Chael lifts his shoulders in a gesture of resignation. Then your life becomes a nightmare. All who know you will turn their backs on you. You will be hounded by Harris, who already suspects you are not what you seem. The Revengers will target you. Even your family in France will—
Before he completes the sentence, I attack. He has no time to react; in an eyeblink I have him on the ground, my teeth at his neck. Never threaten my family.
He shudders under the ferocity of my attack. He is wise enough to grow youtil, to resist the urge to fight. His hands are limp at his side, his eyes closed, his mind closes in on itself like petals of a flower fold with the departing sun. He becomes as motionless and devoid of al discernable life as a rock.
I want to make the il usion a reality. What would happen if I were to kil the head of one of the Thirteen Tribes? I run my tongue along the base of his jaw. How would his blood taste?
What power does his blood possess? Would I be held accountable even though he broke into my home and threatened my family?
His pulse throbs, his blood sings under a mil imeter of skin so delicate, so easily broken. I need only close my jaws, right here, grind my teeth to loose the flow. So easy. .
Chael opens his mind. If you kill me, you’ll never be able to go back. I am the only one who knows the secret.
I draw back, a hairbreadth, my mouth stil in reach of the prize. If you have something to say, say it.
Chael releases a breath. I know the way. You think it not possible. You are wrong. I can show you.
You speak in riddles.
Then I’ll speak plainly. There is a way for you to become mortal again.
CHAEL FEELS THE INVOLUNTARY SPIKE OF INTEREST that seeps through my thoughts at his words. He smiles. Ah, I have your attention. Will you let me up now? Please.
I don’t trust Chael. It goes against every instinct to al ow him to get back on his feet.
Stil, it’s what I do. Roughly, jerking him up by the col ar of his shirt, teeth and fists ready, body poised to pounce again if I detect any aggression.
Why am I doing this? The little voice in the back of my head says it’s stupid. It has to be a trick. There is no way to go back. No way to become human again.
Is there?
It’s that tiny crumb of doubt that al ows Chael a reprieve.
I step away from him. He straightens his shirt, brushes invisible dirt from his slacks. My clothes are grubby but the jacket conceals the worst of the dirt and blood. This affectation is merely for show. As is his comment, I hope your sartorial taste was better as a mortal than it is now. You are filthy.
Sarcasm? You try my patience, Chael.
A snort. Is that irony? I imagine you try the patience of most who know you.
My fists clench, my jaw and shoulders tighten. Every nerve in my body cries out to bring this arrogant bastard to his knees.
My inner voice comes again. Patience, Anna. There wil be time. After he spins his fairy tale. Consequences be damned.
Speak.
He finishes his symbolic tidying by running both hands through jet-black hair, smoothing it behind his ears.
You’re ready to listen?
I’m ready to rip your head off your scrawny neck if you don’t get on with it.
He clucks his tongue. No wonder you are bereft of friends.
He resumes his place on the couch. He starts to put his feet back on the coffee table, but the snahat erupts from my throat stops him. He shakes his head and settles back against the cushions instead.
There is a shaman. He lives here in your American Southwest. He has the power to restore life. He can bring the dead back from the grave. He can restore mortality to the undead.
Impossible.
He stares at me, bemused. That is your reply?
Impossible? You have no questions for me? You are not curious why I would come here risking my well-being with a fabricated tale? What would I accomplish with such a foolish act?
Chael, I have no idea why you do what you do. I do know that you hate me. I can only guess you have prepared a trap. One you think I’ll be foolish enough to fall into. One you think will rid you of me once and for all. You are wrong on both counts.
He doesn’t react the way I expect — with vehement denial and heated recrimination. Rather he lifts his elegant shoulders. You are right. It would benefit me greatly if you no longer held the position of Chosen One. A position you neither deserve nor understand. But if I wished only to remove you, it could be done in a much more direct way. I could have you killed.
This is the Chael I recognize. The smile that I force to my lips is cold and menacing. You could try.
And I would succeed. You are strong. But you have not faced an army of determined vampires. We would lose some, maybe many, but eventually we would prevail. You are not invincible. If the Chosen One were invincible, there would have been only one down through the ages, would there not?
His bluntness strikes a chord. No one has yet been able to answer the questions I’ve asked myself since learning of my dubious distinction as the head of the Thirteen Vampire Tribes.
How and why was I chosen? What became of those before me?
My hesitation gives Chael the opportunity to push on. You have wondered about that yourself, haven’t you? Many of us have. His tone is bitter. If we could figure out the mystery, discover the source who predetermines our path, the master who makes us slaves to such as you, the fate of the world would be far different.
You mean you would move against this master and take over yourself?
I would not be averse to such a situation.
But you can’t do it alone, can you? That is what stops you. You don’t have the backing of the others.
Chael snaps his fingers, dismissing my question with a derisive laugh. Too many are bound up in the superstition.
Like mortals cling to their archaic religions, they cling to a ritual that is illogical and irrational and has no relevance today. But in the right circumstance—
The circumstance of my unseating, for instance?
His eyes flash. He actual y al ows the thought or your death to come through, but it is tempered by a smile.
A smile I don’t return.
So that is why you come to me with this story? You dare not kill me, but if I become mortal, the thorn from your paw is removed in a way that cannot reflect ill on you. You will have done me no harm. You cannot be held responsible for the deposing of a Chosen One who returns to human life.
His self-satisfied smile widens. This time I return the smile witha cold one of my own. Crossing the distance between us, I bend so close, he has to cringe back to look up at me.
Your hypothesis has one severe flaw, Chael. You can’t be sure you will be chosen to take my place. I’m assuming that is your goal if you wish to see the world remade in your twisted image.
My goal is of no concern to you. I am only here to offer you a gift. Not to debate what might
