Chosen

Kill him?



Where did that come from?



There's a stirring in my gut. With it comes a startling realization. Whatever instinct is telling me to take this guy's life is right. Human or not, he's evil. He's a threat.



I pause, sniff the wind. He smells of borax soap and bleach.



Not road dirt and sweat like the rest of his biker buddies.



And underneath the soap-the pungent, familiar odor of blood.



Not his.



He spilled blood tonight.



Whose? Is that why Harris is here?



No matter. This is something I can take care of. My head clears in an instant. The headache is gone. A calmness descends.



Something I need to take care of.



I grind my teeth together in anticipation behind lips locked tight. A growl escapes my throat.



When he looks up again, he sees me. The real me. The vampire.



"What's wrong with your eyes?"



No intimidation in his voice this time. Only confusion and fear. I know why. I know what a vampire's eyes look like-yellow, glowing, slit pupils. Cat eyes.



The human Anna tries to intervene. She whispers, "Stop. You can't kill him. He's human. He's done you no harm."



Doesn't matter. My fists are clenched, the bloodlust runs high. I crouch, approach, slowly, deliberately, as a predator stalks its prey. I enjoy his fear. Taste it on the wind, smell it in the sweat that runs down his face. He's mesmerized. Can't look away. A rat and a cobra.



Power runs through me, sweeping away the trepidation and anxiety of before. In its place, eagerness and startling clarity.



The reason I'm here is to kill him.



The reason I sent David away is to kill him.