Night Star

by Alyson Noel

  He stops at the light and pulls me near. His lips grazing my forehead, my cheek, down the length of my neck, until finally, finally, melding with mine.

  Moving away just seconds before the light turns green, and glancing at me when he says, “You sure you want to go through with this?”

  The warmth of his deep, dark gaze holding the look for just a tad longer than necessary. Allowing me plenty of time to say no, that I’m not at all ready, not even close, so he can turn the car around and head somewhere else. Somewhere nicer, friendlier, warmer—like a far-away beach or maybe even a Summerland retreat—a small part of him hoping I’ll consent to just that.

  He’s over the whole high school scene. Has been for centuries. I’m the only reason he’s here. The only reason he stays. And now that we’re together, blissfully reunited after several painful centuries of being ripped apart over and over again, he just doesn’t see the point to all this. Views it as some sort of useless charade.

  And even though I don’t always see the point either, since it’s pretty hard to actually learn anything when the knowledge comes as easily as reading our teacher’s minds or placing our hands on the cover of a book and intuiting the contents inside, I’m still determined to hang in there and see it all the way through.

  Mostly because it’s pretty much the only part of my totally bizarre life that’s even the slightest bit normal. And no matter how bored Damen may get, no matter how often he begs me to just blow it all off so we can go start our lives instead, I won’t do it. Can’t do it. For some strange reason, I just really want us to graduate.

  I want to hold that diploma in my hand and toss my cap in the air.

  And today we’re taking the first step toward that end.

  I smile and nod and urge him to continue, seeing a flash of unease cloud his face, and returning the look with a newfound confidence and strength. Straightening my shoulders and scraping my hair into a ponytail that sits low on my neck, smoothing the wrinkles from my dress and preparing for the battle ahead.

  Even though I’m not sure what’s coming or exactly what to expect, even though I can’t see into my own future as easily as I can everyone else’s, if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that Haven still blames me for Roman’s death.

  Still blames me for everything that’s gone wrong in her life.

  And has every intention of making good on her promise to ruin me.

  “Trust me, I’m more than ready.” I gaze out the side window, scanning the crowd for my former best friend, knowing it’s just a matter of time before she’ll make the first move, and hoping I’ll have a chance to turn it around before we both do something we’ll no doubt regret.

  four

  It isn’t until lunch that we see her.

  Everyone sees her.

  She’s impossible to miss.

  Like an unexpected swirl of icy blue frost—like an intricate icicle edged in sharp curves—she’s as enticing, exotic, and startling as a surprise wintry chill on a hot summer day.

  A large group of students swarm all around her—the very same people who looked past her before.

  But there’s no missing her now.

  No missing her unearthly beauty, her irresistible lure.

  She’s not the same Haven she used to be. She’s entirely different. Transformed.

  Where she used to fade, she now glistens.

  Where once she repelled, she attracts.

  And what I used to think of as her standard black leather and lace, rock ’n’ roll gypsy look, has been swapped for a sort of languorous, mesmerizing, slightly morbid glamour. Like an arctic version of a dark, mournful bride, she’s dressed in a long body-skimming gown with a deep V in front, long floaty sleeves, and layer upon layer of soft, silky blue fabric that drags behind her, sweeping the ground, while her neck practically sags with the weight of jewels she’s layered upon it—a combination of glossy Tahitian pearls, glittery cabochon sapphires, large roughly cut chunks of turquoise, and highly polished clusters of aquamarine, with long, jet black hair that hangs in glossy, loose waves trailing all the way down to her waist. The platinum streak that once marked her bangs now dyed the same deep shade of cobalt that graces her nails, lines her eyes, and glistens in the jewel that marks the space just above and between her finely arched brows.

  A look the old Haven could’ve never pulled off; she would’ve been laughed out of school before the first bell could ring—but not anymore.

  I mumble under my breath, as Damen reaches for me. His fingers grasping mine in what’s meant to be a reassuring squeeze, but we’re just as entranced as everyone else in this school. Unable to tear our eyes away from the sheen of her ultra pale skin, the way it gleams in a sea of black and blue. Resulting in an oddly fragile, ethereal look—like a freshly made bruise—completely belying the determination within.

  “The amulet,” Damen whispers, gaze briefly meeting mine, before returning to her. “She’s not wearing it, it’s…gone.”

  My eyes instantly locate her neck, searching through the complicated tangle of dark, shining jewelry, only to see that he’s right. The amulet we gave her, the one that was meant to keep her safe from harm, safe from me, is no longer there. And I know it’s no accident, nothing of the kind. It’s a message meant for me. One that’s intended to scream loud and clear:

  I don’t need you. I’ve outgrown you. I’ve transcended you completely.

  Having risen to a pinnacle of power of her very own making, she’s now in a place where she no longer fears me.

  Despite the fact that her aura is no longer visible, hasn’t been since the night I had her drink from the elixir that turned her immortal like me, it’s not like she needs one for me to sense what she’s thinking.

  To know how she’s feeling.

  Her grief over Roman, combined with her rage toward me, is what spawned this whole thing. She’s completely guided, completely redefined, by an overwhelming sense of anger and loss, and is now seeking revenge on every single person who’s ever once done her wrong.

  Beginning with me.

  Damen stops in his tracks and pulls me close to his side, allowing me one last chance to cry uncle and bail on this scene, but I won’t. Can’t. While I’m fully committed to letting her make the first move, the second she does I’ll have absolutely no problem reminding her just who’s in charge around here. It’s what I’ve been training for. And while she may feel confident and sure of herself now, I happen to know something she doesn’t:

  She may feel strong, empowered, and completely invincible—but her powers can’t even begin to touch mine.

  Damen shoots me a worried glance, aware of the pierce of her gaze, little arrows of hate aimed straight at me. But I just shrug and keep moving, leading him toward our usual table, the one she surely thinks is beneath her, knowing that the hateful looks are just the beginning, something we’d better get used to if we’ve any hope of surviving the year.

  “You okay?” He leans toward me, concern in his eyes, hand on my knee.

  I nod, gaze never once leaving hers, knowing that if she’s anything like Roman, she’ll drag this thing out like a cat with a mouse, take her sweet time before she moves in for the kill.

  “Because I want you to know that I’m here. I’ll always be here. Even though we don’t have any classes together, thanks to you I might add”—he shakes his head—“I want you to know that I’m not going anywhere. I won’t cut, sneak out, play truant, or anything of the sort. I’ll go to every last boring class on this godforsaken schedule of mine. Which means if you need me, all you have to do is call and I’ll—”

  “Be there.” I meet his gaze, but only for a moment before it returns to her. Watching as she revels in her position as the new queen of the A list, presiding over a table that just a few months before she wasn’t even allowed to walk past, much less sit at. And I can only assume that Stacia and Honor decided to exercise their new senior year privilege of going off campus for lunch, since they would never allow
this to happen if they were around, which only makes me wonder how they’ll react when they return to find Haven has taken their place.

  “Listen,” I say, twisting the top from my elixir and taking a sip. “We’ve been over this, and I’m fine. I can handle it. I can handle her. Really.” I turn toward him, giving him a look that shows just how much I mean it. “We have an eternity together—just you and me and infinity.” I smile. “So it’s not like we need to sit next to each other in physics too, right?” My heart practically skipping when I see the way his eyes brighten, his mood lightens, and he smiles too. “You have no reason to worry about me. Between my meditations with Ava and my training with you—I’m like a new and improved, more powerful me! And I can handle Haven, believe me, I’ve no doubt about that.”

  He glances between us, his face a mask of apprehension, obviously struggling between his own nagging doubt and his desire to believe. Despite my continued assurances, his fears for my safety, his belief that he alone is to blame for setting this whole thing in motion the day he decided to turn me, is what keeps him from fully taking that leap.

  “Okay, but one last thing—” He tilts my chin until I’m eye level with him. “Just remember that she’s angry, powerful, and reckless—a dangerous combination if there ever was one.”

  I nod, not missing a beat when I reply, “Well, that may be true, but don’t you forget that I’m centered, more powerful, and have way more control than she ever will. Which means she can’t hurt me. No matter how badly she may want to—no matter how hard she tries—she won’t win this one. Not to mention, I have something she doesn’t—”

  He looks at me, eyes narrowed, not anticipating this sudden change in the script we’ve rehearsed so many times.

  “You. I have you. Always and forever, right? Or at least that’s what you said last night when you were trying to ravish me in the English countryside…”

  Oh, so it was me trying to ravish you? You sure about that? He laughs, closing his eyes as he presses his lips to mine, at first softly, gently, then with more urgency. Kissing me in a way that causes my entire body to ignite with the kind of tingle and heat only he can provide, only to pull away just as quickly, knowing we can’t risk losing our focus this way.

  These things can wait. Haven cannot.

  I’ve barely had a chance to cool down and pull myself together again, when Miles steps out of the crowd, away from her table, and heads in our direction. Stopping just a few feet away, taking a moment for a quick spin around, allowing for the full, three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of himself, before nailing the stop in a modelesque pose, complete with steely gaze, pouty mouth, and a hand perched on each hip.

  “Notice anything different?” His eyes dart between us. “Because excuse me for saying so, but Haven’s not the only one who had a transformational summer, you know?” He drops the pose and moves closer. “So in case you didn’t hear me before, allow me to repeat myself. ‘Notice. Anything. Different?’ He pronounces the words slowly, deliberately, taking time to enunciate each and every one.

  And when I look at him—when we look at him—it’s as though everything comes to a screeching, slamming halt. All breathing, blinking, and heartbeating is instantly replaced by sheer, awkward, open-mouthed gaping. Reducing us to nothing more than two frozen immortals, sitting side by side, wondering if we’re gazing upon a third.

  “So, come on, tell me…whaddya think?” Miles sings, doing another quick spin before landing yet another pose he’s determined to hold ’til one of us speaks. “Holt didn’t even recognize me.”

  What do I think? I think the word different doesn’t even begin to describe it. My eyes dart toward Damen, before settling back on Miles again. Heck, even radically altered or completely transformed barely cuts it! I shake my head.

  The brown hair he’s worn cropped for as long as I’ve known him is now longer, wavier, almost like Damen’s. And the baby fat that once padded his cheeks, making him look a good two years younger, has now vanished completely, paving the way for things like cheekbones, a square jawline, and a more defined nose. Even his clothes, which pretty much consist of the usual jeans, shoes, and shirt he always wore, somehow look entirely altered—different—nothing like before.

  Like a caterpillar that decided to ditch his ratty old cocoon so he could show off his new and improved butterfly wings.

  And just as I’m thinking the worst—sure that Haven got to him long before I could—I see it. We see it. His brilliant orange aura glowing all around him—the only thing that allows us to relax and get our breathing back on track.

  Still taking a moment to process it all, unsure of even where to begin, I’m relieved when Damen says, “Looks like Firenze was good to you. Very good to you, in fact.” He directs a smile toward Miles, while giving me a reassuring squeeze of his hand.

  Miles laughs, his face lifting in a way that softens all those new edges. But then, just as quickly, it’s gone, his aura wavering and flaring as he focuses on Damen, and that’s all it takes for me to remember.

  I guess I’ve been so caught up in my drama with Haven and Sabine I’d forgotten all about Damen and the portraits Miles uncovered of Drina and him.

  Portraits that were painted centuries ago.

  Portraits that bear no easy answers—no logical explanations of any kind.

  And even though I vowed never to do it unless absolutely necessary, I think this is definitely one of those moments that constitutes an emergency. So while Damen’s engaging him in small talk about Firenze, I quietly take a moment to peer into Miles’s mind. Needing to see what he thinks, what he suspects, and surprised to see he’s not at all focused on any of the things that I feared. Instead, he’s focused on me.

  “I’m disappointed,” he says, interrupting Damen in favor of addressing me.

  I cock my head to the side, having slipped out of his mind seconds before I had a chance to grasp just what he’s truly trying to get at.

  “I came home new and improved, as you can see.” He runs his hand down the length of his body like a game-show model displaying the grand prize. “And I was pretty much planning for this to be my best year yet. But now I learn that my friends are still fighting, still not speaking to each other, and still forcing me to choose between them, even though I specifically warned them to get it settled before I returned, because no way will I play this game. No way will I be forced to play Meryl Streep in Sophie’s Choice. I just won’t. In fact—”

  “Is that what she said?” I cut in, sensing that this particular monologue could go on ’til the final bell rings if I let it. “She said you had to choose?” Lowering my voice as a group of students file past.

  “No, but then again, she didn’t have to. I mean, I think it’s pretty clear that if you’re not talking to her and she’s not talking to you, then I’m going to have to choose. Either that, or lunch just got even more awkward than it was last year.” He shakes his head, his shiny brown locks waving softly from side to side. “And I will not tolerate that. I just won’t. So, basically, you have between now and tomorrow to get it all figured out. Or I will be forced to brown bag it elsewhere. Oh, and just in case you’re not taking me seriously, you should know that now that I have the keys to my mom’s old car, you no longer have the carpool advantage. You and Haven are on equal footing as far as my affections are concerned. Which means you’ve no choice but to work it out, if you ever want to see me again, or—”

  “Or what?” I try to keep my voice light, jokey, since I have no idea how to break it to him that if anything, knowing Haven, our problem will only have escalated by then.

  “Or I’m going to find a whole new table and a whole new group of friends.” He nods, glancing between Damen and me, wanting us to know he has every intention of making good on the threat.

  “We’ll see what we can do,” Damen says, wanting just to move past it, past all of this.

  “No promises,” I add, eager to tone it down, keep it realistic, and not play into any sense of
false hope he might have.

  Assuming we’re in the clear the moment the bell rings, Damen grabs my hand and starts to lead me toward class. Stopping when Miles taps his shoulder and says, “And you—” He pauses, long enough to carefully look him over from his head to his feet. “You and I will talk later. You’ve got some serious explaining to do.”

  five

  I guess I’d been so focused on Haven I hadn’t even thought about my other nemeses—namely Stacia Miller and her faithful sidekick Honor.

  But by the time I slip into sixth-period physics, the door closing behind me the second the final bell rings, the sound of their muffled laughs and snickers is pretty much all the reminder I need.

  I head straight for the middle, smiling to myself as I catch a glimpse of Stacia’s shocked face as I claim the empty seat nearest them. I mean, why force them to strain their necks to get a good look when I can just as easily pick a desk that provides for a much better, far more clear, totally unobstructed view of their favorite object of torment—me.

  But Stacia’s the only one who seems shocked by my choice. Honor just takes it in stride. Sitting up a little straighter as she lifts her brow and looks me over, her gaze so guarded, so conflicted it’s nearly impossible to decipher.

  Nearly.

  Though I’m far less focused on her expression than the thoughts that stream through her head. Thoughts she purposely directs right at me, correctly assuming I’m listening when she thinks:

  I know you can hear me. I know all about you. And I know that you know what I plan to do to Stacia. How I plan to make her pay for every crappy thing she’s ever done to me or anyone else unfortunate enough to get in her way. What I don’t know is if you’re planning to help me or stop me. But just in case you’re planning to stop me, you really need to rethink it. For one thing, she’s been a total bitch to you from the start, and for another, well, even if you do try to stop me, you can’t. No one can. Not you, not Jude, and especially not Stacia, so it’s best to not even go there—