The Recruit Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Blank Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One - Memories

  Chapter Two - Change

  Chapter Three - Blood

  Chapter Four - Lucius

  Chapter Five - Training

  Chapter Six - The Test

  Newsletter and More Building a relationship with my readers is the very best thing about writing...

  Enjoy this book? You can make a big difference

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALSO BY CLAUDIA SILVA

  SNEAK PEEK: WEREWOLF PHENOMENON

  THE RECRUIT

  Claudia Silva

  Copyright © 2017 Claudia Silva

  All rights reserved.

  To those who always believe in me.

  “My name is Anton. Anton Mayflower.” Then he bowed, one hand behind him when he did. He raised his head to meet her eyes again, smiling handsomely. “Wonderful to meet your acquaintance.”

  A vampire - a real vampire, that was all Rebecca heard. His silky voice made a shiver run down her spine. She was terrified of him, of what he could do to her. This flawless man looked more dangerous than anything she had ever seen in her life. He was intimidating, and his charm and self-confidence were making her unsure of her own power.

  It took effort, but she straightened up to confront him, regardless. “Why are you here?” She had to know. She hoped the answer would come just like he had replied with his name when she'd asked for it.

  Except, all Anton did was smiled in amusement, “Why do you think?”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Memories

  SUMMER, 1999

  She feels the pill in her mouth and wonders...

  There shouldn’t be any doubt. This is what she wants. This is what’s meant to happen; what she should do. Life will never offer another chance like this.

  They had chosen her. She wasn’t sure why, but they had. When describing herself, she would always think:

  Rebecca Sawyer

  Dancer, Teacher, Human

  Human. Strange, because her humanity would only be around for ten more seconds.

  Closing her eyes, she holds her breath as she swallows the little red pill.

  There is no going back now, and she knows it. If she is so certain about what she’s done, why are her hands shaking as she gives him back the glass of water? A knot forms in her belly and a queer smile appears on her lips. The smile turns to a thin lipped grimace as she unexpectedly bends over in agony. One white hot point of it stabbing in her belly.

  The sudden scream is from the pain. She opens her eyes and the plethora of emotions is reduced to one: torment.

  She remembers her childhood. Losing her parents, her abusive grandmother.

  She remembers her failed dream to become a professional ballet dancer, crushed in the hands of a depraved peer.

  She remembers her life a few months ago when she met the one she’d been waiting for her whole life.

  She remembers. How could she forget how it all began?

  There are images in her mind; her best friend in her perfect white dress and her perfect golden curls pinned on top of her head with a silver tiara to help keep the veil in place.

  Everything has a beginning.

  The day Coleen was going to be married should be a joyous one, but in her memory of it she doesn’t remember happiness. She remembers thinking how impossible it was for someone to be that happy.

  No one was that happy.

  Was she?

  Her life had never been easy. She was an orphan. Her guardian, her paternal grandmother, abused her as a child. Her dreams to escape the town she felt trapped in had been crushed years ago. It was only natural she blamed everyone else for her misfortune.

  She had to be happy for her best friend. Coleen was the only one who understood her. The only one patient enough to listen to her every word. And now she was getting married, which meant soon she would disappear from her life, little by little.

  Why would that make her happy?

  More than a wedding, she was attending a funeral.

  She tried her best to put on a smile. To wear the Maid of Honor dress with pride. It wasn’t her day and she would do her best not to ruin it for the only person she loved.

  She felt all eyes on her. The bride's best friend.

  She saw the pity in their eyes. Scrutiny. This day more than ever. Some things one never got used to.

  It didn’t matter, because they would see. One day, everything would change; she would prove to the world she could be much more than a dance teacher.

  Almost like an answer to a prayer, he had come.

  As a rule, Rebecca Sawyer didn’t dance.

  She had once. This was before one of the male dancers had dropped her during a class rehearsal while taking revenge after she had denied his advances the night before. That moment had not only destroyed her knee, but her dancing career.

  She had been fortunate. With time her wound had mostly healed. At least now she could walk. And if she could take the pain, she could even dance.

  Watching all of Coleen’s friends and family on the dance floor wasn’t enough to persuade her to join them. Besides, no one had asked her to dance. She didn’t blame them. Everyone knew about her past. They were all careful when talking to her, knew about her accident, knew she was different. This provincial small-minded town had labeled her a traitor. Was it because she had reached too high? Who knew? She was never beloved by this backwater place. Why did that still bother her?

  Most of them saw her as their daughters’ dance teacher, and that was all.

  It had all started when she was young. For one, she wasn't originally from that town, an outsider. Once upon a time, she’d had a family somewhere; a mother and father who had loved her unconditionally. She remembered their love. She remembered that feeling. Then the car accident had happened, and they had gone away, leaving her as the only survivor.

  How much the rest of the town knew about that part of her past? She wondered if it would help them feel even sorrier for her. Did it count as another failure?

  Then there was her mixed heritage. Her almond shaped eyes and straight hair was a giveaway. People would often pause and stare when they first met her, mentally ticking down the list: Chinese? Japanese? Thai? Korean? She wagered many townsfolk never even got to that third nationality. She emphasized her Texas drawl at these moments to confuse people even more. Her mom had been Chinese, her dad, German-American. What a strange combination. Rebecca often wondered how they had met. It made little sense. She used to ask her grandmother when she was younger, a strict German immigrant woman, but after a while she tired of the outbursts to avoid answering her questions with hateful words towards her mother.

  It didn't really matter.

  She didn’t need to know.

  Rebecca spotted Coleen on the dance floor, the bride in the white lace dress didn’t even turn her way. She twirled and laughed, kissing her new husband a dozen times. Everyone stopped to congratulate her. She looked so happy. It made Rebecca smile.

  Things seemed to always work for Coleen. Somehow.

  She would miss her.

  Rebecca didn’t get along with Bob, her new husband, which meant her friendship with Colleen would fade into the background until she was as invisible to her best friend as she was to everyone else. Soon, she wouldn’t know anything about Coleen’s life and she wouldn't know about hers.

  She wouldn’t even see her at the dance studio where Rebecca taught and Coleen worked as a receptionist. It had been there where they had become friends. But now that her best friend was marrying, she had resigned. Coleen's mother, and owner of the studio, had taken the receptionist job he
rself instead of hiring someone new. Rebecca liked Mrs. Anderson, but she wasn’t Coleen.

  It was at times like these when Rebecca believed happiness wasn’t in the cards for her. Months after Coleen’s wedding day, when she’d scream in pain as her body changed into something different, better, she would not remember the exact time when a stranger sat down next to her on that table with an offer that would change her life forever.

  The music stopped, starting again with a new tune, one she didn’t recognize. It brought her back to the present time as she sat alone on her assigned table watching her acquaintances dance.

  An unfamiliar baritone spoke loud enough to be heard over the music, startling her and making her jump, “You don’t mind if I join you, do you?” He sounded expectant, with an accent she couldn’t quite place. The man who had asked sat on the chair next to hers without waiting for an answer; his fingers tapping the table, his leg crossed.

  A surge of anxiety passed through her. The thought of having to talk to a stranger had not been in her plans for the night. Yet there was something about him that interested her.

  Her eyes scanned his polished shoes, his tailored clothes, his dark, combed brown hair, but when she stopped to look at his face, she realized those brown eyes had been returning her gaze in amusement. Startled, she looked the other way, pretended she didn’t mind his presence so close to her. “I don’t mind at all,” she replied, after the fact.

  Clearing his throat, with the corner of his full lips curled up ever so slightly as he leaned over to extended his hand, he introduced himself. “Dylan, my name is Dylan,” he said. “Dylan Torrence.”

  Dylan.

  “Rebecca Sawyer,” her voice cracked as she blurted out her own name just as she offered her hand for him to shake.

  The way the man smiled as he took her hand with a firm grip made Rebecca stiffen in surprise. Perhaps noting her reaction, he relaxed, letting her go. His hand had been just as cold as hers. Rebecca knew an easy way to fix that although she did not dare to ask him to dance. Perhaps if he asked, her answer would be yes.

  The music changed, catching their attention. A popular country song began. The crowd cheered and clapped, going through the steps everyone knew by heart.

  The stranger’s eyes narrowed with interest as he watched them go. Leaning back and crossing his arms, Dylan Torrence shook his head, smiling with amusement. “I have never seen that before, that dance,” he commented. Rebecca found that strange; in what part of the world could he live to not know about this song? Even she, who seldom got out of her house to join any social gatherings, knew each step to perfection. Perhaps he had been hiding under a rock or-

  “You don’t dance, Ms. Sawyer?” Dylan asked.

  How many times had she heard that question? “Please, call me Rebecca. Or Becca, most people call me that,” her tone revealed how nervous she was. “And I do dance, just not frequently.”

  Nodding in understanding, Dylan Torrence joined her in staring at the dancers with a blank expression before looking at his watch with interest. “I thought you were the town’s dance teacher.”

  “Oh, that,” she shrugged. “It’s my knee. I fell and I got really hurt. So now, anytime I overdo physical activity, it's a pain.”

  “I see,” he said. He then added with a frown, “I didn’t realize you were still in pain.”

  “Well, only occasionally. During the winter, mostly. The cold makes it worse.”

  “I see,” he repeated. “I’m sorry.”

  Right, everybody’s sorry. “You might get better luck looking for another dancing partner.”

  He looked taken aback, “Oh, I don’t dance.”

  “Well, then you might as well keep me company.” Dylan stared at her, pleased. “Who did you say you were again?”

  “My name is Dylan Torrence,” he was quick to answer.

  “Are you a friend of Bob’s or…?”

  The way his eyes lit up told her he’d been ready to answer that question should it come, “Oh, no. I know Mr. Anderson.” The father of the bride? “Old acquaintance, actually.”

  “Really?” Old acquaintance? Rebecca frowned in disbelief. “I’ve never seen you before. I know you’re not from around here. You have to understand, everyone in this town knows everyone.”

  Clearing his throat, Dylan fixed a tie that didn’t need fixing. “It’s my first time here in a very long time, to tell the truth,” he confessed.

  “You’ve been here before?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “Like I said, I know Anderson. It’s been a few years since I last saw him, but we keep in touch.”

  Rebecca grunted, “How long ago did you meet Mr. Anderson?”

  “Years.”

  “How many years?”

  Dylan laughed at her sudden interrogation. “You sure ask a lot of questions. I know Mr. Anderson from work.”

  Work? Coleen’s dad was a cop, the Chief of Police.

  “Are you a cop?”

  He hesitated, “Not exactly.”

  Narrowing her eyes, Rebecca ventured a theory. “Are you a wedding crasher?”

  This brought laughter back to Dylan. “No.”

  “Well, then I don’t know wh-”

  “You don’t have to take my word for it. I’m sure Thomas Anderson can introduce us.”

  Rebecca watched as Dylan stood up, searching the room. Soon, he spotted the father of the bride. With a hand motion, he summoned him to their table. To Rebecca’s surprise, the Chief of Police complied. In fact, he left the group he’d been talking to and started his way in their direction without thinking twice.

  “Who are you?” Rebecca muttered. Then she thought to ask something else, “Wait, what did you say you did for a living?”

  “I didn’t say,” Dylan replied as he waited for the older man to arrive.

  “You said you weren’t a cop.” Dylan didn’t even turn to look at her.

  It was too late, Mr. Anderson was in earshot. “Hi, Becca.” Coleen’s dad began before he stopped before the young man, who shook hands with him. “I see you’ve met my good friend, Dylan Torrence.”

  It was like entering an alternate universe. A universe in which the Chief of Police, a professional and respectful man, called a young man in his twenties his good friend. Coleen’s dad never left town, it was even hard to get him to go on vacation. When and how had he ever met Dylan Torrence?

  “We’re getting to know each other, Tom,” Dylan told him as he patted the old man’s shoulder.

  Tom? They were on a first name basis, too? When had this happened?

  “Well, like I said when we spoke on the phone, Ms. Sawyer is my daughter’s Maid of Honor.”

  Nodding, he said, “I'm glad I came. She is a delight.”

  Mr. Anderson himself nodded awkwardly before clearing his throat. "Well, I hope everything is all right. Are you having a good time? Is there anything I can help you with, Dylan? You know I want to make your stay here as comfortable as possible."

  “It’s been wonderful,” Dylan said.

  “Everybody is being nice to you, I hope?”

  “So far.”

  Really? What was going on? Rebecca thought.

  “Tom, I was telling Ms. Sawyer about the time you and I met.”

  Was that a nervous smile on Tom Anderson’s face now? “Uhm, you were coming from Texas, weren’t you? Dallas? You were in pursuit of a criminal if memory doesn’t fail.”

  Dylan’s smile showed triumph, but Rebecca dismissed the smug face. “Wait a minute,” she said, “what criminal? They came here? To this town? When?” There had to be more than that.

  Chief of Police, Thomas Anderson, glanced at Rebecca nervously, behind him Dylan watched their exchange. “First time I helped in a federal investigation,” added the father of the bride.

  “A federal investigation?” asked an open-mouthed Rebecca as the truth dawned on her; this just kept getting weirder and weirder.

  Mr. Anderson nodded one more time, and shrugging he said, “I'
m afraid I’m not supposed to talk about it. Sorry, kid,” he told her.

  The two men now looked at each other, communicating with a look.

  “Why can’t you talk about it?” Rebecca asked.

  “When you work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, some cases aren't open to the public,” Dylan explained.

  Mr. Anderson elaborated, “Dylan is an FBI agent, Becca.”

  “I am,” Dylan said.

  Rebecca had figured as much, but she was still incredulous. She had never met someone who worked for the Federal Bureau of Investigation before and the presumptuous Dylan Torrence didn’t strike her like the kind of man who did. But, what did she know? She was only a dance teacher.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Mr. Anderson said, “I see my wife calling me.”

  “Of course. Always wonderful to see you, Tom.” Dylan shook his hand vigorously while never moving from Rebecca's side.

  “Take care now. And let me know if you need anything. Anything at all, all right?” Mr. Anderson waved goodbye and rejoined his party.

  Dylan’s grin was a little annoying, but it was what Rebecca cared about the least. Sitting in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest, a frown on her face, she had to ask, “So, an FBI agent, are you?”

  “That’s right,” Dylan said as he shifted his weight.

  “And you are here because you’re intimate friends with Mr. Anderson?” She had meant her tone to be sarcastic.

  “I wouldn't say intimate.” At least he was being honest, thought Rebecca. “I’m here because I need a change. There’s something I’m missing that I came here to find. That’s why I asked to be invited.”

  Rebecca repressed a smile. “What do you mean you asked to be invited? What are you, three?”

  “I’m not three,” Dylan corrected. “What I am is glad I got to meet you. I like you. I’m glad I came.”

  That had been unexpected. “Well, I’m glad I got to meet you, too, then. You’re a little weird, but nice.”