A Vampire's Honor by Carla Susan Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

hit me.
    The green light said I had the right-of-way, which meant the truck that crossed the intersection at the same time I did obviously ran a red light. Who does that at 2:00 p.m. on a Sunday afternoon? One minute I’d been having a lively dialogue with my inner bitch about the art of compromise— tell him the thongs have got to go, but you’ll keep the bras and the Lady Gaga number— and the next my world was a cacophony of screaming metal, screeching tires, and crunching glass.
    I ricocheted forward and hit my head on the steering wheel, realizing, in a moment of absolute clarity, that the Miata’s air bag had failed to deploy. Thankfully the seat belt kept its part of the deal, and stopped me from taking a header out the windshield. The strap, cutting across my chest, was agonizing, but it was, all in all, a fair exchange.
    Anasztaizia’s sexy little sports car came to a stop in the middle of the intersection, and, from what I could tell in a dazed glance out the driver’s window, it was now facing the wrong way. The force of the impact had popped the hood open, obscuring my view through the windshield, telling me I owed the seat belt more than I realized. The smell of gasoline and burnt rubber filled the car along with the faint aroma of something citrus that had to be the air freshener plugged into the air vent.
    The passenger side of the Miata had taken the brunt of the collision, which resulted in the door buckling to create a noticeable gap. I figured the only way it was going to open was with some help from the jaws of life or some similar device. A soft plopping sound startled me as a big dollop of cake fell from the ceiling to the floor. Apparently Esterházy torte didn’t survive a violent impact too well.
    I needed to get out of the car. The smell of gasoline was getting stronger, and I didn’t want to wait around to see if anything was going to blow. The driver’s-side door appeared to be intact, a detail that was confirmed a moment later when it was wrenched open. A hand reached toward me, and I gave an involuntary shriek as the blade of a very large knife was waved in front of my face.
    What? Couldn’t kill us with your truck so you’ve come to finish off the job by getting up close and personal?
    The idea that the accident was anything but what it seemed was preposterous, and I can only blame the absurdity of my thought process on the blow to my head. At least I was spared the embarrassment of voicing my accusation, but only because my tongue seemed to be bigger than normal. In that same second I tasted blood and realized I’d bitten it. The knife danced in the air before slicing through my seat belt in a single, easy swipe. And then it magically changed into a syringe. I turned my head and forced myself to focus on the figure squatting next to the open door. Dressed in jeans, boots, and a wife-beater, he didn’t strike me as being qualified to give me a shot of anything. At least nothing that was legal.
    â€œCall . . . nine . . . one . . . one . . .” I mumbled awkwardly through lips that were swollen and a tongue that was getting decidedly thicker.
    Ignoring me, the man grabbed my arm and pulled it toward him. There came a sharp pinch, and then I was being lifted out of the driver’s seat as the rest of the world turned black.
    * * *
    I came to with a violent, full-body spasm that banged my head and hands against something with a hard edge. Disoriented, I sucked in a breath and almost choked. There was some sort of covering over my head. A bag or hood that, judging from the scratchy feel against my skin, was made of a type of rough sacking. It smelled foul. A mix of stale sweat, dried vomit, and old blood. The smell of fear.
    My mouth was dry. I was so thirsty I could easily drain one of those water cooler bottles and ask for a refill. It had to be a side effect of whatever shit I’d been injected with. My tongue had been replaced