Chosen asc-6 Page 5

  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?

  CHAPTER 11

  I’m alone in the house.

  Restless.

  Afraid.

  Not for myself. For Lance.

  I never should have left him. I let that bastard Underwood get to me. Now he’s out there somewhere with Lance, and I’m here making myself crazy with worry. The worst thing? I don’t know why. It’s not as if Lance isn’t capable of taking care of himself.

  A clock somewhere chimes the hours. Midnight. Lance has been gone three hours.

  I’m not waiting any longer.

  I run upstairs, change out of the gown and into jeans and a T-shirt. I grab my keys and head for the garage.

  Shit. I realize I don’t know where the restaurant is located. I didn’t pay attention on the ride over. I plug the name into the Jag’s GPS system and the directions flash on the screen.

  I’m there in twenty minutes. The parking lot is still full. Music floats on the air from a lounge somewhere to the right.

  The doorman stops me at the door. “I’m sorry, miss. No jeans after nine.”

  I stare at him. I didn’t think places that had dress codes still existed. I fish a twenty out of my wallet. “I won’t stay long. I just need to see if my friend is inside.”

  He waves away the money. “Sorry. Maybe if you tell me your friend’s name?”

  “Lance Turner. No, wait. He’s probably known here as—”

  “Rick.” The guy grins. “The model, right? Sure. He was here. With Julian Underwood’s party. They left about ninety minutes ago.”

  Ninety minutes? “Do you know where they went?”

  He shakes his head. “No. Sorry.”

  A couple approaches and he moves away to open the door. When he comes back, I add another twenty to the first. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Mr. Underwood lives, do you?”

  He frowns. “If I started giving out customer’s personal information, I wouldn’t have a job very long, would I?”

  Shit. He continues to glare at me as if I’ve insulted his integrity. He’s a valet at a goddamned restaurant, for Christ’s sake. It makes me want to show him what a real insult would be—knocking his ass to the ground in front of all his “customers” and slapping him until he squeals like a girl.

  But what good would that do? None, except get me arrested.

  I turn my back on the self-righteous jerk, run to the car. Time to move on.

  Maybe Adele is back and knows where I can find Underwood. She knows so much about Lance’s life, she’s bound to know where “the boys” like to party.

  I let myself back into the house through the garage. The MG is still gone. I’m beginning to feel more anger than concern—at Lance, at myself. Why would he stay with Underwood instead of coming home with me? Why did I let him?

  I start up the stairs, calling to Adele.

  There’s no answer.

  Then I hear it.

  A moan.

  It stops me.

  I grow still.

  Listen.

  It comes again. So soft, so low, it takes all my concentration to get a bearing on the sound. A human ear would never pick it up. In the silence that follows, I wonder if I imagined it. Could it be the wind?

  No.

  When it comes a third time, I feel pain behind it.

  A spasm of alarm triggers the animal instinct. I feel the pain because I’m meant to feel it. I know it as surely as I know whose pain I’m feeling.

  Lance.

  Somewhere in this house. Not upstairs.

  I ignore the frenetic beating of my heart.

  Concentrate.

  Lance, where are you?

  No answer. Another ghostly moan.

  From somewhere beneath me.

  A basement?

  Lance didn’t show me a basement today.

  Why isn’t Adele here? She could tell me—

  No time.

  I start for the most logical place to find basement access. That cavern of a kitchen. There are no obvious doors that look like they would lead to a set of stairs. What next? There are a dozen sets of cabinets lining the back and one side of the kitchen. I open a half dozen before I hit on the right set. This one conceals not shelves and drawers but stairs.

  I run down and into the darkness. It smells musty and dry. Old wine and long-forgotten root vegetables. Dust. Something else.

  Blood.

  Vampire eyes have no trouble seeing in the dark. They welcome it. Senses become more acute. Instincts sharpen.

  I listen and watch. No more sound. No movement. I probe the darkness with my mind. I feel it. Lance is here.

  He’s here.

  Lance.

  No response except an unusual one. An instantaneous shutting down of his mind. He’s hiding from me.

  From me?

  But not fast enough.

  In two steps, I’m across the floor. I see him, huddled in the corner. He’s naked, curled in a fetal position.

  My human voice. “Lance. Why didn’t you answer me? What’s the matter?”

  He burrows deeper into the corner. “You have to leave me alone, Anna.”

  I step closer. “You’re hurt. I can see it. What happened?”

  Go away. Please. You’ll only make it worse.

  Make what worse?

  I’m at his side now. Close enough to see his face. Close enough to feel his despair. Close enough to see the bloody tracks ripped across his back.

  CHAPTER 12

  My hand flies to my mouth, stifling the gasp. I don’t ask who did this to him. I don’t have to ask. I know.

  I know.

  I bend down, take his hand, hold it against my heart. “Let me help you upstairs.”

  He pulls away. I don’t let him. After a moment, he gives in. Rises on shaky legs. I don’t know when Adele will be back. I look around to find something to cover his nakedness. There’s an old blanket on the floor. I wrap it around his waist. He allows me to lead him upstairs.

  In the light, I see what’s been done. Whip marks, something jagged, barbed. But something else. A white substance cakes the wounds, keeps them open, bleeding.

  The smell tells me. Brine. The sea.

  Salt.

  Why salt?

  Lance turns dull eyes toward me, answers the question he read in my mind. “Salt keeps a vampire’s wounds from healing. Leaves scars.”

  In a burst of clarity, I understand. Underwood wanted to inflict a punishment that would mark Lance forever. Scars like this would end his modeling career. End that part of him that’s connected to the human community.

  “Why?”

  He turns his face away.

  He doesn’t need to answer.

  It’s me. Underwood did this because of me.

  I want to howl in anger. All this because I refused to stay with him tonight? There has to be more. It doesn’t matter. I swallow the rage. Save it for later to relish while I plot my revenge. Now, I’ll get Lance into the shower. Maybe it’s not too late to mitigate the damage.

  “You can’t,” Lance says simply.

  I turn the rage outward. “What do you mean, I can’t? I won’t let him do this. You can’t let him do this. What’s the matter with you?”

  Lance’s expression is resigned. He’s prepared to accept Underwood’s punishment.

  I’m not.

  “You can’t fight me. Either you let
me help you or I’ll do it without your help. I’m stronger than you. You know it.”

  In spite of his anguish, Lance smiles. “I’m sorry to have gotten you mixed up in this.”

  He’s been leaning on me. Now he straightens as much as his injured back allows. “I suppose truth be told, I’m more afraid of you than Julian anyway.”

  Humor. A good sign.

  “Glad to see you’ve come to your senses.” But my voice is rough with outrage. I put an arm around his waist and we trudge up the stairs to the bedroom.

  I guard my thoughts. Lance has been through enough. I’ll take care of him. Tonight.

  I don’t bother to strip. I climb into the shower with him, turn the water on his back. He winces and cries out. Vampires have remarkable healing powers, but we aren’t impervious to pain. The salt makes it worse. I’m trembling at his suffering, but unless we get all the salt out of the wounds, the healing can’t begin. I use my fingers to gently open the cuts, let the water dissolve the salt, wash it away. The water runs red with blood. It soaks my clothes, splashes on my face. I taste it. It’s Lance’s blood and—another’s.

  Lance has fed tonight.

  I flash on the women in Underwood’s entourage. They were there for one purpose. It shouldn’t surprise me that Lance would partake. We are vampire.

  I don’t like the unfamiliar stab of jealousy piercing my heart. It’s unreasonable.

  We are vampire.

  I focus on Lance. The cuts, now clean, begin to heal. I think we have stopped the scarring. Any marks left at all will be unnoticeable. Having a fresh infusion of human blood has made the difference. We are revenant creatures, the walking dead who derive sustenance and immortality from what we take from the living.

  I should be grateful to the women who provided Lance the gift that is allowing him to heal like this. I should be. I run a hand lightly over his back. The cuts are fading. My own blood would have eased the pain, but only a human’s blood could have worked this miracle.

  I should be grateful.

  Except the jealousy returns. He owes this human a debt. I owe this human a debt. The thought stabs at my heart.

  Lance has been leaning against the shower wall, propped on one hand, back to me, head down. I put my arms around him. I listen to his heart, feel the cloud of physical discomfort lift from his thoughts only to be replaced by a darker shadow. Despair. The torment is as real as the pain.