Nightwalker Chapter 1

Trinity, Mississippi: your usual small town where everyone knows everyone else, and no matter how hard you try to hide it, your neighbors always seem to know your business before you do.

That's part of what makes the past week's weirdness that much weirder. I mean, you could probably list off the names of all the locals without much trouble, but there's been a steady trickle of strangers appearing and disappearing here lately.

You'd think these foreigners would be looking for a gas station or motel for the night, but lo and behold, somehow they always end up in my driveway, dredging up whispered rumors in their wake. Despite the lingering stories of my childhood that fascinate and enchant me, I'm like every other nearly fifteen year old-I just want normalcy. A girl can wish.

And hey, these seemingly nocturnal travelers can only last for a few more days, right?

At least I've finally figured out to make myself scarce around the neighborhood until hunger drags me home. It's saved me from having to sit through meetings with our visitors the last couple of nights. Anything to avoid their weepy embraces, soft assurances, and mourning gestures before leaving without a word.

Too bad my luck couldn't last. As I slip into the house today, opening my mouth to announce my presence to my mom, I see that today's visitor hasn't left yet.

Perfect.

He has shaggy, raven-like hair and a sharp, angular jaw, his complexion the palest I've ever laid eyes on. The contrast leaves him almost monochromatic, except for the color of his eyes. His ice blue irises are the sharpest, most vibrant thing in the room, and I can't seem to look away from them, like a deer caught in headlights. He's the perfect definition of my mom's warning, whispered to me again and again for as long as I can remember.

Strong. Beautiful. Deadly.

"Velia?" Mom's strangely husky voice breaks through my daze, leaving me suddenly acutely aware of the way I'd practically been drooling over the stranger standing in our house, our front door standing wide open behind me.

Worse, the guy's amused smirk tells me everything I need to know about how obvious my staring is. A rush of fire fans up my neck with fingers that caress my cheeks and even brush over my ears. Stumbling over myself, my mouth opens and closes several times before I finally turn to pull the door shut.

And then I promptly jump out of my skin upon turning back around to face the room again, because our visitor is standing right there, reaching for my hand and bowing his head to press a kiss to my bare knuckles.

This guy was either a ninja or preternaturally gifted.

Preternaturally gifted, I decide when he retreats back to the living room in the blink of an eye. And it isn't just because he seems to move at the speed of light. I don't know what he did when he kissed my hand, but he left this buzzing little tingle on my skin. Almost without realizing, I even find myself starting forward, as if magnetized by him, but with a firm mental shake, I manage to stand my ground with only a foot fumble to show that I almost gave into the impulse to close the distance between us.

I mean, I get that he's attractive and all, but I don't have a death-wish. If he's really a Nightwalker like in my mom's stories, he isn't here to sweep me off my feet.

Wrapping my arms around my waist for my own protection, I turn my attention to Mom, offering her a strained smile. "Sorry I was so late. With all the guests we've been having recently, I haven't really been able to focus on my homework, so I went to the library for a while."

To say that the vibe in the living room is tense would be a gross understatement. Tense is when I track mud all over the house, forget to clean my room, or make a bad grade in geography. This is't tense; it's the calm before the storm, the eye of the hurricane.

"Vel, this is Marroh," Mom says by way of introducing our guest. I don't miss the sharp look that clearly means I'm in trouble for staying out without telling her, but I pretend I do. As Marroh bows his head to me, however, my mom gives me another look. No parental reproach or warnings of trouble this time.

She's scared. Terrified.

Despite all the warnings I've grown up with, all those cautionary tales about avoiding the elusive Nightwalkers, my mom's always seemed strong. She never came across like she thought they were going to come and get us. More like she wanted me to be safe if anything ever happened. But now? I don't know what to do with how scared she looks.

That's when it hits me. She isn't just scared; her eyes are darting, and her mouth is moving. I must be making a weird face, because Marroh turns his attention back to her right as I make out what she's trying to say.

Run.