Page 80 (2/2)

It can't be helped He is escaping Doing his part Can she save him from his memories when his skin still burns?

He finally inches his way to the surface, then into a darkened alley But her scent has faltered

Fate has given her to him when he needs her most, and God help him - and this city - if he can't find her His brutality had been legendary, and he will unleash it without measure for her

He fights to sit up against a wall Clawing tracks into the brick street, he struggles to caled breaths so he can scent her once more

Need her Bury

Her scent is gone

His eyes go wet and he shudders violently at the loss An anguished roar makes the city tremble

1

In all of us, even in good men, there is a lawless

wild-beast nature, which peers out in sleep

- Socrates (469-399 BCE)

One week later

On an island in the Seine, against the nighttieless cathedral, the denizens of Paris came out to play Emmaline Troy wound around fire-eaters, pickpockets, and chanteurs de rue She h the tribes of black-clad Goths ar them home And still she attracted attention

The huard her, frowns in place, sensing soo that signaled her as their wildest fantasy or their darkest nightmare

Emma was neither

She was a co-ed - a recent Tulane grad - alone in Paris and hungry Weary from another failed search for blood, she sank onto a rustic bench beneath a chestnut tree, eyes riveted to a waitress drawing espresso at a café If only blood poured so easily, Eht Yes, if it came warm and rich from a bottoer at the mere idea

Starving in Paris And friendless Was there ever such a predicament?

Couples strolling hand in hand along the gravel walk seemed to mock her loneliness Was it just her, or did lovers look ly at each other in this city? Especially in the springtime Die, bastards