Page 10 of Born Chaos

And then I catch the eye of a man at the bar. He’s with a group of four other guys. He’s unremarkable, dressed in khaki pants and a white collared shirt, like he just came from the most boring job ever. But he looks clean. Not like a perv.

Maybe he’s not quite as vanilla as he looks, because holding my gaze, he gets up and starts walking toward me.

“You look like you need a drink,” he says, looking me up and down.

“I wasn’t looking to hit the bar,” I say, my eyes falling to the pulse in his neck. And suddenly I don’t know how I’ve gone so many months surviving off of bagged, cold blood. I’m nearly losing my mind here.

“That much is obvious,” he says with a smirk.

I cock my head to the side slightly, confused.

“The eyes,” he says, holding up two fingers and pointing at his own eyes. “Don’t get much brighter than that.”

I would be embarrassed by my lack of self-control, but I just can’t stop staring at that place above his carotid artery. “I’m not here for anything but a drink.”

“And I’m not here for anything but to chase that numb bliss,” he says, completely shameless.

I’ve never felt what it’s like to be bitten by a vampire. But I’ve heard it described. Numb bliss sounds kind of nice. I’m glad to hear it’s something some people look for in it’s morbid, twisted way.

“So long as we understand each other,” I say, breathing harder, taking one step closer to him.

“We do,” he agrees, closing the distance between us.

It takes the last bit of self-control I possess not to shove his head to the side too hard, breaking his neck, giving me full access to veins just under his skin.

I don’t even stifle the moan of pleasure that escapes me as my fangs sink into his flesh. It’s like butter. So soft. And then there it is, what I’ve been craving.

Wet. Hot. Coppery.

His blood floods my mouth, and in eager, desperate pulls, I drink it down. Bagged blood takes the edge off, but nothing fully sates the constant burning in my stomach, throat, and mouth like getting what I need straight from the vein.

My grip on the man tightens as he goes slightly limp. He’s quiet, perfectly still. He couldn’t fight me off. Almost no one could, and it would only be if they had some kind of weapon to use against me. The strength in my hands, my limbs, is inhuman. I’m stronger than the bulkiest bodybuilder. I’m faster than any gold medalist.

But he doesn’t fight against me, and I pull, and pull, and pull.

I’ve missed this. I’ve ignored my nature for the past six months. I’ve been throwing myself into work, thriving off of the satisfaction I get from being a doctor. I’ve gained a radical sense of self-control. I deal with blood every day. But I’ve engrained it into my brain that it’s not something I need to survive. I’ve tamped that part of myself down, settling into what, for the most part, feels like a “normal” life.

But this is what I am. I died on a sidewalk in New York City. I Resurrected four days later. I killed two people that night. Not on purpose, but I didn’t understand my thirst or my strength.

I’m a vampire, and this vampire has gone too long between feedings.

There’s a commotion. Somewhere in the back of my brain, I sense it. But I’m too satisfied, too… happy drinking this man’s blood to look up and see what’s going on.

But a strong, crushing hand suddenly wraps around my upper arm, and I’m yanked back from the man I’m drinking from.

A snarl rips from my lips, my eyes vividly red, as I swing around to see who’s interrupted me.

I come face to face with Sebastian.

“What the hell are you doing, Juliet?” he barks. The expression on his face is livid, filled with complete disbelief. He yanks me farther from the man, who collapses to the ground, barely regaining enough control to catch himself from cracking his head open on the concrete floor. “Why, Juliet?”

Heat and rage flare inside of me. My base instincts are right at the surface, and adrenaline is coursing through my veins. I grab his wrist and fling his hand away from me. “I was thirsty.”

“I know Echo delivered your latest supply,” he growls, stepping forward, leaving only inches between us. “You shouldn’t be here, drinking live.”

I know my face is contorted in rage. I shake my head, refusing to back down. “We never made any kind of agreement, Sebastian. If I feel like I need to drink something fresh, I’m damn well free to do so.”

He grabs my wrists, pulling them harshly against his chest. His own eyes, which have ignited brilliant red, glare down at me in desperation. “Are you trying to make me a widower again, Juliet? Before we’ve even gotten married? Why do you have to be so damn reckless?”

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