Page 2 of Born of Blood and Thorns

"Thanks for the reminder," I said through a tight, stretched smile. Like I didn't already know. It wasn't like I needed a reminder of how much the villagers mistrusted and despised me – a half-breed, an abomination in their eyes.

The door dinged with the arrival of our first customer. I quickly put aside all my feelings and pasted on another smile, ready for a difficult day.

A gruff voice called out, asking for a book on werewolf lore. I handed him the book, but he gave me a disdainful look before leaving. The door chimed at the arrival of more customers as the day progressed.

"See?" I grumbled to myself as I returned to my duties. "They can't even look at me without sneering."

"Can you blame them, though?" chimed a snide voice, and I turned to see Tessa, the local shifter gossip, leaning against a bookshelf with her arms crossed. "You're a half-breed blood sucker. You don't belong here."

"Fuck off, Tessa," I snapped, my temper flaring. "I don't have time for your petty bullshit today."

"Fine," she huffed, flicking her long blond hair over her shoulder as she sauntered away. "But remember, you'll never be one of us."

As I muttered the words, "Who said I wanted to be?" my heart felt like a caged bird beating against its prison—like the walls of this cold room, which kept me locked inside, with no escape from the crushing wave of loneliness and isolation.

My hunger twisted around me like a giant snake squeezing tight until I thought I would scream. With every breath, the fog inside me felt thicker and heavier, dragging me down as if I were standing in quicksand.

Nothing mattered more than this job and my desperate need for food. So I clamped my mouth shut, binding it tighter than a rope, and swallowed all of my pride in exchange for the cheapest scraps of sustenance. All I needed was enough to get by.

Mr. Bingsley forced a hollow smile and inquired, "Everything all right, sweetheart?" His hand gripped my shoulder in forced familiarity.

"Fine," I lied, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Just another day in paradise."

My life might be far from perfect, but I held onto the hope that one day things would change. When they did, I'd be ready to spread my wings and prove them all wrong. I was more than grateful for this job even if it came with… challenges.

We moved often, my father and me. He cared little for me, and I soon forgot the feeling of being safe and warm. We'd been in this town longer than any other—no one wanted our shack, so they let us stay. In a town full of shifters, my father could hold his own. On the other hand, things were more challenging for me.

My stomach grumbled loudly; the hunger pangs wracked my body and caused me to double over. I clenched my fists and fought hard against tears, fearing any sign of weakness would make me vulnerable. I prayed Mr. Bingsley would bring me some food. As a half-vampire, death from hunger was not easy, but the pain was relentless.

All I needed was a tiny crumb of bread to keep me alive and in constant agony without the sweet release of death. I couldn't survive on blood; essentially, I was still mostly human. I had forgotten what it felt like to have a full belly and to be loved.

The store cleared out. I was thankful. It was in the moments when no one was in the store that I loved the most. It was me and the books and knickknacks, my favorite kind of solitary companions.

As far as curses go, I suppose there are worst ones, I thought. I stood staring at the meager library as my palms began to itch. The full moon made my skin itch and crawl, so I, too, was not unaffected, only I didn't snap and snarl. I could just feel it.

As the full moon rose in the sky, the shifters were restless as they growled and grumbled, eyeing me with distaste as they bared their teeth and clenched their jaws against the animalistic urge to become full-on predators looking for prey. I just itched.

A blessing I supposed.

Only, I wasn't prey. I was a predator—the ultimate predator or, well, at least, the potential predator. Even if that predator were hidden beneath my skin, waiting until the day she was awakened. I knew only part of what I was, and if it were up to me, I'd do anything not to become that creature. The dead reeked, and so did the undead.

And who wanted to never see the sun again?

I loved the sun. I guess I was already a candidate for the worst vampire. Even as a half-vampire, I had the potential to become full—if I wanted. But I didn't. I would rather starve and die.

I glimpsed a vibrant purple book with silver letters that shimmered in the light. It was Isla and Adrian, a vampire fairytale love story. I knew it but couldn't reach it—my short stature denied me.

I turned toward Mr. Bingsley's chair, still pulled out and waiting for its occupant to return. I walked over to it and lifted it up with little effort despite the thick wood of the large chair. I dropped it right before the book that beckoned me from above.

I climbed onto the sturdy chair and snatched the book triumphantly, only to get hit full in the face by a massive cloud of dust. The combination of dust and the musty smell of books that had not been cleaned in a long time assaulted my heightened sense of smell, making me sneeze.

The once sturdy chair wobbled from its force, slamming my body into the shelf of books. The bookcase broke and rained down onto my now prone body as I lay on the cold, hard floor, covered in dust, books, and damaged wood. The book I'd wanted so severely clutched still in my arms in the destruction of the corner shelf of the bookstore.

I sighed loudly, feeling the weight of my situation pressing down on me. Despite the dustiness and age of the books that filled Mr. Bingsley's store, he took such care in preserving them, almost as if they were his own children. It was why he had gradually warmed up to me.

We shared a love for books in a world where life was too hard and harsh to partake in such leisurely pleasures. At least not for peasants. Which was what I appeared to be. Which was what the whole world needed to believe I was. With as poor as we were now, I suppose there was no need to pretend— I just was.

The door chimed, and I stiffened, a book still split open atop my head. Gideon stepped through the door, his ebony hair swept back and tucked behind his ears. His piercing amber gaze traveled over my body with such intensity that I felt exposed and vulnerable under its scrutiny.

---