Out for Blood

“Is that how it will be? I sire you and life becomes wonderful for all of us again?” He stalked toward her, mouth open and fangs fully on display. The urge to retreat scratched at her resolve, but she steeled herself and stayed planted. This was what was best for the city after all, and her only hope of going after Mariela.

“Yes,” she whispered as he grew closer.

His shoulder brushed hers as he circled around behind her. “And the pain? That won’t bother you?”

“No.” Her pulse battered her eardrums as every nerve in her body stretched taut with anxious anticipation. She’d have been calmer lost at sea and surrounded by sharks.

He came around her other side, so close she could count his long, black eyelashes. “You won’t fight me when death takes hold and draws you into the abyss?”

“No, I swear.”

“I think you lie.”

In the next second, he went from standing beside her to pinning her in his arms. His teeth pierced her neck and she cried out, both from the suddenness and the pain. She forced herself not to struggle, to stay calm. She focused on the feel of his mouth on her throat, the coolness of his skin, the strength of his embrace.

Her thoughts blurred into a numb acceptance and a new sensation arose within her, one she’d not felt in many years.

Desire.

His touch sent shivers of pleasure through her. The slight pain that remained sharpened her need for more with every pull of his mouth. She moaned something. Begged for him not to stop. She sank into each throb of her pulse, lost in the decadent haze of being devoured. “Yes,” she whispered against his cheek. “Yes.”

He clamped down harder.

Darkness crept under the edges of her pleasure, shattering it into small, jagged pieces. Her fingers and toes went numb. Coldness seeped into her bones, snapping a warning along her nerves. She twitched with the urge to pull away.

A high-pitched whine filled her ears as the darkness drew closer. She dug her fingers into his arms and pushed, but he held fast. She beat at him as flashes of red pierced her vision. Run! her brain screamed. But she couldn’t. Her body had gone limp, her bones leaden, her muscles rubber. Panic engulfed her, wrenching her in painful, desperate swells.

Her brain stopped screaming, smothered by the darkness. It was all she saw, eyes open or closed. Suddenly, she fell to the ground.

Her vision returned enough for her to make out Dominic standing over her. He peered down at her with obvious disdain. “Did you enjoy that? Your taste of death?”

She tried to shake her head but couldn’t tell if she managed it or not. Anger at her humiliation overrode all other feeling. Hot tears slid past her temples and into her hair.

“No, of course not, because death scares humans.” He huffed. “You’re not ready. You’re too weak. Too frail. Too human.” He leaned down, his lips red with her blood and redolent with the coppery scent of it. “Don’t ask me again, because if you weren’t ready this time, you never will be.”

Then he was gone. She clung to the anger growing inside her, held on to it like a buoy and let it lift her up. He was wrong. Wrong. She needed the power he had if she was ever going to save her grandchild and her city. She was ready. The vampire had just moved too fast. He hadn’t let her prepare. But he had made one thing perfectly clear to her.

Becoming a vampire was the only way she was going to survive this new world, but until that happened, she was going to have to act with the same brutal swiftness Dominic just had.

She would show him just how ready she was. She wiped the tears from her face. “Death doesn’t scare me, vampire,” she whispered into the empty room. “Does it scare you?”

Chapter Twenty-One

Chrysabelle had Jerem park a few blocks from the town square.

He glanced at her through the rearview mirror after he’d turned the engine off, his eyes kind but shaded with worry. “You sure look different.”

She met his gaze in the mirror, catching a glimpse of herself. The last time she’d covered her signum with makeup, she’d been running from something. This time, she was running to someone. How much things had changed. “That’s the point.” She zipped the big hooded sweatshirt he’d lent her. “Thanks for this again.” The voluminous black jacket hung past her hips. She’d added a pair of her mother’s black yoga pants and simple black flats. The entire disguise made her feel slightly invulnerable. Like an uncatchable thief. She pulled the hood up and slipped on Fi’s borrowed sunglasses.

“Be safe,” Jerem said. “I’ve got the window cracked. You need me, just yell.”

“I will.” She exited and shut the door behind her. The city was deserted because of the curfew, but also because everyone was now at home in front of their holovisions burning electricity to watch the mayor’s show. Fueled by anger, Chrysabelle picked up the pace. Her part in that show would be as minimal as she could make it. Tonight was all about Mal and bearing this punishment with him, as much as she could.

The bright lights set up by the local stations illuminated the square and divided it into patches of brilliance and deep shadow. Police patrolled while the camera crews and reporters hung around drinking coffee. Generators set up to run the media equipment droned like jet engines, destroying any quiet the night might have had. And at the center of it, Mal hung between the two posts as utterly still as he’d been when she left.

She swallowed down her anger, now bitter with sadness. She hated seeing him this way.