Tenth Grade Bleeds

Table of Contents

 

 

 

DUTTON CHILDREN'S BOOKS
A division of Penguin Young Readers Group
Published by the Penguin Group
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of
the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2009 by Heather Brewer

 

eISBN : 978-1-101-02000-5

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It would be easier to thank all of the people who have contributed to my success by writing “thanks, everyone,” because there have been so many people that have blessed my life that I am positive I'll leave out at least one or two. To those I do forget—my deepest apologies.

I'd like to thank Maureen Sullivan, who is quite possibly the smartest woman on the planet, and whom I am blessed to be edited by. Also, Michael Bourret, who isn't just brilliant, but funny and insightful too—qualities that make him the best literary agent that any author could ever have. To everyone at Dutton—you are amazing people and the magic that you perform stuns me every time I am witness to it.

Jackie Kessler—you are the best friend a gal could have, and I'd happily face hellfire with you (besides . . . you have the map). Dawn Vanniman—I love you, sis! Kylie McAuliffe—a most loyal Minion and fangtastic contest winner. And, once again, thanks to Paul, Jacob, and Alexandria—you are my everything. I am absolutely amazed by your support, your dedication, and your unfailing belief in me. Without you, none of this would be possible.

Most importantly, thanks must go to my Minion Horde, of which you have just become a part by picking up this book. Without you, my Minion, I am nothing, and Vlad is but a piece of fiction. In your hands, he becomes real. Thank you, from both of us.

I
GNATIUS DREW THE CURVED BLADE along the whetstone slowly, the gritty sound filling his ears. It had to be sharp, sharp enough to slice into bone if necessary. He didn't expect to kill the halfling boy, only to damage him, break him, before dragging his nearly lifeless body before the council, as he'd been hired to do. But if the boy gave him any trouble at all, Ignatius would take his bloody pleasures slowly, so that the boy felt every bruise, every cut.

He almost hoped the boy would fight back, give him an excuse to torture him. After all, he had it coming. His very existence was an abomination.

Small sparks flew from the blade, and at last, Ignatius pulled metal from stone. He ran his thumb along the steel, splitting his pale skin open. Blood—rich, red—dripped from the cut before it healed closed again.

He was hungry. It was always better to hunt when he was hungry. He hadn't eaten in months, in eager anticipation of that insatiable need pushing him through the capture and, perhaps, the kill.

The council had been clear: “Bring us Vladimir Tod and your reward will be immeasurable.” They never mentioned in what condition to bring him, had only barely stressed that he should be living. Little did they know, Ignatius didn't require payment. Causing the boy's suffering—and perhaps even his death, he thought with a pleasant shiver—would be reward enough.

The boy who would be the Pravus. The thought enraged Ignatius further, and he returned his blade to the whetstone, working it slowly, smoothing the edge into a razor.

Soon. Once the final paperwork was signed, his hunt would begin.

And Vladimir Tod would be made to suffer.

V
LAD SQUEEZED HIS EYES TIGHT and listened to the thumping of his heartbeat and the whoosh of his blood as it pumped through his vampire veins. Well, half-vampire veins, anyway. His stomach had been rumbling loudly for the last half hour, and the hunger eased the task of locating his uncle with nothing more than his vampire intuition. Otis hadn't thought that it would. Actually, he'd presumed quite the opposite—the same way Vikas had been surprised during their training sessions in Siberia last year when Vlad confessed he found it easier to push into people's minds when he was hungry. It turned out Vlad was a freak in that regard as well. But maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. After all, the hunger seemed to sharpen his vampire skills.

He tightened his stomach muscles and refrained from pushing into Otis's mind. As his uncle had said, sensing a vampire's location wasn't about tapping into his thoughts. It was about reaching out with your blood, your very vampire cells, and feeling the presence of one of your kind, gauging the distance they stood from you.

With a deep breath, Vlad reached out and sensed his uncle's presence northwest of where he stood on the front porch of his Aunt Nelly's house, the house he'd called home for five years. The corners of his lips rose in a half smile as he spoke to Otis with his thoughts.
“Oh come on! That's too easy. Go farther away! You're only a half mile out. Even Henry could detect you at this distance.”

Vlad laughed aloud, brushing his black hair out of his eyes and dropping his gaze to his shoes, the smile still firmly fixed to his lips.
“How am I doing, anyway?”

He sat on the steps and stared up at the star-speckled sky. A cool breeze brushed his cheek. As of tomorrow, summer would be at its end, and Nelly would no longer have an open mind about his late-night activities—even those with Otis. He had hoped this evening could last forever, but the first day of school was looming, and with it, something disturbing that he'd been pushing out of his mind all summer.

There was no stopping it. Not anymore, anyway. He'd whined, pleaded with, and appealed to his uncle until he was blue in the face. But there would be no further delay. It was inevitable. It was time.

Uncle Otis was leaving.

Worse yet, there was absolutely nothing that Vlad could possibly do to prevent it.

It wasn't just that Otis was going away again that jangled Vlad's nerves; it was the fact that he'd gotten used to Otis's comforting protection in the past few months. What was Vlad supposed to do if his former friend Joss decided to return to Bathory and unleash his Slayer skills all over again? He didn't think it was mathematically possible to survive another stake through the heart. Surviving it once was bad enough. And it had raised the possibility that he just might possibly be, maybe actually
really
be, the Pravus. The half-vampire, half-human, ruling-over-vampirekind, enslaving-the-human-race subject of prophecy that Elysia had been watching out for for centuries. Just thinking about it gave Vlad the chills.

And even if he really were the Pravus, he seriously doubted that D'Ablo would back off for another entire year, especially since the last time Vlad saw the fanged jerk he had all but mimicked Arnold Schwarzenegger's catch-phrase of “I'll be back.”

Man, sometimes it really sucked being a vampire.

Especially a teen vampire.

Whose vampire uncle was about to pull outta town and leave him to his own defenses.

Vlad stood back up and listened to his heartbeat: slow, strong, amazingly healthy after his encounter with Joss last year. After a moment, he reached out to Otis and felt his presence. Only this time he didn't just feel him standing three blocks away; he could almost
see
him there, leaning casually with his back against the streetlight across from Mr. Craig's old house. It was as if he were watching the scene through the lens of a large, omniscient camera.

He furrowed his brow.
“Otis, are you standing across from Mr. Craig's house, leaning against a pole?”

Otis's voice, hesitant in Vlad's mind.
“Vladimir, you're supposed to be judging my distance from you. Are you tapping into my thoughts? I can't feel you in there.”

Otis grew very quiet and walked quickly out of view from the camera in Vlad's mind. Then the camera clicked off, and Vlad chewed his bottom lip in contemplation. In moments, thanks to his vampire speed, Otis was making his way up the street to where Vlad stood. His face seemed paler than usual, his eyes large and wide, almost suspicious. When he opened the gate, he frowned, his eyebrows drawn together as if he were distressed. “How did you see me, Vladimir? Exactly what were you doing?”

Vlad shrugged, his nerves fraying some—he'd seen that look in Otis's eyes several times over the summer, and each time had ended up reminding him what a freak he was, even in the vampire world. “I didn't do anything different, just reached out with my blood, the way you taught me. Why?”

Otis shook his head. “Vampires can't tell who it is we sense or precisely where they are, only how far away from us they're located and how many there are.”