The old covers for Den of Shadows were excellent: they were mysterious, entrancing, and they really attracted me to read the book. For the most part, I loved it. I eventually figured it out, but it was very, very distracting. In spite of these problems, almost everything else works well. And speaking of the characters, they work just as well here.
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She wondered if this was why Sarah had always been drawn to fast, flashy cars. Adia went for vehicles that drew no particular attention, cars she could get on short lease terms and trade in frequently, and she had always thought it was a little silly when Sarah picked out something that turned heads whenever she drove up.
But that was the way Sarah was. Adia glanced at her instrument panel and realized the needle had just passed ninety. Where were the cops who were supposed to be patrolling this highway, anyway? She flexed her left hand, clenching her jaw to control a wince as she did so.
Two of the fingers were broken. The arm was still sore from a minor fracture she had received half a week earlier. She had learned what she had needed to learn. She had learned the last thing she had wanted to learn. Adianna Vida, now the only child of Dominique Vida, matriarch of the ancient line of witches, wished she were still ignorant. It had taken a hell of a fight, but she had finally, unfortunately, throttled the information out of someone.
They know how to take care of themselves. No, not Sarah. She had woken at sundown and had hunted. She had probably killed. And then she had decided to live as a vampire. To continue as a vampire, at least. A daughter of Vid a waking to find herself a monster should have ended it at that moment.
She should have known that stopping herself then, before the vampiric power twisted her too badly, was the only way she could protect the helpless victims she would inevitably end up hurting in the future. Before Adia could learn any more, another bloodbond had leapt forward and sent them both through the window.
Adia had wanted to fight at that point but had already found the information she needed, and knew that Dominique would disapprove of her lingering. Realizing she was approaching her exit, she slowed—probably more abruptly than she should have, but who cared?
She was almost home, and when she pulled into the driveway, she would have to be fully under control. She turned the radio down to barely a whisper, until she could hear the mournful wind again. She sympathized; some part of her had been ripped away, as well, when she had let her sister die. It took her two tries to get the car door open with the damage to her arms.
The frigid air that rushed in to replace the warmth in the car was bracing and helped her calm her thoughts. She managed not to limp as she approached the front door. Her mother was waiting for her in the kitchen, at the antique oak table where Adia had spent countless hours as a child studying ancient Vida laws.
Her practical short blond hair had occasional bits of gray and her Vida-blue eyes were perhaps a little more tired, but she still stood as if carrying the weight of the world were simply a task she had to accept. His blond hair and immaculate appearance were a marked contrast with the slightly scruffy features and dark hair of Michael Arun, who was flipping through the heavy tome of pictures and notes on known vampires.
Michael was from another line, but he was still a witch. Most vampire hunters were nearly as nocturnal as their prey. Adia was startled, however, to see Hasana Smoke sitting stiffly across the table from Zachary and staring pale-faced at the weaponry as her daughter Caryn read a paperback romance novel in the corner.
Smoke witches, though every bit as respected as Vidas, were healers. More unusual still was the presence of Evan Marinitch. Nearing fifty, Evan had a lean body that made him seem younger. He was at that moment perched on the counter, hazel eyes brimming with fatigue and disapproval. They were mostly scholars. Though technically kin to the Vida, Arun and Smoke lines, the Marinitch line kept to itself most of the time.
All the surviving lines were represented. How had everything happened so fast? Ten days ago, Adia had discovered that Sarah was being socially polite with two of the vampires who attended her school. The relationship had grown dangerously close before Adia even realized it was happening. Alone and without her magic, Sarah had gone up against one of the infamous vampires of the modern age in an attempt to clear her name.
And then … Adia looked at the clock on the mantel. Just twenty-four hours ago, Adia had walked away and let that creature change her little sister into a monster. He had claimed that it was the only way to save her life, and in that moment, Adia had let herself believe the lie that her sister could still be saved.
But twelve hours ago, that monster had awoken and fed, and now— Oh, god. Adia had memorized pages and pages of Vida law, and now at last the one that mattered came to mind. Hasana looked over her shoulder at Adia and her eyes widened. She shot to her feet. Evan closed his eyes with a wince, undoubtedly knowing what was coming. Zachary nodded, his expression remote, and Michael paled. Michael Arun had always been a mystery to Adia, but he and Sarah had been close.
The one called Kristopher had courted Sarah with drawings. She had always been headstrong. Apparently, she had finally caught up to the rest of them.
My son. I will see that he joins you. All eyes turned toward her, the witches waiting. Her son Richa rd, who was only a child, was taken—and god only knows what happened to him—and never seen again. Caryn seemed about to argue, but her mother put a hand on her shoulder; the young witch shook off the touch and stormed out of the room.
Still, Dominique was not done. So I call on the ancient laws now to help me, so I can bury my daughter and let her rest in peace. This was a formality, not a choice to be debated. Like the Vidas, the Arun line had faced hardships recently.
They had never been prolific, and in the past century many had been born completely human, with no power to speak of. Michael was the last witch of his line. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. They applied to every living line descended from that ancient tribe but had not been called upon in more than a thousand years.
ALL JUST GLASS BY AMELIA ATWATER-RHODES PDF
Baktilar Books by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes. Her sister, also a witch, was tapped to hunt her down. Published January 22, Several years later, she turned Nicholas, who turned Christopher a day later. But now Sarah is a vampirechanged by the boy she thought she loved.
All Just Glass