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Chapter One
The
pounding reached Anya’s ears through the haze of sleep—a
loud, booming rattle much like thunder, like the deep,
angry beating of a drum. A brilliant zip of lightning
flashed right outside her window, and her eyes flickered
open. She didn’t know what triggered the knowledge, but
it occurred to her that she had really heard it. The
pounding noise wasn’t a dream.
She
sat bolt upright in the bed, her heart racing, her mind
scrabbling as the pounding began again with a sudden,
violent start. It was the middle of the night and the
room was dark as pitch save for the intermittent flashes
of lightning. It was frightening. Terrifying. Anya
gripped the sheets as the noise bounded off the walls
with an almost impossible force, each blow sending a
stab of shock rippling along her nerves. It was so loud
it was almost otherworldly, and she came to realize with
horrible clarity—It’s coming from inside the house!
Panic gripped her.
Irina!
In a
rapid burst of movement, she flung back the covers and
sprang out of bed. In less than a minute she was through
the door and in the hallway, rushing toward god only
knew what. Horrible scenarios flashed through her
mind–burglars, rapists... Fear for herself, for her
housekeeper lodged in her throat like a clod of ash.
She
raced down the hall, snatching up a thick, blue vase off
the sideboard as she passed it. She never missed a step
as she hiked it over her head, fuzzy fronds and all,
preparing to use it like a weapon if she had to.
She
rounded the corner and at the end of the hall, she saw
the light from the kitchen spilling out into the space
between the bar and the den. Irina stood there facing
the kitchen, her white night gown covering her from neck
to ankle. In her right hand, she held a narrow butcher
knife out in front of her, poised to strike.
“Irina, what’s going on?”
“I
don’t know!”
Anya
reached her and gazed into the kitchen. “Did you call
9-1-1?”
The
housekeeper shook her head and fired off a rapid string
of Russian that Anya couldn’t begin to understand. Irina
then made the sign of the cross and pointed the tip of
the knife at the utility room door. “There!” She gasped
at Anya. “Someone is banging!”
Anya
stared. Something thumped against the backside of the
door, and her nerves bunched instinctively. An eerie
tingling feeling crept over her. The door led into the
garage at the back of the house. Only Irina ever used
it. Anya always used the door facing the side street.
She set the vase onto the counter and snatched up the
cordless phone off the bar.
“You
better leave!” Anya shouted at whoever was on the other
side of the door. With shaking hands, she dialed 9-1-1
and put the phone to her ear. It went on ringing,
ringing… She stepped closer to the utility room, Irina
following close behind her.
“Did
you hear me, motherfucker! I know you’re in there and
the police are on their way!”
“Anya please…” sobbed a small voice. “It’s me. You have
to let me in.”
Anya
froze, her expression shifting from fear to concern.
“Shit. It’s Eleni.”
She
shoved the phone at Irina and made a dive for the door,
her fingers frantically working at the locks. “Hang on,
Eleni, I’m getting it.”
On
the other side of the door, she heard muffled weeping.
Anya got the locks off, and when she turned the knob, it
flew open from the weight pressed against it. Eleni
sprawled in a sobbing, disheveled heap at Anya’s feet
and curled up into a ball on her side.
Irina rushed in to help the fallen girl, but stopped
short of actually touching her. Anya thought it was
because Eleni was covered in bite marks—deep, runny
puncture wounds on her arms and legs. However, when she
looked up and followed Irina’s gaze, she saw what had
truly startled the housekeeper. On the back of the door,
where Eleni had been pounding on it, thick bloody
streaks trailed down the metal like clawing, elongated
hands.
* * * * *
“He
promised me, Anya! He said I was to be his matrinas.
Me. He said he loved me best!”
Eleni paced the living room like a caged animal, flecks
of foam gathering at the corners of her mouth while she
went on and on about Rubio’s lies, his infidelities,
about some new Acolyte named Sabilla who had apparently
taken her place as the premiere protégé of the Rubio
household.
Every few moments she screamed new obscenities and tore
at her blonde hair in bitter anguish. Piled high atop
her head, the dirty, disheveled mess looked like matted
straw. Runny black eyeliner emphasized the dark circles
smudged beneath her pale eyes which burned with a barely
hidden fanatical gleam. Anya looked into those
sparkling, over-bright eyes and she feared her, feared
for her. She had heard of Biter’s Addiction
before, but until now, she had never actually seen it.
“I
need you to drink this, Eleni. It will help calm you.”
Anya moved in closer with the snifter half full of
cognac, offering it at arms length with the bowl resting
on her palm and the stem captured between her fingers.
She was afraid to get any closer. Eleni had already
attacked her once.
“I
don’t want to drink! I don’t want to be calm!” Eleni
turned sharply and slapped the snifter from her hand as
thought it were a wad of paper. She then gripped her
hands over her ears and began to scream hideously—a
bloodcurdling noise that rose to crisp sharpness before
plummeting away into raspy, wracking sobs. Gasping for
breath, Eleni crumpled to the floor at the foot of
Anya’s couch, and pleaded in a raw voice, “Rubio! Oh,
Rubio! Please, don’t throw me out!”
Terrified, Irina would not come out of the kitchen. She
stood behind the safety of the bar, tugging at the
throat of her night gown, pulling it taut around her
neck like a shield of protection. Her gaze darted to
Anya, her eyes dark with fear. “Please, Madame, she is
dangerous. Deranged. While she is like this you must do
something!”
Anya
knew Irina was right. She couldn’t let this go on. Eleni
was not only a danger to her and Irina, she was also a
danger to herself.
While her sister was down, lost and grieving in one of
her morose sobbing spells, Anya quickly crossed the den
and snatched the cordless phone off the bar. Just as
quickly, she marched away through the house to the
study, a small room off the den that contained a heavy,
oak desk and several towering cases of leather bound
books that she never bothered to read. She left the door
open, and went to her desk, where she sat down numbly on
a corner facing into the hallway.
Until the moment her fingers started dialing Dominic’s
number, Anya had no idea who she was going to call. She
had been out of Vampire Society some ten years, and when
she left it behind, she had severed most of her old
connections.
Regret surfaced now, haunting her like an old ghost. She
hadn’t anticipated anything like this ever happening.
Not to herself and certainly not to Eleni. What if he
wouldn’t help her? What if no one would help
her?
“Hello?”
The
deep, masculine voice startled her. Lost in thought,
Anya hadn’t heard the phone ring, much less anyone pick
it up. Now he seemed so close she felt a rise of hope.
It was him. A high, anxious feeling gathered in
her chest. All at once, she missed him and needed him,
and for the life of her, she couldn’t think of exactly
what to say. She opened her mouth and a little gasp
slipped out as words failed her and her thoughts went
spinning out into nothingness.
“Hello?” he asked again, his tone rough, impatient.
“D-Dominic?”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line,
then, “Who is this?”
Heat
flooded her face; her nerves frayed out just a bit more.
“It’s… me, Dominic. Anya.” She hesitated, fear of
rejection niggling at the back of her mind. “Look, I
know we haven’t spoken in a while. Things went badly
before…I-I said some things and…well, I mean, I
thought–” Her throat closed around tears as Eleni began
to rage again. From the den, there was the sound of
shattering glass. Anya flinched and turned her back on
the doorway, her voice thickening with sadness as she
blurted out what she was thinking then, what she felt
she most needed to say: “Please, Dominic. I need you.”
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