Exerpt from "The Watcher" |
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A sound like static over a telephone line interposes itself in my head. I almost drop Max, I’m so startled. I listen closely. The sound comes again. Only this time, the static is a garbled message. Gibberish. As if someone is trying to say something but the connection between brain and speech has been disrupted. Or severed. My stomach churns. I lay Max back down and take a step toward the cot where Martinez’s body is resting. Martinez’s eyes are open. His head, barely connected by strings of flesh to his body, is stirring. I think I’m going to be sick. I look at Marta. She is watching, too, with another of those appalling smiles on her face. And I know. Her son did ingest enough of my blood to become vampire. Marta lied. |
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| Bradley tries to wriggle out of my grasp. I pin him down with one hand and grab his face with the other. I hear him screaming, but it’s from far away. I wrench his head to the side and kiss his neck with my lips. Then I bite down. Hard. The first lush, warm mouthful of his blood sends fire raging through mine. I push against him, my body moving to the rhythm of his heartbeat. The blood drive. I’ve never felt so alive. An arm encircles my waist. I rip it off. It comes back, forceful, strong. Stronger than I. I’m torn away from Bradley and flung down on the couch. Like a cat, I land on all fours, then spring to my feet. Rage, unrelenting in its intensity, propels me back toward my prize. Bradley is trying to get up. He has a hand pressed against his neck, but blood oozes between his fingers. I smell it. I feel it. It belongs to me. Only one thing stands between us. My friend, Daniel Frey. |
Exerpt from "The Becoming" |
 Donaldson
is on top of me, holding my arms at my side. Are you awake? I
want you awake. It’s no fun otherwise. I hear the voice from inside my head. I think it’s a trick, that I’m dreaming or still unconscious. But the voice comes again. Come on, Anna. I know you can hear me. We've had an unintentional exchange of bodily fluids. My bad. But you won't have to endure it long. Open your eyes. Look at me. I don’t want to. I try to keep them closed, actually squeeze them tight with all my strength, but my eyes open anyway. I turn my head to avoid looking at Donaldson, but steel fingers take my chin and force my face upward. That’s a good girl. No, don’t try to fight. You can’t fight me. Just look into my eyes. Do you like what you see? Yellow eyes, slit like a cat’s, stare down. And something else. A snarling mouth with tiny, pointed teeth. I start to scream, struggle again to break free. Donaldson just laughs. His hands are everywhere—on my breasts, between my legs, tearing open the collar of my blouse, exposing my neck. I do the only thing I can. I bite him, again and again, feel the skin on his cheek and neck tear, taste the copper of his blood in my mouth. It doesn’t seem to faze him. He bunches up my skirt, opens his pants and pushes against me. His mouth is hot on my neck, his teeth pinch and tear and finally break through. Everything changes. |