Chosen

There is so much gratitude and surprise and puzzled astonishment in those three words that, in spite of the anger I felt—what, two minutes ago?—I now find myself smiling. I’m still mad at you.

He reaches out a hand. I can live with that.

Adele squats down. “The police are coming. What do you want to do?”

Lance climbs to his feet, reaches down, pulls me up with him.

Gently. For the first time, I see the way he’s looking at me, too. With great concern. “What?”

But he’s speaking to Adele. “We’ll answer their questions. Not much else we can do.” He looks at me. “But you. I’m not sure how we can explain . . .” His words trail off, his eyes sweep the length of my body.

I glance down. My clothes are scorched remnants. Tattered shorts and what’s left of a T-shirt. But my skin.

My skin.

I hold up a hand. Blackened skin is already flaking and begi

First, pain. The shock of it. Great debilitating waves of pain.

Blinding. Searing. It buckles my knees. Lance catches me, eases me to the ground.

Then. Comprehension.

Lance’s eyes, watching, reading.

He understands.

I went through fire.

I went through fire.

Ironically, I think Williams was right. In a way. Flames don’t kill me. But hurt me? You bet your ass.

Another siren joins the chorus.

“We have to get you away from here.”

Lance’s voice reaches out, pulls me back.

“If the police see you, they’ll insist you go to a hospital.”

Adele. “Take her to my room. They’d have no reason to go to the back of the house.”

The sirens grow louder. I glance at the garage. The flames burn themselves out. The MG is reduced to a charred metal hulk. But the garage itself, the structure, and the adjoining house are curiously untouched.

Lance picks me up and runs through the front door, Adele at his heels. Where his hands touch my skin, the pain is so great, I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out. He feels it. He trembles at the thought that he’s causing me so much agony.

I try to smile. It hurts too much.

Adele’s room is off the sunroom in the back. Lance carries me inside, lays me on the bed.

Someone is pounding on the front door.

Adele shoos Lance out with a wave of her hand.

“I’ll take care of her. You go speak to the authorities.”

Lance leaves quickly. Adele moves to the side of the bed. “What can I do to help you?” she asks.

Open a vein and let me drink, the vampire inside me says.

“Nothing,” the human says. “I’ll heal. It may take a while. Go help Lance with the cops. Tell him to come when he’s finished. By then, maybe I can move up to his room. Give you yours back.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Adele says. “There are plenty of extra bedrooms in this house.”

She moves toward the door. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?”

She’s having a hard time looking at me. I’ve seen enough CSI programs to know what a burn victim looks like. If she didn’t know I wasn’t human before, she sure as hell knows it now. It must be awkward having to talk to a piece of charred meat.

“Maybe some water?” I reply.

She’s happy to run any errand that takes her away from me. When she returns with a bottle of water, she holds it out. “Do you need help drinking?”

“No. Thank you. Go see what’s going on outside. I’ll be fine.”

She leaves and I take a long drink. I’m not feeling nearly as confident as I let on. I hold up a hand, flex my arm. I don’t seem to have lost bone or muscle mass. Only skin. I touch my face. Not much damage there. At least not that I can feel. My hair? Dry on the ends, but I still have hair. That’s got to mean something.

My arms, legs and torso are burned the worst. And the balls of my feet.

The pain isn’t as bad.

I let my body relax, let my head drop against Adele’s pillow. The scents of lavender and baby powder tickle my nose.

Subtle undertones almost drowned out by the putrid smell of burned flesh.

My burned flesh.

I close my eyes. Weariness washes over me. I fight it. There are so many things I should think about. So many questions to ask. So much uncertainty to puzzle through.

But the need of the body to escape pain is stronger. I can’t fight it.

One moment I’m conscious, the next I’m not.

CHAPTER 17

I’m dreaming. At least, I think I’m dreaming.

I sense Adele standing over me.

“Is she asleep?”

A male voice from out of sight behind her. “Yes. She’ll be out for quite a while.”

“Is she in pain?”

“We’ve taken care of it. You can go back downstairs. She shouldn’t be disturbed.”

Adele again. This time, my eyes are open. Her hair is tied back from her face with her mother’s scarf. She raises my head, brings a glass to my lips. “Drink, A

I do. A sip of water.

The same male voice as before, “Be careful. Just a little.”

I know that voice. Who is it? I can’t turn my head. The effort to raise it is too much. I try to speak.

Adele holds a finger to her lips. “Not yet, A

As she steps back, I hear him say, “She’s not really awake. Her eyes may be open, but believe me, she’s still asleep.”

He’s wrong, I think as I drift back off.

This time, I struggle for consciousness, swim toward the surface against a strong current, determined to stay awake. Before I open my eyes, I listen.

A clock ticks. A bird sings. A dog barks. Under it all, the faraway hum of traffic.

Something else.

A heartbeat nearby. Soft breathing.

A human. Close.

Blood. I smell it.

Yet, it awakens no hunger.

Why?

I open my eyes.

Above me, tiled fresco.

Familiar. Lance’s room.

I turn my head toward the sound of the heartbeat.

A woman sitting on a chair near the bed. She’s asleep, I watch her chest rise and fall. I don’t recognize her. Why is she here?

I try to sit up. Something stops me. A glance down and I know why. A wide strap across my chest. It allows no movement.

Panic.

I pull at it and start to yell.

The woman jerks awake.

Her movement sends a sharp stab of pain into my right arm.

A flurry of footsteps from outside.

The door flies open.

“Lance?”

He’s at my side. He bends over, drapes his upper body over my chest to prevent me from moving. “Shhh,” he croons. “It’s all right. I’m here. Don’t try to move yet. Let me loosen the restraints.”

Restraints? Not comforting. I struggle harder.

He’s fumbling with something at the side of the bed. Another sharp twinge and my arm is free. Then he pulls at the strap and it falls to the side.

The woman in the chair is watching wide-eyed. Suddenly, Adele is at her side. She pulls something from the woman’s arm and slaps a piece of gauze where a small bubble of blood is blossoming.

“Hold your arm straight up for a minute,” she tells her. “And then you can go downstairs.”

I watch uncomprehending. “Lance, what’s happening?”

He is smiling and stroking my hair. “Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty,” he says. “How do you feel?”

How do I feel? I don’t know. I press my fingers against my eyes. How am I supposed to feel?

Suddenly, the touch of my fingers against my eyelids trips the memory.

My skin. On fire. The pain.

I hold up my hand, turn it back and forth, amazed at what I see.

The ravaged skin is gone. My hand is undamaged. I trail my fingers up my arm. Throw back the covers. I’m wearing a large T-shirt. Under it, the skin of my torso is smooth, flushed. Normal.