weapon from her hand, toss it away.
She makes her move. Locks her arms around me, intent on bending me backward; snapping jaws seek my throat.
I am stronger. It takes very little effort to break her grip. Our positions reverse. For a fleeting moment, I have a glimpse into her head. Hate boils in her blood, turns her thoughts red with rage.
And Chael is there, too. His whispered entreaties that she should seek me out. Tempt me with the secret.
Chael is there.
Who is this female to Chael?
What is the secret?
No matter.
The bloodlust burns too strong to pull back now. Nothing is more important than the hunger. I tear at her jugular. Her blood, hot and delicious, fills my mouth, my senses. She squirms and pounds at my chest with her fists. The blood from my chest wound seems to mingle with her own blood as the one flows out and the other flows in.
She is strong. Her will to live is not easily extinguished. She is kicking at me, her hands frantically seeking anything to use against me.
Too late to deflect it, I feel her fingers close around the gun clipped to my belt. She fires it without drawing it out of the holster. The roar of the gunshot rips the quiet fabric of the night. A bullet pierces my side.
The bullet moves inside me, scorching a path through muscle and sinew before it explodes out. It does not penetrate organ or impact bone. It does not weaken my resolve.
It does not stop me from snapping her arm.
We both scream in pain.
It’s the last sound she makes. She is getting weaker. I regain my hold, lock my jaws tight once again. Her blood is no longer thick, but thinning out as the last drops are consumed. She no longer fights. She is no longer capable of shielding her thoughts. The atrocities she’s committed, the victims she’s tortured, the senseless agony she’s inflicted. All threaten from the dark. There is no thought of loved ones or family. Like her victims, she has lived most of her second life alone. Only fear is left. Dread.
As I drain the last of her blood, feel the shudder as her soul leaves the body, my hatred ebbs. I rejoice.
It is just.
She has died like her victims, alone and afraid.
The metamorphosis begins the instant the soul leaves the body. The young woman I held in my grasp is an old, withered shell by the time she hits the ground. It is the way. Drained of blood, the vampire body reverts physically to its mortal counterpart. I stand looking down at an old lady well past her one hundredth birthday.
My metamorphosis begins, too. The human Anna comes back, slowly, reluctantly.
Slowly. Infusion of blood temporarily warms a body that is even now returning to its natural state. The warmth fades too quickly.
Reluctantly. With the return to human form comes rational thought. I will not forget what I have done.
I have killed.
I have no regrets. She deserved to die. I only wish killing didn’t come so easily.
But what of Chael? What was this woman to him? His instincts were good. The fairy tale of regaining mortality is the one carrot he could dangle in front of me—the one prize I might be tempted to pursue.
But not at the cost of more innocents.
Never at the cost of more innocents.
With rational thought comes something else—awareness of the pain that racks my side. Slowly, carefully, I draw myself up, stretch gingerly, willing the healing process to move more quickly, to numb this ache.
CHAPTER 7
“Anna!” Max’s voice. “Where are you?”
I rouse myself and step over the vampire’s body. I realize I never learned her name. Does it matter? Not now.
Max is fifty yards out, moving toward me at a run.
“Here.”
I let him find me. He has his gun in his hand and he is breathing hard. When he sees the crumpled remains on the ground, he turns to me, startled, bewildered.
“Who is that?”
“Your coyote.”
He kneels for a closer look. “She’s an old woman. How could she possibly—”
“What you’re looking at are mortal remains. You were right in suspecting a vampire was behind the attacks. She was with a couple when I found her. I let them go.”
“I know.” Max holsters his gun. “I saw them run by.”
“Did they make it?”
“From what I could see.”
“Good.”
Max switches his gaze from the corpse to me. For the first time, he sees the blood soaking my shirt, on my thighs.
“You’re hurt?”
“No.” Not much anyway.
I don’t think I’ll tell him I let myself get shot with my own gun. “It looks worse than it is.”
He nods. Luckily, he knows how it is with vampires.
“What should we do with that?” He points to the thing on the ground.
“Bury it.”
Max swings his flashlight in an arc. “I didn’t bring a shovel. What can we use?”
I spy a flat piece of rock and a long, sturdy branch kiln-dried by the sun. I retrieve them. “It will take work, but we can use these.”
I hand him the branch to begin scraping away sand and follow after, scooping out a hole with the rock. My side screams in protest, but within fifteen minutes we have a hole big enough and deep enough to cover the corpse. I grab her by the arm and throw her in.
“She’s really dead, right?” Max asks.
“You mean is she going to rise up in three days and come after us?” I prod at the body with my foot. “No. She’s gone.”
We set to work, shoveling the sand back in, tamping it down with our feet, setting a layer of rock and debris over the grave. To protect it from scavengers.
A flashback. Another vampire corpse. Another grave dug in the desert. Another pair of hands working beside mine.
Lance. Friend. Lover. Traitor.
Dead now. By my hand.
A shudder racks my body.
Max’s shoulder is so close to mine, he feels my body jerk. He pauses. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
The vampire answers from the darkest place in my soul. “It’s nothing. I just walked on someone’s grave.”
EPILOGUE
