Page 85 of The Vampire's Thirst
Jace rose to gather the sandwich plates. “More?”
The two men exchanged hungry glances. “We wouldn’t turn down another.” Tyr gave her his bad-boy grin which made her toes curl. Later he’d be getting more than sliced ham.
“Where are Denim and Jonquil?” she asked Ram.
Squinted eyes glued to the screen, he answered. “The mate’s running a few recruits through hand-to-hand techniques. I feel sorry for them. She’s merciless. Broke some guy’s arm the other day. Lucky we heal fast. The pest is still with my father.” Ram shuddered. “He’s stuffing her with bad food and teaching her worse habits. It’ll take a week to get her back in shape.”
Once Jace stacked two more sandwiches thick with ham, roasted pork, onions, pickles, and Swiss cheese in front of the football fans, she snuggled into her chair.
With a mouth chock-full of food, Tyr garbled a question. “What did you call this?”
“A Cuban sandwich.”
“S’great.” As he moaned with pleasure, Ram nodded, chewing with his eyes closed in silent appreciation.
Tilting the light into a better position, Jace returned to her favorite parable inThe Path, a smile tugging at her lips.
Be not bothered by those who would imprison your body. They can never shackle your mind. If you give it wing, it is forever free. Free to imagine. Free to travel the world. Free to learn. Free to determine its path.
Jace fingered the diamond pendant around her neck, re-reading the same paragraph, wishing Celene could grow wings.
Her hand flew to her brow. She was lightheaded, and she felt as if her body floated above her comfy chair. The book slipped from her fingers when the living room disappeared. Jace was deep in soupy fog, plunging through it at a blurring speed.
Landing feet-first on a jungled mountain peak, she stumbled to the edge of a cliff atop a long, steep drop. To the right was a gigantic waterfall. Her chin dropped as she checked out her clothing. Boots. Coveralls. Pads. Gloves. She tapped her head. Helmet. Glasses.
Another step had her peering over the side with the strongest urge to jump. So, she hurtled into the air, flew alongside the water, and plummeted toward the ground. Crazy. She was a mad woman.
Somehow, she knew this was Caracas, Venezuela, where she’d come to base-jump Angel Falls.
At the last second, her chute snapped open. With its release, she bounced around while tilting her chin to spot the landing zone.
When she set down perfectly on the run, she spun to catch her parachute. As she was bunching it, from nowhere, two men dropped a bag over her head and tased her. She collapsed.
She drifted in and out of darkness but sensed motion, the passage of time, voices.
Then she awoke alone on a cold cement floor. She rolled over onto her stomach to push up off her knees. Shaking, she wobbled to her feet, spreading them apart, holding her head to ease the pain of an unbearable headache.
She was in a spartan cell. A cot with a blanket, a hole in the floor that passed for a toilet, and a water spigot. She approached iron bars and gripped them in her fists. While rattling them, she shouted, “Hey, anybody there?”
When she got no response, she shook the bars harder. “Hey, motherfuckers, somebody talk to me.” Louder. “Motherfuckers.”
“Kur, shut her up.” A voice carried from outside her vision.
A beefy man with dirty-blond hair grinned from the other side of her cage. He drawled, “Get back.” Then he snarled and flashed large canines.
A foggy darkness engulfed her again as she spun toward a white farmhouse. This place was familiar. She hovered above the yard, seeing a fence she recognized. Beyond it were thick woods.
She drifted through the front door and on to another room, plopping onto a bed she knew well. A huge man walked in and said to get her ass into the kitchen.
“Go fuck yourself,” she replied.
He rushed her, his palm landing a solid to her cheek, which immediately welted as it turned cherry red. When the man yanked her to her feet, she pulled back.
As he dragged her from the bedroom, she stumbled to the floor. Rising, she bent to bite his hand. He whacked her again, shook her, and thrust her into a kitchen chair.
Her head snapped backward. Sweeping her stylish chin-length blonde hair behind her ears, she laughed at the behemoth. “Only a dick picks on women half his size.” Picking up her fork, spearing a carrot, and chewing, she spoke with her mouth full. “Hi. I’m Celene Bailey. What’s your name?”
Jace came out of the trance to find Tyr standing over her, a crease between his brows, his hand squeezing hers.
