o_18vdqvms59ejr2105d16v1lb03m.pdf

Five
OR RATHER, THEY HAD BEEN Strigoi. A regiment of guardians had hunted them down and
killed them. If rumors were true, Christian had witnessed it all when he was very young. And
although he wasn't Strigoi himself, some people thought he wasn't far off, with the way he
always wore black and kept to himself.
Strigoi or not, I didn't trust him. He was a jerk, and I silently screamed at Lissa to get out of
there—not that my screaming did much good. Stupid one-way bond.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Taking in the sights, of course. That chair with the tarp on it is particularly lovely this time of
year. Over there, we have an old box full of the writings of the blessed and crazy St. Vladimir.
And let's not forget that beautiful table with no legs in the corner.”
"Whatever." She rolled her eyes and moved toward the door, wanting to leave, but he blocked
her way.
"Well, what about you?" he taunted. "Why are you up here? Don't you have parties to go to or
lives to destroy?”
Some of Lissa's old spark returned. "Wow, that's hilarious. Am I like a rite of passage now? Go
and see if you can piss off Lissa to prove how cool you are? Some girl I don't even know yelled
at me today, and now I've got to deal with you? What does it take to be left alone?”
"Oh. So that's why you're up here. For a pity party.”
"This isn't a joke. I'm serious." I could tell Lissa was getting angry. It was trumping her earlier
distress.
He shrugged and leaned casually against the sloping wall. "So am I. I love pity parties. I wish
I'd brought the hats. What do you want to mope about first? How it's going to take you a whole