Chosen

Once we're on the way, I don't jump right in and insist that Lance tell me who called. My instincts tell me to be patient even though patience is not one of my strong suits. I'll go in the back door if I can't get in the front. I try probing, to read his thoughts, but bump up against the steel curtain drawn around them.



Lance senses my concern, shifts into tourist guide mode as if to distract me. He keeps up a steady stream of chatter as we head to the restaurant, calling my attention to points of interest along the highway. He may be doing it for his benefit as well as my own. In any case, it works because by the time we pull into the parking lot, a little of the anxiety has faded from his mind.



But not from mine.



I remember my conversation with Adele and anxiety comes flooding back. I wish now I'd asked more questions. Was it something Lance said that prompted her concern? Or did she pick up on Stephen's reaction to hearing I'd be accompanying Lance to the party? I glance over at Lance, wondering if he's listening to my thoughts. But his attention is on the valet hurrying over to greet us. His mind is closed to me. Whatever worries he's harboring, he's determined to keep them to himself.



The valet comes directly around to the passenger side of the car, but Lance is quicker. He's out of the car and opening my door before the valet or I can do it myself. For once, I don't disparage the old-fashioned act of chivalry. I take his hand and let him help me from the car. He bends over my hand and kisses it. I feel like a schoolgirl on a first date. Come to think of it, maybe that's exactly what I am. I've always been the aggressor in relationships. I'm surprised at how nice it feels to let someone else take the lead.



Perhaps it's the place itself that's inspiring such romanticism. Melvyn's is located on the property of the Ingleside Inn, tucked off the main route so it seems isolated from the bustle of Palm Springs. It's a Spanish style masterpiece, redolent with lush greenery and resplendent with flowers. A riotous array of flowers, the scent of jasmine so potent it makes the senses swim.



Once inside, the maitre d' greets Lance like an old friend. The rest of our party has yet to arrive, so he suggests we wait at the bar.



I throw Lance a pointed look. We left because you said we shouldn't be late. So where is everyone?



Lance shrugs, squeezes my shoulders. I'll make it up to you.



He orders champagne. He's more relaxed again, his smile easy and confident.



Melvyn's is a great place to people watch. The bar is dark and intimate, the walls lined with pictures of the rich and famous who have visited here. There's even one of Lance-his arm around a gray-haired man.



I point to the picture and raise an eyebrow.



"The owner, Mel Haber."



I'm suitably impressed. Lance whispers names in my ear as he recognizes locals who stop by our table to say hello. Humans. Mostly geriatrics. I wonder how long it will be before he will have to give up such a public existence in a place where he does not age. For the time being, it doesn't seem to bother him.



The champagne works its magic. By the third glass, I've forgiven him for rushing us out of the house. He's no longer apprehensive. He's laughing. His hand finds its way under the tablecloth to stroke my thigh through the silk of my gown. He inches his chair closer. Soon I feel his touch on my bare skin, his fingers dangerously close to sparking a reaction that is bound to get us thrown out of the restaurant.



He's watching, eyes flashing, feeling my body's rising heat. He's enjoying this.



I lean toward him, my own hand finding its way under the table. Careful. Two can play-



The words get choked off. My breath catches. My stomach twists into a knot. I jerk back and away from Lance and my eyes search the crowd.



Something is here. Something threatening. Something evil.



It's happening again. Just like when I was with David in that bar. This time, Lance is the one reacting with shocked alarm. He feels it, too, through me.



"Anna, what's wrong?"



I don't know. My heart is pounding. I feel sweat break out on my face. I want to stand up and run, but I can't. I can't even articulate the numbing fear that's bringing the animal so close to the surface.



"We have to get out of here."



Lance is on his feet. "Let's go."



I'm weak with relief at his response. I push back my chair and let him take my arm.



The waiter hurries over to our table. "Is she all right?"



Lance fumbles in his pocket and pulls out a fifty. "For you. Put the champagne on my tab."



The waiter nods that he will and stands aside for us to pass.



The pounding in my head and chest reach a crescendo. The instinct to attack is so strong, I'm not sure I can control it. The problem is, I don't know what to attack. As we go, my eyes roam the room, lighting on each face, trying to identify the threat. My gaze is met with startled, fearful, questioning expressions. I must be changing into the vampire and I have no control. I'm exposing myself to a roomful of humans and I have no control.



We're almost at the door. I duck my head, turn into Lance's shoulder, hiding the animal, swallowing back the panic. His arms tighten around me. "Hold on, Anna. We'll be outside in a minute."



He understands.



The door opens in front of us.



A figure in bass relief, a plangent voice.



"Rick. You're not leaving? The party is just about to start."



Something pulls tight within me.



I look into the face. Rugged, timeworn. Eyes cold, black, empty. Hair burnished copper, drawn back in a ponytail. Thin lips curve in a smile. No warmth. No humor.



I pull at Lance. "We have to go."



Lance is staring at me. "Anna. This is Julian Underwood. This is my friend."



No. This creature in his finely tailored suit is not anyone's friend. This creature is not simply a vampire. This creature is evil.



Lance, get away.



But he doesn't move. I know he's staring at me. I know he's confused. I feel it. I don't take my eyes off the monster.



Anna. Please. You don't know what you're doing.



I do know. My fingers flex, curl into fists.



The animal in front of me, this Julian Underwood, draws himself up. He locks his eyes on mine. He's old. Older than any other vampire I've met. Centuries old. He's in my head, not just reading my fear but tasting it. He's rolling it around like a kid rolling a lollipop around his mouth. He likes it. He wants more.



It's grown quiet in a bubble around us. Humans come and go, passing us like a wake around a ship, not noticing the drama playing out in front of them. They laugh and chatter among themselves. There are five male vampires accompanying Julian, Stephen among them. They alone tense as they watch us. Their eyes are on their sire. They each have a female escort. Human. Young, beautiful. The women continue to talk among themselves, oblivious. They prattle on about hair and makeup and the beautiful gowns and jewels given them by their vampire escorts.



They are here for one purpose, and they are excited, eager. They are impatient for the pleasure that comes with being a blood host.



Only Underwood is alone.



Lance takes my arm. Gives it a gentle shake. "Anna. What's the matter with you?"



Underwood stops him, removing Lance's fingers and thrusting his hand away. You've done well, tonight, Broderick. You've brought me quite a gift.



Lance jolts upright. Gift?



Underwood is watching me. He feels my anger escalate. Smiles.



I look at Lance, raise my hand. "Don't worry. You and I will be leaving together."



Underwood's rage takes control. Tell her, Broderick.



But Lance is shaking his head. No. I didn't mean-



Underwood crooks a finger, sending a spear of white-hot pain at Lance. We all feel it, all of us under the influence of his mind. Lance cries out. The others stagger back.



I alone, remain still. The pain is intense, concentrated, a laser knife slicing at the core of my body. I want to fight it but something says no. Something tells me to focus on the pain, draw it in, redirect it.



Send it back.



Underwood closes his eyes. Only a tiny movement in his shoulders, an involuntary gasp, tells me it worked. Instead of debilitating him, though, the way it did Lance, the way it did the others, he welcomes it, absorbs it, lets it permeate his body and mind. After a moment, he licks his lips and smiles down at me.



You have a few tricks of your own, don't you?



He snaps his fingers. Breaks the spell. Turns to Stephen and the others. Go inside. The private dining room is reserved for us. Tell Brian we're ready.



As one, the five vampires and their hosts pick up the thread of their conversation as if nothing happened, move through the door, disappear into the interior of the restaurant. They show no reaction to the numbing pain of a moment before. Even Lance stands quietly beside me, his mind reflecting only concern for me. The events of the last five minutes lost.



I want to shake him. Scream. Snap him out of the fugue state he's lost in.



Underwood speaks to me. And what about you, Anna Strong? Will you be staying?



That he knows my name does not surprise me. He knew it before Stephen, before Lance. This creature in his Dolce & Gabbana suit and Ferragamo shoes made himself comfortable in my head. How can you ask? You already know my answer.



He shakes his head, mouth turned down in a frown of disappointment. I was hoping for a more adventurous spirit. I'm sorry you feel so threatened.



Threatened? I want to sink my teeth into his neck, shake him like a wolf with a rattler. Only Lance's presence keeps me from attacking. I don't know what hold he has on Lance, what harm he's capable of inflicting. Best to get away.



He signals to the doorman. "Would you be kind enough to call Ms. Strong a cab?"



I wave the doorman off. "That won't be necessary. Lance brought me, he'll take me home."



Again, a shake of the head. "I'm afraid not. Broderick and I have a lot of catching up to do. If you insist on leaving, it will be alone."



I look up at Lance. He has shut me out of his head.



My stomach contracts at the thought that he would want to stay. When he meets my gaze his expression is resigned and unafraid. What is wrong with him? He can't see this man is evil?



Lance takes my shoulders in his hands. "I won't be long."



No. Lance, he can't force you to stay. If it's a spell-



He kisses me, softly, on the lips. Spell? Why would you think that? Julian is not forcing me. I want to stay.



He drops his hands.



Underwood is watching me. Once again, he signals the doorman, who picks up a telephone at the valet desk.



Lance leaves me with a small wave. Underwood and I stare at each other.



"Don't fight it, Anna. Broderick and I are old friends. I'll send him back to you when we've caught up." He drags a finger down the length of my right arm. "He's safe with me."



My skin burns where his finger touched my skin. I jerk back, instantly angry with myself for the reaction. It's just what Underwood expected, his eyes narrowing with satisfaction.



"You fuck."



But Underwood has already turned away from me. I stare at his back.



I don't know what to do. I know I can't stay. When I looked into Underwood's eyes, I was looking into an abyss-empty, threatening, full of horror. I'm afraid if I stay, I'll be drawn into that pit. Even the depth of my disgust isn't enough to protect myself from this kind of evil. How could I imagine I'd be able to protect Lance?



I'll have to trust Lance's instincts. Underwood is his sire. It's too late now to ask the questions I should have asked him earlier. The questions I'll ask him the minute he gets home.



Underwood is more than an old-soul vampire. He possesses more than vampiric powers. He uses sorcery.



What sort of creature does that? What sort of demon?