Chapter 1
Lorena
S he’d never struggled so hard.
Usually Lorena flowed across the stage, her body a finely tuned instrument responsive to her every command. And always under her control.
Even while on tour with the Houston Symphonic Ballet Company for the next few months, every stage was her home, and the spotlight was her shield, blocking out the world beyond. As long as she was on stage, she was free to be herself, free to fly and spin as high and fast as her dark abilities allowed. After all, ballerinas were supposed to be pale and as light as air. On stage, the unnatural thing she’d become eight months ago actually looked normal.
But something was off tonight.
They were performing Romeo and Juliet , her favorite. And she was getting to perform the lead female role as Juliet. What ballerina in her right mind wouldn’t be thrilled to death?
Regardless, she couldn’t seem to let go, couldn’t manage to block out her thoughts and simply flow like water through the choreography. Something called to her in the audience. She’d felt it as soon as she’d first entered the stage. And yet she used to never pay any attention to the audience, not even after all the other drastic changes in her life. Dancing was for her, not them.
Or it had been until tonight.
Yet again her gaze drifted toward the darkness beyond the glare of the lights, as if she could somehow peer into that secretive void and discover the elusive pull that tugged at her. Which was ridiculous, of course. There was nothing in the darkness that she needed or wanted. Only the dance mattered. Only the next step, the next turn, the next cue in the music.
But when she ran up the steps to the balcony, where she was supposed to look down upon her dance partner, her eyes slid sideways instead. Whatever it was that called to her from the audience was relentless, a driving, silent demand that refused to be ignored. Her smile faltered, and she had to swallow as her throat tightened and her teeth ached with the rising, hated need.
The need for blood.
Panic and fury followed on the blood lust’s heels. She shouldn’t be feeling the craving at all tonight. She’d had her weekly transfusion just yesterday, and no amount of dancing should have made her need more blood so soon, even if she was newly turned.
This is all wrong. Fear clawed at her, making it difficult to focus on the dance. Make it through this show, Lor, she told herself. Then you can call your doctor and find out what to do.
She pushed her smile wider as was required for the performance, then turned and made her way back down the stairs to the stage. As she drew closer to tonight’s Romeo played by her buddy Jon, she gritted her teeth, bracing herself for his human scent that would surely assault her. And she could smell him, the salty sweat trickling down his face and neck sharpened with adrenaline and excitement. She could smell everything, even the dust and dirt, earthy and musty, that lurked in the air and the corners of the stage, as well as in visible layers coating unused props in the wings.
She’d expected the bloodlust to drown her as she stepped into Jon’s waiting embrace so he could lift her overhead. But strangely the odor of his sweat was more comforting than anything else, blending with the equally familiar stage smells. No, the problem wasn’t here in the smells of home.
She turned to face the invisible audience in the darkness, and the hunger raked at her stomach again. There. The need came from somewhere out there tonight.
Their pas de deux brought them closer to the edge of the stage, and a hundred smells clamored at her sensitive nose, forming an unseen wall that expanded and contracted before her with every cautious sniff she took. A wafting wall made of a hundred different colognes, perfumes, hairsprays, deodorants, the wines and cheeses served in the community hall next door. Each fragrance was like a different colored thread reaching out to her from the
Lorena
S he’d never struggled so hard.
Usually Lorena flowed across the stage, her body a finely tuned instrument responsive to her every command. And always under her control.
Even while on tour with the Houston Symphonic Ballet Company for the next few months, every stage was her home, and the spotlight was her shield, blocking out the world beyond. As long as she was on stage, she was free to be herself, free to fly and spin as high and fast as her dark abilities allowed. After all, ballerinas were supposed to be pale and as light as air. On stage, the unnatural thing she’d become eight months ago actually looked normal.
But something was off tonight.
They were performing Romeo and Juliet , her favorite. And she was getting to perform the lead female role as Juliet. What ballerina in her right mind wouldn’t be thrilled to death?
Regardless, she couldn’t seem to let go, couldn’t manage to block out her thoughts and simply flow like water through the choreography. Something called to her in the audience. She’d felt it as soon as she’d first entered the stage. And yet she used to never pay any attention to the audience, not even after all the other drastic changes in her life. Dancing was for her, not them.
Or it had been until tonight.
Yet again her gaze drifted toward the darkness beyond the glare of the lights, as if she could somehow peer into that secretive void and discover the elusive pull that tugged at her. Which was ridiculous, of course. There was nothing in the darkness that she needed or wanted. Only the dance mattered. Only the next step, the next turn, the next cue in the music.
But when she ran up the steps to the balcony, where she was supposed to look down upon her dance partner, her eyes slid sideways instead. Whatever it was that called to her from the audience was relentless, a driving, silent demand that refused to be ignored. Her smile faltered, and she had to swallow as her throat tightened and her teeth ached with the rising, hated need.
The need for blood.
Panic and fury followed on the blood lust’s heels. She shouldn’t be feeling the craving at all tonight. She’d had her weekly transfusion just yesterday, and no amount of dancing should have made her need more blood so soon, even if she was newly turned.
This is all wrong. Fear clawed at her, making it difficult to focus on the dance. Make it through this show, Lor, she told herself. Then you can call your doctor and find out what to do.
She pushed her smile wider as was required for the performance, then turned and made her way back down the stairs to the stage. As she drew closer to tonight’s Romeo played by her buddy Jon, she gritted her teeth, bracing herself for his human scent that would surely assault her. And she could smell him, the salty sweat trickling down his face and neck sharpened with adrenaline and excitement. She could smell everything, even the dust and dirt, earthy and musty, that lurked in the air and the corners of the stage, as well as in visible layers coating unused props in the wings.
She’d expected the bloodlust to drown her as she stepped into Jon’s waiting embrace so he could lift her overhead. But strangely the odor of his sweat was more comforting than anything else, blending with the equally familiar stage smells. No, the problem wasn’t here in the smells of home.
She turned to face the invisible audience in the darkness, and the hunger raked at her stomach again. There. The need came from somewhere out there tonight.
Their pas de deux brought them closer to the edge of the stage, and a hundred smells clamored at her sensitive nose, forming an unseen wall that expanded and contracted before her with every cautious sniff she took. A wafting wall made of a hundred different colognes, perfumes, hairsprays, deodorants, the wines and cheeses served in the community hall next door. Each fragrance was like a different colored thread reaching out to her from the
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