Prologue
I was the wicked Van Helsing.
An impressive achievement, given my family’s history. Hell, it was like calling me the devil given the context of the current crop of Van Helsings.
And by current crop, I meant my immediate family. The four sisters I’d been raised with. Not the various and sundry progeny my mother had scattered across the state of Texas like seeds, to land in adoptive homes and either thrive or wither. Not those poor—or perhaps lucky?—souls.
My mother was an absolute peach. Kept the ones she believed would make the fittest fighters, the most loyal servants to the Van Helsing cause, and tossed the rest.
With a mother like that, was it any great shock I turned out wicked?
As for how I, of all the near-feral Van Helsing girls, had been branded the wicked one? Funny
