"I told him he could, but he said his mom was worried you might be infectious."

"She never liked me." Della closed her eyes.

"Why would you say that?" Her mom stood up.

Because I'm half-white. "I don't know," Della lied and opened her eyes. "Because I'm too ballsy."

Her mom squeezed Della's hand. "You are too ballsy. Too independent. Too stubborn. A lot like your dad. But I love him, too." She brushed Della's bangs from her brow.

When her mom left, Chan stepped out of the closet. He edged up against the bed. "You're about to hit Phase Three."

"How do you know?" she asked and oh, damn but every nerve ending in her body seemed to scream. If this was Phase Three, she didn't like it one damn bit!

"Your heart rate is increasing," he said.

Della pushed her head back into the pillow and muttered some ugly words.

"Listen to me, Della. This is very important. When your parents come in here, you have to act normal. Whatever happens, we can't let them take you back to the hospital."

"Why not?" she asked and moaned.

Chapter 4

"There's too much blood there. You might lose it. Even the smell of blood might send you over the edge. The first feeds have to be controlled feeds."

Another pain wracked her body and she bit her lip to keep from screaming. "Can I die from this?" She bunched up a fistful of blanket and squeezed. She hated being scared. Hated it because it was a sign of weakness.

His black eyes met hers. "Yeah."

Another sharp pain exploded in her head. "Am I going to die?" Her thoughts shot to Lee. She wanted him to be here to hold her. If she died, she wanted to see him one last time. Then her thoughts shot to her little sister. Della had sworn to be there for her, to make sure no one ever bullied her, like they had her. For some crazy reason, her sister wasn't as strong as Della.

"No, you're not going to die" Chan said, but Della saw the doubt in his eyes. "You're too hard-headed. Hard-headed Della can't die. You hear me? You can't die, Della. You're going to be strong."

* * *

Two days later, Della slowly drifted awake. She'd slept fitfully for most of the past 48 hours. She recalled sitting up and pretending to eat when her parents came in, so she wouldn't get stuck going back to the hospital. And she remembered talking to Chan a few times. But she'd been so feverish and out of it that her memory was still hazy. She opened her eyes and quickly slapped her hand over them to block the sun spilling through her window. "Stop that," she seethed.

"Who are you talking to?" Chan asked.

"The sun!" she growled and nearly cut her tongue on her teeth.

"It pisses me off, too. We're night people now. But it's about to go down." Chan must have lowered the blinds, because the burning brightness faded. He continued talking. "As soon as your parents go to bed, we're going out. I need to educate you."

"Educate me in what?"

"Your new life."

She moved her hand from her eyes and looked around. The first thing she saw was the flowers. Red roses. Lee? Yes, she recalled her mother bringing them in and reading her the card. Lee said he loved her.

She smiled and realized she didn't hurt. Not her head. Not her gut. In fact, she felt . . . good. Strong. She felt more alive than ever.

"I'm well!" She stretched out her arms and did a little bed dance.

"Yeah, you made it. Scared me for a while there, but--"

"Where's my cell?" She wanted to call Lee.

"In the drawer, so I wouldn't have to listen to all the beeping. Your lover boy is worried."

Right then, all their talk about vampirism ran through her head. Did she really believe? And if she didn't, how could she explain Chan? She pushed it out of her mind, and decided to enjoy not feeling like day-old dog poop for a few seconds before traveling down that road. A road she somehow knew was going to cause her a lot of pain.

Sitting on the side of the bed, she remembered Chan propping her up on pillows and telling her to fake being okay, every time he heard her parents walking up the stairs. She couldn't remember how well she'd done, but probably not too badly because they never bundled her up to take her to the hospital.

She stood, stretched and looked down at the chair positioned by the bed. And bam, she was slammed with the memory of Joy, her little sister stepping inside the room. She'd held Della's hand and cried. Cried silently because even her sister knew how her dad hated weakness. Joy's words played like sad music in Della's head. "Please don't die, Della. You're supposed to help me, help me learn to be strong like you."

A big ache filled Della chest. She was so glad she hadn't died and let Joy down.

Looking at the window, she had a vague memory of . . . standing on the roof.

"Did we go somewhere?"

"Yeah, you were getting cabin fever-needed to sort of test your wings. You did good, too."

Suddenly, she recalled moving at amazing speeds and feeling the wind in her face. What was real?

Her stomach growled. "I'm starved," she muttered.

Chan pointed to a big plastic cup with a straw. "You didn't finish your breakfast."

She reached for the drink and sipped. A thousand different flavors exploded in her mouth. Berries, dark chocolate, tangy melon. Flavors she didn't even recognize, but somehow knew she couldn't live without now that she had sampled them.