But I’ll do anything for Mom. I sigh. “I’ll work on that,” I assure her, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before hurrying upstairs.

After my shower, it’s close to midnight and time for patrol. I climb onto the roof beneath the starry sky, shifting into my hybrid form. They say the night through human eyes is beautiful, peaceful even. But I’m not human, and when stars come out, so do the dead and those who hunt them.

I’m not complaining. Truth is, I enjoy the chaos after dark. The night is my playground. I just wish I got to experience more of it beyond the borders of Nacoma Knight Academy. I glance at my watch: I have fifteen minutes before I have to be at the school, and though I’m anxious to look for Vera, I’m not in a hurry to be back on campus, which only encourages me to stop by Anora’s house. Besides, the more I learn about her, the more I’ll understand my connection to her.

I spread my wings and take off into the night, telling myself it’s just a routine check. Often, when people move to the area, knights keep a closer watch, as darklings find newer energies more enticing and easier to prey upon.

As I near Anora’s, I shift into my raven form and land in a tree outside her house. She has pushed her bike to the edge of her lawn, one leg swung over as if she’s ready to take off, but she’s not moving. Her fingers flex on the handlebars.

I know exactly when the clock strikes midnight because the streetlights begin to flash and the wind picks up, lifting her hair. Her scent fills me: she’s sweet, like a rose. Finally, the streetlights go out completely, and I guess that’s enough to convince her not to take off, because she unhooks her leg from over the bike and walks it back to the house. Then she scales the lattice and crawls into the middle window on the second floor. The light in her room remains illuminated a few moments longer before it goes out. That’s when a pair of bright red eyes ignite in the darkness around her house, followed by a growl.

What the…

A massive doglike creature moves out of the shadow. Skin and matted fur cover parts of the dog, yet in places, bone and muscle peek through. The stench coming off the animal is horrific—decay.

It’s a hellhound, a creation of Charon’s once used to guard the gates into Spirit, normally not a threat, and yet this hound growls at me, bowing low as if to pounce. It can probably sense how much I hate it. I don’t like dogs in any form.