DeVante's Coven Read Online Free Page A

care. Roderick would end its suffering and thus somehow redeem himself in the trash-filled street.
    He reached inside the canvas tarp and turned the dying victim over. Silky black hair wound in a tangled mass over the face and neck. Roderick brushed it away for a clear taste of the throat.
    As he lowered his mouth, he glanced at the face. Beautiful face. Young and sweet, and oh, so appealing.
    The Hunger backed off, but his control had already slipped away.
    He stared at the boy and wanted him. Wanted him for his own. He went still and took a deep breath, fighting for control of the monster, the beast inside his head. The beast that was screaming, Mine!
    The boy’s features were slack, lids half-closed, eyeballs rolled back in his head, a purple bruise throughout the left socket. One laceration along his right jaw, another across his forehead. Bloody nose.
    Still, it was a face that pulled him beyond wanting blood, a well-defined face that would stay with him for a long time. Native American, mixed with Caucasian, sharp-featured, young… such promise… and he would be beautiful, so beautiful… echoed the beast in his mind… and the blood scent chased all rational thought away and he was drinking, drinking…
    The blood was slow. There wasn’t very much of it. There wasn’t enough.
    He bit into his own wrist; raised it to let his vampire blood drip on the jaw, the forehead. Lowered his mouth to the throat again. Part of him still struggled, don’t do it, don’t! But the stronger part, the beast, urged him, do it, do it, make him mine, mine, mine!
    And he was suddenly thinking Live! Live! If there be some God out there who feels pity for this boy, let him live!
    Not enough blood. Roderick lowered his wrist to the boy’s mouth anyway, shifted to cradle the pathetic young frame in his arms. “Drink,” he said out loud in a firm voice. “Drink and live.”
    He thought he felt some pressure at his wrist. Pressed it harder against the boy’s lips and lowered his head to the boy’s ear, “Drink!” The word was a roar through the deserted alley.
    The boy jerked in his arms. His mouth opened to emit a reedy wail. Then his lips clamped onto Roderick’s wrist and he began to suckle.
    A child is born.

 
    Chapter 3

    How to be a mortal boy
     
    The apartment was cool. Way cool. Daniel’s eyes roved while Reed closed the door behind them, crossed in front of Daniel, and poured himself some kind of liquor from a bottle into a glass. “Want one?”
    Daniel shook his head. He needed his thing , the peculiar few minutes he always needed in a new place before he could be comfortable, the odd holding back he’d always felt, even as a little boy. He felt mild concern that Reed had snuck up on him in the bar, but it must have been some effect of alcohol—he was drinking more and faster than the other dancers. The buzz came, but didn’t last long.
    He was facing a living room furnished in black leather—a long couch, recliner, small sofa—all arranged pleasantly on a soft white room-sized rug.
    Reed set his drink down and walked around Daniel, came up behind him and circled him in his arms. “Take off your shoes. Would you like a full tour, or shall we go straight to the loft?”
    “Tour,” Daniel said, shrugging away from Reed’s hold.
    “Don’t pull away,” Reed said firmly, pulling Daniel close again, tugging Daniel’s shirt up and easing it over his head. “I’ll give you the tour. But with one condition: in every room you lose an article of clothing. Ah—here’s the kitchen.”
    Daniel almost laughed, because it was right there, separated from the living room only by a counter with stools, and an island work surface.
    “Boring,” Reed said. “See the stainless refrigerator, dishwasher that never gets used, stove, sink. Everything would have water spots, except this is cleaning lady day. So you get to see it pristine. Lucky you. Now lose a sock.”
    Daniel pulled off one of his socks and dropped it on