Dahlia: Blood Crave, #1

Prologue

I WAS FIVE WHEN I KNEW something was different about me.

My first memory.

I had no recollection of who my parents were or what they even looked like. All I knew was that I was alone at the orphanage, disconnected from the outside world. I picture it even now, almost like an oil painting: the thick bristles of the paintbrush created the bright blue sky as it connected to the shockingly white snow. The snow blanketed everything around me, as if protecting me, the green forest displayed at every angle.

The orphanage was out of place in such a nature-infused environment. A large, two-story building, its windows seemed to cover almost every surface. I remembered the brightness of the sun as it hit my sleepy face through one of those many windows. It would instantly warm my body, greeting me to yet another day.

Vines covered old gray bricks as they coursed over the external surface of the orphanage. I had nightmares about those same vines making their way into my room as I slept. They’d appear ominously as their shadows pounded against the walls, taunting me as a storm brewed on outside. Venturing toward my bed, the vines would slither across my body, trapping me in place. One would wrap around my neck, squeezing tightly, as I struggled for air. Rendered frozen, the feeling of fear would take hold, bubbling up deep inside my chest. And as I felt the burning pain in my throat, a thought would flash through my mind of this moment being my last. It never was, though, as I would instantly wake up.

I always did have a wild imagination.

To chase away the terror, I would stand before my windowpane the morning after. Sighing in relief, my eyes would be drawn to the vast forest off in the distance. It surrounded the orphanage, like a gatekeeper, the leaves of the trees bristling in irritation. The wind blew right through those tall structures, whistling, as my ears picked up the all too familiar sound.

I somehow found myself standing directly in front of that very forest. My memory was hazy on exactly how I got there but I recalled waking up, after one of my many dreams, to the feeling of immense hunger as my body stirred in discomfort.

Then suddenly I was at the foot of the forest.

I would not describe the sensation as simple hunger. I would almost describe it as a feeling of starvation, like there was some essential component my body was missing. Whatever it was, this need was so powerful I was weak in the knees with the pain; my belly contracted and released, contracted and released, continually. Food provided temporary relief for me, but there was always this presence in the corner of my mind as my brain searched for the one thing my body craved.

I ignored that nagging voice in my head, the one whispering for the one thing I needed. It was something unfathomable yet inherent. I paid it no attention and just openly stared at the forest beckoning me. Taking shallow breaths, the cool air blew in and out between my cold, chapped lips.

It was at that exact moment I realized the forest isolated me from everything and everyone outside of its confines—almost like a hungry bird circling its prey. Even young, my instincts picked up on that, immediately telling me something.

Eyes were watching me.

Chapter 1

WHAT ARE YOU DOING, Winters?

Startled by the deep, rumbling voice in her right ear, Dahlia Winters flinched from the contact of breath against her skin. She turned her head from her laptop screen to find a pair of cool, gray eyes looking down at her. The owner of said eyes slowly winked, smiling wide. His smile was as mischievous as a child stealing a cookie from a cookie jar, two dimples in his cheeks emphasizing his grin.

Dressed only in a red camisole and a pair of short shorts, Dahlia lay sprawled on her bed. Munching away on a granola bar, she startled at the sound of the voice, quickly dropping her snack. Slamming the laptop shut, she tossed it aside and stood up to face her intruder, her back hidden from prying eyes. Fingers nervously fiddled with the hem of her top as her current state of dress was less than usual.

Don’t you ever knock? Dahlia answered back in irritation, smoothing down her unruly, waist-length hair. Go away, you. She prayed the bubbly teen hadn’t noticed her anxiety over the fact that he may have seen her back. Putting on a brave front she said, There is this thing called privacy. You ever hear of the concept?

Sam Cahill stood before her with raised brows, a huge grin still plastered on his face. Yeah, I love you, too.

He continued giving her, ‘Sam Eyes.’ It was a term she’d coined, realizing he had the ability to portray everything with a simple look. If Sam felt sad, Dahlia would know about it. If Sam felt happy, she would know about it.

If Sam felt like pissing her off, she would surely know about it.

Right now, he was smiling, or better yet, mocking with his eyes. She noticed an evil glint in its depths and saw that his stare had lowered from her face. Glancing down, she caught his gaze now situated on her chest, her camisole not leaving much to the imagination. Quickly adjusting the straps, she brought the top up a bit, but it only caused more interest on his part. So she settled on crossing her arms over her chest instead.

At least he was distracted.

Would you kindly knock it off? she asked dryly, although he was harmless. She knew Sam purposely loved to push her buttons.

He feigned innocence, blinking gray eyes at her. What are you talking about? I am merely here to say hi to my foster sister.

Sure you are, she replied, rolling her own eyes as she looked up at the ceiling. Of course, not before noticing the wry grin on his face.

Seriously, why is he even here?

"Whatcha got there, Dahlia? Sam ignored her unwelcoming vibe as he said her name teasingly. He usually just called her by her last name, his term of endearment," so she knew he wanted something. Reaching across her, he aimed to get possession of her laptop but stopped short when she punched him in his bicep with all her might.

Sam smirked, making a show of rubbing his arm. Ow! What’d you do that for? Dahlia scoffed, knowing he was faking the pain. Easily doubling her in weight and size, they both knew she couldn’t put a dent on his lean, but muscular, frame.

She sighed, then grabbed the device to her chest, giving him a stern look. "Just because this is your house does not give you the right to touch my laptop. Leave my things alone." It may not have seemed like a huge deal, but it was to Dahlia. The few things she owned were sacred to her.

But she really hated how whiny she sounded.

It had been almost six months since she first moved in with Sam and his parents, Glen and Deb—six months of having an almost family. The transition was still something she was having a hard time dealing with. Especially when the only life she knew was living in and out of an orphanage whenever the foster family of the week got tired of her.

Or she got tired of them.

Six months was the longest she’d ever stayed at any one foster home. Every time she had done something wrong, like break the favorite vase or not eat with the proper spoon, they’d immediately kicked her out. It had come to a point where Dahlia hated the back and forth and just wanted to stay at the orphanage, no matter how difficult the circumstance or how dejected she would feel. So she devised up a plan and refused to speak at any of her foster homes, creating a hard demeanor that went against her almost doll-like appearance of big eyes, pouty lips, and long, flowing hair. She downplayed her supposed prettiness with a daily attire of t-shirts, jeans and a foul attitude. It worked—the foster parents would be a tad bit uneasy by her presence. This, of course, usually got her sent straight back.

Just as planned.

The Cahills were another matter. They were different. They didn’t look at Dahlia as just an extra source of income. Nor did they run away when she’d initially acted cold toward them. For some reason they wanted her—a teenager—instead of one of the younger, cuter kids with no baggage.

They actually seemed to care.

As a result, she’d changed, opening up to them bit by bit as the weeks and months passed. They slowly chipped away at her hardened armor, and Dahlia was able to find her voice. This was a good thing, as she now defended herself and spoke up whenever she felt like it—at least most times.

And especially around Sam.

Okay, okay. Sam actually looked apologetic as she stared him down, hands rising in the air signaling defeat. A dark, stray curl fell into his eye and he brushed it aside with a hand, pouting. I’m sorry, he said, rather apologetically.

He glanced back at her, staring intently. It was still a little unnerving how direct he was when he spoke. He was one of those people who were always so sure of themselves and of their emotions. It made her slightly uncomfortable since this was something she most definitely was not, being the shy, introverted type. Although she was working on it.

But his clear eyes seemed to burn a hole in her; they were that intense.

Dahlia looked away, blinking quickly, and then walked toward her computer desk. Setting down her laptop, she sulked at her reaction. She was okay facing away from him now, since she knew her hair hid her upper back and she no longer had to stare into his trippy eyes. Reaching for the sweater thrown over her chair, she roughly tossed it on, sticking her arms through the sleeves and adjusting the thick, comfy material over herself.

Sam sighed behind her in disappointment. The sound caused her to turn back sharply as she sneered up at him, not impressed by his typical guy behavior. To counteract, she zipped up her sweater with emphasis, the noise heard loudly in the room, then flicked her hair out from the collar.

Sam just laughed at her.

Giving up her silent battle with him, she settled herself down on the chair and opened her laptop once more. She scrolled down the page to the last thing she had written and, looking over the sentence, resumed typing, blatantly ignoring Sam. She hoped he’d take the hint and just leave.

I thought you were done typing away on that thing?

God, he’s still here.

Focusing hazel eyes at the lavender wall in front of her, Dahlia took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, counting to ten. Feeling a bit calmer, she turned around. She wasn’t surprised to find Sam sitting on the edge of her bed looking quite comfortable as he chewed on her granola bar. He moved up and down a few times on the mattress, as if to test the springiness of it, his face set deep in concentration.

He didn’t look like he was leaving anytime soon.

A few taps of her fingernail against the desk caused Sam to glance over at the noise. She raised eyebrows inquisitively. What is it that you want, Sam?

He ignored her and just grinned, dimples flashing. Dahlia remained silent, continuing to stare blankly up at him.

Why is he so damn cute?

Truthfully, it annoyed Dahlia to no end that Sam was so likable. People had a tendency to stay away from her, being the foster kid, and she was fine with that. Yet the fact that Sam was always around, and so cheerful at that, was making it difficult for her to actually hate him.

She was sure he knew it, too.

What do you really have there? You must be typing something about me, huh? He made a gesture as if to try and snatch the laptop from her, but she quickly placed her forearm down on the keyboard, refusing to let go.

And you sound like a broken record. So what if she kept a journal—that was nobody’s business. She’d started writing down all her thoughts and most of her dreams when she first moved in with the Cahills and hadn’t stopped since. Her laptop and thoughts were precious to her and she wanted to keep it that way.

Getting back to the matter at hand, Dahlia sighed then glanced over at Sam, looking at him seriously.

This isn’t for your eyes. Mind your own business, she said flatly. She even raised her eyebrows to show she really meant what she said.

Eyes closed, Sam sank his entire body down on her bed, resting his head on her pillow as he stretched his long, jean-clad legs. Crossing his arms over his t-shirt, he dramatically blew out a gust of air. Fine, have it your way. Geez, Winters, you’re always sighing and giving me looks like I stole your favorite chocolate bar.

More like chocolate chip cookies, she murmured to herself, a sudden urge to buy some herself. And did you not just eat my granola bar?

Huh? At his voice, Dahlia looked toward the bed to see Sam staring up at her in confusion, one eye open, as he waited for her answer.

She shook her head and tried changing the subject. Never mind, she mumbled under her breath. This was not the time to let Sam know her thoughts about him consisted primarily about junk food.

He made a face, replying in a Zen-like manner. Seriously, you need to let go of all of this stress and anger you have. You’re so tightly wound up that it’s ridiculous. I think you need to take up yoga— Sam paused, playfully looking her way then grinned as he closed his eyes again. —or some other extracurricular activity, if you know what I mean.

Sam, take your mind out of the gutter! Geez, she exclaimed, eyes widening in disbelief at his comment.

He was always so outrageous.

Sam opened both eyes quickly, one arm held up in a feeble attempt of yet another apology. Sorry, sorry. Damn, all I do is piss you off; then I have to go and apologize. He rubbed his head absentmindedly, shrugging sheepishly. Anyway, the real reason I came into your lovely abode wasn’t to bother you at all.

Dahlia laughed at his words. Really? I would never have guessed.

Seriously, he nodded earnestly as he drew his knees up and began tapping a random beat on his legs. Before I was so easily distracted by your charming demeanor, I actually wanted to tell you about this girl, Meg, who’s having a party to welcome back the school year. Her parents loaned her the entire house for the night. It’s on Saturday and you’re definitely coming. It’s decided. He was sitting up by this time, nodding his head firmly as if agreeing with himself on her behalf.

Thanks, but no thanks. Dahlia shook her head, baffled, rolling her eyes. That’s not typically my scene. You know—loud noises, huge crowd. You, of all people, should know that by now.

Raising a brow, Sam sighed. Look, I know you’re anti-social. You hate people—blah, blah, blah. He reached over and picked up a pencil that was on her nightstand, pointing it straight at her. I actually wanted to drive a stake through your heart when you first came here, all silent and moody. But you’re not so bad, after all.

Gee, thanks, she retorted dryly at his poor attempt of a compliment. She hadn’t realized she could drive someone to murder.

Sam just smiled. Seriously though, you really need to get out. Spending your time indoors is really not good for your physical and mental health—

Why, thank you, Dr. Cahill, she interrupted, muttering sarcastically under her breath. His earlier comment still ticked her off.

Sam totally ignored her backhanded comment. And anyhow, what are you going to be doing Saturday? Typing on your computer for the eighth hundredth time?

She looked over at him and gave her head a scratch as if deep in thought.

Well, now that you mention it—

I’m being serious, Winters, he exclaimed, ignoring her smirk as he ranted on, eyes wide. She bit the inside of her lip to prevent herself from laughing in his face by his suggestion as he continued. Live a little. You only have one life, right? You need to start living it to the fullest, and that includes attending high school parties. What’s the worst that could happen, huh?

He paused, tilting his head to the side and grinned, pencil dangling between his fingers.

Yeah. Sure, Sam. She rolled her eyes once more, showing her indifference, but she had to be honest with herself. Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to go to a party ... it might even be fun. As she lost the smile on her face, she pondered on the idea, almost brooding. She hated where her thoughts wandered.

Damn it, but she was having a change of heart.

It would be a good idea to have a little enjoyment in her life, meet a few new people. After all, this would be her first time officially attending high school.

Dahlia had been home-schooled during her entire stay at the orphanage, and her last set of foster parents happened to be when she was in junior high. Therefore, high school would be an entirely new experience for her, as she’d chosen to be homeschooled when she first started staying with the Cahills. So technically speaking, she only knew Sam.

Unfortunately.

She rubbed her shoulders to ease the tension starting to develop in her muscles, still contemplating. Although she tried to keep the memories of her past buried, it was difficult to forget. Years spent living in an orphanage with kids that stayed away and taunted her from afar still made her weary of other people.

However, that was what happened when a little girl walked into a room covered in blood with no reasonable explanation why. Although nowadays, living with the Cahills had given Dahlia some sense of normalcy. Like her past was nothing more than a figment of her imagination.

Because that was exactly what it was—all in her head.

Snapping back to the present, she recalled what Sam had just said and lightly struck her knuckles against the wooden desk a couple times. She really hoped he hadn’t just jinxed her.

What’s the worst that could happen?

Her ever-changing hazel eyes stared out the window as she noticed the wind’s tempo increase considerably. A tree branch banged noisily against the glass pane as she murmured without looking back at him.

"I sure hope you’re right, Sam. ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’ Those always seem to be the