Chosen Read Online Free Page A

I can’t see a face, can’t get inside the head. No time to figure it out. It doesn’t matter. I turn the knife on the attacker—plunge it where it will do the most damage, yank it down. The abdomen rips apart, spilling intestines in a spray of blood.
    An animal scream.
    It tries to turn away.
    It’s not human.
    Finally, a flash of recognition. Vampire.
    I grab it, pull it back. Why?
    No response. My blood is on fire. Self-preservation and fury swamp restraint. I raise the knife and slash at the throat. Blood arcs, splashes across my face before my mouth closes over the wound.
    I drink until I feel the last flutter of life.
    I let the body fall. Watch as it shrivels into the image of an old man.
    Vampire.
    Lance is suddenly beside me—teeth bared and claws extended. He sees the body on the ground.
    Then he looks at me. My hands clutch at my chest. Blood flows over my fingers. He knows . My blood.
    He pulls me to him, rips the torn fabric of my shirt. He places his own mouth over the wound and begins to suck at it.
    I groan with the pain and pleasure. Healing starts from the inside, organs repair themselves, cells regenerate. Lance’s arms are steel around me. His concentration shifts once he knows I’m all right. Blood—mine, the attacker’s— its smell and texture, a siren song. Lust replaces alarm. Need replaces concern. He lowers me to the ground.
    We fumble with our clothes. We’re both in jeans. It takes too long to try to wriggle free. Zippers are ripped apart, denim shredded. When he mounts me, it’s with relief and joy.
    No shared thoughts. No shared desires.
    Joy.
    A primal celebration. Acknowledgment that I escaped the death from which no vampire returns.
    After, he raises himself up on his elbows. “What just happened?”
    I run my nails down his back. “I don’t know. Right now, I don’t care.” I raise my hips and clench my thighs to push him deeper inside. “We can figure it out later. I’m not finished with you yet.”
    He moans and pushes back. “I hope not.”
     
     
    A WHILE LATER, CALMER, SATED, REASON RETURNS.
    Lance sits up, looks around. “Maybe we’d better go inside.”
    We’re on the driveway, in the shadow of the garage, but he’s right. A glance at my watch. We’ve been out here forty minutes. We can’t have made too much noise since I’ve sensed no neighbors approach to have a look. Still, we do have a body to dispose of.
    We scramble up, clutching ruined clothing, air cool against bare skin.
    Lance points to the mummified corpse. “What are we going to do about him?”
    The knife is where I dropped it. Blood and intestines are a rusty smudge on the driveway. Lance smears dirt over the spot and picks up the knife. I grab the corpse by a desiccated arm and drag him through the gate into the backyard. When a vampire is killed by stake or fire, he turns to ash. When he’s drained, his corpse reverts to what his human age would be. If it’s twenty, he looks like a twenty-year-old, if it’s fifty, a fifty-year-old. Judging by the looks of this guy, he must have been well over one hundred.
    Which adds another piece to the puzzle.
    I close and lock the gate. Why would an old-soul vampire attack me?
    Lance and I take time to shower, soaping off blood and dirt, losing ourselves for a few minutes longer in pleasure rather than the problem lying in the grass outside the back door. But reality can’t be shut out forever, and reluctantly, we leave the warm cocoon of the bath to get dressed and face the corpse.
    Soon we’re in the backyard, steaming mugs of coffee clutched in cold hands, looking down at what’s left of my attacker. I hand my mug to Lance and bend down to riffle the guy’s clothing. Cotton long-sleeved T-shirt, black hoodie, cotton slacks, tennis shoes.
    No jacket. No wallet. No ID.
    “Any idea who he was?” Lance asks.
    I straighten and shake my head. “Not a clue. I haven’t pissed anybody off lately. At least, not that I know of.” I glance toward the