Chapter 1 - Road Closed

Tara fought as long as she could, but it was like fighting a statue. She kicked and lashed out, and snapped her teeth in the hopes of somehow catching his ear or his cheek, but it was no good. His teeth held her fast by the throat, his arms wrapped around her like a steel vice. Then he pulled away, and his face was dark with her blood. His lips curled around his fangs in a snarl.
 
"Say you're sorry," he demanded, though his words came out soggy and muffled. "Say it."

"Fuck you," Tara said, but the words were whispered and faint. She could hardly breathe, but she forced the air out of her mouth like a gasping fish. "Kill me. Do it, motherfucker."

Her vision wobbled, and she knew from the lifeless weight in her limbs that she was drained. Dying. She was ready. 

Something changed in his face. The towering rage turned petulant, and his mouth turned down in a fanged pout. He was almost indignant, like a fighter whose opponent has surrendered before he'd finished with his toying. Suddenly resolute, he lifted his wrist to his mouth and bit into it. Blood, warmed from its recent infusion, poured down his arm. He pressed it against Tara's open mouth. 

"No," she tried to say, but the sticky wet coppery fluid filled her mouth, choked her, raced down her throat with a burn like whiskey. Her veins were live wires. Her ears were filled with a roar like a freight train. 

"Not until I've made my point," he growled, pressing his wrist harder against her face. She tried to push him away, but couldn't. Her arms moved, but they disobeyed her mind, and grasped hold of his arm. The rigidity of his body subsided and he softened, his irritation turning into fascination. Finally, he pulled his arm out of her grasp and staggered a little as he straightened. Tara slid down the wall into a pile on the ground, a red fog gathering before her eyes as the blood stilled in her veins and her heart began to slow. This, she thought, must be what a lizard feels like when the sun goes out. Or drowning in a night time sea. She thought she would be angry, but the fight had gone out of her. The dark water closed over her head. 

"Tara, Tara. What am I going to do with you."

Darkness. Darkness. But it was a different kind of darkness. It had texture, and taste. It smelled of earth and insects, and peat moss. Though how she recognized those scents, Tara couldn't tell. She swam through it, reaching up through the wet decay. One hand penetrated the surface, then the other. Her head broke through into the night air. She opened her eyes, and screamed.
 
Franklin was waiting for her. 
 