Dinner With a Vampire Read Free Page B

faster,’ Kaspar told me. The panic was absent from his voice but it was written in every other feature of his face. Every face was the same. I recoiled.
    ‘Are you fucking crazy? Why should I run faster for you? You murderer!’ The words were pouring from my mouth, unchecked – the adrenalin was back and it was banishing the fear.
    His eyes flashed dangerously and for a moment I thought they lost their emerald gleam. ‘We’re not murderers.’ Though he did not raise his voice nor change his tone it still sent shivers running up my spine, making my hairs stand on end.
    ‘Then what are you and why did you kill those men?’
    The question hung in the air; nobody offered a reply. Instead, I was pushed onwards, tugged from alley to alley, changing direction as the police cordoned off more and more of the city, working just a road behind us as we fled the centre.
    London was coming alive. Every window reflected cyan blue as the protective ring sprawled outwards.
    ‘Come on!’ Kaspar hissed, tugging on my sleeve.
    ‘I can’t!’ I screeched. And I really couldn’t. A side stitch clutched at my ribs and my breaths were coming in short, sharp rasps.
    ‘Tough,’ he said coolly.
    ‘I can’t b-breathe,’ I gasped, trying to do exactly that. A few tears leaked from my eyes, which I hastily wiped away. ‘I’m going to pass out and die or something!’
    ‘Oh, and what a loss that would be,’ he muttered dryly, rolling his eyes.
    ‘I didn’t volunteer for this!’ I winced, dropping to my knees, wondering why he had gone to the effort of keeping me alive if my death didn’t bother him.
    ‘No, you didn’t. But you’re a part of it now and how I see it, Girly …’ He yanked me up by my collar. ‘You don’t have any choice. Now go.’
    I did not move, still rubbing my chest. ‘My name is not “Girly”! It’s Violet!’
    Like a shot he was just inches away from me, forcing me against the wall as his hand wrapped around my neck. A single finger was pressed against my vein, stroking it.
    ‘And I’m the fucking Prince!’ he snarled, grip tightening. My eyes widened and I struggled under him but his grip just tightened further. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see his face, so close to mine and reeking of blood. A single image flooded my mind behind my closed eyes: the lifeless body of Claude Pierre, crumpled and bleeding on the stone flag.
    ‘I could snap that pretty neck of yours in two with less effort than it would take for you to squeal,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘So I suggest that you do what we say, because you can’t outrun us and the police won’t stop us.’
    I didn’t know what the hell he meant by ‘Prince’ but I believed the rest of it. The sincerity in his voice was equal to the malice. I bowed my head, beaten.
    ‘Better,’ he murmured. He grabbed my hand and tugged. As I whirled around to follow him, I saw a man sprinting into the end of the street. His dull beige suit looked odd when compared to the narrow streets and sordid bars of the back alleys. His feet slowed and he came to a stop, staring straight at us, his hand shooting up to his head, almost as if in defeat. I inhaled sharply. I knew him. He worked with my father. Or rather he worked
for
my father.
    He took a few hesitant steps forward, his eyes resting on me. For a brief moment, I met his gaze, but he averted his eyes and backed away. With a raised hand, he gestured behind him as policemen and -women rounded the corner. Their steps slowed and they came to a halt, watching us with fear burning in their eyes as Kaspar turned, allowing his gaze to roam across the officers, almost daring them. He exhaled and squared his shoulders, pulling me close to his chest. I tried to fight him and yell out for help, but he twisted my arm behind my back, leaving me yelping as though daggers were being thrust into my side where the stitch was. Entwining his arm around my waist, he backed away a few paces, dragging me with him.
    He bent down