Thrall (A Vampire Romance) Read Free

probably not going to have a dingy apartment. This might be a mistake. I should go, but I can’t. I have to have this one.
    Then I look over and see his face and hate myself for what I’m going to do to him, even though I now know he deserves it. Something is off about this, something wrong. My instincts are starting to scream at me to leave, hole up somewhere for the day and come back to the hunt tomorrow night.
    We leave the club. I walk with him. It’s late, now, fewer people on the street.
    “I’m parked on the next block, in a lot,” he says, and squeezes my hand.
    I drift along with him. The parking lot is half empty, surrounded by barbed wire that glows under harsh high pressure sodium lamps. The attendant’s booth is empty, closed up. There’s a big white van parked in the corner, away from the lights. He starts leading me to it.
    His hand tugs mine when I stop.
    “Come on, honey.”
    Something familiar in his tone. I’ve had enough. I don’t like this. I pull away.
    His hand grips mine. Hard. I can’t pull loose, and I shriek in panic and really pull, but he still holds on. I give him a shove that should rip his arm out of his socket, but he doesn’t let go. He’s got my other arm and he picks me up off the ground and I kick my feet and thrash. I throw my head back and hear a thump when the back of my skull hits his nose. That makes him let go. I shake loose and bolt.
    Two steps later a sledgehammer hits me in the back. That’s what it feels like, before fire rips through my body and I go down. My limbs won’t do what I tell them to and I’m shaking, my arms and legs writhing around out of my control.
    My bones creak as every muscle in my body clenches all at once. When he rolls me over and pulls the taser barbs out of my back I realize what happened. He stuffs it back in his suit pocket and picks me up from the ground, gingerly, like a newlywed. He holds me in his arms so my head falls against his chest.
    Oh God.
    He carries me back to the van and throws me over his shoulder, fireman style. I can’t move, just stare at my arms dangling towards the ground as he yanks the van doors open and gingerly lowers me to the floor, cradling my head with his hand. He tucks me inside the bag, pulling it up around me before he grasps the zipper and drags the world away.
    I’m in a body bag.

Chapter Two

    During the trip, the sun rises. I can’t see it but I can feel it. There’s a moment of awareness and in my mind’s eye I see the cleansing light sweeping over everything, pushing the dark back into tiny corners and low places, and then my consciousness gutters out and I’m gone.
    No time at all passes between the coming of sleep and waking up. My eyes pop open and I lay there disoriented, trying to adjust to my surroundings. I feel something I rarely experience anymore, fatigue. My muscles are actually sore, and I feel like I could actually willingly go to sleep if I close my eyes. Normally I’d have no trouble moving but it feels like there’s bags of sand piled on my chest as I try to sit up.
    When I do and I get a look at my surroundings, I want to laugh. At least I’m not being dissected. I half expected a lab, either clean and modern and made of stainless steel and latex or some creepy old mansion’s basement, all stone and bubbling beakers and a hunchback.
    What I get is a library, the personal study of someone with money. The books climb the walls on all four sides, broken only by a huge hearth and a set of gigantic, shuttered windows behind the ornate desk. There’s a pair of chairs facing the dead fire and someone is sitting in one, reading a book.
    A book claps closed and the occupant stands up. It’s the guy from last night, in the same clothes. He looks tired. There’s bags under his eyes and red marks on his cheeks that might be the tracks of tears, but I’m sure I’m just making that up.
    Standing up is even harder than sitting. I’m wobbly on my feet, and my head swims when I move.