Exerpt from "Legacy"
A shock wave hits when I realize where Tamara is taking me. Avery’s bedroom. Shit. It was bad enough being in his living room. A tumble of emotions, all negative and too strong to deal with rationally, causes a predictable reaction. The vampire surfaces. Tamara is still walking ahead of me. Her own animal instinct causes her to falter, turn around. She senses the change. “We appreciate that this is hard for you. Being here. We wish you no harm. We need your help.” She stands at the door to the bedroom. His bedroom. My body trembles. If I enter that room, if I face Sandra knowing she is a vessel for Avery, I’m can’t be sure how I will react. Tamara watches. She sees the trembling, reads the conflict in my eyes. “Avery is asleep,” she says. “You will be speaking only to Sandra.” How can she know this? The only sound I’m capable of making at this moment is a growl. It comes from a dark place, the pit of my soul. It is meant as a question and a warning. Once again, she seems to understand. “When you called,” Tamara says. “Sandra took a sedative. Sandra knew Avery was sensitive to certain drugs. Since he has inhabited her body, we use the knowledge to allow Sandra respite from his control. It does not last long and when it wears off, he exacts terrible retribution. It is Sandra who awaits you now. Not Avery.” She pushes open the door and waits. I wait, too. For the blood to cool, for the fight reflex to dissipate, for reason to take back control. I close my eyes and when I reopen them, I’m ready.
Exerpt from "The Watcher"
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.
Exerpt from "Blood Drive"
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.