Dangerous Girls Read Free Page A

You feel dizzy and happy, and the stars are spinning so gracefully, aren’t they? It’s all so beautiful and soft, isn’t it, darling? So romantic. You always were so romantic.”
    Her soft cries stopped. Destiny stared up at him open-mouthed, her eyes glassy, her chest moving rapidly up and down.
    Renz gently pulled down the neck of her sweatshirt. His curved fangs made a wet slick sound as they slid down from his gums. He worked his tongue over the fangs, trying to wet them. But his mouth was dry as sand.
    Finally, he could resist no longer. He lowered his head, pushed out his bristled tongue, and licked her neck. Licked it, his rough tongue scraping over the soft skin. Licked it hungrily.
    Then he opened his mouth wide and with agroan from deep in his gut, brought the fangs down. Pierced the pale skin. Sank the sharp fangs deep into her throat.
    And began to drink.

Chapter Four
“What Does He Want With Me?”
    D estiny gazed up at the purple night sky. White dots of light shimmered and danced. The full moon, surrounded by glimmering stars, grew brighter, brighter…until she had to lower her eyes.
    She felt Renz’s hot forehead against her chin. His thick black hair tickled her flesh. She heard a lapping sound, like water running. No. Like a dog drinking noisily from a bowl.
    Destiny felt a gentle pain at her throat, softer than the bite of a mosquito. With a sigh, Renz raised his head.
    What was that dark liquid spilling down his chin?
    Destiny struggled to think. But the moon shone so brightly—like a harsh spotlight—and the stars danced so giddily, she felt dizzy, sleepy. She couldn’t focus.
    She liked Renz’s smile, his wide eyes, hisforehead gleaming with jewels of sweat. But why were his teeth curling over his chin? And what was that dark liquid that smelled so sharp and metallic?
    Focus. Focus.
    She blinked hard. But it all seemed fuzzy, far away.
    She gazed into Renz’s eyes, glowing black, staring down at her. And as she stared, she realized to her amazement that she shared his thoughts.
    She saw a young, black-haired boy, six or seven, bare chested, in ragged, stained trousers that came down just below his knees. The boy, dirty faced, ribs poking out, carried a fishing pole much too long for him. He dragged it along a dusty road.
    Destiny knew it was Renz—Renz as a young boy. Renz in the northern Italian village where he grew up in poverty.
    It’s as if he is showing me his life, she realized. He’s sharing his story with me.
    She saw the boy return home slump-shouldered, tears running down his cheeks. No fish on the line. Destiny recoiled as she saw the grizzled, weary-looking man—Renz’s father—givethe boy a backhanded slap that sent him reeling into the wall.
    Ouch. She could feel the slap, feel the pain spread over her cheek.
    She tried to blink the pain away. And when she opened her eyes again, the boy was on a ship, ocean waves tossing against its gray sides. Frothy water washed over the swaying deck where the boy—young Renz—stood so uncertainly at the rail, frightened, one little face in a crowd of older, frightened faces.
    Destiny could see the pictures clearly in her mind.
    She saw the boy covering his tattered clothes with a heavy, gray overcoat that was much too big for him. Saw him arriving in New York City, then trudging through the streets, dodging horse-drawn carts and carriages, everyone dressed in black, the street a sea of black hats, all the men wearing hats.
    How long ago this must have been.
    She closed her eyes, and now the boy had grown into a young man. She recognized Renz—his proud way of standing, his loping walk, the black hair bouncing on his head as he strode down the street.
    She watched as Renz suddenly turned into a narrow alley crammed with trash and stacks of old newspapers. And then she saw another man, lanky and pale, with straight white hair pulled back in a loose-flowing ponytail. The