Turned (Book 1 in the Vampire Journals) by Morgan Rice by Morgan Rice

metal dig harder into her wrists and ankles. Where the hell was she?
    Caitlin opened her eyes wider, heart pounding, trying to get a feel for where she was. It was cold. She was still dressed, but barefoot, and she could feel cold stone beneath her feet. She also felt stone along her back. She was up against a wall. Chained to a wall.
    She looked hard about the room and tried to make something out. But the blackness was absolute. She was cold. And thirsty. She swallowed, and her throat was dry.
    She tugged for all she was worth, but even with her newfound strength, the chains did not budge. She was completely stuck.
    Caitlin opened her mouth to yell for help. The first attempt didn’t work. Her mouth was too dry. She swallowed again.
    “Help!” she screamed, her voice coming out raspy. “HELP!” she screamed again, and this time gained real volume.
    Nothing. She listened hard. She heard a faint, swooshing noise somewhere in the distance. But from where?
    She tried to remember. Where was she last?
    She remembered going home. Her apartment. She frowned, remembering her Mom. Dead. She felt deeply sorry, as if somehow it were her fault. And she felt remorse. She wished that she could have been a better daughter, even if her Mom wasn’t great to her. Even if, as her Mom had blurted out the day before, she wasn’t really even her daughter. Had she really meant it? Or was it just something she had thrown out in a time of anger?
    Then…those three people. Dressed in black. So pale. Approaching her. Then… The police. The bullet. How they had stopped the bullet? What were these men? Why had they used the word “human”? She would have thought that they were merely delusional, if she had not seen them stop that bullet in mid air.
    Then…the alley. The chase.
    And then…. Blackness.
    Caitlin suddenly heard the creak of a metal door. She squinted, as a light appeared in the distance. It was a torch. Someone was coming towards her, carrying a torch.
    As he got closer, the room lit up. She was in a large, cacophonous room, entirely carved from stone. It looked ancient.
    As the man got close, Caitlin could see his features. He held the torch up, to his face. He stared at her as if she were an insect.
    This man was grotesque. His face was distorted, making him look like an old, haggard witch. He grinned, and revealed rows of small, orange teeth. His breath stank. He came within inches of her, and stared. He raised a hand to her face, and she could see his long, curved, yellow fingernails. Like claws. He dragged them slowly along her cheek, not enough to draw blood, but enough to make her repulsed. He grinned even wider.
    “Who are you?” Caitlin asked, terrified. “Where am I?”
    He only grinned further, as if examining his prey. He stared at her throat, and licked his lips.
    Just then, Caitlin heard the sound of another metal door opening, and saw several torches approaching.
    “Leave her!” shouted a voice from the distance. The man standing before Caitlin quickly scurried away, backing up several feet. He lowered his head, admonished.
    A whole group of torches approached, and as they got close, she could see their leader. The man who had chased her down the alley.
    He stared back, offering a smile with the warmth of ice. He was beautiful, this man, ageless, but terrifying. Evil. His large, charcoal eyes stared at her.
    He was flanked by five other men, all dressed in black like him, but none as large or as beautiful as he. There were also two women in the group, who stared back at her with equal coldness.
    “You must excuse our attendant,” the man said, his voice deep, cold, and matter-of-fact.
    “Who are you?” Caitlin asked. “Why am I here?”
    “Forgive these harsh accommodations,” the man said, running his hand along the thick metal chain that held her to the wall. “We’d be more than happy to let you go,” he said, “if only you would answer a few questions.”
    She looked back, unsure what to