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PROLOGUE

I don’t have to be psychic or supernaturally inclined to know when a vampire’s around. I just do—it’s my thing—well, it’s not my only thing. But, anyway, like right now—I’m on the top of one of my college’s buildings. It was the building where I volunteered at the hotline. I’d been the unfortunate one to answer the call and now I stood, teetering on the edge with a ‘jumper’ before me.

A normal person would be focused on the suicide kid, right?

I’m not normal.

Oh no, instead—I was keenly aware of the two vamps that were behind me and the six that were on the ground. They looked up, intermixed with the rest of the audience, but I knew they weren’t watching with their breaths held in fright.

Vampires didn’t care about death. It’s probably because they found a way to cheat it, but whatever—in that way, they’re very much not human!

As if that needed to even be said.

They were just curious…or there for an entire sinister reason. Bad vampires. And if that was the case, I sure as hell didn’t want to be around.

“Okay…okay.” I took a deep breath and inched forward.

I wasn’t going anywhere.

The jumper was a frail looking girl with inflamed cheeks. Her red curls whisked around her head from the wind—which didn’t help our situation at all.

She turned and saw me. Her eyes widened—she was the deer in my headlights, but I hoped to god that I wasn’t the oncoming car to push her over the edge.

“Hi—hello—how are you, no—I mean…”

I should stop now…but I was the only one from the hotline there.

I’d been the last to leave and because of that, I was the only one that heard the phone, answered the phone, and figured out where the girl called from.

Hence—the roof.

I took another breath and then said, more calmly, “My name’s Davina, but you can call me Davy—if you want.”

A part of me waited for the normal ‘stay away from me! Or I’ll jump!’, but I was a little disappointed.

She didn’t say a thing. She just…I saw the tears, and that’s what made me pause.

She’d been hysterical on the phone, but I heard the words ‘a guy’, ‘kill myself’, and ‘love.’ My mind had leapt the natural clichéd conclusion. I thought she was going to kill herself over a guy and a part of me felt a little contempt for her—I know, I know—she’s suicidal. I should be sympathetic, but…really? A guy?

That had been my first reaction.

Now I thought differently. This girl wasn’t the suicidal virgin with love gone reality. This girl was…I looked into her hazel eyes. I saw true and utter agony in there. It was real and it blew my breath away, just for a moment—and that’s saying a lot.

“Okay.” I needed to settle myself. I needed to plant both feet on the ground and I needed—I looked at her again.

God—the pain. I could almost feel it—I did feel it. It was…crippling.

Okay. This might be an appropriate time to explain—I’m an empath. I could feel the girl. I could feel—the pain, the—it was gut wrenching pain, but she was done. I could feel that.

She was just—she’d fought a battle, she’d lost, and she was just done—with it all.

For a moment, I stood in awe of her. Don’t get me wrong—I was not where this girl was, but I’d had my fair share of trauma and struggle.

I was still standing today. And I still had hope—that was my battle.

And this girl had none.

I closed my eyes and I opened every sense I had. Every empath I knew would scream against this, but I needed to know what this girl had gone through—something told me that I needed to know. So I did it—I lowered my bridge and I felt myself slip inside of her.

Turmoil. Desolation. Agony. And worst of all—I felt the surrender first and foremost. It slammed against me like waves of sleet in a downpour. It actually hurt me and I bit my tongue.

I felt…I wanted to feel more. I wanted to understand, so I pushed further. Another note: empaths are advised against this for a reason. If we touched too deep—sometimes a part of us didn’t come back.

I felt it—there was something inside of her, something that promised me—it’d be worth it. It was like…I needed to uncover it.

I can’t explain.

It was a seventh sense inside of me, maybe faith.

But I did it. I surged further inside and as I literally fought past the hopelessness and defeat—I gasped as I touched the core.

There had been a guy. He had loved her. She had loved him…and then…I felt devastation, betrayal, and an end.

I gasped abruptly.

The end—that was it. I’m not psychic. I don’t know what happened, but…something had happened and the decision had been made then and there. She had loved this guy—she found something—and it was death. It was her decision—that was important. I’d felt that.

She decided when she’d die…not…I couldn’t feel it anymore. I didn’t want to. It was…there was a reason why I’d only chosen to volunteer at the hotline for the last three months.

I normally kept an entire building between me and people like this, who felt their feelings on the surface. They were so raw.

I got choked up just answering the phone at times.

She gasped—my eyes flew open and I felt a wind propel me backwards. It was as if the universe didn’t want me near this girl.

I couldn’t look away. Her eyes were—they wanted to tell me something, something that she didn’t even realize she wanted to say—but she didn’t have the words, or she didn’t have the will.

And then—a single tear rolled down to join the rest and she smiled. It was haunting. And then she let go of the railing and I watched, stricken but already in expectation—as she soared downwards.

Something was off—something that reeled inside of me.

Some thing had not gone according to plan and I’m the kind of girl where I knew that plans should go according to plan! It was usually highly essential, but—this—this wasn’t good.

Not only for the fact that some part of me still felt connected to her—empath con of the job—but…there was a universe/world/future issue at stake. I had no idea why I felt that, how I felt it, but I did.

I was panicked. I didn’t know why, but I was. The girl had jumped and it was like the world was now going to end…I gulped.

And besides that feeling—I looked down and saw the cameras below.

The girl’s suicide would be on the 9 o’clock news.

I really didn’t need that.

I highly doubted that my hotline supervisor would be happy.

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