Jeanne Stein - The Becoming

A Taser shoots 50,000 volts of energy at .162 amps to penetrate the nervous system and render the victim immobile. It doesn't matter where you aim either, because the entire body is covered with a neural net. I have the thing shoved right into Donaldson's midsection when I fire, yet I'm not getting the reaction I expect.

In fact, I'm getting no reaction at all.

He's staring down at me with a puzzled expression that turns almost immediately into a derisive grin. Oh, Anna, Anna. You have so much to learn.

Then he backhands me with a wallop that sends me flying into the dirt. It's so unexpected, it takes me a minute to shake away the cobwebs. But he doesn't follow up, which I'm going to make him regret. I jump to my feet, blood pounding with rage. I feel it in my head and coursing through my body, an unrestrained fury. It's feral and ugly and it's going to allow me to do what I should have done the moment Donaldson appeared.

When I attack this time, it's with my fists and teeth. He's taken by surprise at the ferocity, but he recovers quickly. He's holding back, making the mistake of thinking he's stronger because he's male. He's forgetting an important fact of nature. The female is always the best hunter, often the more brutal. When I come at him, he tries to parry the blows, to step out of my reach. I don't let him. I keep inside, putting every ounce of vampire strength into each punch. I aim at his stomach with my hands, his throat with my teeth. I can wear him down, he has the disadvantage of having consumed a lot of beer, but I don't want to take the time. With a final, decisive thrust, I have him down, on his back in the dirt. I'm pummeling his stomach, my teeth at his jugular.

Hey, Donaldson, are you awake? I want you awake. It's no fun otherwise.

For the first time, I detect a little concern percolating through the drunken haze in Donaldson's head. It's finally dawning on him that he doesn't have the upper hand. He starts to send out an “SOS” to his pals in the saloon, but I stop that with a snarl. My teeth are at his neck.

Don't. I'll tear your throat out. It's a little trick I learned from you.

He backs off, his mind closing down. What do you want?

I told you. I want to know where you've taken David.

And I told you, I don't have him. Look, check it out. You can get into my head. What do you see?

I use no finesse this time. I hold his head against the dirt and stab into his thoughts with the power of a blow torch. I read confusion at what's happening; aggravation that I've overpowered him; smugness that he could take me if he really wanted to; lust at the feeling of my pelvis pressing against his crotch. He starts squirming under me as that last thought provokes a physical reaction.

God. Donaldson, you're a pervert.

He starts to sit up, but I push him back down. This time, I have my arm across his throat. I'm still not convinced he doesn't have David. And it's lowering my tolerance level more each minute.

He senses that I've reached the end of my patience. He tries to shake me off, but I'm not about to let him go. I press my elbow against his jugular. It's instinctive, I guess. If he was a mortal, I'd go for the windpipe but since we vampires don't breathe, it makes sense that pressure on the jugular would produce the same result.

It does. When I feel him at the verge of losing consciousness, I ease off just enough to let my voice ring through.

Where is he?

Donaldson chokes and shakes his head.

I apply pressure again.

Where is he?

This time, there's real panic in his voice. I don't know. You have to believe me. I didn't take him. Why would I?

To get me here, asshole. To finish what you started in that parking lot.

What sense does that make? You're no threat to me. Look at us. Who's on top right now?

It rings true. Yet I don't want to believe him. If he doesn't have David, who does?

I think I know.

What?

I think I know who may have your friend.

I lean back a little to see his face. If this is just bullshit, Donaldson—

No. Get off me and I'll tell you.

I don't think so. I think you'll tell me now.

My elbow is back at his throat. I lean into it. His head swims. I detect little pinpoints of exploding light. It's just like watching fireworks. Interesting. I press a little harder.

Donaldson's eyes are wide, the alarm reflected in his head “tastes” like a potent cocktail, part adrenaline, part fear. I savor it, letting it roll over my own thoughts, become part of my own consciousness. It's a great feeling. Powerful. Sexy. I understand the connection between power and sex now. The realization that I can snuff out a life—even one as worthless as Donaldson's—is heady stuff.

Anna, enough.

The same voice that came to me at Avery's is back. My own voice. I respond the same way.

I don't want to stop.

You have to. You can't kill him.

Why not?

Because it's wrong.

Not good enough.

Then think about what happens to David if you kill him. He says he may know who has him.

He's probably lying.

Can you take that chance?

Reluctantly, I ease up. No.

I roll off him and lay staring into a cold, dark sky. I feel him beside me, gathering strength. When I'm sure he's recovered enough to answer my question, I yank him into a sitting position.

This is your last chance. Who has David?

But before he can answer, there is a whine, like the whir of an insect. Donaldson jerks under my hands. He looks down at his chest in disbelief.

I follow his gaze. The point of an arrow protrudes through his shirt. His mouth opens and closes, like a fish struggling to breathe air.

I look on in disbelief as he crumbles under my grip, falling in on himself, dissolving finally in a cloud of ash that gusts away as a breath of air blows over us.

It happens just that quickly, and then he's gone.

It takes a second to grasp what happened. But in that second I become aware of a stirring somewhere in front of me, deep in the shadows. I hear the click of a crossbow as it is cocked and know I have only an instant to respond before that humming translates into an arrow honing in on my chest.

I dive for cover, the only cover available, a small clump of rocks. I hunker down, trying to make myself small. The humming comes closer and an arrow whizzes over my head.

Fear clutches at my throat. I send out a probe to see if I can pick up on anything, identify the attacker. But nothing comes back. I can't even tell if my attacker is human or vamp, male or female.

Not that it makes any difference. A wooden arrow through the heart is fatal no matter who's holding the crossbow.

The bow is cocked again. Acute hearing isn't always a blessing. I brace myself, burrowing into the dirt like a mole. Again the buzzing and the silent breath of air as the arrow whistles past. How long is he going to keep trying?

The question is answered a heartbeat later when another arrow flies toward me. This time, though, the aim has improved. I cry out as the arrow buries itself in the calf of my left leg. I've been concentrating on protecting my upper body. My hiding place left my legs exposed. Obviously, something that didn't go unnoticed.

Red-hot pain radiates upward until it centers somewhere in my chest. It's not a fatal shot, but it's definitely going to slow me down when and if I can make a break for it.

I reach down and yank. I have first hand experience about how quickly we vampires heal but it still hurts like a son of a bitch when that arrow tears through. Tears of pain and anger burn my cheeks. I hold on to the arrow, thinking it will make a good weapon if whoever's out there is a vampire and comes closer for the kill shot.