Free The Dark Rising by Lacey Weatherford Page B

difference in his desires.
    “So what do we do now?” I asked him.
    “About what?”
    “What do you think?  You’re a demon!” I shouted at him louder than I had intended, my frustration getting the better of me.
    I stood up and began pacing in my corner of the room.
    “Why does that have to change anything?” he questioned me.
    I stopped to look at him, my jaw dropping a little.
    “Well, for one, you and I are now at complete opposite ends of the spectrum here.  We’re basically sworn enemies.  I can’t let you wander around, feeding on every helpless witch or warlock you might encounter.”
    He slowly got to his feet, before leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.
    “You couldn’t stop me if you tried,” he countered, with a sardonic grin.
    “What?” I questioned, quickly realizing he must be experiencing the mental changes that came with the blood lust.
    I also knew he was right.
    He pushed away from the wall then, walking toward me, and I stood my ground as he crossed over.
    “You can’t stop me,” he said again, and he shoved me roughly up against the wall.
    “Really?” I returned, placing my hand over his chest where the gaping hole had been only minutes ago.  “I already killed you once today.”
    “Yeah,” he said and he reached out to run one of his hands over my hair.  “Ironic though, isn’t it?  I’ve been dead twice now in the last twenty-four hours, yet here I stand, right in front of you, alive and well.”
    He reached down and grabbed both of my wrists in his strong hands, pulling them out as far away from my body as possible, pinning them to the wall behind me.
    I realized then, I was his next intended victim, and I flicked my fingertips out at the tablecloth that held the wrapped athames.  The weapons ripped out of the cloth, heading straight for his back.
    I didn’t see, or even feel, him flinch a muscle, but the knives hit some sort of unseen barrier, and clattered to the floor.
    A low, sound of quiet rumbling laughter welled up from inside him.
    “Oh, Portia,” he said and his eyes traveled over my face in anticipation.  “When are you going to realize?  You’re no match for me.”
    He dipped his head in and I screamed out when his teeth ripped through my tender flesh at my neck.  I started calling all the items in the room to assault him, to no avail.  He deflected every single thing while he drank my blood with relish.
    My strength was quickly leaving my body and soon I sagged weakly against the wall.
    He released my hands, grabbing me up around the waist with one arm and holding my throat to his mouth with the other.  I flopped like a rag doll in his embrace.
    I knew I was going to die this time, even though I knew I would come back.  I could read plainly into his head.  He intended to drink every drop.
    And he did so, with relish.
     
     

 
Chapter 8
    Someone was calling out to me from the distance.  I tried to grasp on to that sound, but everything was so foggy.
    “Portia,” the voice called to me again.  “If you can hear me, open your eyes.”
    I fought to lift my heavy eyelids, trying to do as the familiar voice was instructing me.  When I finally succeeded, Krista’s concerned face slowly came into focus.
    “You shouldn’t be here,” I whispered, my mind flitting back over the images of Vance attacking me.
    Krista waved her hand in dismissal.
    “I’m not magical anymore.  He won’t be interested in me.  Besides, he left a while ago,” she replied, gazing at me with a worried look.
    “Where’d he go?”  My eyes flickered around the room.
    “I have no idea,” she said, shaking her head.  “I stayed in the car so I could watch the house from down the street.  He ran out and took off on his motorcycle.”  She reached out to me.  “Do you think you can sit up now?  You’ve been out for several hours.”
    “Why so long?” I wondered out loud.  “Vance recovered in less than an hour after I attacked