I passed out, and Skylar took me to a vet.

The irony of the situation—that maybe I was an animal, no more human than the things I fought—did not escape me.

Not—animal.

“The bloodsucking parasite doesn’t think I’m an animal,” I said, my voice dry. “I feel so very comforted.”

“Kali?” Belatedly, I realized that my father had stuck his head into my room, and I was torn between wondering what he wanted now and hoping that he hadn’t overheard me talking to thin air.

“What do you want?” I asked, too tired to sugarcoat things and pretend that everything was okay between us, or that there was even an us to speak of at all.

“I … erm …” My father rarely stuttered. Eloquence was kind of his thing, so the fact that he was stumbling over his words drew my attention more than the fact that he was here. “I just wanted you to know that I didn’t call Paul Davis,” he said. “If you and Bethany want to get together—that is, if you decide you want to—well, it’s up to you, okay?”

This was about as close as he could possibly come to apologizing, and saying okay without meeting his eyes was as close as I could come to accepting it. A few seconds passed with neither one of us saying anything else, and then he turned to leave.

“Night, Dad,” I called after him. There was a chance—and I didn’t know how big it was—that this might be the last conversation the two of us ever had. I owed it to him to say something, even if it wasn’t what I wanted to be saying.

“Good night, Kali.”

Around two in the morning, I finally fell asleep, but the only thing waiting for me in my dreams was more of the same: more monsters, more doubts, a nagging feeling that I was missing something, that I was screwing everything up.

I dreamed I was dreaming.

I dreamed I was dying.

I dreamed I was covered in blood.

I turned over in bed, my white sheets dyed in shades of red, and there was a man there, staring at me, drenched in shadow from head to toe. There was something beautiful about his features, something deadly, and his eyes …

Those eyes.

They were the color of tarnished silver, set deep in a face that wasn’t human, but wasn’t not.

He reached out and touched me, trailing shadows everywhere he went, and I breathed in the darkness.

Breathed it out.

I dreamed I was dreaming.

I dreamed I was dying.

I woke up covered in blood.

11

I woke in darkness. Before I could scream, someone pounced on me, covering my mouth with two hands. Without even thinking about it, I grabbed the person by the wrists, digging my fingers into her flesh. I would have kept squeezing as hard as my still-human hands could manage, but at some point, I came out of the fugue state my dream had left me in and recognized the person on top of me.

“Bethany?”

Half convinced I was still asleep, I stopped fighting, and Bethany pulled back to the foot of the bed, like she thought I might fly off the handle at any moment and go for her eyes.

“What is your problem?” she huffed.

“My problem?” I repeated dumbly. “You’re leering over me in the middle of the night, and you want to know what my problem is?”

“You were having a nightmare,” Bethany retorted. “I was trying to wake you up.”

“By smothering me to death?” My head felt like someone had taken a chain saw to the inside. I wasn’t feeling overly charitable.

“You’re bleeding, Kali.” Bethany’s voice was matter-of-fact. “When I came in, you were clawing at the ouroboros. Your stomach’s a mess.”

As soon as Bethany mentioned the ouroboros, I felt the sharp, burning sensation of cool air assaulting raw flesh. Even through the shadow-lit room, I could see that Bethany wasn’t exaggerating: I’d already bled through my shirt. Wincing as I pulled cotton away from the open wound, I sat up, trying to process.

Bethany Davis had apparently broken into my house.

I’d dreamed of something that wasn’t human, something that had eyes only for me.

And while my dream-self had been making nice with Old Silver Eyes, my hands had apparently been trying to scratch their way through the chupacabra’s mark.

Does not compute.

“Bethany, what are you doing in my bedroom at”—I looked at the clock on my nightstand—“five forty-four in the morning? How did you even get in?”

Bethany shrugged.

“Forget it,” I said, deciding I had bigger things to worry about. “I don’t want to know.”

We were getting close enough to dawn that I could almost taste the coming change. The idea that I might not die seemed disturbingly novel, like there was a bigger part of me than I’d realized that had believed, from the moment I’d decided to save Bethany, that it was all over for me.

One hour and thirteen minutes.

“Are you even listening to me?” Bethany’s pointed whisper broke into my thoughts, and I realized that I hadn’t heard a word she’d said.

“We need to get out of here. Now.” Bethany crossed her arms over her chest. “Come on, Kali. Chop-chop.”

“Bethany, it’s five forty-five in the morning. I slept maybe three hours last night, and I feel like someone’s coated my entire body in wet cement.” I wasn’t much of a morning person to begin with—and chupacabra possession wasn’t exactly helping the matter. “I just want to take a nice, long shower and forget that any of this ever happened.”

“They were at my house, K.” Bethany’s words broke through the fog in my brain. She couldn’t meet my eyes, and in an uncharacteristically nervous gesture, she worried at the end of my comforter, rubbing it back and forth between manicured fingers. “That woman from school. Her little henchmen. I woke up in the middle of the night, and they were there. At first I thought they were looking for me, but then I heard my dad—he was talking to them, and it wasn’t about me.”

“Okay,” I said, forcing my brain to wake up and process the situation. “What were they talking about?”

Bethany angled her eyes upward, the comforter clutched in one hand. “Specimen retrieval.”

Specimen.

The word alone was enough to send a chill creeping across the back of my neck. I’d been raised in academia. I knew what people would do to get their hands on grant money, private funding, elite access. I could only imagine what those same people would do if they knew there was uncharted territory out there: a species they’d never studied, an impossibility no one had quantified.

Me.

“What kind of specimen?” My throat felt like sandpaper, the words catching as I pushed them out of my mouth.

“The kind that can be injected into teenagers during random drug tests.” Bethany’s voice was higher and clearer than mine, and in the course of that single sentence, it went from light and wispy to diamond-hard. “I know it sounds crazy, and I don’t have any proof whatsoever, but I’m telling you, Kali, I have a really bad feeling about this.”

If I’d thought someone was purposely infecting teenagers with a lethal parasite, I probably would have had a really bad feeling about it, too.

“Did they actually say that was what they were doing?”

Bethany’s eyes flashed at my question, and she threw down the comforter. “Yeah, Kali. The woman in charge laid out all of their most unethical and illegal activities for my benefit. There was a PowerPoint presentation, followed by a musical number, and I caught it all on tape.”

I ignored the sarcasm. “What did she say—exactly?”

Bethany stood up, smoothing down her skirt and fixing me with a hundred-yard stare. “She said that one of the specimens had taken and that there were indications that it had selected a new and as yet unidentified host.”

Well, that was something to be grateful for at least.

“She also reported that the situation with the MC-407 model had been contained and that they’d squelched any reports about the incident in the press.” Bethany took a deep breath. “And then she asked my dad to activate the tracking system on the missing specimen.”