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Informationen zum Autor Amelia Atwater-Rhodes Klappentext Sixteen-year-old Erin Misrahe just wants to be like everyone else in her new school. But Erin has more to worry about than passing AP Chemistry or making friends. In times of stress, she has always been overcome by her alter ego, Shevaun, whose violent behavior wreaks havoc on those around her. Erin can never remember anything about these episodes, and she's grateful to have been spared them for a while. But when a protective friend comes back into Erin's life, he insists that Shevaun is a vampire who actually exists apart from Erin. Shevaun has dangerous allies, like the handsome witch Adjila—and they're determined to sever Shevaun's connection to Erin once and for all.ERIN WOKE ONCE AGAIN IN A DARK ROOM, BUT this time it didn’t feel like a dream. She thought she had fallen asleep in her father’s car, which was unusual. The only times she really remembered blacking out like that . . . Where was she? What had she done? She pushed herself up and then gasped. Her body ached. She shoved her hair out of her face and groped blindly for the edge of the bed, and from there for a lamp. She needed light. She needed– Don’t freak out again, Erin. Deep breaths. She consciously controlled her breathing as she located the bedside table. Instead of finding a lamp, she touched a small box, maybe for jewelry. A . . . pair of handcuffs? A little less carefully and a little more frantically, she searched further, and then she bit back a scream as she grabbed something sharp, cutting her hand. She recoiled, hugging her injured hand to her chest, and ended up in the middle of the dark room. She shuffled forward, her uninjured hand in front of her face, until she found the wall and breathed a sigh of relief. The relief was short-lived. In that moment, a door behind her opened, letting in a stream of muted but much-appreciated light and a man she had never seen before. He looked a little older than Erin–maybe a college student–though he had a quality about him that made Erin think he was older than that. His skin was caramel-bronze, and his short, tousled hair was the color of French roast coffee beans. What didn’t match were his silver and blue eyes, which made her think of a blue jay dipped in mercury. He didn’t look like anyone she remembered ever knowing, but at the same time he seemed impossibly familiar. Those eyes, focused on her with apparent concern, seemed like eyes she must have stared into for hours once upon a time, in another life. Maybe she had. This thought made Erin’s skin crawl. “Where am I?” she asked, in a voice so muted she could barely recognize it as her own. “In your room, in your Sète home.” He looked worried now. “Do you remember how you got here?” Sète? She had never heard of it. “What state?” Now he really looked confused. “Shevaun, why don’t you sit down? You were badly hurt. This is the first time you’ve been conscious in days, and I think you’re still confused.” “What did you call me?” But Erin already knew. She knew because she had heard the name before. It was written in all her medical records. “Shevaun, sit down–” He moved to touch her arm and she jerked back. “I’ve got to go. I have to leave, now .” “Shevaun–” “Don’t call me that!” As she remembered what he had said, she demanded, “Hurt–how? How was I hurt? What did I do?” Erin didn’t want to go back to the ward, to lockdowns and body searches and waking up in restraints, but wasn’t this worse? At least when she woke up in isolation, she knew where she was and who she was with. “Calm down,” the man was saying, but she couldn’t. She knew what “Shevaun” was capable of; any friend of that woman’s was no friend of hers. Erin only needed to glance at the bedside table–and the handcuf...
