He recognized the vampire.
“Lorenzo,” he said. Knowing him was more reason to stake him, not less, but the astonishment of seeing this vampire—from the most terrible moments of his past—froze Balthazar half in place, stake still clenched in his fingers. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I might ask the same of you.” Lorenzo’s shock was similar to his own; this meeting was a horrid coincidence, no more. Immortality seemed to increase the probability of coincidence. Given enough time, paths would inevitably cross—even the ones you least wanted.
“Leave this girl alone. Why are you after her?”
“Because she is human and we are vampires—something you too often forget. Now, ask what you really long to know,” Lorenzo said. “Ask me if I came here with Redgrave.”
He said the name so sweetly, as though it were a father or a lover. For all Balthazar knew, it was some of both. The name never ceased to send a chill through him—part dread, part hate. Redgrave.
“Where is he?” Balthazar demanded. His voice was almost a growl now.
“Not near enough to watch you die.”
The blow slammed into Balthazar’s chest—both hands, spread broadly, nearly enough force to crack ribs. It sent him flying backward, not far, but enough for Lorenzo to skitter free. Within an instant they were both on their feet, facing each other. Balthazar still clutched the stake; it was as close as he would get to an advantage from now on.
Lorenzo de Aracena, of sixteenth-century Spain, a would-be poet and a dirty fighter. Often subservient to his sire—Redgrave, the darkest vampire Balthazar had ever known or hoped to know—but just as often renegade. Sometimes his sire pushed him away for his own reasons; Lorenzo always went limping back eventually, eager for someone to tell him what to do, what to think, whom to kill. He would always be someone’s slave. Most vampires were, in the end.
Balthazar wasn’t. He didn’t know if he was strong enough to kill Lorenzo, but he was damned sure going to try.
“Do you want the girl for yourself?” Lorenzo smiled, almost politely. “That’s impossible, I’m afraid.”
“She’s not going to be yours,” Balthazar replied. He kept his voice even as well. Inside, though, he was uncertain—it was strange of Lorenzo to challenge him about Skye in particular. For the two of them, just seeing each other was reason enough to get into it. But why claim possession of Skye? She was just a girl, just a convenient victim chosen at random.
Wasn’t she?
“So many possibilities,” Lorenzo said. “So many opportunities. Too rich to waste on a battle with you.”
And then he vanished. As if he’d disappeared into thin air—a gift some few vampires aged into, but only after a couple of millennia. Lorenzo didn’t have that talent; he’d just streaked into the night without a sound. Balthazar turned and ran in the direction Skye had gone.
He hadn’t learned what the guy was up to, only that it wasn’t good—and that Skye still needed his protection.
Balthazar caught up with her not far away; she’d stopped by a large dark horse, evidently hers, and kneeled by its front hooves. Lorenzo was nowhere to be seen, and the woods around them were silent. The danger seemed to have passed for the moment, but she couldn’t have known that. He said, “You’d have done better to run.”
“If you won the fight, I didn’t have to run. If you lost, it wouldn’t have done any good. The other vampire was faster than me.”
Which was a good point, actually. He liked her steadiness in the face of danger. “Is your horse hurt?”
“Eb’s okay, I think.” Skye sounded as relieved as though she were talking about a good friend, not an animal. “But I want to be sure—and I’m so freaked out I can’t tell if he’s shaking or I am.”
“Let me check.” Balthazar clucked his tongue—an old habit, one he’d almost forgotten, but it still worked. Eb allowed him to run his hands along his legs, which were sound. “You were right. He’s not hurt. Only startled.”
Only then did Balthazar really look at Skye. Her long hair—deep brown, if memory served—looked almost black as night drew on. Although her breaths still came quickly, she was surprisingly composed given what had just happened to her, and how much worse it could have been. Her cheeks were flushed from the exertion of her headlong chase.
“We need to get out of here,” she said. “Do you know how to ride?”
“It came in handy before the invention of the car.”
“Oh. Right.” That caught her off guard for only a moment. “Eb can carry us both as far as the stable. Come on.” Skye looked up into the darkening air as if another vampire might come plummeting toward her at any second. Though Balthazar didn’t sense any others nearby, he thought she had the right idea about leaving this place as soon as possible.
So when she swung up into the saddle, Balthazar didn’t hesitate. As soon as she had her seat and Eb was steady, Skye offered him her left arm. The reins remained in her right hand; her control of the horse was such that she was able to slide her feet out of the stirrups and hold him steady just through that mysterious communication between human and animal. Balthazar put one foot in the stirrup and mounted easily—he hadn’t done this in a long time, but his muscles retained the memory, and then he was next to Skye. They were sitting so close that they touched, thigh to thigh and shoulder to shoulder, and for one moment he couldn’t help noticing how warm she was. How fast her heart was still beating.
“Hang on,” she said, readjusting her feet so that she had the stirrups—taking command again.
“I’m ready.”
With that, she spurred Eb back into action, and the horse began taking them back toward civilization. Back toward safety, Balthazar would’ve said—but he wasn’t totally sure of that at the moment.
Her breath made clouds of fog in the bitterly cold air. His didn’t.
The stables turned out to be not some major commercial enterprise, the way most of them were in twenty-first-century America, but a smaller structure built of wide planks of wood not far behind Skye’s home. Though the lighting was electric instead of candles, it ran through heavy black lanterns that conjured up old, pleasant memories. The scent of hay took him back.
As they approached, he said, “Will your parents come outside? Do we need to cover who I am, what I’m doing here, anything like that?”
“They’re in Albany. Lobbyists, and their bill is under discussion, so—I’ve hardly seen them for more than ten minutes a day since Christmas.”
“That’s not much.”
“They have their reasons.” There was humor in Skye’s gaze as she glanced back at him. “And why wouldn’t I tell them the truth? You’re an old friend from school who’s come to say hi.”
“Do they know about Evernight? What it really was?”
“Nope. I figured I’d rather close out my senior year at my hometown school than a mental institution. Though I’m not sure I see any difference.” She sighed as she dismounted.
“Is anyone else at home? Do you have a sister or brother?”
Skye stiffened at the question, and he hesitated before getting off the horse, unsure why this was such a sore subject. Then she said, shortly, “My brother died last year. It’s just me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay. I’m on my own, but I can take care of myself.”
Clearly, this wasn’t something she wanted to discuss. So he dismounted without another word.
Balthazar led Eb into the warm stable and began unsaddling him. One other horse, a mare with a reddish coat, whickered as if welcoming them inside. Skye didn’t interfere, just watched him put up the tack and brush Eb down. Only when she appeared satisfied that Balthazar really understood how to care for a horse did she speak. “Okay, so, how did you know to show up in the woods like that? Do you just go around finding people in trouble like… Vampire Batman or something?”
He had to smile. “I wish. No, Lucas told me you were having some troub
le and asked me to drop in on you, check things out. He didn’t mention any vampire attacks, though.”
“There haven’t been any. Not before today, I mean. I only wrote him about—” Clearly this was difficult for her to talk about. “About the visions. The deaths.”
“So, you’re still seeing them.” Lucas had said that she was being overcome by what appeared to be wraiths; instead of being haunted, however, Skye was witnessing deaths in vivid, graphic detail—constantly. First they needed to find a pattern. “Is it happening more frequently now? Does it happen at night, during the day, after you’ve done something or not done something…”
Skye shook her head. The lantern light burnished her dark hair, bringing out the hint of auburn beneath the brown. He’d hardly ever allowed himself to notice before, but she was a strikingly beautiful girl. “It’s not about anything I do or don’t do. It’s only about where I am. If I’m in a place where somebody died, I see it. But it’s more than seeing—I know how everyone felt. The victim and the killer, if it was a murder.”
“They aren’t all murders?” Wraiths were created only by homicide; if she was seeing other kinds of deaths, then wraiths had nothing to do with it.
“Sometimes they are. But sometimes they’re just—sudden. Violent. None of them are peaceful.” Skye folded her arms in front of her, unconsciously shielding herself. “The first one I saw was on the drive home from Evernight. We got caught in traffic on the interstate, and while we were idling there I saw this car crash—the aftermath of one—and this crumpled body… I thought I must be going crazy. Or that all that weird stuff at Evernight had me, I don’t know, not in my right mind. But when I watched that crash over and over—watched that guy die, heard it, even smelled it—I knew it had to be real.” A shudder rippled through her. “Did you know you can smell blood in smoke? You can.”
“Yes, I knew that.” Best not to get into how. “So you see the visions whenever you’re near the site of a sudden death.”
“It’s like the dead want me to pay attention. Like they want me to go through it all with them. When it’s happening, I have to fight to remember who and where I am. I want to snap out of it, but sometimes I can’t. Is this—did Lucas send you because you know a lot about this kind of thing?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Balthazar kept brushing Eb; he’d forgotten how much this simple, repetitive act helped him concentrate. Working on cars was fun, but it had nothing on caring for a horse. “Lucas and Bianca would’ve come themselves, but Black Cross has been giving them trouble lately.”
“Black Cross?”
“Oh. I forgot you didn’t know.” For the first time, it occurred to Balthazar that Skye was still an outsider in the world of the supernatural. Despite everything she’d seen and done, much of his world remained a mystery to her. “Vampire hunters. Don’t worry; Bianca and Lucas are fine. But they wanted me to find out more about what was going on with you, and make sure you were okay. Instead you’re being hunted by a vampire.”
Skye tucked a lock of her hair behind one ear, obviously trying hard to concentrate, though this had to be overwhelming for her. “Okay. Vampires are … everywhere, then. Not just at Evernight.”
“Not just at Evernight. A lot of us try hard to live normally and get by, but there are dangerous ones out there. And the one you ran into tonight, Lorenzo—he’s bad news.”
Bad news: What an understatement. But telling her the full truth right now was something Balthazar didn’t want to do unless it was necessary—it would only panic her. Above all, he didn’t want to get into the labyrinthine complications of his own long past.
“Will he come back?” she asked. “Or was that just … random?”
“I don’t know.” And he didn’t like not knowing. “I’m going to hang around for a few days and make sure he’s cleared off. So don’t worry too much. But no more riding alone in the woods at dusk, okay?”
“Don’t worry. I’m not exactly in a rush to repeat the experience.” Her eyes met his, only for a moment, almost shyly. He didn’t understand why; after all, they’d known each other for almost three years. Granted, they’d never shared more than a few words of conversation, and he’d borrowed her Twentieth-Century History notes once to get some modern perspective, but they weren’t strangers. And she’d always struck him as outgoing, forthright … even bold.
Balthazar finally got it when she said, “All right, I know the answer to this question, but still, I have to ask. You’re—you’re a vampire. Right?”
“Right.” He studied her face carefully in search of her fear or revulsion, but she didn’t turn away. “Does that bother you?”
“Not as much as it probably should.” She laughed at herself. “I mean, I already knew. Sort of. But I guess I needed to hear it from you.”
Perhaps Skye distrusted him now; he wouldn’t blame her if she did. “I don’t feed from humans. You’re safe with me.”
“I know that. If I hadn’t known it before today—I would now.”
“Anything you need to know about any of this, you can ask me. I might not know the answer, but if I do, I’ll tell you. So you don’t have to stay in the dark any longer.”
“Okay. Good to know.” As she ran one hand through her hair, Balthazar could see that she still trembled slightly. Despite the brave front she was putting up, Lorenzo’s attack had shaken her.
Placing one broad hand on her shoulder, Balthazar said, “Listen. Go inside and warm up. Get some sleep if you can. I’ll be outside all night, and we’ll talk it over tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.” She grimaced. “It’s the first day of school—I’d forgotten all about it. I mean, I was dreading it up until now. But the whole vampire-attack thing kind of put it all in perspective.”
“See, it won’t be that bad. And I mean it—you don’t have to be afraid tonight. He won’t bother you again.”
“Do you want to come in? My parents won’t get home for hours yet, so they won’t know or care. And it’s cold out here.”
“I can watch the house better from out here. Don’t worry. Vampires don’t feel the cold as badly as humans do.”
Skye looked up at him, and her face revealed more of her vulnerability, and her gratitude, than words could. For a moment, he felt a surge of protectiveness—and something else besides—
No humans, he thought. It was an old rule of his.
“Thank you for rescuing me,” she said. “I ought to have told you before.”
“That’s what I’m here for.” Balthazar meant it as a sort of joke, and yet it was a good way to think of himself. Better than most of the other reasons he had to exist, anyway.
He remained outside, watching the warm glow of the window that must have been her bedroom, for another hour. No sign of the parents—but, more to the point, there was no sign of Lorenzo, either.
They’ve hunted this area before, Balthazar told himself, arms wrapped around himself, his black cloth coat poor protection against the deep chill of upstate New York in January. Yeah, it was at least a century ago, but still—this is ground Lorenzo knows. So he could just as easily have come here alone. Skye might simply have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
That was the explanation Balthazar liked best: It was the one that meant Skye was already safe. Lorenzo had been thwarted, and he knew Balthazar was around to interfere with his hunting plans. He’d move on somewhere else. She wouldn’t be in danger again.
But it might not be that easy.
He looked up toward Skye’s window, and for one moment he glimpsed her silhouette, graceful and quick. Even the fall of her thick hair over her shoulder was clear, and surprisingly tantalizing. Just as Balthazar began to feel guilty—as if this were spying rather than watching—she snapped off the lights.
Immediately he went on higher alert; if Lorenzo returned, this was when he would strike—when he thought he had her off guard. Balthazar circled the house, a large, modern structure apparently on the outskirts of town, and listened carefully, not o
nly with his ears but with all his senses, including the ones that told a vampire when another was near. Nothing.
Finally, he decided he could risk getting himself something to eat. Though he would never have said this aloud to Skye—nor to almost anyone else, even other vampires—being near her while she was bleeding had sharpened his appetite.
How he hated that. Looking at a beautiful young girl, liking her, wanting to help her, and yet being unable to forget that one part of him saw her as prey.
Balthazar moved into the woods just off her home’s property, sniffing the wintry air. Pine, dirt, any number of birds (mostly owls and sparrows, too hard to catch and not much to enjoy), the horse’s sweat from earlier, a hint of Skye’s delicate perfume, but something muskier, gamier—there. Deer. Close by, too.
Hunger whetted, he walked into the forest—then began to run, moving as silently as possible so as not to startle his prey. Already he could imagine the thick blood filling his mouth, heating his core, giving him again the shadow of life he wanted so badly—
But he couldn’t smell the deer’s blood within its body, and he should’ve been able to by now.
He came to a stop a few feet short of the deer, its still form all but invisible in the midnight blackness. It lay on the snow, its neck twisted at an unnatural angle. There was no heartbeat to be heard.
Despite his natural predator’s disappointment at losing prey, Balthazar knelt by the dead deer to investigate. Its throat had been ripped open, probably hours ago; only the severe cold had kept decomposition slow enough that he hadn’t yet been able to smell it. Every single drop of its blood had been drained.
As his hand ran over the deer’s coat, he felt the bite marks: dozens of them. It had been devoured—by vampires, several of them. And the blood had been drunk through the bites. Ripping open the throat had been unnecessary. Just something the killer enjoyed. Something he’d done many times before.
Balthazar’s hands clenched into fists as he thought of the vampire who had led this pack, whose signature he saw written before him in torn flesh: Redgrave.