Chosen by Blood Read Online Free PDF Page B

Devereaux could help make sure that didn’t happen.

TWO
    W alking into Mahone’s office, Knox instantly sized up the two men in front of him. Mahone was the only one of importance. The other man—loose jowled with thinning hair and a soft middle straining the buttons of his suit jacket—had “bigot” spelled all over his pinched, disapproving face, but Knox couldn’t have cared less. Everything about him—from his hostility to his poor dress—radiated grunt. A bigoted grunt wasn’t worth his time. But even so, Knox thought evilly, he couldn’t just ignore the man.
    That would be rude.
    “Am I interrupting?” Knox murmured, his solicitous tone failing to disguise his lack of concern any more than his wraparound Ray-Bans disguised what he was. The men couldn’t see his silver pupils and coal black irises, but Knox’s unusual height, deceptively lanky frame, and “prematurely” silver mane would have given him away even if he hadn’t been wearing the chain and medallion with his clan’s insignia—three inverted triangles, linked together, two on top and one beneath. The two represented a vamp’s fangs, while all three symbolized his clan’s most enduring principles: strength, honor, and constancy.
    Knox had always worn the medallion with pride, long before these humans had learned its meaning. It had helped him endure the years of hiding. Helped ease the sting of cowardice he felt each time he stood alongside his mother, telling his people they had to hide what they were.
    Now?
    He smiled, deliberately flashing the bigot a good view of his incisors. Without even trying to use his mind-reading powers, Knox knew his name was Leonard Walker.
    With a low curse, Walker skirted past him, taking great care to navigate around Knox as if the slightest brush of their clothing would contaminate him. He barely breathed the words, but Knox heard them loud and clear.
    “Filthy bastard.”
    Knox considered letting the man walk past, but frankly, he didn’t want to. Within seconds, he had him by the throat. He tsked and leaned in close, close enough that he could smell the man’s fear radiating off him. Knox closed his eyes and acknowledged that while he was far from enraged—he felt mildly angry, annoyed really—his actions felt good, like stretching muscles he too often kept bound.
    Walker gasped Mahone’s name, the sound snapping Knox’s eyes open. A quick glance confirmed the director had taken his seat again, a look of mild interest on his face. Knox turned back to the man, lifting him higher until his feet barely touched the ground. “Maybe you don’t know my parents were married, Mr. Walker, but I take umbrage at you calling me filthy. Like all vamps, I’m quite particular about my hygiene. Filth isn’t something we abide if at all possible.”
    Any remaining color drained from Walker’s face. Knox released him, removed a linen cloth from his jacket pocket, and wiped his hands with insulting deliberation. Walker followed the movements, swallowed, then glared at his boss. “I’ll remember this, Mahone,” he wheezed.
    “Good. Now get the hell out of here.”
    Walker slammed the door shut behind him while Knox pocketed his handkerchief.
    “I’m sure the asshole deserved that, but you know mind-reading is off limits,” Mahone said.
    Knox stiffened. As if he could forget. As his clan’s primary leader during his mother’s weakening, Knox had signed the Humanity Treaty and agreed to the UN’s corresponding resolution, which was designed to prevent further bloodshed if and when the Others outside the United States chose to reveal themselves fully. Both documents limited a vamp’s ability to mind-read or wield the power of persuasion unless “absolutely necessary.” He’d signed them because it had been in his clan’s best interest. And no matter what someone like Walker thought, vamps were creatures of honor. Knox lived by the rules he set, just like everyone else.
    Narrowing his eyes behind his