Dark Beauty (Seeker) by Taryn Browning Page B

protection herbs in Boise. Now, I have to plan ahead.” Her hand trembled as she wrote her to-do list.
    Isabelle knew exactly what her mother was talking about – the U`tlûñ'ta, or Spear-finger: a shape shifter who could transfigure into anything she desired. She was said to be a “bloodthirsty” killer. The creature, which in true form resembled an old lady with hard, wrinkled, leather-like skin, used her long bony finger to stab people and extricate their livers. Eponine and many of their Cherokee ancestors feared the shape shifter would pay them a visit. They placed protective herbs around their homes to ward off the creature. Isabelle wasn’t so convinced the creepy lady actually existed. To her, it seemed like any other Cherokee legend.
     Placing her hand over her mother’s trembling arm, Isabelle said, “U-wo-du-hi.” Isabelle didn’t know many words in her native language, but she’d always remember that word— beautiful . She thought back to her childhood. After her father left, her mother would tell her she was beautiful in Cherokee. Somehow, it made his absence more bearable. What did she know? She was only a child.
     
    The next morning, Isabelle trained with Jared. They practiced in an abandoned warehouse in the city. He’d set up a mock environment to simulate “real” city life as much as possible. As Isabelle approached the run-down building, with its shattered windows and walls that had been painted so many times the peeling paint gave way to a rainbow of dreary colors, she considered telling him about Abram. Jared ran a very stringent program as a mentor to Seekers. To put it frankly, he didn’t put up with anyone’s – even Isabelle’s – shit.  
    As she reached for the door, a crashing sound erupted from inside the warehouse. With Abram’s words about vampires resistant to the sun’s rays still fresh in her mind, she worried Jared could be injured, or worse. Isabelle burst into the building. Her findings were not as she had expected.

 
     
     
     
    Chapter 3
     
    Jared lay on top of a trash can, the silver metal crushed beneath his large body. Isabelle dropped her backpack, ready for attack. While assessing the situation, she hurried over to his side. Someone came up behind her. She whirled around, ready to land a kick to the intruder.
    Abram stood in front of her, shirtless and clutching a silver dagger. Sweat rolled down his lean chest, and a dark mass of wavy hair swirled around his head.
    “Isabelle, stand down. Everything’s fine. Just a little spring training,” Jared said, peeling himself off the trash can and rising to his feet. He ran his palms over his wrinkled jeans and straightened his equally wrinkled T-shirt. Jared was the only middle-aged man Isabelle knew who dressed in logo tees, ripped jeans, and flip-flops. With his salt-and-pepper beard and crazy mop-top hair, he always appeared to have just stepped off a surfboard.
    “It’s all good, dark beauty,” Abram said, sheathing the dagger in his waistband.
    “What the hell’s going on here?” She turned to Jared. “I thought you were being attacked.”
    “We’re just practicing,” Abram said.
     “I didn’t ask you,” Isabelle said.
    Jared placed his body between them, apparently concerned she might try to take Abram out anyway. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “We have some new techniques to work on today.”
    “What?” Isabelle relaxed her fighting stance and glared at Abram. “I don’t have anything to practice with him .”
    Jared gave her his wise mentor look, a serious expression that indicated he didn’t have time to deal with her tantrums.
    Isabelle rolled her eyes. “Fine, I’ll play nice.”
    “Good.” Jared led them over to a grouping of chairs he’d set up. Isabelle chose a seat far from Abram and focused on Jared. “Now, I take it you two have met. Regardless of your feelings for each other, you’ve got to work together.”
    Isabelle opened her mouth to argue, but