Undead: (Cursed Superheroes, #3)

by Sorensen, Jessica

  I press my hand to my chest, mocking offense. “You think I’d lie to my best friend?”

  He gives me a blank stare. “Do I really need to answer that?”

  “Oh, fine, but I only lie to you when I’m trying to protect you.” I back away from him with my elbows out, making a path through the throng. “I’m not lying, though. I really do need to pee.” I smile sweetly at a guy with glittery gold hair who shoots me a disgusted look. “What? Don’t pretend like you don’t do it, too.”

  He actually might not, depending on what he is. With the crazy hair and shimmering skin, my bet is a Pixie.

  The Pixie in question rolls his eyes then turns back to the woman with snow-white hair that he’s dancing with.

  I smile proudly at Jayse. “See? I know how to ease over situations.”

  He fights back a grin. “Go to the bathroom and meet me at the bar when you’re done.”

  I spin around and squeeze through the sweaty bodies, making my way to the back of the club. As I pass by a freakishly tall, very well built guy with jet-black hair, he grabs my waist and tries to grind himself all up in my business. The skin-to-skin contact from his palm creeping up the front of my shirt makes me gag.

  I push him away, jabbing my shoulder into his chest. “Dude, I’m not into vampires. Sorry.”

  He flashes me his fangs. “I bet I can change your mind,” he purrs, leaning in like he’s going to bite me.

  I splay my fingers across his face and shove him back. “No way. Never gonna happen.”

  He hisses at me, and my heart slams against my chest. But on the outside, I remain cool, despite the fact that the vampire could go all off-with-her-head on me if needed.

  Squaring my shoulders, I brush by him, nudging him out of the way when he gets all up in my personal space again. He growls, but thankfully doesn’t chase after me.

  I push my way off the dance floor, the mist fading as I make it to the dimly lit table area. I don’t make eye contact with the vampire feasting off the human’s neck in the far corner booth, but my fingers itch to draw out my knife from my ankle sheath, and stake him in the heart. If I knew for sure I had my mark, I just might give it a go. Instead, I keep my hands fisted to my sides, duck down a dimly lit hallway, and slip into the bathroom.

  As the door swings shut behind me, the lights flicker. I worry the power might go off and smother me in darkness before I get to see if I have the mark.

  The lights end up staying on, and I stride toward a row of mirrors above the sink bowls, checking under each stall on my way to make sure I’m alone. The last thing I need is for anything to see the mark on my neck.

  Once I’m positive no one else is in here, I turn my back to the mirror, sweep my hair to the side, and then instantly frown.

  “Dammit.” The only thing marking my flesh is a blotchy, red spot, which probably came from early when a Faerie bumped me in the back of the neck with his wing.

  I let my hair fall over my shoulder and grip the edge of the sink bowl. I know it won’t be the end of the world if it turns out I’m not a Keeper, but it’ll separate me from my friends and family. It already kind of has. I’ve become a burden, a constant concern to everyone I love, and deep down, I don’t blame my parents for wanting to send me away from this lifestyle. They want to protect me; I get that. It just sucks balls big time.

  Suddenly, the doors behind me swing open and a short, curvy woman with flowing red hair and bloodstained lips stumbles in. The fangs descending from her mouth and dry blood on her chin reveal she’s a vampire.

  She’s riding a blood high, but when she spots me, the glazed look in her eyes diminishes. She skims me over, her nostrils flaring as she inhales deeply. I know she’s trying to get a vibe on what I am. She won’t get one, thanks to the magic bound inside my temporary Mark of Immortality.

  I stare her down, waiting for her to say something, call me out, try to eat me, whatever she plans on doing. My hands are at my sides, fingers ready to snatch the knife from my ankle sheath, but she ends up giving up and stomps into a stall, slamming the door behind her.

  A slow exhale eases from my lips as I unstiffen.

  I check the time on my phone. Almost midnight.

  “Shit.” I hurry out of the bathroom a little too fast and end up crashing into someone.

  “Watch it,” a guy snaps as I trip backward from the impact and bash my elbow against the wall.

  Classy spazz move, Alana. You’re going to give away that you’re a clumsy human.

  The scents of cologne, soap, and something woodsy flood my nostrils as I regain my footing. I know that scent. This dude is a werewolf.