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ISBN 978-1-4391-9192-7
ISBN 978-1-4391-9194-1 (ebook)

Douglas Raziel_FM_3pREV_jdh.indd 4 11/22/10 4:04 PM

 I looked at her in the brightly hued dress I’d given her. Everything about her
was vibrant, colorful, disrupting the calm emptiness of my world. She poured two
glasses, neat, and pushed one toward me across the marble counter.
It wasn’t a good idea. Keeping my hands off her was requiring every ounce of
concentration I had. Even half an ounce of alcohol might be enough to weaken my
resolve.
Then again, getting her drunk would be an excellent idea. I found drunken
women completely unappealing. And if she passed out, I wouldn’t be tempted to put
my hands on either side of her head and draw her face up to mine, to kiss her. . . .
She’d already picked up her glass and drained it, giving a delicate little shudder.
“I don’t really like vodka,” she said in a small voice. She looked pointedly at my
untouched glass. “Clearly, neither do you.”
I said nothing. She wanted me to put my arms around her. I knew it, and
wished I didn’t. The noise of the Nephilim was growing louder, the howls and
screams, the roars and grunts deeply disturbing. I knew the horror that lay beneath
that sound. I thought I could smell them on the night air, the foul stench of old blood
and rotting flesh, but it had to be my imagination. I tried to concentrate on them, but
her thoughts pushed them away. She wanted my arms around her; she wanted to
press her head against my chest. She wanted my mouth, she wanted my body, and she
wasn’t going to tell me.
She didn’t need to tell me. There was a crash outside, followed by a louder roar,
and she jumped nervously. “If you don’t like vodka, why do you even have it?” she
said, clearly trying to distract herself.
“I like vodka. I just think it might be better if I didn’t let alcohol impair my
judgment in case something happens.”
If anything her face turned whiter. “You think they’re going to break through?”
I had to laugh. “No. Worse than that.”
“Worse than flesh-devouring cannibals?”
“Is there any other kind of cannibal?” I pointed out.
“What’s worse than the Nephilim?” she said irritably, some of her panic fading.
“Sleeping with you.”
Shit. And I meant to not even mention it. She stared at me for a long moment,
then tried to push past me. “Enough is enough,” she snapped. “If you prefer the
Nephilim to me, you can damned well go climb over the fence and fuck them.”
I caught her, of course. My arm snaked around her waist and I spun her
around, pushing her back against the wall, trapping her there with my body pressed
against hers. “I didn’t say I preferred them,” I whispered in her ear, closing my eyes to
inhale the addictive scent of her. “As far as I’m concerned, though, you’re worse
trouble.” I kissed the side of her neck, tasting her skin, breathing in the smell of her
blood as it rushed through her veins. So easy just to make one small piercing, just take
a taste. I moved my mouth behind her ear, fighting it.
She was holding herself very still. “W-w-why?” she stammered.
“I can kill the Nephilim,” I whispered. “I can fight them. But I have too hard a
time fighting you.”
She turned her face up to mine, and her hands reached up to touch me. “Then
don’t fight,” she said in a tone of such practicality that I wanted to laugh. “At least I
won’t rip out your heart.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” I said. And like a fool, I kissed her.

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