Addy Kent has one secret she's never told a soul: the night she fell through time and fell for a vampire who shouldn't exist. Two years later, she's living a double life — human by day, secretly bonded to Jake, the man from a night she convinced herself was a dream. Then Adrian walks back into her world. Her high school crush. The boy who vanished without a word senior year. Except Adrian isn't just back — he's not entirely human anymore either, and the bond he wakes in her is nothing like anything she's felt before. Two men. Two bonds. One impossible choice Addy refuses to make. But an old enemy has been waiting a century for a chance to tear it all apart — and she's not interested in sharing. As the threat closes in, Addy will have to decide how far she's willing to go, and how much of herself she's willing to become, to protect the family she never expected and the love she was never supposed to get twice. Some loves are worth fighting for. Some get a second chance.
Somewhere, in a version of this city that almost looks like yours, the moon hangs a little lower, and the rain remembers things the rest of the world has agreed to forget. There are doors between the almost-same places, if you know how to find them — a rift torn quietly into the seam of things, old as the first time someone loved another person enough to follow them anywhere. Most people live their whole lives without falling through one. A handful don't get a choice. This is the story of what happens when the door doesn't just open once. ——— The rain in Rochester smelled wrong. That was the first thing I noticed — stumbling out of an alley that hadn't existed ten seconds earlier, into a downpour that smelled like nothing at all. No exhaust, no wet pavement, no city grit. Just water, rinsed clean of everything a city should smell like. One second I'd been in my dorm room, complaining to Chloe about a boy who didn't matter. The next, I was standing in a dress that wasn't mine, in a city that looked like Rochester and felt like Rochester, but hummed underneath it all like a wrong note held too long. I told myself later it was a dream. I believed that for almost four years. … "You shouldn't have done that," the younger man said. He wasn't even breathing hard. "That wasn't smart." "Neither was standing there," I said, because apparently that was the version of me that showed up in emergencies — mouthy, not smart. "You're not going to scream," he said. It wasn't a question. "Should I be?" "Most people would." "I'm not most people." I didn't know yet how true that was going to turn out to be.
Book reviews go here