Chapter 1

There is a tendency today, in our supernatural renaissance, to see the once ferocious monsters as tame. Vampires are brooding teenagers, removed from the Renfields, completely disassociated from the squalor of madness and the unpleasantness of violence. Werewolves are over-protective teddy bears; their wolf sides provide nothing more than strength and passion. Wizards are embodied in young, naïve orphans, who live and fight for all that is good.

Do not submit to these romantic ideals. They are traps in red wrapping, luring you close and cutting you down. While you pine over fictional brooding vampires or troubled teen wolves, the real thing lurks in the shadow. It has no interest in your feelings or your mind. It stalks you, prey and predator.

Some fables are true. Most monsters are stunningly beautiful, attractive, alluring to their victims. Any girl with half a bad-boy complex is particularly susceptible to their charms. Don't confuse the hunt for a chase, though. They do not care about 'getting THE girl'. They care about getting a girl. Or a boy. Or anything large, blooded, and alive. They don't woo; they prowl. They are not fascinated by our humanity, they don't long to rejoin us. They hunger for what we can give them: sustenance. Love is of no use to them. They are base, aggressive monsters.

I'm not trying to crush your dreams. I'm trying to give you the warning I didn't have, to save you the heartache I've suffered. Because lions dating lambs only lasts until dinner time.

So if you think the new guy might be lacking a heart beat or sporting claws or otherwise more or less than human, do not think that you are the clumsy-but-beautiful girl who is going to tame the beast.

Why should you trust me?

I've been there and lived to tell the story. I've read the books that promised happy endings and lived the dangerous reality.

My name is Ever Reckford and the boy I loved was soulless.