Chapter One
He’d always wondered what it would be like to give in to the call of the darkness. To stop caring about what was right and wrong.
As Ben Prescott stared into the terror-filled eyes of his prey, he smiled. “It’s going to hurt,” Ben warned.
The man within his grasp whimpered.
“But then, you’ve hurt plenty of people, haven’t you, Miles? That’s why I chose you.” The snow fell lightly down on Ben as he held his prey pinned to the brick wall of the alley. “If anyone deserves some pain, I think it’s you.”
“Pl-please, buddy,” Miles Gavin begged as he fought futilely to escape Ben’s hold. “Just let me go, just let me—”
Ben bared his fangs.
Miles stopped begging then—and fighting. The terror in his gaze doubled as shock seemed to hold Miles still.
Yes, that was the usual reaction of Ben’s prey.
Ben shook his head. “You thought that you were the monster people needed to fear.” Miles had taken plenty of victims. Miles seemed to particularly enjoy hurting women. Women that he abused and humiliated before he finally ended their misery. “You were wrong.” Ben drove his fangs into his prey’s throat. The blood flowed over his tongue, hot and powerful. Miles still wasn’t fighting him. As if a human’s strength could have stopped Ben.
“Let him go, Ben.” The voice was low, rasping, and far too close.
Ben lifted his head. His prey sank to the ground. Still alive, but only barely.
A siren screamed in the distance.
“The cops are coming,” that rasping voice told him. “You need to get out of here before they find you.”
“I’m not finished with him yet…” Miles still breathed, so Ben’s work wasn’t done.
“You truly want to kill him? Come on, death is too easy…”
Ben wouldn’t know how easy death was. He’d only been dead for about two minutes before he’d risen again. “Who the fuck are you?” Ben snarled.
It was night, Ben’s preferred hunting time, but his vision was perfect. He could see better than any cat in the darkness. That enhanced vision was a little perk of his undead condition.
The voice had come from the mouth of the alley, but shadows hid the speaker. The shadows were unnatural, though, a trick of magic, and he couldn’t see through them.
“I’m your second chance,” the voice told him. A man’s voice. Vaguely familiar. “You should probably say thanks now, and, you can also wipe the blood from your chin.”
Ben swiped the blood from his chin, and then he leapt toward those shadows. He wasn’t afraid of magic. Ben wasn’t afraid of anything or anyone. When you were a vampire, you didn’t have the luxury of fear.
You had the thirst for blood.
You had an endless span of nights stretching before you.
And you had power. So much power. Enough to push a sane man right over the edge.
His fingers closed around the speaker, and he shoved the man out of the alley. The shadows dissipated as the snow fell on them, and Ben found himself staring into a pair of bright blue eyes. Eyes that he knew.
The man before him was tall, just an inch or two under Ben’s own six foot three height. The fellow’s shoulders were broad, and his arms were covered with intricate tattoos. The tattoos also circled the man’s neck. Swirling, dark tattoos that—if you looked at them closely—were moving.
I’d never forget those tats.
The guy in front of him wasn’t actually a man at all. William Marley was a demon.
“Remember me, do you?”
Only in his nightmares. Ben dropped his hold on William. Demon blood burned like acid in a vampire’s mouth. He had no plans to make that particular SOB into a meal. Behind him, Miles moaned in the alley.
“Forget him,” William murmured. The sirens cried out again, louder this time. “The cops will handle the human. As much as you want to do it, you shouldn’t kill him.”
“Oh, yeah? Why not?” Ben’s hands fisted. “Do you know what he’s done? How
He’d always wondered what it would be like to give in to the call of the darkness. To stop caring about what was right and wrong.
As Ben Prescott stared into the terror-filled eyes of his prey, he smiled. “It’s going to hurt,” Ben warned.
The man within his grasp whimpered.
“But then, you’ve hurt plenty of people, haven’t you, Miles? That’s why I chose you.” The snow fell lightly down on Ben as he held his prey pinned to the brick wall of the alley. “If anyone deserves some pain, I think it’s you.”
“Pl-please, buddy,” Miles Gavin begged as he fought futilely to escape Ben’s hold. “Just let me go, just let me—”
Ben bared his fangs.
Miles stopped begging then—and fighting. The terror in his gaze doubled as shock seemed to hold Miles still.
Yes, that was the usual reaction of Ben’s prey.
Ben shook his head. “You thought that you were the monster people needed to fear.” Miles had taken plenty of victims. Miles seemed to particularly enjoy hurting women. Women that he abused and humiliated before he finally ended their misery. “You were wrong.” Ben drove his fangs into his prey’s throat. The blood flowed over his tongue, hot and powerful. Miles still wasn’t fighting him. As if a human’s strength could have stopped Ben.
“Let him go, Ben.” The voice was low, rasping, and far too close.
Ben lifted his head. His prey sank to the ground. Still alive, but only barely.
A siren screamed in the distance.
“The cops are coming,” that rasping voice told him. “You need to get out of here before they find you.”
“I’m not finished with him yet…” Miles still breathed, so Ben’s work wasn’t done.
“You truly want to kill him? Come on, death is too easy…”
Ben wouldn’t know how easy death was. He’d only been dead for about two minutes before he’d risen again. “Who the fuck are you?” Ben snarled.
It was night, Ben’s preferred hunting time, but his vision was perfect. He could see better than any cat in the darkness. That enhanced vision was a little perk of his undead condition.
The voice had come from the mouth of the alley, but shadows hid the speaker. The shadows were unnatural, though, a trick of magic, and he couldn’t see through them.
“I’m your second chance,” the voice told him. A man’s voice. Vaguely familiar. “You should probably say thanks now, and, you can also wipe the blood from your chin.”
Ben swiped the blood from his chin, and then he leapt toward those shadows. He wasn’t afraid of magic. Ben wasn’t afraid of anything or anyone. When you were a vampire, you didn’t have the luxury of fear.
You had the thirst for blood.
You had an endless span of nights stretching before you.
And you had power. So much power. Enough to push a sane man right over the edge.
His fingers closed around the speaker, and he shoved the man out of the alley. The shadows dissipated as the snow fell on them, and Ben found himself staring into a pair of bright blue eyes. Eyes that he knew.
The man before him was tall, just an inch or two under Ben’s own six foot three height. The fellow’s shoulders were broad, and his arms were covered with intricate tattoos. The tattoos also circled the man’s neck. Swirling, dark tattoos that—if you looked at them closely—were moving.
I’d never forget those tats.
The guy in front of him wasn’t actually a man at all. William Marley was a demon.
“Remember me, do you?”
Only in his nightmares. Ben dropped his hold on William. Demon blood burned like acid in a vampire’s mouth. He had no plans to make that particular SOB into a meal. Behind him, Miles moaned in the alley.
“Forget him,” William murmured. The sirens cried out again, louder this time. “The cops will handle the human. As much as you want to do it, you shouldn’t kill him.”
“Oh, yeah? Why not?” Ben’s hands fisted. “Do you know what he’s done? How
Similar Books
