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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 only 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.
He’s here.
Chapter Three
AS USUAL, SKYE AWOKE TO THE SOUND OF HER phone’s alarm chiming at her. Not at all as usual, just rolling over to swat the phone into silence made her whole body ache. At first her groggy mind only supplied, I’m really sore.
Then she remembered why, and she bolted upright in bed, clutching her white sheets to her chest.
Skye breathed in deeply in an effort to steady herself against the rush of adrenaline that flooded into her, the memory of the vampire’s attack almost as unnerving as the attack itself. Could that really have happened? And was it possible that Balthazar More had showed up to rescue her? That seemed more like one of her old study-hall daydreams than reality.
But the scrapes along her arms and soreness of her muscles didn’t lie.
She looked down at her phone to see that she had two new text threads. One was from her best friend from Evernight, Clementine Nichols, whom she’d messaged about the craziness last night. Her reply:
OMG r u serious? More vampires? In Darby Glen? R they everywhere? BE CAREFUL. Balty rescue sounds hot don’t drool on him.
Just like Clem to somehow combine dire warnings about staying safe and a joke about Skye’s old crush on Balthazar.
She didn’t recognize the phone number that had sent the other message, but her eyes widened as she read it:
Skye, I did some investigating last night. The vampire presence in your town may be more dangerous than I previously thought. Don’t panic—there’s no reason they should be after you. But be cautious. I’ll be staying around a while looking into this. Stay safe, and good luck on the first day of school.
