The Last Girl by Kitty Thomas Page A

out of the morbid thoughts and return to the door.
    I spend an hour working on it, taking several short breaks in between. When I’m about to give up and deem the situation hopeless, I hear the click and the lock gives way.
    I take a deep breath. My freedom seems like a real possibility now. I’m trying not to think about how one gets away from an immortal being. I can’t go back home. He’d just find me and bring me back.
    I ease the door open, cringing as it creaks, hoping he doesn’t hear and wake up. I’m about to peer into the hallway, but Christian is standing there, blocking my view.
    “That skill might prove handy at some point, though I thought you’d never get it open. I was growing bored.”
    The expression on my face probably looks like a big question mark because he laughs.
    “I have very sensitive hearing. For the first minute or so I thought we had a rat in the house, so I decided to check it out. Imagine my surprise.”
    His arms are crossed over his chest and his voice and expression are mild. But I know that’s artifice. A deep anger simmers in his eyes. The rage seems to boil inside him until it feels as if the temperature around me has risen about twenty degrees. It’s so hot all of a sudden. Logically, I know this is the beginnings of a panic attack, but Christian is so larger-than-life I’m not sure his anger isn’t somehow making the room hot. I mean... I have no idea what powers he has. He could be capable of anything.
    I instinctively back up and drop to my knees as he moves into the room.
    “I’m sorry.” I don’t even consider running or backing into a corner or any other cliché action I could have taken. He’s so fast and strong that my running will either make him angry or amused, and I can’t risk the former. “Please… ”
    “ Are you sorry? Your behavior seemed rather deliberate to me. How many accidents take hours to accomplish?”
    I feel indignant. Why should I have to beg and grovel and plead like I’m the crazy one? I only did what was normal in my situation, what anyone would do. “You killed that girl. Why wouldn’t I try to escape?”
    He raises a brow. “Because you value your life. There is no escape. Any attempts on your part only serve to annoy me. And believe me, sweet Juliette, the last thing you ever want to do is annoy me. I get irrational when I’m annoyed.”
    I’m still on my knees, my head bowed in supplication. My voice comes out a squeak. “I won’t do it again. I promise.” And I mean it. I know he’s got too many strengths to mirror my too many weaknesses. It’s futile. Deep down I knew that from the beginning, but I had to at least try.
    “No. You won’t. Whether that’s because you’ll be dead or because your punishment will scare you straight, I haven’t decided yet.”
    I look up at him, and he looks back, his gaze dispassionate.
    “You waited for six years to take me. You watched me and listened to my thoughts. Why would you harbor such a fixation only to kill me in less than a day?”
    “I find your naïve bargaining almost charming.”
    A blur and then he’s standing right in front of me. He scoops me up and carries me to the bed. I think he’s going to rip off my clothes and re-enact the prostitute’s death. But instead, he strikes at my throat.
    I cry out at the pain and then a minute later it’s faded, replaced by that hungry, drugged longing. As he feeds I find myself rubbing against him, my legs straddling one of his. I’m not sure if this is something I’m doing to try to diffuse his anger or if I just can’t help myself. Either way, he takes no notice; he’s too lost in my blood.
    He drinks his fill, seals the wound, and then gets up and moves away from me. He watches as the pain and weakness start to take over, then he turns to leave.
    My mouth can barely form words now. “Master, please, don’t leave me like this.”
    His smile is cruel. “But I thought you wanted to leave. I thought you wanted to get