back, lost in thought. He hesitated for a second then slunk off, shoulders hunched, hands shoved in his front pockets, his head hanging. He looked like a freshly beaten dog.
“Do you think he meant it?” Savannah asked just before the bell pealed, signaling the end of lunch. “About his dad threatening to kill him, I mean?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“Can’t we do something to help him?”
I glanced at her in surprise. “Help the guy who’s been bullying you for years? Are you serious?”
Her nose scrunched. “Yeah, I know. He’s the world’s biggest jerk. But that doesn’t mean he deserves to have the crap magically kicked out of him all the time by his dad.”
We slowly walked side by side toward the main building.
I scowled at nothing, walking by sheer instinct, too lost in thought to notice the growing traffic around us as we neared the metal doors of the main building’s back entrance.
Being furious at Dylan was a lot less complicated than whatever this new feeling was that was pushing around at my insides. If I didn’t know better, I’d call it...pity.
Nah. Couldn’t be.
“Maybe I’ll shoot Em a text and see what she thinks.” Dylan was never going to become a vamp, not if I had any say in it. But something about the whole situation didn’t feel right.
What had Dylan meant about our mother not having as much power as she believed?
Yeah, I’d definitely have to talk to Emily about this. I doubted the Williamses had as much pull within the Clann as Dylan seemed to think. But it was better to give Emily a heads-up just in case something was going on within the ranks that she didn’t know about. And while she was sniffing around, she could also tell our mother about Mr. Williams’s abuse of his son.
CHAPTER 7
SAVANNAH
By the time Charmers practice wrapped up late that evening and Tristan and I drove home, I was exhausted.
“Want some help with your homework?” Tristan called out from his bedroom as I headed upstairs.
I hesitated. Since getting his memory back, Tristan’s mind worked lightning-fast. He’d used the four-and-a-half-hour trip home from Arkansas yesterday to read all of our textbooks so he could get caught up on the five months’ worth of homework I’d done for both of us during our absence. And not only did he read fast, but he also seemed to photographically memorize everything he read, as well. Getting good grades definitely wasn’t going to be a problem for him from now on. Boredom while at school, on the other hand, was a real danger where he was concerned.
But it wasn’t the smarter version of Tristan that made me hesitate. It was the idea of being in a room alone with him. Every day since turning him last fall, we’d always had someone else around.
I was being ridiculous. I could handle the temptation. Besides, Dad would be right downstairs, listening to every sound we made.
“Sure,” I answered him. “Let me change and I’ll be right over.”
In my bedroom, I exchanged my school clothes for comfier pajama pants, thick wool socks and a hoodie. With no humans around, I could finally put on some extra layers to ward off the ever-present chill I felt in spite of the warm East Texas weather. The bank signs all said it was 78°F today, but to my frozen fingers and toes, it felt more like 28°F.
I padded over to Tristan’s bedroom, next door to mine, and knocked on the door.
“Come on in,” he said, setting aside a textbook he had been reading.
“Leave the door open, please,” Dad called out from the living room, making me roll my eyes.
We still weren’t sure I could even have children if I wanted to someday, since no female vampire ever had before. Their bodies saw baby embryos as foreign infections that had to be eradicated immediately. Then again, I wasn’t exactly your average female vamp, so...
Still, I left the door open to make Dad feel better, then slowly walked around Tristan’s bedroom.
Since returning to Jacksonville, we hadn’t had time for him to do much to his new room. So it was still mostly bare, no pictures or posters on the dark green walls Dad had painted, the old-fashioned rolltop desk’s surface clean except for Tristan’s laptop, the bedside table beside him holding only a brass lamp and his MP3 player, now plugged into the wall nearby and recharging. Then I spotted the photo of me taped to the wall above his carved oak headboard.
“Where’d you get that?” It looked like my school photo from last year, but I’d never given him one, at least not that I remembered. A closer look showed that it had been printed on thinner paper than photo stock.
Tristan continued to stare at me, watching me, his hands tucked behind his head. “There weren’t many messages to run from the office during first period, and