Forged by Desire Read Free Page A

blood feared, the final, unstoppable progression of the disease.
    Soon his skin would start paling, the color bleaching out of his hair and eyes as he evolved—or devolved—into something inhuman, something utterly vampiric. A blood-thirsty monster incapable of rational thought, driven only by its hungers. The albinism probably would have started already if his levels had climbed slowly, but the swiftness of his increase had saved him from that at least. He had time to hide this.
    A rash of vampires a century ago had made it compulsory to deliver reports of high craving levels to the authorities. Nearing seventy percent was cause for increased surveillance. Any higher and they’d consider executing him.
    Panic burned through his chest. He couldn’t let anyone know. He had to find a way to deal with this. He wasn’t ready, hadn’t done everything he wanted to… Garrett turned and scraped the spectrometer off the bench as incoherent fear roared through him. Kept going. Smashed the mirror, the shaving bowl, ripped the linens from the bed.
    None of it made him feel better. None of it made the truth go away. He froze in the middle of the room, quivering as the rage left him. The carnage was catastrophic. The type of thing the authorities would expect to find if they discovered how high his CV levels were.
    Water spilled across the floor, mingling with the small patch of blood from the spectrometer. Instantly the puddle diluted, but all he could see was blood. Could smell it, feel the need for it bubbling up within him.
    And suddenly Perry flashed into his mind, an image from his dream, smiling up at him from behind her fan as she flirted with him. Blood welled from her throat and the smile died as she clapped a hand to her throat, blood pouring through her white satin gloves and running down her arm and décolletage.
    Garrett collapsed to his knees on the floor, sinking his head into his hands again.
    If he didn’t report this, then the consequences could be catastrophic.
    For he knew who his first victim would be.

Two
    “New duke for the Council! Exiled lord returns from Scotland! The Moncrieff is back!”
    The woman who called herself Perry jerked to a halt in the middle of the footpath as the young paperboy’s voice carried over the crowd. A feeling of old terror momentarily froze her in place. The Moncrieff. Her breath caught, a familiar sensation of light-headedness assailing her, bringing with it a surge of panic she hadn’t felt in years.
    No. She’d buried those feelings years ago. Fought to find a measure of control over the hysteria. She wasn’t the same girl who’d run in fright then. She was ten years older. Stronger. No longer powerless.
    “Perry?” Her companion realized she’d stopped and turned to glance at her with his entirely too perceptive blue eyes. Dressed in the crisp black leathers that heralded a Nighthawk, Caleb Byrnes was seemingly unaware of the eyes that followed him. Women were watching him and wondering if he’d look that good without his body armor. “Are you all right?”
    “I’m fine.” Perry forced herself to start moving again, almost mechanically.
    If the story was true and the Moncrieff had been named one of the dukes who ruled the Council, then their paths would likely never cross. He would be part of the aristocratic Echelon, with its own glittering, blood-driven world, well out of her spheres.
    They wouldn’t meet. They wouldn’t. And if they did, would he even recognize a girl the world thought dead?
    She shivered. She wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all herself. The Moncrieff wouldn’t have forgotten her. Could you forget a woman whose disappearance named you a suspect in her murder and earned you exile for ten years?
    Perry had to know more. “Stay there.”
    London was foggy this time of morning, with most of the crowd of pedestrians comprised of men in suits and top hats as they scurried toward their places of employment. A little boy tugged at the leash of