Destined to Kill: A Destined Novel (Destined Novels Book 1)

by Jourdyn Kelly

  "Vampires do not exist. History class is about what happened in the past, not about fictional monster stories."

  I can hear the murmurs of those around me. They know, as well as I do, that this was the longest conversation anyone has actually had with Galloway.

  "Vampires have not been discounted, Ms. Gale. Even if there's not much proof they existed, there's also no proof that they didn't. It is said that Vlad the Impaler was a vampire."

  "Seriously? Vlad was a power hungry monster who killed innocent people whom he thought challenged his authority. He killed children and women. He may have fed the flesh of his victims to their friends and relatives, but it was never said that he drank the blood of his victims."

  "You seem to know a lot about Vlad, Ms. Gale."

  "I know history, Mr. Galloway. Real history."

  "Then you know Vlad was the inspiration for Bram Stoker's Dracula."

  "That is also speculation. Bram didn't know much about Vlad. By your standards, you must think that Bram's novel is a true depiction of vampires."

  "I think, of course, that there are a lot of fabricated instances in the book. However, I do believe there are parts of truths."

  "Then you're an idiot."

  Gasps came from all around me.

  "You are out of line, Ms. Gale." I notice that when Mr. Galloway is upset, the spittle on his lip sprayed.

  "Mr. Galloway, you are trying to teach these kids about monsters that do not exist. I can't imagine that this is on your list of curriculum to teach."

  "Who is the teacher here? Can you say for certain that vampires in fact do not exist–Ms. Gale?" It's the way he pauses before saying my name, the way he looks at me that sends chills down my spine. It renders me speechless. There's nothing I can say to that, no way for me to answer. So I sit quietly, waiting, while he passes out literature on the 'undead'. It seems the rest of the class is genuinely quite excited to be reading about something other than "boring old stuff".

  He stops at my desk and lays a very old copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula in front of me. It's a first edition. In fact, it is one of the first copies ever published. I know this because it's mine.

  "Where did you get this?"

  "I know you've probably read this already, but perhaps you could read it again. Just as a refresher." It's all he says before giving me a creepy smile and going back to his desk.

  I don't open it–yes, I'm stubborn. I refuse to be intimidated by this new, weird Mr. Galloway. I don't know what happened to him, but I'm going to find out in–I check my watch–twenty more minutes. Geez, sometimes time could go by so tortuously slow.

  I turn around and reach for the note that Amanda was in the midst of passing to me. I don't pay attention to the shocked look on her face. She's wondering how I even knew she was about to tap me on the shoulder, but I'm too engrossed in my own thoughts to worry about it.

  "Are you crazy? Why did you argue with Mr. Galloway like that? At least now we can read something interesting!" I have to read the note three times–just can't concentrate.

  "Like I told him, this isn't science fiction class. I don't think it's right to make us read about a history or characters that didn't exist. Interesting or not." I pass the note back to her, rolling my eyes at her annoyed look. When I get the piece of paper back I know for certain Amanda is annoyed.

  "There's something weird going on with you. You've changed. Let me know when you see my best friend again."

  Before I can respond, the bell signaling the end of class began to ring. I don't move.

  "You coming?" I'm surprised that Amanda is speaking to me at all.

  "No. I need to speak to Galloway first."

  "I kinda enjoy this new reading material. I mean, seriously, it's entertaining. Don't ruin it." With that, Amanda walks out.

  I wait until Amanda closes the door, then turn my attention to Mr. Galloway. He rises from his seat and addresses me.

  "Would you like to argue further about my choice in curriculum, Ms. Gale?"

  "I would like to know where you got my book, Mr. Galloway." I watch him carefully, trying to see any little thing that would alert me to what was going on. He turns quickly, however, so I don't see anything.

  He begins erasing words on the white board. To me, it seems like busy work. It's like he's trying to avoid having to have a face to face conversation with me. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Anala."

  It takes me half a second to realize what he called me. It takes me the other half of the second to reach him. With my hand around his neck and his feet inches off the ground, my eyes bore into his.

  "Who are you?"

  Though he looks scared, he seems even more interested my strength and speed.

  "Who are you!" I repeat. I grit my teeth, hoping it helps keep me in control.

  "You know who I am. I'm Jared Galloway..."

  "Stop lying!" I tighten my grip, knowing I could squeeze just a little harder and snap his neck. "Tell me who you are or I swear I will break you."

  "I can't breathe, Anala, please!" He grips my wrist with both of his hands and fights with every bit of strength he has. It makes no difference as I don't budge. I won't until I know how he knows my name.

  "We've met, Anala. You were younger, then, but you know me!" His voice is strained, trying to take in even the tiniest of breath.

  Younger? That's not possible. No one is alive from when I was younger. I look into his eyes, past the teacher, into his soul. I remember the week before when I had felt a familiar feeling as he looked at me. In that moment, it hit me. I did know him! I loosen my grip and set him down.

  "Bernard?" Even to my own ears my voice sounds small and almost inaudible. I take a step away from him, refusing to believe my own eyes. "How? Why?" So many questions run through my head, and yet I can't form more than these two words.

  "I know you need answers, Anala, so do I. I thought you had died centuries ago." He rubs his neck. "I must finish the day as this Galloway, and then I will be free to meet with you to discuss everything."

  Galloway. If this isn't my teacher, where is he? Yeah, he was a loner and a bit of a bore, but I don't want anything to happen to him. "Where is he? What did you do to him?"

  "He is well. I did not hurt him. I just needed to get into this class. There is a reason I chose this man, but I cannot explain, yet."

  My head is spinning. Some of what was happening to me began to make sense. The intensified hunger, the odd dreams. I must have recognized Bernard from the beginning; I just couldn't let my mind accept the possibility. Most of what was happening made no sense at all. Bernard shouldn't be here.

  "Your explanation better come quick, Bernard. I have no patience left for everything I'm feeling."

  I didn't wait for his response. Now that I know who he is, it only confused me more. I need to get away from him before I do–or become–something I don't want.

  I stand in front of the enormous house, just looking at it. It looks more like a castle–minus the moat. It almost makes me laugh how stereotypical it is. The thirty thousand square foot home stood sprawled on hundreds of acres of plush green land. At least it wasn't sitting atop of a dark mountain with black clouds, rain and lightning flashing every few seconds to show a sinister, dilapidated, haunted mansion.

  This house could be a home. It was open, airy and inviting despite its enormity. Yes, the gray stone it was built with lent it a cold exterior, but inside is full of warmth. I made sure of that when I designed the place. I walk through the gates that kept curious out, and up the long, well-manicured walkway. I'm smart enough to keep the curious out, but let the landscapers and maintainers of the house in. No need to let something so grand fall apart. Obviously, since I'm here now, it was great foresight on my part.

  I see him standing at the front door. I suppose I should question how he got in the gates, but I have too many other things to worry about. Clearly he has his ways, especially since he is still alive today. He looks like himself now, which I must admit
I'm not sure if I'm grateful for. But, seeing Bernard as my high school history teacher was beyond weird.

  "Bernard." I walk by him and use my keys to open the door to my home.

  "Thank you for meeting with me."

  "Like I have a choice." I motion him inside and close the door. We stood in the regal foyer decorated in imported Italian marble and rich cherry woods. The grand staircase seems as though it could reach up to the heavens. That description is even more fitting when you look to the top of the stairs and see floor to ceiling windows with a panoramic view of blue skies and white clouds.

  "I would offer you a drink or a seat, but I don't want to. All I want is for you to tell me what's going on."

  "Maybe you should offer me a seat for this, Anala." To his credit, Bernard doesn't make a move. He just stands there, waiting for my answer.

  "Ana."

  "Excuse me?"

  "My name is Ana. If you want me to keep talking to you, you'll call me by my name."

  "Your name is Anala. You are the daughter of the leaders…"

  "Stop! I don't know why you're here or what you want from me, but what I want is for you to call me Ana. No one knows me as Anala here and that's how I'd like to keep it."

  "Very well, Ana." I can tell it takes effort to call me what he isn't used to, but he does it. He follows me into the parlor, another open space, with light flowing in from the huge windows. The vaulted ceilings made the furniture appear almost minimal, though there's enough seating in here for a group of twenty or more. More of the imported Italian marble flowed in here from the foyer, surrounding the fireplace that was clearly the focal point of this room. The mantle was made of more of the rich, handcrafted cherry wood. I love how it gave the room such an artistic feel.

  "Why are you here, Bernard? More importantly, how are you here?"

  "I am guessing the same way you are, Anala–Ana." He looks uncomfortable, fidgeting in his chair. When I don't respond, he continues. "Your father's mixture of Cursed blood and…whatever else he used. Would you know what that is? Never mind, we will get to that later." He pauses. "There have been sightings–killings, rather. I believe Cursed Ones have returned. I came here in search for Hunters. Imagine my surprise when I found you. What an added bonus to have a real Hunter helping us deal with this as quickly as we can. We cannot let it become an epidemic."

  "I don't understand. It can't be possible that there are more. I took care of them myself a long time ago. I hunted down all of them, Bernard."

  "It is possible that you missed one, Ana. You are only human."

  "No! Bernard, no. I made sure I eradicated all of them. If what you are saying is true, it's not because I failed. This isn't my problem anymore. I just want to live my life as normal as I can. Hunters no longer exist in this world."

  "I'm sorry, Anala, it is true. Hunters do exist, you are here! Others may not have the training you have, but they are here, somewhere, born of their ancestors. I believe they go to school with you. Please, there's no other way."

  "I won't do it. I will not put anyone else in danger and I will not go back to that life."

  "I'm afraid you have no choice."

  I shot up from my seat, unable to sit still anymore, furious beyond belief. "I do have a choice, Bernard. How dare you come here and put this on me."

  "I have no choice. I know, just as you do, what these things can do. You were born a Hunter. You are bound by the rules of the Society. You must find the rest and teach them the way of the Hunter."

  "No. Hunters ceased to exist, the Society ceased to exist centuries ago when I - Hunters - eliminated the threat. How in the hell is it possible that they are back?" I try to think back to those days. Is it possible that I missed one? Two?

  "Anala, Hunters do not just go away. Being who you are, I am fortunate to have found you. You know what's happening. You know how to stop it. Again."

  "I don't know what's happening, Bernard!" I pace the room, fury and confusion battling for the top spot in my head. I really could rip someone's head off right now.

  "I'm still trying to figure out what is happening myself. The only explanation I have is you must have missed..."

  "This isn't my mistake, Bernard. I got rid of every last one of them."

  "Can you be sure? Do you still have the brew your father made? You must if you are still alive. Could someone have gotten to it? A friend you have invited in to your home? You seem to be very trusting of those around you these days. Maybe sold it to the highest bidder for luxury like this?" Bernard says, spreading his arms in the grand room.

  "Do you think I did this? That I could do that to my father?" It's insulting that he would even entertain the idea.

  "I just have no other explanation if what you say is true and you killed them all." He runs his hands over his face and I take the moment to study him. He's older than me–my real age - but still looks as though he could be in his early forties. My keen sight notices that stress was making his features look more weathered than usual.

  "You stole from him." It isn't a question, it is an accusation. Ages ago, I remember papa telling me how he did not trust Bernard.

  "I am sorry, Anala. He gave me no other option. Before you were thought to be dead, I knew your father was working on a cure for whatever ailed you. What he came up with granted whomever took it a long-lasting life. It was far too enticing for me to not want that for myself. Of course, you know that already. He must have given it to you. I do not understand why they did not stop the rumors of your death, though."

  "Not aging can be difficult to explain," I say, offering him nothing more.

  "That is true." He shrugs, deciding that my explanation was good enough for him.

  I see him wringing his hands, in obvious discomfort. "What are you not telling me?"

  "My supply is running out."

  My thoughts return to papa's lab and how many vials of my blood he took. He told me once that one drop could cure a disease or stop the aging process for years. If Bernard had been the one who had my parents murdered - with as many vials that were stolen - Bernard should be well stocked for centuries to come.

  "We all run out of time, eventually, Bernard." I need a drink. All of this information, thinking about the past and my parents, having Bernard here now, was giving me a splitting headache. As I walk over to the wet bar, I know that what I want and what I need are two different things. I choose tequila, though I know it's not going to quench my thirst. Only one thing can do that now, and that aggravates the hell out of me.

  "Ana, I - I thought I had enough to last many more years," he stammers. "However, I barely have any left, and I am already feeling the effects."

  He's lying. I don't know what he's lying about exactly, but I do know he's lying.

  "Do you have extra you can give me? I've been trying to duplicate your father's formula - with synthetic blood, of course," he says quickly. "I have not been able to. Perhaps only pure Cursed blood is the only thing that works."

  "I would not ask me for any favors at the moment, Bernard. I am not in a giving mood." I down the first shot of tequila, relishing the burn as it slides down my throat. "What now," I ask.

  He's disappointed by my rejection, but says nothing more on the subject. "Now we must find the others. I suppose you would know better than I who they are since you hunted with their ancestors."

  "These 'Hunters' do not know who they are or what they're up against. Cursed Ones, or vampires as they're known now, are just fiction to people these days, Bernard. Made up villains in horror movies. Or romantic figures for young, impressionable girls."

  "It is your challenge to make them believe and get them ready. You are their leader now. The head of the Society."

  "Awesome," I say sarcastically and take another shot.

  "You seem to be popular, looked up to. It shouldn't be hard for you to get their attention."

  "It depends on who they are," I mutter.

  "Anala, you must keep an open mind. In order for them to follow
you, you must be a true leader."

  "This is insane, Bernard. If that's why you took over Galloway's body to look for Hunters at the school, they are just children! You cannot expect them to put their lives on the line."

  "No younger than you or your fellow Hunters were before, Anala."

  "The difference is, Bernard, centuries ago, Hunters knew who they were, what they were up against and were prepared since birth for their destiny. If killings have already begun, you know that we don't have the time to train mere children."

  "From what I've been able to determine, there are full Cursed Ones as well as hybrids. Too many for just you, Anala. We have a little time before the hybrids become full and are able to turn others. You can use that time to build your army, but it needs to be done quickly."

  "You are asking me to lead children to their deaths, Bernard. These are friends of mine. If they are descendants, that means their parents are as well. Why can't they do this?"

  "Do you think adults will take orders from you, whom they see as a child?"

  "Do you think they will feel it's better to risk their children? They will never go for that either."

  "The children are our best shot, Anala. I can take care of the parents. Get them out of town, occupy them so they will not interfere. All you must do is convince the Hunters to work with you. Do you know where to start?"

  "Yes. Unfortunately, I do."

  Reluctantly, I knock on Amanda's front door and wait. I have no clue how I'm going to convince this seventeen year old girl–who was still beaming from having a boyfriend–to learn to fight 'fictional demons'. She already thinks I'm crazy, this might make her want to send me to the loony bin.

  Lost in my thoughts, trying to find the right words to say, I don't notice when the door opens. But, the scent I'm hit with takes me back to a boy I once knew a long time ago.

  "Yes?"

  He looks angry. If I hadn't just gotten there, I would think he was angry with me. Irritated or not, he's pretty hot. He's tall and built quite nicely. His hair is a silky wheat color. I almost want to run my fingers through it just to see if it's as silky as it looks. But, it's his eyes that intrigue me the most. It's not so much the golden color of them; it's how clear they are. They make feel as though if he looked at me close enough, he would see exactly what I am. They also look exactly like Thomas's did so many years ago.