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Skye texted him first: I’m going straight home after school. Madison asked me over, but I told her I still feel weird. You didn’t tell me you were living over there!
Haven’t had much chance. Listen, are you okay?
Yeah. The vision in Ms. Loos’s class today was intense, but since I fainted yesterday at the game, she was actually nice about it for a change. I think everybody thinks I’m epileptic or something. I should be transferred out of there by the end of the week, though.
Balthazar raised an eyebrow at the realization that Tonia had been giving Skye a difficult time, but that was hardly the most important subject for them to discuss. I just need to say—I’m sorry. About last night.
For what?
For going further than I should’ve gone.
I was hoping you were going to say, for leaving too soon.
The idea of lingering longer in Skye’s bedroom flickered in his mind, invitingly, but Balthazar pushed it away. I think you’re amazing. You know that. But I meant what I said. Getting involved with humans—it’s a line I don’t cross.
There’s a first time for everything.
He glanced up from his phone to look at her the precise moment she did the same. As their eyes met across the library, Skye recrossed her legs, giving him another glimpse of just how long and slim and toned they were.
A bold move—but her eyes told the true story. There he could see her uncertainty, her vulnerability. Whatever it was, that mixture of flirtation and fragility struck deep within him.
Balthazar’s response was as much a reminder to himself as to Skye: We can’t be anything more than friends.
I hear you, Skye sent back, which seemed surprisingly reasonable—until the next line arrived. But nobody said I had to make it easy for you.
He should have been exasperated. Concerned. Something like that.
Instead, it was all he could do to keep from smiling.
Madison walked as far as Skye’s house with her, so Balthazar followed them at a distance. It was easier watching Skye when she was wearing a long puffer coat that hid those legs. Yet as they wound their way through to her house, Balthazar began to sense it—that faint energy in the air, thick and ominous, like the coming of a storm.
A vampire was near.
Balthazar moved a little faster; better to be seen following Skye than to leave her exposed. Yet the vampire didn’t close in, didn’t give chase. The presence lingered until a few moments after Skye and Madison had gone inside.
That was when he heard Redgrave’s voice: “It doesn’t bother you?”
“A lot of things are bothering me right now.” Balthazar resolved to get a meat cleaver or something to keep on hand. Anything that would equip him for an impromptu beheading. “Which one are you referring to? The fact that you’re stalking one of my friends?”
“‘Friend.’ How courtly of you.” Redgrave appeared from the underbrush, his elegant clothes still perfect. That camel-colored coat probably cost thousands of dollars; the crocodile leather shoes shone as if the slush and ice couldn’t touch them. His maddening ability to remain polished, no matter what, was just one of the things Balthazar loathed about him. “I mean, the fact that the young lady has a haunted house. The wraiths are no greater friends to you than they are to us. How have you conquered your fear? Or tell me, Balthazar—have you conquered the wraiths?”
That was uncertainty in Redgrave’s voice—the only uncertainty Balthazar had ever heard from him. The ancient terror of the wraiths among vampires was especially strong in Redgrave’s, for reasons Balthazar had never been allowed to know; perhaps, two thousand years ago when Redgrave had still been new, still calling himself by the name his mother had given him, violence between the twin forms of the undead had been more common. At any rate, his fear of the supposed haunting within Skye’s house was very real … which meant Skye remained safe when at home.
Small as this victory was, Balthazar had learned to cherish any win against his oldest and worst enemy. “Let’s just say I have friends in the strangest places.”
They faced each other then, without weapons, without other vampires. Balthazar tried to remember what it had been like before Redgrave. For the centuries since his death, Redgrave’s shadow had stretched across Balthazar’s years, drawing away the light.
Redgrave said, “Teaching school. How droll. And dull, I’d think.”
“You’re not going to hurt Skye.”
“Skye.” His voice caressed the word in a way that made Balthazar’s gut clench. He’d been fool enough to give Redgrave her name. “I don’t intend to hurt Skye. Didn’t she tell you about our chat?”
“She did. And your definition of hurt and mine are a long way apart.”
“Have you drunk from her yet?” Redgrave’s eyes grew hungry, as if he wanted to live vicariously through Balthazar. “She’d let you, of course. It’s written all over her.” He took a deep breath, as if scenting the air, then sighed. “You have.”
“I tasted her blood to see what it is you’re after.”
