Chosen (28 page)

“I feel fine now. Just need some food.”

But he’s not. He’s swaying, and his face has gone pale. Evidently the drug is not completely out of his system. A bit of well-timed luck.

“No. You’re not all right. Get back to bed and I’ll fix you a plate of scrambled eggs.”

“Will you call Miranda for me?”

“Of course.”

Frey emerges dressed now. He raises an eyebrow as I shuffle David back to the bedroom. “How about you fix David a plate of eggs?”

He heads into the kitchen, and I tuck David in once more.

“You just stay here another day and you’ll be fine.”

David takes my hand. “You are a good friend, Anna. I don’t tell you that enough.”

I have the grace to blush.

Too bad there isn’t an Olympic event for lying.

 

 

FREY TAKES KITCHEN DUTY WHILE I MAKE A RUN TO the cottage. Shower and change into yet another pair of jeans and a cotton sweater. It may not be proper coronation attire, but I need clothes I can fight in.

When I get back to the condo, Frey is straightening the kitchen.

“Is David asleep?”

“Out like a baby. Again.”

He motions to the couch. “Why don’t you stretch out? You haven’t slept in two days.”

“I’m not sure I can.”

He gives the counter a final swipe with a towel and comes around to join me. He takes my hand and leads me over to the couch. “Try.”

I sink down, let him lift my feet and slip off my shoes. He sits on the edge of the couch beside me.

“When did you feed last?”

He asks it matter-of-factly, like asking if I take cream with my coffee. I have to think a minute before it comes rushing back. Underwood. In France. I still have his blood in my system. I haven’t had a chance to purge it.

I don’t want Frey to see the excitement that floods my body at the thought that he might be offering himself. Offering his good, clean blood. I can’t ask him. I won’t. I turn my face away.

He lies down beside me, smoothes a tangle of hair away from my face.

“It’s all right. Take what you need.”

He’s opened the collar of his shirt, fits himself next to me so that his neck is exposed and close. So close. I don’t want to do this, but my body is reacting as if separate from my head and heart. It is thrumming with need, burning with the hunger. Frey’s blood calls to me and my body answers because it has no choice.

I nuzzle his neck, pull him against me. He yields with a sigh. He smells of soap and shaving cream, clean, good. Just under the surface, the panther sleeps, wild, strong, contained. We lay cupped together, one of my hands around his waist, one of my legs entangled with his. He is quiet except for the beating of his heart, still except for the rushing of his blood.

He lifts his chin, allowing better access. He wants me to do this. I need to do this. When I break through, when the heady rush of his blood fills my mouth, I experience something I haven’t for a long time.

Peace.

We lay together when it’s done. Frey is quiet beside me. I stroke his arm, his hair. I can’t remember the last time I fed without having sex. Ironically, I also can’t remember feeling as calm and tranquil as I do at this very moment, even despite the fact that tonight may be the end of my life as I know it.

Does Frey feel this sense of peace, too?

It seems selfish to have taken and given nothing in return. I let my hand move along his arm, down his abdomen. “Do you want me to . . . ?”

He stops my hand, raises it to his lips. “Yes. No. Later, maybe. All I want you to do now is sleep.”

I’m not the only one wrestling with head-over-hormone issues. For some reason, I find it comforting. Having sex isn’t the best response to confusion.

Frey changes positions on the couch so we are facing each other. He is now holding me. His arms cradle my head against his chest. I close my eyes and drift away, soothed by the strong, steady beat of his heart.

F
REY’S BODY JERKS BESIDE ME AND I’M INSTANTLY awake.

David is standing over us. “Hey. It’s ten o’clock. Why don’t you two get a room?”

Frey pulls his arm out from under my head, and we stumble to our feet.

David has gotten dressed. He has a jacket over his arm and keys in his hand.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I ask. “You can’t drive in your condition.”

He frowns. “I feel fine. I’m going out for a drink. And I’m walking. Stop acting like my mother.”

I look at Frey. If David talks with Tracey or Miranda, our story is blown. After tonight it may not matter, but I can only deal with one crisis at a time. Frey studies me, reads my expression like he used to read my thoughts. He straightens his shirt, draws his fingers through his hair, turns to David. “Would you like some company?”

I expect it; still his words produce a flare of panic. I wanted Frey with me. But he’s not part of the vampire community. His presence would not be tolerated at best, met with violence at worst.

Once again, Frey is there to help me. He only needs to keep David occupied another few hours. After that, I’ll deal with the fallout. If I’m still around.

David doesn’t look thrilled with the idea. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Actually, I thought maybe you could tell me a little about Broncos’ number four and that last trip to the Super Bowl.”

David’s brows lift. “You were a fan?”

“Never missed a game. Started following you when you played for Notre Dame.”

Frey is not only resourceful, but smart. He couldn’t have played David better. Mentioning his alma mater melts David’s resistance like butter on a hot griddle.

“There’s a great little sports bar about a block from here. Even has an old jersey of mine on the wall. Owner played for the Broncos the same time I did. I’ll give him a call and have him come down to meet us.”

He pulls his cell phone from a pocket and moves a few feet away to make the call. Gives Frey a chance to bend his face close to my ear.

“You’ll be all right. Just remember what we talked about. You are the Chosen One. You are strong and fast. You have a good mind and a good heart. I’ll be waiting for you at the cottage.”

I don’t want him to leave. I don’t want either of us to leave the safe cocoon this place has become. I want to hold on to him with every ounce of strength. I want to stay in his arms until midnight is past. I want time to explore the possibilities.

My eyes must betray how desperately I want him to stay. His arms encircle me. He presses his body against mine. “Show them who you are. They’ll follow you once they know. We’ll have time.”

David’s voice breaks the spell. “What do you think Lance would say if he walked in right now?”

Frey and I step apart. If Lance walked in right now, he’d be dead before he could say anything. “It’s not what you think.”

David claps Frey on the back. “Frankly, I’m glad she’s seeing someone else. I never liked that scrawny model.” He turns to me. “Ready to go?”

“You two go. I’ve been here for three days. I think I’m ready to sleep in my own bed.”

David looks surprised but only for a moment. He’s already ushering his new best friend out, chatting like they’ve known each other forever.

He does remember to pause and throw a “Lock up when you leave, okay?” back over his shoulder.

If I didn’t have to preserve my energy for what’s coming, the brush-off might be insulting.

 

THIS TIME WHEN I PULL INTO AVERY’S DRIVEWAY, THE gate is open. The guard who steps out to greet me is vampire. He doesn’t ask my name, bows his head slightly and says, “Ms. Strong. They are waiting for you in the library.”

Once again, the house is staged for a party. Every window blazes light. More limos than before line the turnaround. This time, a uniformed driver stands beside each car. When they see the Jag, they come to attention. Waiting for the guest of honor, no doubt. One of them separates from the pack, approaches the car, opens my door and extends a hand. He, too, is vampire.

I let him park the Jag and head for the house. Another vampire opens the door before I can ring or knock. Like the host who admitted Frey and me last night, he is in a tuxedo. Unlike the host, he is smiling and sycophantic in the way he bows and ushers me inside.

It’s an effort to keep fear out of my thoughts. When I open my mind, I hear the murmur of a dozen voices rustling like leaves in a gale. Some speak in English, others in languages I don’t recognize. I
understand
, though. It’s a part of a vampire’s genetic makeup, the ability to communicate across language barriers.

Like Frey and his book.

I wish he were here.

The conversation is banal. Talk of the trip over or musings about how pricey real estate is in Southern California. I could be eavesdropping on a group of CEOs called to headquarters for a board meeting.

The library is off to the left of the living room. There are people in the living room, too. Guests of those who await me now. They see me pass and grow quiet.

It is with some trepidation that I approach the closed doors. This was Avery’s sanctuary and the first place I fed as a vampire. The voices I hear come from this room.

The door opens before I put a hand to it. It is Judith Williams. She is dressed in a long robe of black silk. Her hair is pulled back from her face. She does not look as smug today or as confident. Perhaps she has been reprimanded for what happened after the party the other evening.

She motions with a sweeping hand. “They are ready.”

“They,” not “we.” I smile as she passes by.

I’m not sure what to expect. A few days ago, my thoughts had been on David and getting him safely away. I hardly noticed the vampires in attendance. What I do remember was a fleeting glance at vampires in costumes of varied colors and styles. A colorful blanketed figure that reminded me of an African tribal dancer, a vampire in an Arabian burnoose, a high-necked coat of white linen on a vampire of Chinese descent.

Here, the dress reflects the tenor of their conversation—the heads of the thirteen tribes have donned business attire. Well-tailored suits representing the very best of the world’s couturiers. I am suddenly self-conscious in my jeans. I chose what I am wearing because if I must fight, I need to be wearing what I am most comfortable in. I had not meant to trivialize the situation. The eyes that are watching seem to acknowledge my intention. There is no judgment in the way they look at me.

The thirteen stood when I came in. Now they take chairs around the big desk that was once Avery’s. We are alone. Judith Williams has not returned. It makes me a little less anxious to know that she has not been granted equal status with the others.

There is one empty chair. The one behind Avery’s desk. His chair. One of the tribal heads stands again and motions that I should take it.

When I am seated, the same vampire begins the introductions. He is Amardad from Persia, the ancient name for Iran. Then he presents each of the others in turn. They stand, bow slightly, touch their hands to their chest in greeting much as Culebra did a few days before. I listen and watch, opening my thoughts only in acknowledgment. These are the very oldest of the vampires from around the world. They have exotic names like Alexi and Cheng-Li and Dhakwan, Dato and Naruaki and Melisizwe and Bayani and Chael. Names that suggest power.

And less exotic names like Miguel and Joshua Turnbull, the vampire from Denver, the only one to allow a smile to touch his lips. There are two women among them. A beautiful West Indian whose name, Rani, I’m told, means queen and Brianna, an Australian.

The faces behind the names are ageless and old. They are devoid of expression as they look at me, allowing not a glimmer of thought or emotion to escape. The history of the world could be concealed behind those perfect, empty faces.

When introductions are concluded, Joshua Turnbull takes over. He rises, bows his head in my direction. His attitude here is far more deferential than when we were together in Denver.

He begins to speak, telepathically, so all can understand.

He pauses, points to the woman Brianna.
This one lost her friend and mentor, the ancient one we called Aiden, by the hand of a Revenger. We mourn his passing.

He looks at me.
I lost a friend, as well. Avery, in whose house we gather today. Some would say he brought about his own destruction by a careless and unnecessary act of violence against a human who bore him no harm. Still, he is gone and deserving of our respect. We take a moment to honor our fallen comrades.

Turnbull’s eyes are on me as the circle pays final respects. I hadn’t known before this moment that Avery had been one of the thirteen. It suddenly becomes more likely that Turnbull will be the one to make the challenge. If Judith has convinced him that I am responsible for Williams’ death as well, it is more than likely.

Turnbull waits until the others raise their heads and look to him to continue.