Chicks Kick Butt

PROLOGUE

My name is Anna Strong. I am vampire. It’s been over a month since I fed. A month since the first anniversary of my becoming. A month since I assumed the mantle of the Chosen One. I’ve gone about my daily routine as if nothing has changed, when in reality, everything has changed.

I move out to the deck off my bedroom and sink into a chaise. The early-morning sun is hot on my face. It feels good. I can almost feel my blood warming, though I know that’s an illusion. Only feeding and sex warm a vampire’s blood.

I haven’t had either in a while.

I sip coffee. A few blocks away, the ocean sparkles under a flawless summer sky. I live in San Diego, Mission Beach to be exact, near the boardwalk. I love it here. The sea is vibrant, alive. People drawn to it are vibrant and alive, too. Kids at play in the sand, surfers bobbing on the waves, sunbathers eschewing warnings of dire consequences to bake pasty skin to a toasty brown. All share a common bond. They are human. They belong.

I drain my cup, rise to go inside. I’m feeling the effects of lack of blood. Like a diabetic without insulin, my body is slowing down, my mind becoming sluggish. I’d better call Culebra and make sure he can arrange a host to meet me at Beso de la Muerte. I can’t afford to let myself become vulnerable—not anymore. Not to anyone.

CHAPTER 1

The guy waiting for me in Culebra’s back room looks to be about thirty. He’s lying naked on the bed, his clothes folded neatly on a bedside chair. He has a sheet thrown over the lower part of his body. He’s lean, muscular, with the arrogant good looks of a guy used to having his way with women. He smiles when he sees me, a smile of relief and anticipation. I’m sure the relief is because I’m female (a host never knows) and the anticipation that because I’m female, sex will be a part of the deal.

I pull a wad of cash out of my purse and lay it on top of his clothes. “I just want the blood,” I tell him. “Whatever you do while I’m feeding is up to you, but I don’t intend to participate.”

“Are you sure?” The guy pushes the sheet off his hips. He started without me.

If the size of his dick is supposed to impress me, my reaction must be a bitter disappointment. I flutter fingers in a dismissive gesture. “Yeah, I’m sure. Face the wall, please.”

“Don’t you want to know my name?”

“No.”

He grunts and rolls over. I position myself behind him, spoon style, and pull his head closer. My body vibrates from need and the heady sensation that comes from watching blood coarse through an artery just a kiss away. His hands are busy between his legs and he groans before I break through the skin.

Then I’m lost in my own sensations. His blood is sweet and clean, his fitness the result of good diet and exercise, not pills or needles. Not that it would matter. Vampires are immune from human drugs and disease. Only the taste differs, like drinking vinegar or wine, and I’m pleased with this vintage. The first mouthful brings intense pleasure, my body now tingling with something other than hunger. There’s a fleeting moment when I am tempted to roll him over, to mount him, feel him inside me while I feed.

But I resist.

The blood is enough. It awakens every cell in my body. It revives and restores. My skin warms. A flush of heat floods my cheeks. My senses become needle sharp. The feel of the host’s skin against my lips, the smell of his arousal, the quickness of his breath, I experience it all. His heartbeat. Steady, rhythmic, until he nears climax. Then his heart begins to race until it reaches a crescendo and his body tenses. He moans, grinds against me, one hand clutches the sheet, the other moves faster and with more urgency.

I keep feeding until the last shudder of release passes and he is quiet beside me. I use my tongue to seal the puncture wounds, watch as the marks fade. He does not speak or move. In a minute, his breathing becomes deep and regular and I know.

He’s fallen asleep.

CHAPTER 2

When I join Culebra at the bar, he looks past me toward the door to the back room. “Is he still alive?”

He hands me a bottle of Dos Equis with a lime wedge propped on the rim. He could be an extra in a John Ford western, lean, craggy-faced, and, at the moment, determined to get answers.

I squeeze the lime down into the bottle. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

He takes another beer from a cooler under the bar and motions for me to follow him to a table. When we’re both seated he answers. “You looked hungry when you walked in. How long has it been since you fed?”

I shrug. “A while.”

He watches me drink. “It’s been a while since we talked, too. A month to be exact. I have a lot of questions.”

One of the reasons I’ve stayed away.

Culebra picks that thought out of the ether. He frowns. “I thought I was your friend.”

He shuts me out of his head. He’s angry or disappointed. Maybe both. I can’t tell. But the result is the same. I give in with a sigh. “Sorry. You are my friend. I should have been in touch sooner.”

I glance around the bar. It’s almost empty this early on a Sunday morning. There are a couple of vamps sitting with two human women. The snatches of thought I catch from the vamps are that they’re well fed and well sexed and are looking for a way to leave gracefully without offending the female hosts. They may want a repeat performance down the line. The vibes the females give off tell me they wouldn’t object. I watch them a few moments until Culebra is back in my head.

You’re stalling.

I’m granted another reprieve when my host appears at the door. He grins at me with a look calculated to let anyone watching think I’d sucked more than his neck. I’m tempted to make a snarky remark, but don’t. I simply let him swagger over to the other table. The females greet him, and in another moment, all five leave with a parting wave to Culebra.

We’re now alone.

Culebra waves his bottle in the direction of the door. “I assume that look was a bit of bravado for the benefit of his friends.”

I laugh. “You’ll need to change those sheets.”

The moment passes. I feel the intenseness of Culebra’s eyes as he waits. I release a breath. “What have you heard?”

“The challenge. What happened with Lance. The way you handled Chael. Sounds like you did well for yourself.”

Did I? What I didn’t tell Frey, what I’m hiding from Culebra now, is that nothing was settled. Not really. Chael is still intent on pursuing his own course. A course designed to elevate vampires to the top of the food chain and relegate humans to nothing more than fodder, an expendable food source whose only existence would be to serve their vampire masters.

Culebra’s voice breaks through my dark thoughts.

“What are you hiding from me, Anna?”

“Nothing.” Everything.

His thoughts are like a laser, trying to bore into mine. I know you better than that. What aren’t you telling me?

I raise the beer bottle to my lips, drain it. Rise. “Have to go, my friend. I’ll be in touch soon.”

Culebra doesn’t answer. I feel the heat of his frustration as I start to leave.

“Wait.”

I half turn, pause.

“I had a visitor yesterday. He left you a message.”

“Who would leave a message for me here?”

Culebra crosses to the bar, reaches behind it for a folded piece of paper. “Somebody who is afraid you wouldn’t return his calls if he tried to reach you directly.”

He holds the note out to me. As soon as I see the signature, I understand why he’d go through Culebra. He’s right. I wouldn’t have returned his calls.

The note is from Max.

Culebra feels the anger build as I stare down at the note. Max is an ex-boyfriend. Human. Couldn’t take off fast enough when he found out what I am, even though it’s because of what I am that he’s alive today. To make matters worse, he decided that sex with a vampire while acting as a host was a pretty damned good way to get his rocks off. So he comes here to enjoy fucking vampires. Anonymous vampires. It’s me he doesn’t want to fuck anymore.

My hand curls into a fist, crushing the note. “Why would you take this? You know how I feel about Max and his new hobby.”

Culebra holds up a hand in defense. “Max hasn’t come here to be a host for some time. Whatever he needed to get out of his system, he seems to have succeeded.”

“You mean me, right? He needed to get me out of his system.”

Culebra shakes his head. “Read the damn note, will you?”

I drag my eyes back to the note, open my hand, smooth the paper against my thigh. I can’t imagine being interested in anything Max has to say to me. The bastard left without saying good-bye.

The handwriting is cramped, uneven. As if he wrote the note in a hurry.

Anna. I need your help. Call me. Max.

“Wow.” I wave the note toward Culebra. “This makes me want to drop everything and ring him right up. He doesn’t even say please. Christ. Why would I want to help him?”

Culebra lifts his shoulders. “It must be important.”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Not exactly.”

“Didn’t tell you what exactly?”

“For Christ’s sake, call him, will you?” Culebra’s irritation flares, radiates outward from his thoughts and burns into my head. Don’t be so goddamned stubborn.

I don’t even know if I still have his number. A last whining excuse.

Of course you still have his number. In your cell.

He’s right. Not that I’ll give him the satisfaction of telling him. Just like I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that deep down I want to call Max. Only to satisfy my curiosity. Only to find out how Max plans to grovel his way back into my good graces. Only to enjoy turning him down no matter what he says.

His leaving was no laughing matter, but telling him to go to hell would be good for a laugh, not to mention my ego.

I turn my back on Culebra and stomp out, letting one thought drift back.

Fucking men.

CHAPTER 3

On the drive back home I debate with myself.

Do I want to call Max? It’s been eight months since the last time we ran into each other in Beso de la Muerte under less-than-perfect conditions.

Why would I want to call Max? On the off chance that he wants to tell me what an ass he’s been and to thank me at long last for saving his ass in Mexico?

Shit.

It irritates me to realize I’m curious. It irritates me to realize I want to know why he wants to talk to me.

It irritates the hell out of me to realize I know how long it’s been since I’ve seen him without doing the math.

I’m sure Culebra knows more than he let on. Max is a drug enforcement agent. He spends quite a bit of time in Mexico, and has used Culebra as an informant. Not in an official capacity. Culebra has a lot of contacts on both sides of the law and the border. He and Max have a quid pro quo arrangement. Culebra helps Max when he can, and in turn, Max keeps quiet when he comes to Beso de la Muerte to ensure that those under Culebra’s protection are not hassled.

At least that’s the way it worked when Max and I were together.

A lifetime ago.

CHAPTER 4

I’ve been sitting on the bed staring at the telephone in my hand for fifteen minutes. Max’s number is up on the screen, just waiting for my finger to press SEND . I’m not sure now why I’m so hesitant. There’s only one reason I’d call him, and the only thing I have to decide is the number of expletives to insert before I tell him to fuck off.

So what’s the problem?

I suck it up and punch SEND .

He picks up so fast, it takes me a second to realize he’s on the line.

“Max?”

“Anna.” There’s relief in his voice. “Thanks for calling. I need to see you.”

“Why?”

“I can’t talk about it on the phone. Can I come in?”

My grip on the phone tightens. “What do you mean, come in? Where are you?”

“Outside. On the boardwalk.”

I cross the bedroom to the deck, look toward the ocean. The boardwalk is crowded. It takes me a second to locate him. Max is leaning against the seawall, staring up toward the cottage. He waves when he sees me. But it’s not a cheery wave and he’s not smiling.

I’m not smiling either. “What are you doing here? How did you know I’d call?”

“I didn’t, but Culebra told me you’d picked up the note.”

“Did he also tell you I don’t want to talk to you?”

“Yes. I’m glad to see he was wrong.”

“He wasn’t wrong. There’s only one reason I’d call you. To tell you to fuck off—”

“Anna, please.” I see Max cup his hand around the phone. “If there was anyone else I could go to about this I would. You are the only one who can help.”

“Jesus, Max.” Irritation and anger crash like cymbals in my head. “Why so dramatic? You sound like you’re jonesing for a fix. God. Is that what this is about? You tired of screwing anonymous vamps? You remembering what a good thing you threw away?”

“No. Anna.” He bites off the words. “Everything isn’t about you . I need you because I think I’m dealing with a vampire. A vicious vampire. And I don’t know how to fight him. I thought you’d want to help. Culebra thought you’d want to help. Guess we were both wrong.”

He snaps his cell phone shut, ending the conversation before I can respond. He doesn’t look my way again, but heads up the boardwalk toward the parking lot. He shoulders are drawn up, his strides long, fast, stiff with anger.

Shit. A vampire? It takes me about a heartbeat to decide. I’m probably going to regret this, but I’m down the stairs, have grabbed up my purse and keys and reached the end of the boardwalk before he does.

Max isn’t startled when I appear in front of him like a genie sprung from a bottle. He knows what I can do. But he doesn’t look relieved or pleased either. He stares down at me from his six-foot-three-inch vantage point and waits for me to speak first.

“What do you mean you’re dealing with a vampire?”

His shoulders hunch up even more. The lines of his face draw down, as if weighted. He looks tired. He looks stressed. The Max I knew—the one with lively blue eyes, a quick smile, and sun-burnished Latino good looks—has been swallowed up by this sallow-faced, sober, weary doppelgänger.

“Are you sure you want to hear this? Or are you waiting for another opportunity to tell me what a fuckup I’ve been?”

I close the distance between us and jab a finger into his chest. “Oh, I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities to do that. Right now, I want to know what you meant on the telephone.”

He looks around. “Let’s walk. I don’t want to risk being overheard.”

The boardwalk teems with people. Skateboarders, cyclists, Rollerbladers, joggers. If we walk here, we’ll spend most of our time dodging incoming. I’m not going to invite him to the cottage, either. I don’t want him invading my personal space.

“Let’s cross to the bay side.”

He doesn’t object. Neither of us speaks until after we’ve crossed Mission and headed for the sidewalk that runs along the harbor. Here the view spans the San Diego skyline on one side, row on row of condos and apartments on the other. There’s a marina and a small park. We head for the benches in the middle of the park. We choose the one that faces a playground. The water is at our backs and we have a clear view of the sidewalk. It’s much quieter here.

“So talk.”

Max looks toward the sidewalk, eyes restlessly scanning the faces of the people moving at a Sunday-afternoon, warm-summer’s-day kind of pace. I look, too. But I know I’m not seeing the same things he is. He’s looking at them with cop eyes.

“I’ve been working a joint task force with the Mexican border patrol,” he says at last. “Drugs mostly. But in the last month, we’ve been finding something else on our patrols. Bodies drained of blood. Entire families killed and dumped in the desert. No clue as to who is doing it. At first we thought it was some local drug lord’s new and vicious way to intimidate.”

“But now?”

“The victims all had their throats slashed. But there’s never any blood at the scene. None. The tox screens we’ve run always come back negative for drugs. They’re not addicts or dealers. The victims have no connection to local law enforcement either, always a favorite target of the cartel. We’ve traced some of the victims to places in Latin America and as far south as Ecuador. A hell of a long way to transport bodies just to dump them. They’re from poor families. If they were carrying anything of value on them, it’s gone by the time we find them. All that’s left is the clothes they’re wearing.”

Max pauses, draws a breath. He hasn’t looked at me since we sat down on the bench. He does now. “I think we’re dealing with a coyote. I think he takes money from these people to get them across the border. Then he kills them and dumps them within sight of the border. Probably lets them know how close they are before he kills them.”

It doesn’t take much of a leap to know what Max is leading up to. “You think this coyote is a vampire.”

“I do. The slash marks are clumsy. Because the bodies are found in Mexico, we haven’t been able to do anything but drug sampling. But I’d be willing to bet if we could do the autopsies here, we’d find something under those slashes.”

He would. When I worked as a Watcher, I used the technique myself. A vampire can erase puncture wounds from a live donor, but not a dead one. Slashing the throat is a way to hide the fact that a body has been sucked dry.

Confirming that Max is right about this and how I know that he’s right is not something I want to share. I already know what he thinks of me. “What do you want from me?”

“There’s a pattern to the killings. We find the bodies on our patrols on Tuesday mornings. Always in roughly the same location.”

“If you know this, you don’t need me. Set a trap.”

“We did. Once. The guy slipped past us as if he were invisible. But not before leaving us another victim. A young girl. You have to realize, Anna, our emphasis is on stopping the drug trade. Not human trafficking. We don’t have the resources to conduct another undercover op. That’s why I’m here. To ask you to come with me tomorrow night. If I’m right, the only way we’re going to stop him is by fighting fire with fire.”

I snort. “You mean vampire with vampire.”

Max’s mouth tightens. “This isn’t a joking matter.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

His expression shifts, softens. “Sorry. I know I’m asking a lot. I don’t know what else to do. If we don’t stop him, he’ll go on killing. He likes it. He’s found an easy food source. And he takes money from victims desperate to make a new life.”

He pauses, draws a breath. “Culebra told me you’re some sort of über -vamp. Well, I need an über -vamp. I can’t think of another way to stop him.”

Über -vamp. Yeah. That’s me, all right. Head of the thirteen vampire tribes. Only thing is, except for a few extra abilities, I don’t feel any different than I did before. The only thing that’s changed is that I have another über -vamp, Chael, gunning for me.

I push the thought out of my head. I can probably help Max. I’m stronger than other vamps. The question is, do I want to?

Stupid question. I choose my words carefully.

“I’ll do it. But not for you. I’ll do it because a vamp who acts like this is a rogue, a killer, a threat to all vampires. Sooner or later, what he’s doing will come to the attention of vampire hunters. Then none of us will be safe.”

Max lets his relief show in a tiny gesture of gratitude. He holds out a hand.

I let my feelings show by standing up and taking a step out of reach. The wound is still fresh. “Where shall I meet you?”

He stands, too, lets his hands fall to his sides. “The border crossing at San Ysidro. Tomorrow night. Ten o’clock.”

I nod. Max stares at me a minute, waiting for the ice to melt, I suppose. It doesn’t, and finally, he walks away.

For the first time, I notice.

Max was hurt in Mexico. A broken ankle. He’s not limping anymore.

At least one wound has healed.

CHAPTER 5

It’s a clear, quiet, moonless night. Max and I have tramped across two miles of barren desert. We’re both dressed in dark camo, ski masks covering our faces. I have a .38 strapped to my waist. Just in case Max’s coyote turns out to be human after all.

Max dons night-vision goggles. I don’t need them. The creatures of the desert are as clear to me in the inky blackness as they would be in the brightest sunlight. I see more than Max ever can, down to the tiniest scurrying insects he crushes underfoot as we trudge onward.

I hear more, too. The faraway cry of a bird of prey. The squeal of a rabbit as the jaws of a coyote snap closed around its neck. The pebbles pushed aside in the wake of a slithering snake.

Then, something else.

I touch Max’s arm. Signal him to stop. Point off to the north.

Too far away for him to see, there’s a dim shadow against the darkness. Moving toward us.

Max doesn’t question me. We seek cover behind the sloping bank of an arroyo, dry as dust in the summer heat. And hunker down to wait.

The shadow draws closer, divides into three. I probe, careful to keep my own presence hidden. The unmistakable psychic pattern of a vampire comes back like the blip on radar. At least one of them is vampire.

Then a feeling I’ve come to recognize swamps my senses. Revulsion. Rage. Bloodlust so powerful the vampire within bursts from its human cocoon with the gnashing of teeth.

Evil approaches.

Max seems to detect the change. He leans away from me, an involuntary, instinctive reaction to danger. “What’s wrong?”

I strip the ski mask from my face, let it fall to the ground. It takes effort to speak, to form words and force them through a throat that wants to howl. “Stay away from me. No matter what happens.”

I don’t wait for his reply. I leap over the embankment and head out to meet the monster.

CHAPTER 6

She senses my approach.

She.

Max’s coyote.

We’re still a mile away from each other, but she picks up the rage. I close the distance in seconds.

Then we’re face-to-face.

I point to the man and woman at her side. They are stunned by my sudden appearance, by my vampire face. They are young, maybe twenty, dressed in dark jeans and hoodies that are tattered and stained. Each carries a small satchel. They cringe away, look to their guide.

I look at her, too.

Let them go.

The vampire tilts her head to one side, studying me. Physically, we are evenly matched. She is weighing her options.

You have no options.

She is cloaking her thoughts. After a moment she says, Perhaps you are right . These two are of no consequence.

Do they speak English?

A nod.

I drag my eyes away from her, motion to the couple. “The border is three miles straight ahead. There is a tear in the fence. You can make it on your own.”

I am trying very hard to sound human. Even to my own ears, my voice is rough. It comes from my gut, not my vocal cords. A growl.

The humans are mesmerized. They can’t look away from my eyes.

The vampire raises a hand, strokes the hair of the woman. They want to stay with me

She has not shown her true nature. The woman steps behind her for protection. The vampire laughs.

The fury in me builds. I realize her intention. Her mouth opens, her teeth gnash. She reaches behind to pull the woman forward.

I have her neck before she can grab the woman. I pull her away and spin her around, showing the cowering couple the true face of their savior.

They jump back, mouths open in astonishment.

The vampire laughs again. I force her to her knees. Reach into the pocket of her jacket. Pull a wad of bills from inside.

“Take your money. Go. Now.”

This time, there is no hesitation. They circle around us in a wide arc, uncomprehending, fearful the creatures might change their minds. Then they’re off, running across the desert floor.

I hold the vampire on the ground until the rustle of their clothes, the sound of their footsteps, are a distant echo.

You could have let me keep the money.

She is not afraid.

Why?

Do you know who I am?

Everyone of our race knows who you are.

Then you know I can’t let you go.

Still no reaction. Her mind is closed. Mine is not. Do you think because you are not resisting I will spare you?

I think you will spare me because I have something to offer you.

I pull her to her feet. She faces me squarely. We are the same height. Her dark eyes have changed back; she still holds the vampire in check. She wears pants and a blouse that skims her shoulders, a denim jacket. Her hair is tied back from her face with a scarf. She looks like a woman of about twenty-five. Her thoughts are much older, much darker.

The creature before me radiates malevolence. She has killed for a hundred years. She has a taste for it. Lust for blood oozes from her pores like the foul smell of rotting meat. My instinct to kill her now and quickly battles with a desire to find out what a being like this thinks she can offer me.

See? You are curious.

I backhand her across the face. She flies fifty feet and lands on a barrel cactus.

She struggles to her feet. Damn, bitch. That hurt .

I’m at her side with my hands around her throat before she can finish whining.

She still has not released the beast. I can feel her fury building. She wants to. What is holding her back?

I have killed vampires before. Vampires more powerful than this sniveling female. It can be done many ways. This one, however, deserves to die slowly. The same way she has killed the helpless humans she’s lured to this place with a promise of a new life. She will feel her life ebb away drop by drop until there is nothing left but an empty husk.

I am done with you.

For the first time, something besides sarcasm and confidence flickers in the depths of her eyes. Fear is there, too. She pulls away, her hands on my arms as she tries to break my grip. Her struggles are fruitless.

But I have something you want. Information I am willing to offer in return for my life.

You have recklessly taken human life. Left bodies to be discovered—

No one of importance. No one who will be missed. I have incited no threat against us. Why should it matter to you that I thin the ranks of the miserable? I do them a service, ending their pathetic lives.

Her attitude is like a red-hot poker in my gut. Do you ask them first? Give them a choice? You kill for sport. You take their money. Worse, you offer hope, then snatch it away. You are an animal. You deserve the same fate as those you toy with, the ones you consider unimportant. I am here to exact vengeance.

Then what Chael says about you is true.

The name makes me draw back a tiny step, to look into her eyes. What does Chael have to do with you?

She takes advantage of the momentary distraction to draw herself up. Chael says you think more of mortals than you do of your own kind. I see he is right. Her words drip acid. Well, be warned. You may soon find yourself alone. There are many of us who are tired of hiding. The tide is rising.

So this is why you are here? To deliver a warning? You have made a grievous mistake if you think killing innocents is the way to gain my support for your cause.

She shakes her head. I am not here to gain your support. Chael told me there would be only one thing to tempt you away from the path you have chosen. Kill me now and you will never know how to achieve what it is your heart desires.

And how do you know what my heart desires? How does Chael?

It is obvious. You wish to return the gift of immortality, to become human.

I make a guttural sound in my throat—half snort, half snarl. You think you can forestall the inevitable with this foolish talk? The only reason you are not dead already is that I want to make sure the humans are safely away before I end your miserable existence. They have been traumatized enough.

I may not be so easy to kill.

Finally. The beast is unleashed. Her right hand dips into her jacket. Lightning fast. She pulls out a small stake and lunges for my chest.

I am faster. A half turn and the stake strikes a rib. It tears flesh and opens a gash that weeps blood. The pain, the smell of my own blood, only strengthen my determination. Adrenaline propels me forward and I wrest the weapon from her hand, toss it away.

She makes her move. Locks her arms around me, intent on bending me backward; snapping jaws seek my throat.

I am stronger. It takes very little effort to break her grip. Our positions reverse. For a fleeting moment, I have a glimpse into her head. Hate boils in her blood, turns her thoughts red with rage.

And Chael is there, too. His whispered entreaties that she should seek me out. Tempt me with the secret.

Chael is there.

Who is this female to Chael?

What is the secret?

No matter.

The bloodlust burns too strong to pull back now. Nothing is more important than the hunger. I tear at her jugular. Her blood, hot and delicious, fills my mouth, my senses. She squirms and pounds at my chest with her fists. The blood from my chest wound seems to mingle with her own blood as the one flows out and the other flows in.

She is strong. Her will to live is not easily extinguished. She is kicking at me, her hands frantically seeking anything to use against me.

Too late to deflect it, I feel her fingers close around the gun clipped to my belt. She fires it without drawing it out of the holster. The roar of the gunshot rips the quiet fabric of the night. A bullet pierces my side.

The bullet moves inside me, scorching a path through muscle and sinew before it explodes out. It does not penetrate organ or impact bone. It does not weaken my resolve.

It does not stop me from snapping her arm.

We both scream in pain.

It’s the last sound she makes. She is getting weaker. I regain my hold, lock my jaws tight once again. Her blood is no longer thick, but thinning out as the last drops are consumed. She no longer fights. She is no longer capable of shielding her thoughts. The atrocities she’s committed, the victims she’s tortured, the senseless agony she’s inflicted. All threaten from the dark. There is no thought of loved ones or family. Like her victims, she has lived most of her second life alone. Only fear is left. Dread.

As I drain the last of her blood, feel the shudder as her soul leaves the body, my hatred ebbs. I rejoice.

It is just.

She has died like her victims, alone and afraid.

The metamorphosis begins the instant the soul leaves the body. The young woman I held in my grasp is an old, withered shell by the time she hits the ground. It is the way. Drained of blood, the vampire body reverts physically to its mortal counterpart. I stand looking down at an old lady well past her one hundredth birthday.

My metamorphosis begins, too. The human Anna comes back, slowly, reluctantly.

Slowly. Infusion of blood temporarily warms a body that is even now returning to its natural state. The warmth fades too quickly.

Reluctantly. With the return to human form comes rational thought. I will not forget what I have done.

I have killed.

I have no regrets. She deserved to die. I only wish killing didn’t come so easily.

But what of Chael? What was this woman to him? His instincts were good. The fairy tale of regaining mortality is the one carrot he could dangle in front of me—the one prize I might be tempted to pursue.

But not at the cost of more innocents.

Never at the cost of more innocents.

With rational thought comes something else—awareness of the pain that racks my side. Slowly, carefully, I draw myself up, stretch gingerly, willing the healing process to move more quickly, to numb this ache.

CHAPTER 7

“Anna!” Max’s voice. “Where are you?”

I rouse myself and step over the vampire’s body. I realize I never learned her name. Does it matter? Not now.

Max is fifty yards out, moving toward me at a run.

“Here.”

I let him find me. He has his gun in his hand and he is breathing hard. When he sees the crumpled remains on the ground, he turns to me, startled, bewildered.

“Who is that?”

“Your coyote.”

He kneels for a closer look. “She’s an old woman. How could she possibly—”

“What you’re looking at are mortal remains. You were right in suspecting a vampire was behind the attacks. She was with a couple when I found her. I let them go.”

“I know.” Max holsters his gun. “I saw them run by.”

“Did they make it?”

“From what I could see.”

“Good.”

Max switches his gaze from the corpse to me. For the first time, he sees the blood soaking my shirt, on my thighs.

“You’re hurt?”

“No.” Not much anyway.

I don’t think I’ll tell him I let myself get shot with my own gun. “It looks worse than it is.”

He nods. Luckily, he knows how it is with vampires.

“What should we do with that?” He points to the thing on the ground.

“Bury it.”

Max swings his flashlight in an arc. “I didn’t bring a shovel. What can we use?”

I spy a flat piece of rock and a long, sturdy branch kiln-dried by the sun. I retrieve them. “It will take work, but we can use these.”

I hand him the branch to begin scraping away sand and follow after, scooping out a hole with the rock. My side screams in protest, but within fifteen minutes we have a hole big enough and deep enough to cover the corpse. I grab her by the arm and throw her in.

“She’s really dead, right?” Max asks.

“You mean is she going to rise up in three days and come after us?” I prod at the body with my foot. “No. She’s gone.”

We set to work, shoveling the sand back in, tamping it down with our feet, setting a layer of rock and debris over the grave. To protect it from scavengers.

A flashback. Another vampire corpse. Another grave dug in the desert. Another pair of hands working beside mine.

Lance. Friend. Lover. Traitor.

Dead now. By my hand.

A shudder racks my body.

Max’s shoulder is so close to mine, he feels my body jerk. He pauses. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

The vampire answers from the darkest place in my soul. “It’s nothing. I just walked on someone’s grave.”

EPILOGUE

Max recognizes one of the guards at the border crossing. They exchange a few words in Spanish and he waves us through. It’s good because I’m not sure I want to try to explain the rust-colored stains covering my clothes.

Max drives me back to my car. He watches me climb gingerly out. “Can you drive?”

I massage my side. The scrape caused by the stake is healed. The path the bullet tore through my side is healed. Now it’s just the skin pulling tight as it regenerates over the wounds that makes me wince when I move.

“Yeah. I’m a little stiff but by the time I get home, I’ll be fine.”

Max watches as I get into my car and crank the engine before he motions for me to roll down the window.

“Thanks, Anna. You did good tonight. I owe you one.”

Okay, here’s my chance to tell him what I planned to tell him. To go fuck himself. To never call me again. To go to one of his vampire whores the next time he needs help.

What am I waiting for?

Max is leaning toward the window, smiling. He looks more like the Max I remembered. Superman, defending truth, justice, and the American way …

Shit.

I smile back.

And drive away.