Vampire Bites: A Taste of the Drake Chronicles
Author: Alyxandra Harvey
Date: 2013-02-14 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Vampires; Paranormal; Young Adult; Fantasy; Romance; Supernatural; Fiction; Short Stories; Novella; Thriller
Description: Devour three darkly romantic adventures and sharpen your knowledge of how to catch a vampire - and perhaps a handsome Drake brother of your own - in this breathtaking bind-up, only available in eBook format. A Killer First Date Lucy Hamilton in mad about her best friend's brother, Nicholas Drake. Who wouldn't be? He's super sexy and deliciously dangerous. And Nicholas thinks Lucy is hot too. But what with all the life-and-death drama in their hometown of Violet Hill lately, they've not been on a first date - not officially. It's time they got away from it all. But that's easier said than done
Publisher: Bloomsbury Childrens
Rights: All rights reserved

Contents

Hearts at Stake

A Killer First Date

A Field Guide to Vampires

Corsets and Crossbows

Lost Girls

About the Author

On Solange’s sixteenth birthday, she is going to wake up dead. As if that’s not bad enough, she has to outwit her seven overprotective brothers, avoid the politics involved with being the only daughter born to an ancient vampire dynasty and elude an anti-vampire league. This sixteenth birthday isn’t looking sweet! Luckily, she has her best friend, Lucy, to look out for her. But can Lucy save herself from Nicholas, who tempts her with every look – what will be her own fate if she surrenders her heart to a vampire?

Read on for an extract of Hearts at Stake, your first taste of the deliciously dark Drake Chronicles.

Once bitten, there’s no going back …

PROLOGUE

Lucy

Friday, early evening

Normally I wouldn’t have been caught dead at a field party.

If you’ll pardon the pun.

This was a supreme sacrifice on my part for my best friend, Solange, who was having a really bad day, which was about to turn into a really bad week. Her sixteenth birthday was coming up, and we weren’t talking a new car and a pink dress for her sweet sixteen. Not in her family.

This wasn’t much better though.

She was standing in the middle of a field, trying to drink cheap wine and pretend she didn’t want to be anywhere but here. The music was passable but that was about all it had to recommend it. The cars were parked in a wide circle, the sun setting behind the trees with all the colors of a blood orange pulled into pieces. Practically my entire high school was here; there wasn’t much else to do on one of the last weekends before school started. People danced and flirted in a sea of baseball caps and faded denim. Someone burped loudly.

“This was such a bad idea,” I muttered.

Solange smiled softly, abandoning her plastic cup on the hood of someone’s rusted truck.

“It was a nice thought.”

“It was stupid,” I admitted. She just looked so sad lately, I’d hoped a complete change of pace might distract her from all that worrying. Instead it made me want to bare my pitifully human teeth at the rowdies. Someone’s shoe nudged my heel, and when I looked back at it, I was greeted with way too much information about the mating habits of my fellow students. I kicked hard at the boot.

“No one needs to see that,” I said, turning away quickly before more clothing came off. The couple giggled and went deeper into the corn. I stared at Solange. “What the hell was I thinking?”

She half grinned.

“It is rather unlike you.”

Darren, from my math class last year, tripped over his own feet and sprawled in the dirt in front of us before I could answer. His grin was sloppy. He was nice enough usually; in fact, he was the reason I hadn’t entirely flunked out of math. But he was drunk and desperate to fit in.

“Hi, Lucy.” Apparently beer made him lisp. My name came out as “Loothee”—which was marginally better than my real name, which was Lucky. I had those kind of parents, but I’d made everyone at school call me Lucy since the first day of first grade.

“Hi, Darren.”

He blinked at Solange. Even in jeans and a tank top she looked dramatic. It was all that pale skin and those pale eyes. Her black bangs were choppy because she trimmed them herself. The rest was long and hung past her shoulders. Mine was plain old brown and cut in a wedged bob to my chin. My glasses were retro—dark rimmed and vaguely cat’s-eye shaped. I didn’t need them to see the way Darren was drooling over Solange. All guys drooled over her. She was beautiful, end of discussion.

“Who’s your friend? She’s hot.”

“You’ve met her before.” Solange was homeschooled, but I dragged her around when I could. “Sober up, Darren. This isn’t a good look for you.”

“ ‘Kay.” He spat grass out of his mouth.

I slung my arm through hers. “Let’s get out of here. The sun’s starting to set anyway, and maybe we can salvage the rest of the night.”

The wind was soft through the corn, rustling the stalks as we wandered away. The stars were starting to peek out, like animal eyes in the dark. We could still hear the music and the occasional shout of laughter. Twilight was starting to settle like a soft blue veil. We’d walked from my house, which was a half hour away. We’d probably waited too long. We picked up our pace.

And then Solange paused.

“What?” I froze beside her, my shoulders tensing until I was practically wearing them as earmuffs. I was all too aware of what could be out there. I should never have suggested this. I’d just put her into even more danger. I was an idiot.

She held up her hand, her eyes so pale suddenly that they were nearly colorless, a ring of ice around a black lake. And because I was scared, I scowled into the gathering shadows around us. Mom always said bravado was a karmic debt I had to work through. She was basically saying I’d been mouthy and obnoxious for several lifetimes now. But somehow I didn’t think this particular situation called for a round of oms, which was my mother’s favorite way of cleansing karmic baggage. Most babies were sung lullabies; I got “Om Namah Shivaya” when I was really fussy.

“Cops?” I suggested, mostly because they seemed like the better alternative. “They always break up these parties.”

She shook her head. She looked delicate and ethereal, as if she were made of lily petals. Few people knew the marble all that softness concealed.

“They’re close,” she murmured. “Watching.”

“Run?” I suggested. “Like, right now?”

She shook her head again, but we did at least start walking.

“If we act like prey, they’ll act like predators.”

I tried not to hyperventilate, tried to walk quickly but confidently, as if we weren’t being stalked. Sometimes I really hated Solange’s life. It was totally unfair.

“You’re getting angry,” she said softly.

“Damn right I am. Those undead bastards think they can do this to you just because—”

“When you’re angry, your heart beats faster. It’s like the cherry on a hot fudge sundae.”

“Oh. Right.” I always forgot that little detail. Maybe my mom was right. I needed to take up meditating.

“Lucy, I want you to run.”

“Shut up,” I said, disbelief making my voice squeaky.

“They’ll follow me if I run in the opposite direction.”

“That’s the worst plan I’ve ever heard,” I grumbled, fighting the urge to look over my shoulder. Stupid creepy cornfields. Stupid creepy stalkers. A cricket sang suddenly from the tall corn and my heart nearly shot straight out of my chest. I actually pressed my hand against my rib cage, half-worried. The cricket went quiet and was replaced by the rumble of car tires on the ground. Cornstalks snapped. A familiar jeep skidded to a dusty halt in front of us.

“Nicholas,” Solange breathed, relieved.

“Get in,” he snapped.

I was slightly less enamored with her older brother, but I had to admit he had good timing. In his black shirt and dark hair, he blended into the night. Only his eyes gave him away, silver and fierce. He was gorgeous, there was no use in denying it, but he always knew just how to make me want to poke him in the eye with a fork.

Like right now.

“Drive,” he said to their brother Logan, who was behind the steering wheel. He didn’t even wait for me to get in. Logan lifted his foot off the brake. The car rolled forward.

“Hey!” I shouted.

“Nicholas Drake, you let her in the car right now.” Solange leaned forward between the front seats.

“She’s fine. We have to get you out of here.”

I grabbed on to the half-opened window. Logan slowed down.

“Sorry, Lucy, I thought you were in already,” he said.

“Don’t you read?” I asked Nicholas, disgusted. “If you leave me here now that you’ve got Solange all safe, they’ll grab me to get to her.”

Solange opened the back door and I leaped in. The car sped off. Shadows flitted beside us, menacing, hungry. I shivered. Then I smacked the back of Nicholas’s head.

“Idiot.”

CHAPTER 1

Solange

“I can’t believe you were actually going to just leave her there,” I grumbled again as Logan pulled into our lane, which was overgrown with hedges. The unnatural glint of unnatural eyes had faded, and there was nothing but ripe blackberries and crickets in the bushes. Not only was our farm well protected, but it was also surrounded by other family farms, with forest surrounding all of them. Drakes have lived in this area since it was considered wild and dangerous, best left to gunslingers and outlaws. Now it was just home.

But dangerous all the same.

“She was fine,” Nicholas said testily. “She was safe as soon as we got you away from her.” He only ever called her “she,” except to her face, when he called her Lucky because it annoyed her so much. They’d been getting on each other’s nerves since we were kids. There was a family joke that Lucy’s first words were, “Nicholas is bugging me.” I couldn’t remember ever not knowing her. She’d drawn me out of my shell, even when we were little, though it wasn’t until my fifth birthday that I’d started calling her my best friend, after she threw a mud ball at Nicholas’s head for stealing my chocolate cupcake. We’d learned to ride bikes together and liked the same movies and talked all night whenever we had slumber parties.

“She was fine,” Nicholas insisted, catching my glare. “Despite being reckless.”

“She was just trying to help me.”

“She’s human,” he said, as if it were a debilitating disease, as if he wasn’t human as well, despite the bloodchange. We aren’t undead, like the horror novels say, though we definitely look it during our transformation. That particular stereotype clings so deeply that sometimes it’s easier to embrace it. Lucy’s mom calls us “differently abled.”

“And you’re a jerk.” I touched his sleeve. “But thanks for coming to get me.”

“You’re welcome,” he muttered. “You know you shouldn’t let her talk you into stuff. It never turns out well.”

“I know. But you know how Lucy is. And she meant well.”

He grunted. Logan grinned.

“She’s getting cuter. Especially from behind.”

“She is not,” Nicholas said. “And quit looking at her butt.”

I was so totally going to tell Lucy they’d been talking about her butt.

“You’re such an old man,” Logan said scornfully, turning off the ignition. “We have all this power. We should use it.”

“Flirting is not a power,” I told him drily.

“It is if you’re good at it. And I’m very good at it.”

“So you keep telling us.”

“Being charming’s my gift,” he said modestly. No one else could have pulled off such an old-fashioned shirt with lace cuffs and such a pretty face. The pheromones that vampires emit like a dangerous perfume keep humans enticed and befuddled with longing, and Logan’s are especially well tuned. They don’t have an actual smell that can be described, except lately in my case. It’s more subliminal than that, with the power to hypnotize. Kind of like the way wild animals can smell each other out in the forest, especially during mating season. If a vampire is particularly strong, humans don’t even remember being a meal; they just have a craving for rare steak or spinach. If we drink too much, they become anemic.

The pheromones don’t work on other vampires, except, of course, for mine, which are rapidly becoming a beacon for all of vampire kind. I’m special, and not in a good way, if you ask me. Vampires are rarely born, except in certain ancient families … Exhibit A, me and my seven obnoxious older brothers.

But I’m the only girl.

In about nine hundred years.

And the closer I get to my sixteenth birthday, the more I attract the others to me. It’s all very Snow White, except I don’t call bluebirds and deer out of the woods—only bloodthirsty vampires who want to kidnap me or kill me. Vampire politics are messy at best, and all Drakes have been exiled from the royal court since the very hour I was born. I’m considered a threat to the current ruler, Lady Natasha, because my genealogy is so impressive and because there’s some stupid prophecy from centuries ago that says the vampire tribes will be properly united under the rule of a daughter born to an ancient family.

And Lady Natasha, unlike me, wasn’t born into an ancient family—even if she considers herself to be the reigning vampire queen.

As if that’s my fault.

Luckily, my family much prefers living in quiet exile in the woods. I’d heard enough rumors about our ruler to be glad we’d never actually met. She feeds off humans and is barely circumspect about it; in fact, she loves the attention and the vampire groupies. She apparently doesn’t like pretty young girls; they never seem to survive her mood swings.

Technically, she shouldn’t be feeding off humans, and certainly not so nonchalantly. It was becoming an issue, even among her own people. There are royalists who follow her just because she’s so powerful, not because they particularly respect her. Fear, as always, is a great motivator.

And lately she’s been turning more and more humans into vampires, in order to gather more followers. The council makes her nervous, and I make her nervous, but most of all Leander Montmartre makes her nervous.

He has that affect on all of us.

He’s been turning humans for nearly three hundred years now, and he’s so violent and careless about it, he’s basically created a new breed of vampire. He leaves them half-turned and usually buried under the ground, to conquer the bloodchange on their own without any help at all. The thirst is so strong that it twists them and gives them a double set of fangs instead of just our one retractable pair. The ones that stay loyal to Montmartre are called the Host. The ones who defect call themselves the Cwn Mamau, the Hounds of the Mothers. They were either strong enough to survive alone, or were rescued and trained by other Hounds. Everyone knew they wanted to kill Montmartre, but they were so reclusive they wouldn’t accept outside help. They are fiercely independent, live in caves, serve a shamanka (female shaman), and wear bone beads in their hair. They’re kind of scary, but nowhere near as scary as the most dangerous of Montmartre’s creations called the Hel-Blar, who have blue-tinted skin, and teeth that are all fangs, sharpened like needles and unretractable. Hel-Blar means “blue death” in some ancient Viking language. Their bite, known as a “kiss,” can infect without any blood exchange, and it’s rumored they can turn both vampires and humans into Hel-Blar. Even Montmartre avoids them as much as possible. He’s not big on cleaning up his own mess. And they want him dead even more than the Hounds do—when they’re lucid enough to want anything more than blood. The Host and the Hounds managed to stay sane, unlike the Hel-Blar. No one can control them, not even Montmartre.

We live peacefully with other humans, and our family is one of the few ancient clans of the Raktapa Council. The council was formed ages ago when the families realized that we weren’t like other vampires: our change is genetic. We transform without being bitten, but we need vampire blood to survive that transformation. Afterward, we’re nearly immortal, like the others, vulnerable only to a stake through the heart, too much sunlight, or decapitation.

“Do Mom and Dad know about what happened after the party?” I asked, finally getting out of the car and facing the house. The original building had burned down during the Salem witch trials, even though we were nowhere near Salem. The locals had been superstitious and scared of every little thing. The house was rebuilt farther into the sheltering forest. It was simple and a little shabby from the outside, but the pioneer-style log cabin hid a luxurious heart full of velvet couches and stone fireplaces. The rosebushes under the leaded-glass windows were a little scraggly, the oak trees old and stately. I loved every single treated inch of it. Even my mother’s pinched and disapproving face behind the glass.

“Busted,” Logan murmured.

Moths flung themselves at the lamps. The screen door creaked when I pushed it open.

“Solange Rosamund Drake.”

I winced. Behind me, both my brothers did the same. My mother, Helena, was intimidating at the best of times with her long black hair and her pale eyes, and the fact that she can take down someone twice her size with a sword, a stake, or her petite bare hands.

“Ouch—middle name.” Logan shot me a sympathetic smile before easing into the living room and out of the crossfire.

“Snitch.” I pinched Nicholas. He only raised an eyebrow.

“Nicholas didn’t tell us anything.” My mom pinned him with a pointed glare. He squirmed a little. I’d known grown men to back away physically from that look. “One of your aunts was patrolling the perimeter and saw your escape.”

“Escape.” I rolled my eyes. “It was barely anything. They didn’t even come out of the cornfields. They were just sniffing me.”

“You have to be more careful,” my father, Liam, said calmly from his favorite chair. It kind of looked like a medieval throne. No surprise there. He’d only been born in 1901 but he carried himself like a king.

“I feel fine,” I said, exasperated. He was drinking brandy. I could smell it across the room, just like I could smell Uncle Geoffrey’s cologne, Aunt Hyacinth’s pug, and the thick perfume of roses. Just another one of our little gifts. I rubbed my nose so I wouldn’t sneeze.

“What’s with all the flowers?” I asked, noticing the roses. There were dozens and dozens of them everywhere, in every shade of red, stuffed in crystal vases, teacups, and jam jars.

“From your … admirers,” my father told me grimly.

“What?” Admirers, ha! They were only coming around because of my pheromones. It’s not my fault I smell funny. I shower every day, but apparently I still stink of lilies and warm chocolate and something else no one can accurately describe. Even Lucy commented on it once, and she’s nearly immune to us, having practically grown up here. No one else was smelly in such an obvious way; pheromones are usually subtle and mysterious. I really hope it fades once I fully turn.

The prophecy and my family’s legacy in the vampire world won’t, though.

Sometimes it sucks having a family that’s so old and powerful.

“Darling, it’s a great compliment, I’m sure,” my aunt Hyacinth said. She was technically my great-great-great-aunt. She didn’t look much over forty, even though she clung to the fashions of her youth in the privacy of the tribe, like most vampires. Her dress was Victorian in style, with a lace corset and jet beads. “When I was your age I had the best time. There’s nothing like the rush of being a debutante. All those men hungering after you.” She gave a delicate shiver.

“Hyacinth.” Dad grimaced. “You hadn’t even been turned then, and this is hardly a debutante’s ball. They don’t want to waltz, damn it.” My great-great-great-uncle Edward had married Aunt Hyacinth in 1853 and turned her in 1877, at her insistence. She was inspired by Queen Victoria’s undying love for her own husband and wanted to live for centuries by Edward’s side. I’d never met him, though, because he’d died in World War I, shot one night on a spy mission for the Allies because he was determined to do his part. She’d been alone ever since.

I glanced at a thick cream-colored paper card pinned to an enormous bouquet of white roses in a red box and froze.

“Montmartre?” I squeaked. “He sent me flowers?”

Dad flicked the box a baleful glare. “Yes.”

“I’m putting them down the incinerator,” I said darkly. The last thing I wanted was Montmartre or his Host to know who I was. I was also hoping to slip out while everyone else was distracted. I should have known better.

“You can do that later.” Mom pointed to a chair. “Sit.”

I dropped onto a velvet settee. Nicholas sat as well, joining my other brothers, who were all watching me grimly.

“Don’t you lot have anything better to do?” I asked.

“Than protecting our annoying baby sister?” Quinn drawled. “No.”

Being the only girl in a family of boys would have been tough enough to navigate, never mind a family with the rare ability to give birth to mostly male vampires. Even among the Drakes, that ability is rare. Most vampires are “made,” not born. My mom, for example, had been human until my dad turned her shortly after I was born and they’d decided they didn’t want any more children. He’d been born human too, like my brothers, until his sixteenth birthday—when he’d sickened, the way we all did—and would have died if my aunt hadn’t given him her blood to drink.

Family legend has it that the first of our clan was William Drake. No one knows how he was turned. We did know he married Veronique DuBois, a lady-in-waiting to Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine. A year after their wedding, she went into labor with their firstborn. After twenty-seven hours of childbirth, the midwife told William that Veronique was not going to survive the birth. In desperation, William turned her, and their twins were born healthy. By their sixteenth birthday, though, the twins weakened and grew unnaturally sensitive to the sunlight. They were hungry but couldn’t eat, thirsty but couldn’t drink. Nothing tempted them.

Except blood.

And so the Drake vampire family began.

Veronique, as the oldest surviving Drake, is our family matriarch. William was staked by a hunter during the reign of Henry VIII. Veronique rarely visited, preferring to have us come to her once we’d survived the change and she could afford to get attached. At least she hadn’t joined us tonight, which meant it wasn’t a formal meeting, just a family ambush. She was scary enough that she probably could have given Lady Natasha a run for her crown if she’d wanted it. Luckily for everyone, she preferred embroidery to court intrigue.

“Solange, are you listening to me?”

I jerked my head up.

“Yes.” I’d heard this particular lecture enough times over the last few months to know it intimately. “Nothing happened. You’re all overreacting.” I did feel guilty; I just knew better than to show it.

“There were at least three of them in that field tonight, maybe more.” Nicholas scowled. “You know they don’t all send flowers. Most of them just want to grab you and run.”

I scowled back. “I could have handled it. It wasn’t even full dark yet. Besides, if they were so dangerous, why’d you nearly leave Lucy behind?”

“You were going to leave Lucy there?” my mom sputtered, and Nicholas narrowed his eyes at me. I crossed my eyes smugly. Growing up with so many brothers taught me the fine art of misdirection, self-preservation, and revenge, if nothing else.

“She was fine.” I knew Nicholas was trying not to slump in his chair. “They weren’t after her. And she’s not fragile, for God’s sake.”

“She’s under the protection of this family,” my father said.

“I know, but she can look after herself. Broke my nose last summer, didn’t she?”

“Be that as it may.”

“Okay, okay.” Nicholas backed down.

“And you, young lady.” Dad turned to me. Every single one of my traitor brothers smirked. They look enough alike that people usually assume they’re all sets of twins. Only Quinn and Connor are actually twins. Quinn keeps his hair long and Connor, like Sebastian, prefers to fade quietly into the background. Logan is the flamboyant one, and Nicholas spends most of his free time worrying about me. Marcus and Duncan just came home from a road trip. They’re all gorgeous; it’s like living with a bunch of male models. And it makes girls stupid around them.

“You have to take this seriously.”

“I do, Dad,” I said quietly. “You know I do.”

“What I know is that they’re coming for you and soon you’ll be weaker than a blind kitten.”

“I know.” This totally sucked. I was getting in trouble over a party I hadn’t wanted to go to in the first place. I like being alone and staying on the farm. But I hate being trapped and hovered over.

“Let the girl be,” Hyacinth said, drinking delicately from a goblet. It looked like cherry cordial. It wasn’t.

“Thank you.” I swallowed thickly.

Did I mention?

I was squeamish about blood.

CHAPTER 2

Lucy

“Lucy, is that you?”

I kicked the door shut with my heel, still muttering under my breath. Nicholas was so infuriating. What was wrong with him anyway?

“Lucy?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” I called out.

“Where have you been? We nearly started without you, kiddo.” Dad came out of the kitchen with a bowl of hot popcorn, made from the corn he’d grown in the backyard. It was as close to junk food as my parents came. His long hair was in its usual ponytail, his sleeves rolled up to display his wolf and turtle tattoos. The wolf was his personal totem, and the turtle was our family totem.

“Pick out a movie, honey.” Mom looked up from the beads spread out on the coffee table. She was sitting cross-legged in old jeans and a peasant blouse, stringing a hundred and eight rose quartz beads together to make prayer malas. She makes them to give away as gifts at the ashram. My parents went every year, and they were leaving tomorrow morning before dawn. “What’s wrong? Is Solange all right?”

“She’s fine.” Mostly.

“Tell her we’ve asked the swami to pray for her. Why do you look so grumpy?”

“It’s Nicholas. He just makes me so mad sometimes.”

“Honey, you know anger poisons your body. You’ve always been too quick to get mad. Why do you think you have allergies? Your body’s always on hyper defense.”

“Mom.”

“Okay, okay,” she said. Dad winked at me and passed the popcorn. “Are you going to be all right here on your own while we’re away? I stocked the fridge.”

“With tofu?” I grimaced.

“I don’t want you gorging on junk food while we’re away, young lady.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, I’m not eating weird tofu casseroles for two weeks.” My parents had passed on their sense of social justice, even if they chose to fight with sit-ins and I preferred to swing a punch. Call it family rebellion. I felt the same way about tofu as I did about sit-ins. I’m sure they’re both good for the soul, but I’d once breathed in a lungful of tear gas when my parents took me to a global warming protest and I swore I’d never lay limp in the road again. One time, Dad was hit by a rubber bullet, and the bruises on his chest had scared me more than any polluting global corporation or vicious dictator could have. Even scarier was the fact that he hadn’t gotten angry, had actually lain down for it. When I turned fifteen, I was finally able to convince them to leave me behind when they went on their annual retreat.

“Maybe we should call your aunt to come stay with you,” Mom said.

Not that they didn’t worry.

“I was fine last year and I’ll be fine this year, Mom. Besides, Lucinda’s in Vegas with her new girlfriend, remember?” I crunched some popcorn. “Stop fretting, it’s bad for your chi.”

“She’s got you there.” Dad grinned.

“I’ll probably stay at the Drakes’ most nights anyway, just like last year,” I assured her. “So, can we just watch the movie now?” I turned up the volume before she could find something else to worry about.

When the movie was over, my parents went to bed and I went back to Solange’s. I’d only had my license for a few months, but the car already practically drove itself there. Although I didn’t see a single person, I knew I was spotted by various guards and family members before I’d even made it onto the outskirts of the Drake compound. I didn’t know why Mom was so worried; she’d already asked Bruno, the Drakes’ head bodyguard, to check up on me.

The dogs didn’t bother to bark when I got out. There were three of them, big, shaggy gray-black Bouviers, which looked more like bears than dogs. They might have been intimidating if they weren’t currently shoving their damp noses in my pockets and whimpering for treats. I had more to fear from the windstorm they might cause with the ferocious wagging of their stubby tails.

The lamps were lit—soft yellow light gleamed through the windows. The light was always soft in the Drake house. I went around to the side, hoping Solange’s bedroom window was open. I could have knocked. I usually did. It wasn’t as if anyone would be asleep, and they could usually smell my presence anyway. But I didn’t know if I was in trouble. I’d apologize if I was, but I hated going in unprepared. Regular parents were bad enough, but vampire parents were in a class all their own. Solange’s window was closed, so I texted her. Nothing.

“Lucky.”

I yelped like a scalded cat, whirling so fast I made myself dizzy. My phone landed in the bushes. Nicholas smirked at me, easing languidly out of the shadows. His pale eyes gleamed. I gasped for breath, thumping my chest. That was the second time in one night I’d practically choked on my own heart. Nicholas licked his lips. I remembered Solange’s warning and tried to calm my pulse.

“What the hell, Nicky!” I muttered. He hated being called that as much as I hated being called Lucky. He stepped closer, totally invading my personal space. I hated that he was so handsome, with his tousled dark hair and his serious expression, like some ancient scholar. There was something else in his expression suddenly, something slightly wicked. I took a step back, wondering why my stomach felt funny. He advanced and I backed away some more, suspicious, until I bumped into the log wall of the house. I remembered, too late, Solange’s simplest warning about vampires: if you ran, they chased. It was just in their nature.

I stopped abruptly and lifted my chin, trying to pretend my shoulder blades weren’t pressing into the log wall and I had nowhere to go.

“What?”

He was close enough that his legs practically brushed mine.

He was close enough, in point of fact, to kiss.

I was instantly horrified the thought had even crossed my mind. I tried to comfort myself with the idea that it was probably just those legendary pheromones. I was used to them, but I wasn’t completely immune. And the fact was, he was looking at me the way I looked at chocolate fudge.

I bit my lower lip. He blinked, and then his face went impassive again, nearly cold; but I noticed the flare of heat in his eerie eyes.

“That was a stupid thing you did,” he said.

And there was the Nicholas I knew. Of course he hadn’t been flirting with me. What had I been thinking?

“It was just a party.”

“It was reckless.” He jerked a hand through his hair, messing it further. “We’re trying to protect her. You’re not making it any easier.”

“You’re smothering her.” I scowled. “And I was protecting her, too.”

“By putting her in needless danger just to flirt with some drunk kid? This isn’t a game.”

“I know that,” I snapped. “But you don’t know her like I do. And she’s been so stressed out by you and your overbearing baboon brothers, I just wanted to cheer her up.”

He paused, and when he spoke again it was quietly. “She can’t protect herself if she’s worried about protecting you.”

Ouch. Direct hit. The indignation whooshed out of me, leaving me feeling deflated and foolish.

“Oh.” I really hated it when he was right. “All right. Fine.”

I was spared his self-satisfied reply when his cell phone rang discreetly from inside the pocket of his black cargo pants. He barely glanced at me.

“Go home. Now.”

He walked away, leaving me staring at his back. I retrieved my phone to text Solange: I do not like your brother. I stomped all the way back to the car. The dogs had abandoned me to follow Nicholas, growling low in their throats. I kind of hoped they’d bite him. Right on the ass.

Just as I was reaching for the car door handle, a hand clamped over my shoulder and spun me around. Before I could make a single sound, Nicholas’s mouth covered mine completely. He yanked me closer. His eyes were the misty gray of rain. His lips moved, briefly. It wasn’t even a whisper but even that sound was hidden under the almost-but-not-quite kiss.

“We’re not alone.”

I stiffened.

“Shhh.” He bent his head. Anyone watching would have assumed he was kissing me and enjoying it. I admit, I was enjoying it too.

A shadow moved near the hedges, too quickly to be natural. The crickets went silent. Knowing the sharpness of vampire hearing, I darted a glance pointedly over Nicholas’s left shoulder. He didn’t speak, didn’t even nod, but I knew he understood. He kept kissing me, his tongue darting out to touch mine. It was totally distracting. He was edging me away from the car, guiding me backward, toward the house.

“Don’t run.” He nipped my lower lip.

“I know.” Afraid I was the only one experiencing all these interesting feelings, I nipped back. His hands tightened. His mouth was on my ear when we reached the porch. By the lower step his palms moved over my waist, my hips. His lips were clever, wicked.

Perfect.

At the front door he stopped and shoved me abruptly into the foyer. I stumbled, knocking over a vase of roses. Glass shards, red petals, and water scattered over the stone floor. My lips felt swollen, tingly. Focus, Lucy. The hallway was already full of grim-mouthed Drake boys before I’d even caught my breath. Solange’s mom pushed past me, leading them out. Nicholas was a blur between the oak trees. There were the unmistakable sounds of fighting: grunts, hissing, bones snapping.

“Are you okay?” Solange practically leaped on me.

“I’m fine.”

She was heading out after her brothers when her father’s voice cut through the foyer.

“Solange.”

She stopped, looked over her shoulder. “They might need help.”

“No.”

“Dad.”

“No. They’re here for you. If you go out there, it will only make things worse.”

I knew that look on her face. She was biting her tongue. I knew how much she hated this. Helena was the warrior in the family, had been even when she was winning martial arts competitions as a human, and she’d trained her children well. Even I’d gotten the benefit of a few tricks, but none of it would do us any good tonight. Still, I was really glad I knew how to break someone’s kneecap and three ways to incapacitate using only my thumb. And to think I used to worry about midterms.

The foyer was warm and civilized, lit by warmly glowing Tiffany lamps. Liam stood between us and the battle raging in the bedraggled garden. He was nearly tall enough to obscure our vision, but we leaned sideways around him. Part of me didn’t want to see what was happening; the rest of me absolutely couldn’t handle not knowing. The shadows coalesced, and I watched fangs gleam and bodies jump higher than they should have been able to. The snarls lifted the hair on the back of my neck.

Nicholas was fast and clever but I’d never seen him like this before. His face was hard as he leaped and dodged, sent his boot into the midsection of a vampire not much older than us, with long blond hair. They both tumbled, but only Nicholas landed on his feet. I felt inordinately proud about that.

All of Solange’s brothers held their own, but only Quinn appeared to be enjoying himself. He grinned even as a fist, moving so fast it was a flesh-colored blur, broke his nose. Blood trickled down to his lip and he licked it. Helena laughed behind him, somersaulting out of the way of a stake and landing behind her attacker. He disintegrated in a cloud of dust at her feet.

“I want one alive and able to speak,” Liam called out. He shook his head at Solange. “Honestly, your mother’s worse than the boys. Helena”—he raised his voice slightly—“leave me one, damn it.”

“Spoilsport,” she muttered before reining herself in. Her flying kick only knocked the vampire into a tree instead of shattering his ribs. Hyacinth made a small sound behind us. The jet beads around her neck caught the light, glimmered.

“That’s hardly ladylike,” she said disapprovingly. Which was amusing since I’d heard the stories of what she did in her spare time—and it wasn’t taking tea and eating cucumber sandwiches.

A vampire fled, disappearing into the woods. One of them shuddered, turned to ash, and drifted into the hedges. The stake tumbled to the ground. Solange’s second-oldest brother, Sebastian, wiped his hands off dispassionately and then turned to help his mother drag the half-conscious vampire she’d thrown into the tree toward the house. Connor was speaking quietly into his cell phone to Bruno.

I pressed my back against the wall as a parade of teeth and feral smiles passed me. When they were all gathered in the parlor, I followed. I went to my favorite purple velvet armchair by the fireplace. Solange stood next to me, her eyes never leaving that of the young man currently being tied up. His shirt was torn, his dark reddish brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. His eyelids fluttered but didn’t open. I wouldn’t have opened them either if all seven Drake brothers were standing around me, glaring. Never mind Helena, who waved them aside with barely a flick of her wrist. She sniffed once, delicately.

“He smells like kith.” She whispered but shook her head. “Kind of.”

Liam frowned, sniffed as well.

“Something’s not right.” His gaze narrowed, sharpened. “Left arm.”

We all looked even though I didn’t know what I was looking at. The tip of a tattoo poked out from under his pushed-up sleeve. It looked like a stylized tribal-style sun but I couldn’t be sure.

“Damn,” Nicholas muttered. “Helios-Ra.”

Everyone looked totally bummed out over such a comic-book name. He stirred. There was a gentle waft of lilies and chocolate, almost right, but not quite. Everyone else was still scenting the air like hunting hounds, nostrils flared.

“What?” I whispered to Solange. “What’s with all the sniffing? It’s creeping me out.”

She didn’t have time to answer because he opened his eyes, suddenly, as if he’d been poked with something sharp. His eyes weren’t pale, not like every other vampire’s I’d ever seen.

They were very black and very hostile.

A date with a super sexy vampire can be deadly. Find out how in A Killer First Date.

Lucy

“I look stupid,” I said to Solange, who was sprawled on my bed. She rolled over to look at me, keeping her place in the book she’d been reading with her finger.

“It’s just Nicholas.” She rolled her eyes. They were faintly bloodshot, but just enough to make her look tired, not scary.

I grimaced at her in the mirror. I was standing in a pile of discarded clothes, wearing outfit number three—a pair of rolled-up, patched jeans and a black peasant blouse embroidered with green leaves around the neckline. “He might be your brother, Sol, but this is our first real date. You know, without vampires trying to kill us, or eat us, or otherwise horribly maim us.” I closed my eyes briefly, swearing under my breath. “I just totally jinxed it, didn’t I?”

She nodded sympathetically. “Probably.” Her fangs poked out from under her top lip but she still looked like she was made of porcelain—someone’s morbid idea of a doll.

I reached for my new favorite stake, an altered hairpin printed with turquoise-blue skulls. I slipped it into the embroidered purse I’d taken to wearing everywhere. It was heavy with stakes, a casing full of Hypnos powder, a pocketknife, and a bag of chocolate-covered coffee beans. Hey, survival should not be uncaffeinated.

I looked at my reflection one more time. “I wonder if I should change back into that—” I cut myself off abruptly. “Oh my God, your brother’s making me stupid.” I resolutely turned my back on the mirror. I wasn’t that girl. And I wasn’t about to let a guy, no matter how damn hot he was, turn me into something I wasn’t.

Solange grinned. “Hi, Lucy, welcome back.”

I threw one of my discarded shirts at her. “We will never speak of this again.”

“So where are you guys going, anyway?”

“School carnival,” I said. “Why don’t you come too? You need to get out.”

She stared at me. “Are you nuts? I’m not going to be your third wheel.”

“So call Kieran.”

“He’s on duty.” Translated: hunting the feral Hel-Blar vampires who were roaming entirely too close to Violet Hill for anyone’s liking. She pushed her black hair off her face. “Anyway, I want to work on my pottery wheel tonight.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” She grabbed her knapsack, which hid an extra bottle of blood, just in case. “I should get going. Is Nicholas meeting you there?”

“Yes.” Before I could stop it, thoughts of Nicholas made my heart stutter with excitement. Solange slid me a sidelong glance and stepped back. Vampires. They were so bloody sensitive. “I wanted to save him from my mother.”

“She told me there was blood in the basement fridge if I was thirsty. Your mom rocks.”

“Yeah, wait until she tells Nicholas that being the bloodsucking undead doesn’t excuse him from family dinners or safe sex.”

Solange choked. “She wouldn’t.” Our glances met. “She totally would.”

“Yup,” I said. “Wait.” I paused. “One more accessory.” I darted to my side table.

She groaned. “You’re starting to scare me, Hamilton.”

I grabbed a pendant I hadn’t been able to resist buying last week and slipped it on the chain with the Drake cameo I never took off. It was a silver heart, which was totally not me. Except for the words engraved in the center: Bite me.

I grinned at Solange. “I’m armed with stakes and sarcasm. Now I’m ready.”

“Is this a date or an ambush?”

I snorted, looping my arm through hers. “What do you think?”

Hunter

“Is that all you’ve got, Wild?”

It might have been easier to come up with a witty retort if I weren’t lying flat on my back in the mud, the dark forest towering over me. Even worse, Spencer was the one who’d put me here. In four years of school training drills, he’d never once taken me down.

Of course, he hadn’t been a vampire until just recently.

He looked the same with his blond dreads and turquoise beads. His transformation was so recent, he even still had his tan. It was just that his teeth were a little sharper and his eyes a touch more mesmerizing. But I knew better than to look directly into the eyes of a vampire, friend or not. Vampire pheromones were more complicated than that, but there was no denying they seemed to work best with eye contact.

“Damn.” My roommate, Chloe, whistled. “Vampire blood is even better than those stupid steroid pills that give you a mustache.” She had intimate and unfortunate firsthand experience with those pills, and I still caught her checking for facial hair, tweezers in hand. Chloe’s mother had slipped them to her to avoid her getting dosed with a secret poison one of the teachers, Ms. Dailey, had been using on unsuspecting students. The poison was called Trojan Horse and it tainted weak hunters’ blood. When they eventually got drained by a stronger vampire, the vampire would be poisoned and also die. Dailey had tried to use me as a test subject after I’d “disappointed” her. There was no such thing as a simple detention at the Helios-Ra vampire hunter high school.

“You used to suck, Spence,” Chloe added.

“Ha-ha,” he remarked drily. Spencer might have been a classmate up until a few weeks ago, but he’d mostly focused on the new Supernatural Studies curriculum. Spells and magic fascinated him, not vampires. But when he’d been infected by a Hel-Blar and accidentally dosed with the Trojan Horse poison, the school doctor had opted to turn him completely instead of watching another student die in her infirmary. I’d rather have my best friend back—even as a vampire—than lying dead in the earth. I trusted him to be stronger than the monster inside. I had proof it was possible.

So Spencer survived, the doctor was fired, and the school was still in an uproar. That last bit was partly my fault, as I’d helped take down Ms. Dailey. And I’d collaborated with a vampire against another hunter. Even when that hunter was insane, collaboration with vampires wasn’t exactly normal procedure.

And by collaborate I mean: date.

And, even more mortifying, he’d rescued me.

I was pretty sure that part had nearly killed Grandpa. He still wasn’t talking to me.

I rubbed my sore shoulder. “You’re definitely stronger,” I told Spencer.

He winced. “Dude. Sorry. Did I hurt you?”

I dusted off my hands. “Again.”

“Are you sure?” His eyes glittered. “It’s not exactly a fair fight.”

I narrowed my own very brown and human eyes back at him. “Less talk, more walk.”

He grinned even as I tried to kick in his new pointy teeth. And he evaded me easily, which was frustrating enough that I think I might have growled. Now I knew how Lucy felt, constantly surrounded by the Drake vampire brothers. No wonder she had such a smart mouth. It was the only weapon left to us sometimes.

Like hell.

I had blades in the soles of my boots, Hypnos powder in the cuff of my jacket, stakes on my belt, and training in several styles of martial arts.

But I couldn’t use any of them because this was just practice and Spencer wasn’t the enemy, whatever the school board might have to say about him.

When I landed in a pile of decaying leaves, Spencer was suddenly behind me instead of in front of me. I threw a stake at him, blunt end out, and as he was leaning out of the way, I charged again, taking him by surprise. I hooked my leg behind his knees and strong-armed him across the throat, knocking him off his feet. He fell with more grace than he’d ever shown in his human life, even on a surfboard, where he was at his best.

And he took me with him.

I pushed to my feet, winded and bruised but happy. Spencer’s fangs were a little too elongated. He suddenly looked as if he was in pain. He made a strange sound and stumbled back a step, holding up a hand as if to ward me off. Chloe and I exchanged worried glances and I put more distance between us.

“Spence, you okay?”

He nodded, reaching for a bottle out of his bag. The faint moonlight and the perimeter of lanterns around us made it look like cranberry juice. It wasn’t.

And then Quinn was there, sauntering between us, his smirk easy and charming but his stance deceptively alert.

“Shouldn’t you be taking it easy?” he drawled. He always drawled when there were other people around, but when we were alone he was surprisingly sweet. Especially for someone who was so eye-scorchingly hot.

“This is taking it easy,” I told him, drinking from the water bottle Chloe handed me.

“Yeah, no one’s bleeding.” Chloe rolled her eyes. “Or needs stitches. It’s like watching old ladies drink tea.”

“Not quite,” Quinn said softly. Spencer had his back turned and when he faced us again, he was pale under his tan. Quinn’s blue eyes cataloged him briefly. “I told you, you weren’t ready.”

Spencer’s smile was wan. “I’m ready for normal girls.”

Chloe and I grinned at him. “Aw,” Chloe said. “That’s so sweet.”

Quinn shifted so that his arm crossed me protectively. I briefly considered flipping him over my shoulder, just to prove I could.

“You know,” he said conversationally, as if he wasn’t trying to shield me. “Most people who’ve recently been poisoned and had a blood transfusion might consider napping as a new hobby.”

Chloe laughed out loud. “Oh, Quinn, you might be pretty but you have a lot to learn about vampire hunter girls.”

“Like how to duck,” Spencer added, his voice sounding more normal. He was still standing on the other side of the clearing though. “I’m going to go.”

I nodded. “Okay. Be careful.”

“You too.”

“And answer your damn cell phone,” Chloe called after him. “Why do you think we got it for you?”

We both turned to Quinn. “Is he really okay?”

He nodded. “Actually, he’s doing really well. Was he always this laid-back?”

“Yeah. He was always the only one who didn’t freak out during exams and end-of-year battle testing.”

“I know you’re really good at it, but maybe don’t beat him up for a while. It makes it that much harder to chain the hunger.”

“Oh. Okay.”

His smile was easy again and he winked. “Ready to go?”

I looked at my leaf-strewn hair and mud-stained cargo pants. “Not quite.”

I darted behind a tree to change into the dress I’d brought in my gym bag. I pulled out my hair tie and brushed out the stray leaves. Then I traded my boots for Converse sneakers but kept the denim jacket with Hypnos stakes in the sleeves and pockets. The League and the school had issued alerts that students were to be fully armed when off campus. There were just too many Hel-Blar vampires around Violet Hill right now for anyone to be complacent. I grabbed my knapsack, which held a miniature crossbow and other necessities, and passed Chloe my gym bag.

“I’m going to head back,” she said, plucking a stray leaf from my hair. “Someone has to cover for you while you have all the fun.”

Since it was Saturday night and I was in my last year, I was technically allowed off campus. I wasn’t breaking the rules.

Unless, of course, you counted dating a vampire as breaking the rules.

I felt certain the league would. Grandpa certainly did. But times were changing and it was suicidal to pretend otherwise. For one thing, Quinn Drake hadn’t flirted with another girl in more than two weeks. Biblical types might have been murmuring about the apocalypse by now.

He tossed his dark hair off his face, raising an appreciative eyebrow at my short dress, even though I had to wear cropped leggings underneath, in case I had to fight. “Ready?”

I smiled back, my stomach doing that slow burn it always did when we were alone.

Lucy

The carnival didn’t look as cheesy under the stars, with the lights glinting off the dark water of the lake. I could smell popcorn and the ever-present pine from all the forests around town. I waited near the ticket booth, searching the shadows for vampires and making sure there was no mushroom-rot stench of a Hel-Blar. Just another hazard of living in Violet Hill. Even first dates needed a proper security sweep.

We’d decided to meet here. I didn’t want my parents mortifying me, and the closed confines of a car apparently didn’t do anything for Nicholas’s self-control. I wasn’t worried; he did that enough for both of us. I glanced at my watch.

“Don’t tell me the mythical Nicholas is finally going to make an appearance,” my friend Nathan teased, coming up behind me.

I poked him. “Behave.”

The parking lot was full of students crowding out of cars and jostling past us to get tickets. I already had ours in my jacket pocket.

Vanessa bounced up to us. She was nice enough, just so perky it kind of hurt. “Hi, guys!”

“Hi, Van,” Nathan said for both of us.

“Isn’t this superfun?” She beamed, her lip gloss catching the lights from the booths. Her straight brown hair swung as she put a hand on Nathan’s shoulder and smiled. She had to know he was gay but she still flirted with him incessantly. “Don’t forget to buy raffle tickets! We want to hold the prom somewhere really awesome this year!” She all but skipped away.

“Have you noticed everything she says has! exclamation! points!” I asked.

“She’s definitely caffeinated,” Nathan agreed. “And she makes me tired. But she’ll be the reason we won’t have prom in a barn that smells like cowshit like they did last year.”

“Too true,” I said. “I’m buying extra raffle tickets.” I shook my head at the way she giggled at everyone she passed. “Didn’t Brent break up with her? Like today?” Brent and I had bio class together.

Nathan shrugged. “The perk is undefeated.”

I looked back at the parking lot, watching for Nicholas. It must be eight thirty by now. I shifted from one foot to the other. It was dumb to feel nervous. It was Nicholas. We’d grown up together. We’d flung mud and insults at each other. But it was different now. Not the mud and insult flinging, we’d always do that. But now our world was tilted. He was important, and not in the comfortable one-of-Solange’s-many-annoying-brothers way. He was vital, like air and chocolate.

And he was here.

He broke out of the thinning crowd, the wind tousling his dark hair, his gray eyes like starlight. He wore dark jeans and a black shirt under his green army jacket. I knew the inside pockets would be filled with stakes and assorted deadly weapons.

“Yummy,” Nathan said, openly gawking. “That’s your boyfriend? I want one!”

I laughed and shoved him lightly. “Go away, Nathan. You’ll scare him with all that drooling.”

“But …”

“I’ll introduce you later,” I promised, trying not to fidget nervously. Nathan stepped back mumbling, but I ignored him. Nicholas walked toward me, his serious face touched with the slightest smirk. He’d probably heard every word we said.

“Hey,” he said softly, stopping right in front of me, close enough that I had to tilt my head back.

“Hey,” I said back, a little shyly. We weren’t at the Drake farmhouse or locked in a dungeon or otherwise running for our lives; we were breaking all of our patterns and I wasn’t sure of my footing. For some reason I felt warm, as if my cheeks were red. His smirk turned to a grin. “Don’t make me punch you on our first date,” I muttered, but I was grinning too.

He raised an eyebrow at the carnival behind me. “Want to ride the Ferris wheel?”

“That death trap? Hell, no. Let’s find the cotton-candy machine.”

“Deal. I bet cotton candy tastes good on you.” I swallowed, reflexively licking my bottom lip. He leaned in closer, his mouth just barely brushing mine when he spoke. “Ready?”

I nodded, breathless despite myself. He pulled back as if it was the most difficult thing he’d ever done.

Oh man, I was in real trouble with this new Nicholas.

We walked through the entryway, instantly assaulted with sounds and lights, with palm readers and paintings of bearded ladies, with whistles and bells and spinning pink cotton candy, and most of my high school student body all pressed together. I glanced up at Nicholas. His jaw clenched, unclenched. “Are you going to be okay?” I asked him.

He smiled, his teeth slightly pointed. “Sure.”

We walked the circuit, passing the food stands frying funnel cakes and burgers, and the game booths, ceilings bristling with giant, multicolored stuffed animals. I paused in front of the crossbow game.

Nicholas cocked an eyebrow. “Want me to win you a stuffed bunny?”

“Ha.” I rubbed my hands together. “I’ll win my own stuffed bunny, thanks very much.”

Nicholas passed the attendant a few dollars to pay for my turn. “I guess it’s nice to see you use your legendary aim for something other than breaking my nose,” he teased.

“The night is young,” I snapped back, lifting the plastic crossbow. “This is a pathetic weapon,” I muttered. “I couldn’t stake an undead mouse with this thing.”

“It’s supposed to be a game, remember?” he whispered, laughter in his dark voice.

I fired my three shots, all crowding into the bull’s-eye. With a triumphantly smug toss of my head, I looked at the openmouthed attendant. “I want the purple bunny.”

He tugged it down and passed it over to me. I slipped it into my bag while Nicholas shook his head.

“Dump this loser, Lucy, and run away with me. You’ll never have to win your own crosseyed bunny again.”

I grinned up at Nicholas’s brother Quinn, who was smiling his charming smile, his arm draping casually over my shoulder. Hunter rolled her eyes at me from my other side.

“No way,” I said. “My aim’s better than yours. Plus, your girlfriend can hurt me.”

“Ooh,” Quinn said, winking. “Catfight. Hot.” He grinned. “Ouch,” he added when both Hunter and I smacked him. Hunter looked different, wearing a sundress instead of her usual Helios-Ra vampire hunter gear and her hair loose. Still, sundress or cargo pants, she knew three different ways to incapacitate someone using just her left elbow.

“Hunter probably wants to do a sweep, so we’re going to go make out on the Ferris wheel.” Quinn waggled his eyebrows at us. “Multitasking.” Hunter laughed as he pulled her toward the glittering rides.

Nicholas took my hand again. “I hear small families are nice,” he said drily, the way he always did when one of his many brothers was bugging him. “What do you want to do first?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

“Cotton candy it is,” he said, eyes twinkling.

I ate sugary pink fluff and we walked around, like any other couple. If he tried to shield me when the pop of the hunting games broke through the chatter, well, that was normal too. For us, anyway. When a girl in a blue dress ran toward us, I stepped in front of him reaching for a stake, thinking she might be Hel-Blar. But there was no screaming, no blood. It was just a night at a carnival, just two people holding hands and smiling, just sugar and starlight.

I should have known better.

Still, for now, our biggest concern was Nathan, bearing down on us, grinning manically. Linnet trailed behind him, quiet and mortified as always.

“Lucy,” Nathan said. “Hi.”

“Hi, Nathan.” I glanced at Nicholas. “Nicholas, this is my friend Linnet.”

Linnet smiled shyly. “Hi.”

Nathan stared at me so pointedly and pathetically I took pity on him. Besides, if he kept clearing his throat so hard he’d probably choke to death. “And this is Nathan.”

“Hey,” Nicholas said.

Nathan apparently coughed so much he’d swallowed his tongue. He just smiled and looked slightly insane. And I was sure his heart was doing all sorts of interesting things. They just don’t come cuter than the Drake brothers. Smothering a laugh I nudged Nicholas around them. “See you guys later.”

“Is he okay?” Nicholas asked. “His blood pressure was all weird.”

“He’s fine. He just thinks you’re hot.”

“Shut up.” Nicholas’s ears went red at the tips. It was totally adorable.

I laughed. “Face it, Nicky, the Drakes are yummy.”

He ran a hand over his face, embarrassed. “Stop it, Lucky.”

“Make me,” I dared him. I kept grinning, until his fingers closed around my wrists and he tugged me closer. I was pressed up against his chest and he moved me backward, as if we were dancing, until my shoulders touched the side wall of a booth. We were hidden in the shadows under a striped awning. My hands clenched into his shirt. He lowered his head, his mouth descending toward mine.

The kiss never landed.

Hunter

“You vamped him, didn’t you?” I asked Quinn under my breath, when the attendant waved us through from the back of the line.

Quinn just grinned. “I only use my powers for good, not evil,” he assured me as we climbed into a swinging basket. The seat was cracked red leather, with a white-painted iron cage under our feet.

“Oh, you’re definitely evil,” I said as the safety bar clicked over us. He was close enough that I could see the flare of his blue eyes, the shadows of his cheekbones. His smile was slow and seductive. He was so beautiful it was sometimes hard to look at him, like staring into the sun too long. Which was ironic considering I belonged to a vampire hunter league named after two sun gods. But Helios and Ra had nothing on Quinn Drake.

He leaned closer still as the Ferris wheel creaked into motion, the basket swinging wildly on its hinges. “Are you scared?”

“No, am I supposed to be?”

“Yes.” He laughed. “So I can be all protective and macho.”

“Oh, right. I keep forgetting.” I grinned back at him.

The Ferris wheel turned slowly, bringing us up to the top, where it paused dramatically. The whirling, brightly colored lights of the carnival danced below us, and the porch lights of houses gleamed in the distance. The lake was a black spot, only faintly touched by moonlight. Out of habit, I did a visual sweep, checking for exits, defendable corners, the odd blue tint of Hel-Blar skin.

Quinn laughed again. I glanced at him. “What?”

“You’re checking access points or something, aren’t you?”

I wrinkled my nose. “Oops. Sorry. Occupational hazard,” I admitted.

“Let’s see if I can’t distract you,” he murmured, bending his head. His mouth touched mine, softly, tenderly. When I kissed him back, the kiss went deep and dark, like warm ocean water. We were floating above the world and nothing else mattered. The basket rocked lightly as the Ferris wheel creaked into motion again. His hands brushed my face gently even as his tongue touched mine with a hunger that made my head spin. I nipped at his lower lip.

We were halfway between the top of the wheel and the ground when Quinn went still. His hands froze in my hair. He tilted his head, his eyes like blue fire. I knew that look.

I searched the laughing crowds below us, reaching for my bag of weapons.

Lucy

Nicholas turned his head so sharply that I reached for a stake out of instinct. He stared at the edge of the trees, on the side of the parking lot where it came up against the boardwalk. “Someone’s screaming.” I couldn’t hear it over the din of the fair. He pointed. “There.”

“Go,” I said. “You’re way faster. I’ll get backup and find you.”

“No, stay here,” he tossed over his shoulder before he became a blur of colors, leaving a whirlwind of discarded popcorn boxes and other litter in his wake.

“Yeah, right,” I muttered, already reaching for my cell phone to call Hunter. I pushed through the crowd toward the Ferris wheel. Before it rang I saw her and Quinn, their seat bobbing dangerously, third from the ground. Quinn leaped and landed on his feet, racing after his brother. Hunter jumped down just as I got there, her blond hair streaming behind her. The attendant squawked at her, waving his arms frantically. But she was already on the ground and we were running as fast as we could for the woods.

“Nicholas heard it too?” she asked.

I nodded, panting. I didn’t train at a vampire hunter high school like she did. My lungs were already burning. I ignored the pain and pushed myself to go faster. Hunter pulled a handheld miniature crossbow out of her bag and handed it to me. “Here, you’re better with this thing than I am.”

I armed it when we slowed down, picking our way carefully through the underbrush. We listened for the sounds of a fight, for another scream. A cloud of rotten mushrooms and green pond water hit us like a fist.

“Why can’t they smell like dead flowers like some of the others?” I gagged.

Hunter didn’t reply. But she did drop to the ground and sweep her legs out, knocking me off my feet. I stumbled and fell hard. A stake whistled between us, thunking into a tree. Sheer luck had me twisting so I didn’t break the crossbow or impale myself on it either. The Hel-Blar who’d thrown the stake clacked his saliva-dripping teeth at us, launching himself at Hunter. I released the crossbow bolt and it slammed into his chest. The moment it pierced his heart, his blue-tinged flesh disintegrated and blew away.

Hunter sat up. “Thanks.”

I sat up too, the stake in the pine trunk an inch over my head. “Back at you.” It would have caught me right between my shoulders if she hadn’t shoved me out of the way. I loaded another bolt and pushed to my feet. Hunter was already up and spinning on her heel, searching the shadows and listening.

When Quinn and Nicholas burst out of the trees I nearly loosed a crossbow bolt at them. Hunter’s arm stuttered as she stopped herself from launching a stake at the very last second. We all stared at each other, wide-eyed.

“Hell of a carnival,” Quinn said, shoving his hair out of his face.

“And I thought our school events were interesting,” Hunter agreed. “Lucy dropped a Hel-Blar.”

“I told you to stay at the carnival,” Nicholas said.

“Oh, right, ’cause you’re the boss of me,” I scoffed. “Get a grip, Drake.”

Quinn snorted. “Told you, little brother.”

“What did you guys find?” Hunter asked.

“Another Hel-Blar, but we took care of her,” Quinn said.

“There’s a girl too,” Nicholas added. “Kinda drunk and weepy.”

Hunter sighed. “Is she okay? Do we need to get her to the infirmary?”

“She’s fine,” Quinn grumbled.

“Are you sure?”

“Fine enough to grab his ass.” Nicholas smirked.

Quinn glanced at Hunter, then at his brother. “Shut up, man.”

Hunter rolled her eyes. “Like I don’t already know girls love you, Quinn,” she said. She pushed through the branches, stopping only to glance back at him. “Shouldn’t we check on her?”

Quinn motioned to the trail coming out of the trees and leading to the fairgrounds. “She went back to the carnival.” He took Hunter’s hand. “Let’s go steal a rowboat,” he murmured at her. He didn’t even look back at us. “See ya.”

Nicholas and I made our way back to the whirling lights of the carnival. Adrenaline was still buzzing through me, making the colors look brighter and sharper. The rides all seemed to be going too fast, people’s faces spinning and spinning.

“You know, I see a flaw in our carnival plan,” Nicholas whispered in my ear as a group jostled past us.

“What’s that?” Shivers tickled my neck when his tongue gently touched my earlobe.

“Too many damn people.” His words were husky, smoky.

I glanced at him. He’d just taken out a Hel-Blar and had smelled fresh human blood. His pupils were dilated and his fangs were lengthening slightly but not enough for anyone else to notice. “Are you speaking as a vampire?”

“No, just as a guy who wants to kiss his girlfriend without an audience.” His gaze roamed the edges of the midway. “This one’s empty,” he said finally, tugging me behind the Tilt-A-Whirl to a stationary merry-go-around. We snuck around the Under Repair sign and climbed onto the circular platform, wandering between painted horses, unicorns, and a red dragon. Two prancing white horses pulled a purple carriage. Gray eyes flaring, Nicholas pulled me inside.

Adrenaline and desire made me feel as if I were on fire, and that was before Nicholas even kissed me. Or I kissed him. It didn’t matter who closed the distance between us first; it only mattered that his mouth was on mine, that my hands were running over the muscles of his arms, that his cool fingers dug into my waist. His tongue stroked mine and I made a tiny sound that had him yanking me even tighter against his chest. I couldn’t get close enough. I shifted so that I was sitting in his lap. His teeth grazed my lower lip.

The carousel lurched into motion but we didn’t even pause. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered, not even whatever strange force was pushing us in circles. His hand tangled in my hair and he pulled my head back to trail his mouth along my neck. I shivered and pulled his face back up, kissing him deeply. I felt reckless, like a Roman candle burning in a dry field. He moved against me, responding just as quickly, just as desperately.

His fangs elongated so suddenly, one of them scratched my lip. A drop of blood welled, tasting coppery on my tongue. He jerked back, his hands still clamped around my arms but holding me away from him as if I were dangerous. My breath was loud and ragged. His chest was moving too, as if his body had forgotten he didn’t need to breathe.

He licked the tiniest of drops of my blood off his lip, slowly, so slowly I couldn’t look at anything else.

And then the carousel sped up, dislodging me. I fell against the side of the chariot, fighting the momentum of the spinning horses.

Nicholas frowned, also struggling to get to his feet. “Something’s wrong.”

Hunter

I didn’t even ask Quinn where he found the rowboat. It was small and painted white, with a flat bench in the middle. After I made a quick sweep to make sure there weren’t any other Hel-Blar in the woods, Quinn rowed us out until we were floating in the soft darkness, the lights glittering on the water. He slid the oars back into the boat.

“I’m biting the next person who interrupts us,” he said as a cool, soft breeze drifted over.

It was quiet here, the sounds of music and laughter thin and distant. The stars seemed really close. I could feel the mountain looming protectively in the darkness. Quinn sat across from me, leaning his arms on his knees. His hair fell around his pale face, lifting slightly when the wind picked up. It was a soft moment, romantic and slow, as if time were trickling to a stop just for us.

And then a blue hand grabbed the side of the rowboat.

A snarling Hel-Blar tried to haul himself out of the lake, right into my lap. The stink of rot and mildew slapped at us. The water churned, and the boat heaved violently.

“Son of a bitch!” Quinn kicked him in the face and he snarled, blood trickling from his broken nose. But he didn’t let go.

And he wasn’t alone.

Another Hel-Blar was scrabbling at the other side of the boat. I shot Hypnos powder into his snarling face, emptying the casing in my cuff. “Drop!” I ordered. His fingers, with their blood-encrusted nails, loosened and he dropped into the lake, the water closing over his head. Quinn wasn’t able to reach the first Hel-Blar’s chest with his stake without being in danger of infected saliva and savage biting. So he grabbed an oar and smashed him in the head until he floated away, bleeding.

“Looks like I just chummed the waters,” he said darkly.

“I’d better call this in,” I said, cell phone in one hand and flashlight in the other. I swung the beam of light over the dark lake until it caught the gleam of unnatural eyes. “There! Another one, swimming to shore!”

Quinn groaned, his head falling back in frustration. “Let’s move to Spain,” he finally said.

“Why Spain?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, paddling the boat back to shore. “It’s really sunny there, probably not a lot of vampires. We might actually get to have a date that doesn’t end in mayhem and blood.”

I snorted. “Is that possible with a Drake?”

“Probably not,” he admitted. He swung the oar and there was a wet thud. “Incoming!”

Lucy

I steadied myself against a unicorn with garish lime-green eyes, his golden horn painted with glitter. It was difficult to focus on the carnival. We were moving too fast and everyone else seemed to be moving too slowly. The lights trailed, like smeared paint. They made me dizzy. Nicholas put his hand on my lower back, steadying me.

“They’re frozen,” he said tightly.

“Who is?”

“Everyone.”

I stared at him, then at the fair speeding past. I had to concentrate really hard, trying to pick out certain people and booths, like a ballet dancer spotting during pirouettes. I chose the Whac-A-Mole booth because of the hideous red-and-yellow glowing gopher on the roof. After a few rotations I noticed that none of the people in front of the game had moved. A little girl crying over dropped ice cream was in the exact same position, her mother leaning down toward her. The Ferris wheel had stopped, as had the spinning cups and the flying swings. One of the swings was still in midair, one girl’s hair tangling around her laughing face.

“Okay, this is seriously freaky,” I said. “Even for Violet Hill. We need Isabeau for this kind of magic.”

“She’s at the caves. Not exactly good cell reception there.”

Even the pigeons eating popcorn off the boardwalk were still as statues. “Everyone’s stuck.” I goggled at Nicholas. “Except for us.”

“And her.” He nodded grimly toward the fairground. I followed his gaze but it took another dizzying turn before I saw her. She looked about our age, had long brown hair, and stood in front of Brent as if she’d been kissing him. When she stepped back, letting go of his shoulders, Brent’s knees buckled and he dropped bonelessly to the ground.

“Okay, that can’t be good,” I muttered.

“She’s draining them,” Nicholas said softly.

“Is she a vampire?” I asked.

“No.” Nicholas frowned. “I don’t think so.”

The carousel creaked alarmingly, turning too fast for its engine. “I thought this thing was broken,” I said, momentarily distracted. “Also, it’s making me want to throw up.”

Nicholas slipped his arms around me. He didn’t give me a warning. It was probably for the best, since I’m pretty sure I would have screamed my head off. One moment we were spinning with the horses and the next we were in midair, still spinning. We landed in the dirt, Nicholas rolling so that he took the brunt of the fall. Dust billowed up around us.

“You can open your eyes now,” he murmured.

They were scrunched so tightly my face hurt. I opened one eye cautiously, then the other.

“Am I broken?”

“No.”

“Good. I guess I’m the bait. Let’s go save the day.” I kissed him quickly. “Again.” His fangs gleamed in the carnival lights. “Last time I checked, you don’t so much save the day as throw a whole lot of chaos at it.”

I pinched him. “Hey.” I scrambled off him, reaching for a stake and my Hypnos powder. We didn’t really have a plan. We had a vampire, and a girl with a wicked right hook. And whatever the hell that other girl was. Hunter would not approve of our battle strategy.

I moved between frozen students. They were creepy and glass-eyed, like wax statues. The wind fluttered their hair and their clothes, but no one moved. I stopped, recognizing Nathan.

“Oh, crap,” I said, rushing to his side. I waved my hand in front of his face. He didn’t blink, didn’t slide me his patented disgusted glare. I hadn’t expected him to, but one can hope. “We’ll fix this,” I promised him quietly. “You are not going to spend eternity with that look on your face.”

I swallowed, walking toward the girl as she darted in and out of the crowd. Even though I couldn’t see Nicholas, I knew he was nearby.

“Hey!” I called out.

The girl spun around, her hair obscuring her features. Nicholas was a blur, circling around behind her. He’d knocked her out before she’d even turned to face me completely. He caught her before she hit the ground with her face.

“Shouldn’t everyone unfreeze now?” I said when nothing changed. “She’s unconscious, right?” Nicholas nodded. “Stake her?” I suggested.

“She’s not a vampire,” he reminded me.

I paused, staring at him, bewildered. “Shit.” I didn’t know what to do when the bad guy wasn’t a vampire. “So what now?”

He lowered her to the ground and pushed the hair off her face, frowning. “This is the girl from the woods. The one who grabbed Quinn.”

I crouched next to him, holding my stake at the ready. I’d seen too many horror movies to ever trust an unconscious villain. “I know her,” I said, astounded. “Her name’s Vanessa.”

“Evil?” Nicholas asked.

“No, just perky.” I frowned, more confused than ever. “I don’t get it.”

She stirred and I lowered the point of my stake over her heart.

“You can’t stake her, remember?” Nicholas hissed.

“Well, she doesn’t know that.”

Her eyes fluttered open. “What happened?”

“That’s what we’d like to know,” Nicholas said drily.

Vanessa sat up slowly, then squeaked when she saw the stake. “Lucy?” she asked uncertainly. “What are you doing?”

“What am I doing? What the hell are you doing?” I pointed to the creepy tableau of creepy people around us. “Also? Undo it!”

She looked around, openmouthed. “Wow. I’ve never frozen that many people before!”

“Gee, congratulations,” I said sarcastically.

“Thanks!”

I shook my head, glanced at Nicholas. “If I can’t stake her, can I at least poke her with the sharp end? Just a little?” I turned back to Vanessa, talking to her through gritted teeth. “What,” I asked, enunciating very slowly and very clearly, “did you do?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “I was getting tired.”

“That’s why you’re so perky?” I asked. “Because you suck it out of other people? Rude much?” I leaned back out of reach, just to be safe.

“I can’t help it.” Tears glimmered prettily on the edge of her lashes as she looked up at Nicholas.

I made a sound of disgust. “Stop flirting with my boy friend. Not only are you embarrassing yourself and all of womankind, but he’s way too smart to fall for it.”

She pouted. I rolled my eyes. I was used to a little more villain in my villain. Lady Natasha, vain and crazy as she was, had made me want to pee my pants. She’d actually eaten a raw deer heart, thinking it was Solange’s. That was commitment. This was just pathetic.

“I just took a little,” she insisted.

“Brent’s out cold and kind of green,” I corrected her. “That was more than a little. What did you do to him?”

“I just kissed him. I miss him.”

“Uh-huh. And the others?”

“They won’t remember. No one ever does.” She smiled again. “So, it’s okay! See? No worries!”

“So you are a vampire,” I insisted.

“I don’t drink blood! Gross!”

“Psychic vampire,” I elaborated. “You take their energy.”

“And you were drunk in the woods less than ten minutes ago,” Nicholas said.

“I wasn’t drunk.” She sounded offended. “I was just really tired and I tripped and fell. And then that monster came. What was she? Did I imagine her? Do I have a concussion?”

“Sure, we’ll go with that,” I said. “Now, undo whatever you did or I will punch you in the face.” Before the entire carnival became a vampire buffet. “So talk.”

She whimpered again. I just folded my arms and waited. After a moment she wiped her eyes and sighed. “Look, I really don’t know how this happened,” she said.

“Walk us through it,” I insisted, glancing around for unnatural shadows. Nicholas was already patrolling in a slow circle around us, painfully alert. “Every single thing you did.” I noticed car headlights moving up the side of the mountain. At least Vanessa hadn’t frozen the entire town, and Quinn and Hunter should be safe out in the middle of the lake. Of course, if anyone drove up to the carnival right now, they’d be traumatized for life. “Quickly.”

“I went by the booths there because someone was complaining that the Frog Prince game was rigged.” She pointed.

We walked around frozen people, my math teacher included. She was laughing, her mouth so wide I could almost see her tonsils. Two guys were pouring contraband liquor into a soda bottle. The merry-go-round was still spinning madly. We went down the midway and back up around to the spot where we’d found her. Since she was running the event for the prom committee, she’d been everywhere. I didn’t have a clue what had set off the big magic freeze, if she was even telling the truth about not knowing how it had happened.

“And then what?” I asked. “What made you go off into the woods?”

“I … saw Brent.”

“And?”

“And I was upset.” She looked away, shifted uncomfortably. “So I went to the woods so no one would see me cry.”

Nicholas looked at me over her head. His eyes gleamed. “She’s lying,” he mouthed.

“Are you sure that’s everything, Vanessa?” She nodded. Disgusted, I turned around to start another walk-through.

Nicholas’s fangs flashed suddenly and he grabbed her shoulder. “What is that?” he demanded, plucking something that poked out of her jacket pocket. It was a small glass bottle filled with red heart-shaped foil confetti and glitter.

And blood.

I could tell by the way his pupils dilated and his fangs elongated as far as they could. I knew a familiar blue vein was throbbing in his neck. He inhaled, then cursed.

“Vampire blood,” he said quietly, too quietly for Vanessa to hear over the waves breaking on the rocks on the other side of the boardwalk.

My eyes widened. “Seriously? Why is it always vampires even when it’s not actually vampires?” I went to stand in front of Vanessa. “And where the hell did you get this?” Vanessa pointed to the red velvet tent with a sign that read Madame Juliet’s Love Potions, looking embarrassed. My mouth dropped open. “You didn’t. And Madame Juliet? Did she even read Romeo and Juliet?”

“It was just a joke, to make me feel better. I thought I could convince Brent to take me back,” she explained in a rush. “The woman said I should put three drops of my own blood in it to make it extra powerful. I know it sounds stupid, but I was desperate. So I went off in the woods to prick my finger and that’s when those … things … showed up.”

Nicholas stared at me. “Hel-Blar blood got into the bottle.”

A cheap, fake love charm was no big deal. A bottle filled with vampire’s blood was always a big deal. Especially crossed with the work of a psychic vampire. I vaguely remembered Isabeau talking about sympathetic magic, about like attracting like. Or had that been my mother?

Either way? We were so screwed.

Because magic gone awry was just one of the many ways this night sucked.

“Lucy?” Vanessa’s voice was tiny.

“Yeah?”

“What the hell is that thing?” she screeched, finding her larynx again.

I knew that screech. In Violet Hill that screech translated to: Oh my God, I just saw a vampire! Nicholas’s gaze broke from mine and I whirled around, lifting my stake. I followed Vanessa’s horrified pointing to the edge of the lake, where a blue-tinged Hel-Blar was crawling out of the dark water.

“That’s a vampire,” I said blandly.

Nicholas was already charging toward it, the tacky love charm tumbling to the boardwalk. “Get her out of here!”

“I’m not leaving you alone, you idiot!” I shot back.

“I really must have a concussion.” Vanessa gaped at the Hel-Blar, clacking his jaws. A second one emerged from the water; a third scrambled down the beach, tearing into a frozen pigeon with a mouthful of needle-sharp fangs. Blood and feathers stuck to his chin. Vanessa gagged. “Vampires don’t exist.”

“I don’t think he’s vulnerable to an existential crisis,” I snapped. “Try something pointy.”

“But … but …” She looked behind us at the frozen carnival. “Another one!”

“Crap.” I glanced over my shoulder. A Hel-Blar had darted over the decorative fencing onto the grounds. He was approaching two girls who were trapped midgiggle. Saliva dangled from his fangs.

“Stay behind me,” I said. She probably didn’t deserve to die for being too perky, too dumb to live in Violet Hill, or even for sucking energy out of people.

I ran at the Hel-Blar, but I knew I wouldn’t reach him in time. I was too far away, and he was too feral. I had to be careful because both his saliva and blood were contagious. I slid on the ground at the last minute to pick up speed and momentum, crashing into his legs. He wiped out, howling as he landed. He spun, almost too quickly for me to see, and hurtled up into a crouch. Vanessa was hovering on the boardwalk, shrieking. I didn’t have time to worry about her and I figured if she was shrieking that loudly, she was probably all right.

The reek of wet, rotting mushrooms clogged my nostrils. He raked at me, his hand curled into a claw shape. His eyes burned red and his breath was as fetid as the rest of him. He snapped at me, lunging for my neck. I scuttled back, using my feet to kick him off balance. He stumbled, but didn’t fall.

First rule: never run. Vampires are predators at heart and they can rarely resist a hunt. Especially the Hel-Blar, so vicious and feral; they don’t bother resisting anything.

So I ran.

I scrambled to my feet and headed back toward the beach, away from all the people. He followed me, even though there were two vulnerable girls behind him, easy as picking apples off a branch. I knew my blood smelled sweeter, adrenaline and sweat buzzing in my veins and seeping through my pores. I yanked a “You Must Be This Tall to Go on This Ride” sign out of the sandy ground and spun, jamming it into his chest. He was still running, still pushing himself in a feeding frenzy, and his own momentum impaled him. I just had to shoulder the weight for a moment, until he crumbled to ashes. Vanessa had stopped screaming. She just stared at me.

“Lucy!” Nicholas yelled from the sand. “Are you okay?”

“Fine! You?”

“Yeah, this is just what I had in mind for our first date,” he muttered as a Hel-Blar exploded, ashes landing on the surface of the water. The sounds of fighting drifted our way from the middle of the lake, followed by a mad kind of laugh.

“Quinn,” Nicholas and I said in unison.

We’d already taken out three Hel-Blar, but there were more coming and not just the one eating his way through the pigeons. There were shadows on the water’s edge and darting between the trees. Soon there’d be too many of them and the carnival was just too big to protect on our own. This was going to turn into a massacre if Vanessa didn’t undo the magic.

Isabeau had helped us break a love charm meant for Solange just a few weeks ago. She’d warned us not to burn it or drown it, since we didn’t know how the spell was set. But we didn’t have time to stick the bottle in the freezer as she’d done to bury it days later. And besides, freezing it didn’t seem like a terribly good idea right now. There was enough of that.

Maybe smashing it would work.

Or it could make it worse.

But it was the only idea I had. I was too far from the charm bottle to stomp it into pieces and Nicholas was surrounded by Hel-Blar. The pigeon-smeared Hel-Blar launched himself at me, jaws clacking. I jabbed with my stake. He snarled, grabbing for me. I leaped out of the way, tripping over a rock. Vanessa just stood there, shell-shocked. A rowboat scraped on the shore, and Quinn and Hunter leaped out, drenched but unharmed. I threw sand in the Hel-Blar’s face. He clawed at his eyes just as Hunter darted past, staking him right between the shoulders. He disintegrated and she tossed me the miniature crossbow again.

“Hi, Lucy.”

I caught it, armed it, and shot the Hel-Blar trying to eat my boyfriend’s face. “Hi, Hunter.”

She darted past me, into the frozen crowd. “Backup’s coming!”

Quinn followed her, splitting away to cut off the Hel-Blar shoving in through the hole in the chain-link fence from the parking lot.

“Vanessa!” I scrambled to my feet. “Smash the bottle!”

She blinked at me, then down at the red glitter-filled bottle. “But … Brent … the prom …”

“Did you just mention prom? Now?” I paused to stare at her long enough that the Hel-Blar was nearly on me. The crossbow was out of bolts and I had only the one stake left. I was feeling bruises and cuts I hadn’t realized I had.

“You know what?” I yelled, slipping into the melee of vampires surrounding Nicholas. He turned, putting his back to mine. “Dead girls don’t dance, Vanessa. So do it! Do it now!” Blood trickled down the back of my knee, driving the Hel-Blar into a mad fever. Blue hands and needle fangs came at me. Nicholas staked one and tossed me through his ashes, through the sudden opening. Hungry snarls punctuated the air. They were too mad with hunger to form words.

Vanessa lifted her foot and brought it down hard over the bottle.

The glass cracked, oozing blood and glitter.

The Hel-Blar paused, heads snapping in her direction. There was a crack of sound like thunder, and the smell of smoke and mushrooms and wilted lilies. The cacophony of the rides snapping into motion, of whistles and bells and voices all breaking open at once made my head throb. The shifting mob of human scents, warm with rushing blood, distracted the Hel-Blar further. Nicholas dispatched two and I took out the last one with my new hairpin stake. It splintered and broke, but at least it cleaved through vampire muscle and flesh first. I coughed at the foul dust, as Nicholas helped me up.

“I wouldn’t step in that if I were you,” he told Vanessa as the blood oozed toward her foot. She leaped out of the way as if it were acid.

We stood there for a long moment, catching our breaths, watching the colored lights flash and the people wander between the booths. Some of them looked faintly confused. I spotted Nathan stealing some of Linnet’s popcorn. They both looked fine. Relieved, I leaned against Nicholas. We stumbled through the sand and up the boardwalk. Vanessa followed us, looking bewildered. Hunter and Quinn joined us, Hunter’s cheeks red and her damp hair sticking to her bare arms.

Quinn was grinning. “Well, that was fun,” he said. “Also? What the hell?”

“Short version?” I nodded to Vanessa. “Psychic vampire plus vampire blood plus love charm equals very, very bad.”

“So why weren’t you two affected?” Hunter asked. “You were right here.”

“Vampire blood?” Nicholas guessed. “It doesn’t work against other vampires, not without it being ridiculously ancient or dosed with Hypnos.”

“And I’m partly immune,” I added. “Growing up with the Drakes does have its advantages, even though someone’s always trying to kill me. And plus we were kissing at the time.”

“When aren’t you kissing?” Quinn teased.

“When I’m punching you,” I shot back with a grin.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Vanessa said, her voice as unperky as I’d ever heard it. Strangely, I missed her exclamation points. The rest of us were used to this sort of thing and we knew banter would make us feel normal again. Vanessa probably didn’t think she would ever feel normal again. Some things you just can’t unknow.

“It’ll be okay,” I said.

“There are paramedics on their way,” Hunter agreed, looking at me. I knew that by paramedics she really meant Helios-Ra agents. She glanced at Quinn and Nicholas and back at me. “So you guys should get out of here,” she added. “Before my friends get here.” In fact, there were already a few suspicious-looking black cargos and army-style boots around.

Treaties or not, it just wasn’t a good idea to have two Drake vampire brothers hanging around the scene of a vampire attack, even if it was a Hel-Blar attack. And since I was listed as a Person of Interest in their stupid Helios-Ra hunter handbook, I wasn’t too keen on hanging around either.

“Sorry, Van, I gotta go.” I squeezed her hand and she smiled tremulously. There was no flash of light and I didn’t feel particularly sleepy or drained though Nicholas tensed beside me. “It really will be okay. Hunter will help you, and I’ll see you at school.”

Nicholas, Quinn, and I sprinted toward the parking lot, stopping behind an innocuous-looking beige minivan.

“How can we be sure she won’t do it again?” Nicholas wondered.

I snorted. “Are you kidding? I’m siccing Isabeau on her ass.”

Quinn climbed onto his motorcycle. “See you at home, Nic. Bye, Luce.” We watched him peel out of the lot.

“Stealthy.” Nicholas snorted.

“So much for our first date.” I sighed.

He handed me a motorcycle helmet. “Not quite.”

I took it curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Just get on,” he said, straddling the bike.

I climbed on behind him. “Where are we going?” But he didn’t answer, just revved the engine.

Hunter

“Will she be okay?” I asked Spencer, my cell phone tucked between my ear and my shoulder. Most of the agents would be combing the forest around the fairground and the beach. I had a few minutes before I had to debrief. Vanessa trailed after me, looking lost as I slipped into Madame Juliet’s tent.

“She should be fine,” Spencer said. “I can’t believe I missed actual magic. It was my major. You’d better get her number. I have a hundred questions.”

“Yeah, yeah. First things first.”

The inside of the tent was as garish as the outside. There were lots of heart-shaped lights and perfumes promising to attract perfect lovers. There were red candles and a crystal ball on a velvet-draped table, and a cloud of incense. There was also a large basket filled with silk roses and heart-shaped bottles filled with red glitter and silver confetti.

“That’s what she sold me,” Vanessa confirmed.

“Did you know her? Did she know about your powers?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.” She shrugged. “She had a fake accent and hoop earrings and the whole deal. I told you, it’s just a carnival joke.”

I held up all the bottles. “I think these are just full of tap water and glitter,” I told Spencer. “Tacky, but not fatal. So it really was just bad luck.”

“I have charms for that,” Spencer replied.

“Is there one I can give Vanessa?”

“Find a citrine.”

“Sure.” I made a face at the phone. “What the hell’s a citrine?”

He chuckled. “It’s a crystal, yellowish or lime green. There’s probably a bunch in that tent; all the carnivals hawk crystals in this town, don’t they?”

There weren’t any in the tent, but Vanessa and I found a booth selling crystals and incense. They were even labeled, so I knew I was making Vanessa buy the right kind.

“It’s ugly,” she said dubiously, slipping the pale yellow-green crystal over her head.

“It’s citrine,” I explained. “If you wear it, it’ll block you from taking too much energy from other people. And from, you know, stopping time accidentally.”

Spencer swore again. “Man, I miss all the fun.”

“Oh yeah,” I said drily. “It was loads of fun. Can you explain it, by the way?”

“Side effect from the vampire blood in the magic.” I could imagine him shrugging through the phone.

“Is that why the broken carousel Lucy and Nicholas were on did the opposite and sped up?”

“Probably a reaction to Nicholas. And if he and Lucy were kissing like you said, it sparked off the kiss Vanessa gave Brent. And made a big mess.”

“Will the citrine work?”

“Of course it’ll work,” Spencer said. “I got straight As before I died, remember?”

I glanced at Vanessa. “Are you going to be okay now?” She nodded, looking sad but relatively calm. “Good. We’ll be watching you.” I felt stupid saying it, but she had to know she couldn’t just go around draining people.

“Ooh, very Bellwood,” Spencer said with a laugh in my ear, referring to our school’s scary headmistress before hanging up.

By the time I debriefed to the main agent in charge, it was past midnight and she insisted on driving me back to school. Chloe was awake, typing away on her laptop as usual. Her eyes were wide.

“Dude. I just talked to Spencer.”

I dropped my bag wearily. “Yeah, some night.” I kicked off my sneakers, shrugged out of my jacket, and turned toward my bed. Chloe swiveled in her chair to watch my reaction, smirking.

My bed was covered in flowers. Not roses—they were too common for Quinn. Instead, there were lilies and daisies and black-eyed Susans scattered over my blanket, under my pillow, and on the floor all around the bed. I smiled a goofy smile I was pretty sure I’d never smiled before.

“He came in through the window. Luckily, he called me first so I didn’t stake him.” Chloe shook her head, grinning. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Where can I get a Drake brother of my very own?”

Lucy

The cool wind and the feel of Nicholas’s back supporting me chased away the last of the jittery adrenaline. He took me back to the Drake farm, but bypassed the main drive to the house, keeping to the fields instead. He stopped the bike at the edge of the woods. It was quiet, with just the wind and the frogs singing from a distant pond. His hand was cool in mine as he led me to a huge gnarled maple tree. The leaves were already starting to change color, like little pieces of sunshine even in the middle of the night.

“The tree fort,” I whispered. “I’d forgotten all about it.”

It was a series of platforms with slanted roofs and little railings. Solange and I spent an entire winter launching snowball wars on the boys from the highest platform. We still hung out in one of the oak trees on the other side of the farm since it was closest to the road and my house, but I hadn’t been back to the tree fort in years.

“I’m calling a do-over on tonight,” Nicholas said softly, leading me up the ladder into the tree branches. The leaves rustled gently. There were candles in lanterns that he lit, and cushions scattered around. “I still come here a lot,” he admitted. “When things get complicated.”

And lately things were always complicated. Except for right now. I sat next to him, our legs dangling over the edge. He put his arm around my shoulder until I was tucked against his side. The warm candlelight gleamed in his pale eyes.

We didn’t bicker or banter, we just sat there, swinging our feet and smiling as the last of summer faded away. He glanced down at me, smiling wickedly.

“So, about prom …”

Every new recruit to the vampire hunting society, Helios-Ra, is issued the guidebook A Field Guide to Vampires, containing secrets to the inner workings of the vampires they are hunting. But when new recruit Lucy Hamilton gets her hands on a copy, she can’t help but add a few notes of her own …

A Field Guide to Vampires

For the Students of the Helios-Ra Academy

Violet Hill edition

With Additional Notes by Lucy Hamilton

Table of Contents

1. Official Welcome

2. Helios-Ra, An Overview

3. School Essentials

4. Victims

5. Approved Weapons List

6. Vampire Hunters of Note

7. Traditional Vampire Lore (Mostly Debunked)

8. Basic Vampire Statistics

9. Vampire History

10. The Host

11. The Hel-Blar

12. The Hounds

13. The Drake Family (Local Clan)

14. Supernatural Miscellany

1.
Official Welcome

Welcome to the Academy.

Welcome to the noble and ancient ranks of the Helios-Ra. Ours is a sacred duty and a privilege passed down from generation to generation. To be a hunter is not merely to hunt; it is to protect.

We serve the human race that it may live and grow and advance, unburdened by those creatures that dwell in the darkness. It is no accident that society at large believes vampires to be myth or literary device. We have worked long and hard to keep it so. Nothing would be served by mass panic or vigilantes. The governments of the world and the Helios-Ra both agree on this point and work together to keep it thus.

The vampires are no less eager to have their presence known. And so long as they keep to the shadows, so too must we.

But we will be revealed to those who know such things by the symbol of the sun; Helios of the Greeks and Ra of the Egyptians.

We serve the sun.

I knew they had government connections. Hart totally has that James Bond thing going for him.

2.
Helios-Ra, An Overview

Oath of Fealty

In the name of Helios and Ra and of my brethren, be it known to all, present and future, that I have voluntarily sworn an oath of fealty to the order of Helios-Ra. I swear to be true and faithful, and love all which the order loves and shun all which the order shuns, according to the laws and traditions of the order.

I hereby swear to cultivate the virtues of honor and courage, to defend the weak and the unknowing against all manner of creatures, to fight the vampire and never be seduced by them.

I stand tall to be counted among the valiant and I shall be known to my brethren by the symbol of the sun, which I wear willingly and with all due humility.

Yeah, I’m so not swearing that oath. Nicholas can seduce me if he wants to.

A Short History

Helios-Ra was officially formed in 99 C.E., brought across Europe and Egypt by the conquering armies of Rome. Before this time, hunters worked alone or in small tribal groups who rarely crossed territory lines. Their methods were effective but varied greatly, and were vulnerable to the political ruling powers of the time as well as intertribal warfare.

In 892, a hunter of some reputation, Alric Skallagrim, called a council of hunters. He summoned them from as far as the Russian steppes to the southernmost tip of India with the intent to unite them under one banner and one purpose. He called the group Helios-Ra after the mythical sun gods, and designed the sun emblem we use to this day. In 899, our history was officially set down in the Helios-Ra Codex by an Irish monk of the order Brother Phinean, at Alric’s request.

Our traditions were also considerably solidified in the early Middle Ages when several more wars made it necessary to further strengthen our allegiances. Our traditional oath-taking and initiation ceremony, though somewhat altered, dates to this time period.

Helios-Ra came to the New World in 1671 through Marie-Adelle Chevalier, a Fille du Roi (one of the “Daughters of the King”: orphaned French girls who traveled to the New World to marry). Her sons continued her work and were instrumental in making sure Helios-Ra gained strong roots in New France, and later, America. Helios-Ra also had a strong presence in Salem, Massachusetts, during the 1692 witch trials.

Scholars have always been welcome among the ranks of hunters, and in 1967, paranormal scholars were also invited to serve in our ranks that we might broaden the scope of our research and defense. Other supernatural creatures, such as werewolves, witches, and ghosts, have since been studied and their actions controlled when necessary.

Over the years we have either successfully infiltrated or been officially welcomed to most world governments as well as underground rebel groups. Our one aim is to eradicate vampires and make the world safe for humanity, by any means possible. A warning must be issued to all new recruits to avoid the temptations of political power. This is not our goal and can only serve as a distraction.

Traditional Helios-Ra burials used to involve burying the body with rose thorns, salt, and a mouthful of garlic. A whitethorn stake was also driven through the heart. Modern hunters often choose to be cremated instead.

Head of the League, North American (1900–present)

Avril Chevalier (1953–1971)

Kendall McMullan (1971–72)

Luis Mendez (1972–2001)

Roarke Black (2001–2009) (died in office, 2009)

Mom said she met Kieran’s dad once in the 80s with Helena. And she said Helena had teased hair. Solange and I are still searching for photographic proof.

Hart Black and Hope Jones (2009–?)

Hope was a traitor. She killed Kieran’s dad. She was also annoyingly perky.

The Secret Handshake

There is no secret handshake.

Oh, come on. There is so a secret handshake, you’re just not sharing!

Treaties

In recent decades, treaties have become another weapon in the kit of the modern vampire hunter. Some vampire clans, such as the Drake family of Violet Hill, have agreed to terms with the League. Solitary vampires are also sometimes inclined to such treaties, having a smaller defense system to rely on.

Though controversial, these treaties are to our benefit. Not only do they protect the human populace at large, but they free up finite resources to fight more immediate threats such as the Hel-Blar and Lady Natasha (see section 9).

She was like an evil prom queen. Also, kinda dead now.

Treaties generally include clauses for both parties. Families such as the Drakes agree not to feed on human victims without prior consent and never to the point of endangering said human. As long as this main clause is not broken, the League agrees not to hunt the “treaty vampire.”

3.
School Essentials

1. Students are not allowed off campus unchaperoned after sunset until they reach the age of sixteen. At sixteen, they’re allowed only with permission. No exceptions.

2. The academy and the League are secret institutions and are required to be safeguarded as such.

3. No fraternizing of any kind with vampires. Treaty vampires require prior League and academy approval.

School Crest: Rising sun over horizon line

School Motto: Diligence, Duty, and Daring

Departments of Study: Hunting, Science and Technology, Paranormal Studies New student kits include the following: handbook, map of Violet Hill, night-vision goggles, wooden stake, pepper eggs, holy water.

Demerit System: Five allowed per school year. A sixth leads to expulsion. Detention and kitchen duty assigned for most infractions. Bathroom duty assigned for violent altercations.

Miscellaneous
a) Random testing in the form of speed and stealth drills. Be prepared.

This is the reason Kieran is such a boy scout! I wonder if there’s such a thing as vampire hunting badges.

b) The Student Memorial Garden is behind the pond. Please be quiet and respectful when visiting.

c) In the event of an emergency lockdown on campus, high-UV lightbulbs will automatically switch on, and bars may block windows.

d) Visitor passes are given out to preapproved guests only.

Do vampire boyfriends count? I’m so going to get kicked out of this school, aren’t I?

4.
Victims

Victim recognition

Victims who do not expire immediately can be recognized as newly turned vampires by the following indicators: paleness, weakness, anemia, scars on the neck or wrists; also, the use of scarves or long sleeves (even during summer) or wide bracelets to hide such marks.

Another sort of victim, less easily dealt with than the others, is the victim who believes he or she is a vampire. This sort of delusional individual is best left to undergo psychological evaluation. Do not engage in the field.

Seriously, who writes this crap?

Victims tend to be found in crowded areas, such as bars and sporting events, or in secluded wooded areas with a reliable measure of privacy. City parks are a particular favorite. Victims do not always sport the obvious bite marks on their necks; bites can be given anywhere on the body. Preferred locations are the neck, the inside crook of the elbow, and the wrist.

Victims of Hel-Blar attacks (see section 11) are especially likely to have their throats torn out. Pay judicious attention to news stories involving wild-dog attacks or gang-related activity not involving gunplay.

In the rare event of interrupting a Hel-Blar attack, the optimal distraction is to shine your flashlight directly into the eyes of the vampire. They are even more sensitive to light than other vampires; this is thought to be a direct result of their time spent in dark caves without electric lighting of any kind. This technique will not stop the Hel-Blar from feeding, of course, but it may distract them long enough to attempt a rescue of the victim. Do not attempt if you are a new student or graduate. This is an old-fashioned strategy, included for posterity and only to be used in case your other weapons are unavailable.

Bloodslaves

Bloodslaves are brainwashed humans who willingly allow themselves to be bitten and have their blood drunk to sustain their master. Look for scars at throat and elbow.

Oh, bite me.

Hunting, Tracking

Tracking vampires requires skill, a keen eye, and a little bit of luck. They move with preternatural speed, sometimes so quickly that they float a few inches above the ground. For this reason, finding tracks can be exceedingly difficult. Look for broken twigs above ground level, animals abruptly clearing the area, or the effects of a windstorm when none has occurred. In a cityscape, look for confused individuals or paper litter moving when there is no wind.

Or in the case of the Drake brothers, especially Quinn, look for drooling girls. Seriously.

5.
Approved Weapons List

Wooden Stake:

This is the classic weapon of choice against vampires, traditionally made of whitethorn, and should not be discounted. It is unlikely to malfunction and can be made of any material, not just wood. Broken branches, fireplace pokers, fence posts, even chopsticks can be used.

Mine are covered in pink rhinestones. And pirate skulls. We can fight the Hel-Blar and still have a sense of humor. Despite what this hokey League might think!

Crossbow:

This is the more modern version of the longbow, which was a popular weapon of the Helios-Ra during the early Middle Ages. Arrows have the advantage of keeping you out of range. Crossbows can’t always be reloaded quickly, so do practice. Good aim is also crucial.

Okay, now we’re talking. Finally, something cool.

Swords and Daggers:

Another holdover from our medieval days, swords and daggers can slow a vampire down long enough for a strike to the heart. They are not ideal, though, as vampires heal quickly and are faster and stronger than we are. Decapitation will kill a vampire but it is a surprisingly difficult maneuver, and messy.

Also, it makes them cranky if you miss. I’d like to see them try it with Helena!

Holy Water:

This not the traditional holy water blessed by a priest or other holy person. Such water is not effective and is a product of legend and wishful thinking. The Helios-Ra has developed water charged with UV rays and large doses of vitamin D that is harmful to all vampires. It burns and eats away at their skin, slowing their healing process while inflicting pain. These wounds do not always heal entirely.

Aunt Hyacinth still has the scars to prove it. Stupid Hope and her stupid rogue unit.

UV Bullets:

In the last few decades, we have also developed bullets filled with Holy Water, which fit most guns and rifles. This is the cleanest kill, if the bullet catches the heart. As with archery, aim is crucial.

Nose Plugs:

Do not underestimate the power of vampire pheromones. Nose plugs will save your mission and likely, your life.

Hypnos:

This is the strongest and most current weapon at our disposal. This powder is made from a sample of blood from the oldest known vampire, Enheduanna (Sumerian origin), as well as several zombie herbs and a powdered form of horse tranquilizer. The magical ingredients cannot be discussed with anyone outside the Paranormal division of the order.

Hypnos works by hypnotizing whoever breathes in the powder. Vampires are especially vulnerable, due to the addition of Enheduanna’s blood, even at such a small quantity. For a short amount of time (about 10–15 minutes reliably) the vampire is completely unable to do anything but follow orders. This is especially good for general disarming as well as disbanding Hel-Blar nests. It is also effective for wiping memories of human victims or bystanders, for their own protection. The use of Hypnos is strictly regulated; not every graduate will be awarded a portion.

Kieran dosed me once. It’s even worse than it sounds. It makes you feel claustrophobic and anxious. You can think clearly but you can’t seem to make your body do what you want. You literally have no choice but to obey. It’s awful.

Pepper Eggs:

Eggs are a relatively new invention, based on ninja-style weapons. Helios-Ra “eggs” are made of thin putty made to break upon impact and are filled with a mixture of ground glass, cayenne pepper, and Hypnos.

6.
Vampire Hunters of Note

From Folktale and Family Stories:

Agrippa (Roman)

Roman slave girl named after the Empress Agrippina, also a slave girl before she married Claudius. Nero, her son, had her murdered. Agrippa dove for pearls and was trained by her Roman lover, a centurion stationed in the area. By all accounts she was beautiful and deadly, taking out several vampire nests.

Dugan (Celtic)

Druid priest believed to be from either the Caledonii tribe or the Brigantes. He trained on the isle of Mona and was adept at many forms of magical healing and recognizable by his numerous woad tattoos. After his sister was killed by a rogue vampire, he turned to vampire hunting. Legend says he lived to be 192, but there is no corroborating evidence.

Eirik the Shield (Icelandic)

Viking warrior and sailor who traveled widely, hunting vampires in the Netherlands, Britain, France, and, occasionally, Spain.

Documented Hunters of Note:

Conrad the Black (British, sixth-century)
Rumored to have fought alongside King Arthur.

Alric Skallagrim (Norse, 870–913)

Famed vampire hunter and founder of the Helios-Ra. See “A Short History of Helios-Ra.” Born at the foot of a lightning-struck oak tree said to be sacred to Thor. Lost his twin sister, Astrid, to a vampire attack, which fueled his creation of the Helios-Ra League.

Hakeem Mamoud (Egyptian, tenth century)

Founded the first League Headquarters in Egypt in an abandoned ancient temple to Ra.

Marie-Adelle Chevalier (French, sixteenth century)

Brought the League to North America (specifically, New France).

Cheng-Hu (Chinese, seventeenth century)

Trained noblewomen in the secret arts of vampire hunting until he was beheaded for trying to run away with a married woman.

Yoska Shandor (Roman, eighteenth century)

Relayed messages between vampire hunters all over Europe by means of his family caravan. Joined after his son was found drained of blood.

Ravi Srinapadam (Indian, eighteenth century)

Married daughter of Amrita clan (see Raktapa Council). Amrita vampires give birth to daughters the way Drakes give birth to sons. Ravi married their eldest daughter in 1789 and wrote the first League–vampire treaty after being disbarred. He was reindicted into the League on the strength of this treaty.

Zachariah Jones (American, eighteenth century)

One of the first hunters to settle in the Violet Hill area, after tracking the Drake family to the town in 1752. When his lover died, Zachariah retreated to the mountains and was never heard from again. His journals are still being searched for today.

Philippa Drake, née Philippa Wallace (British, nineteenth century)

Founded a Ladies Paranormal Society in 1888, after marrying Thomas Drake and being exiled by both her family and the League. Her father was the Head of the Helios-Ra at the time.

Current Families with Unbroken Service (Western Division):

Chevalier, Wallace, Shandor, Reeves, Stephenson, Black, Greenberg, Olafson, Wild.

Other Hunters of Note:

Sisters of the Sanguine Heart

A sect of vampire-hunter nuns, founded in France in 1222. They whittled the crosses of their wooden rosaries into stakes and taught hunting along with catechism. Later became famous for saving a small village from a Hel-Blar infestation after Montmartre passed through the area. Currently inactive.

Richard the Lionheart, Joan of Arc, and Emily Bronte were said to have been members of the order but this has never been definitely proven.

7.
Traditional Vampire Lore (Mostly Debunked)

Habitat:

-Anywhere as long as soil from homeland is nearby—a jar’s worth is enough (debunked)

-Old castles and basements preferred (debunked)

Characteristics:

-Pale skin

-Fangs

-Cast no reflection (debunked)

Of course they cast a reflection. Do you think Logan could dress the way he does without a mirror?

-Shapeshift into bat, wolf, or mist (debunked)

-Sleep in coffins (debunked)

Strengths:

-Very fast and strong

-Can fly or levitate (debunked)

-Strong sense of smell and sharp eyesight

And they can smell a lie.

Weaknesses:

-Cannot enter without invitation (debunked)

-Wooden stake in the heart

-Decapitation

-Garlic (debunked)

-Traditional holy water (debunked)

-Crosses, churches (debunked)

-Sunlight

8.
Basic Vampire Statistics

This handbook focuses on the two major types of vampires generally dealt with by the Western Division. This is meant as a brief introduction as there are too many vampiric creatures across the world to properly explore in this handbook.

I’ve heard that there are vampire watermelons in the Balkans and that in Russia, vampires can turn into butterflies. That’s seriously weird. Now I kind of want to keep a butterfly in my room and freak out my roommate Sarita by telling her it’s Nicholas.

Habitat:

Any topography, nighttime preferred. Rarely found in desert settings. Live in tribal family groups. Some prefer to live together for safety; others are more solitary by nature. Look for blacked-out windows.

Distinguishing Characteristics:

-Sunlight weakens the young; elders can withstand indirect light for short periods of time.

-Elongated retractable canines (fangs)

-Vampire pheromones not consciously detectable to human noses but still have effect. A few vampires have exceptionally strong pheromones, which may be processed through the body as the scent of lilies and chocolate. In insect and animal populations, pheromones are used to trigger alarms before an attack, to mark territory, or to call a mate. In vampire populations, pheromones are used to attract victims and make them willing and/or forgetful.

-Irises of eyes grow paler with age; common eye colors are blue, green, gray, and hazel

-Age very slowly

-Low body temperatures

-Pale skin

-Vampires cling to the fashions and traditions of their youth.

Ever seen a vampire turned in the 80s? It’s not pretty.

-Find it difficult to resist fleeing prey

Food:

-Blood, both animal and human

-Human blood preferred when ill or wounded

Strengths:

-Heal quickly

-Move with incredible speed

-Well-developed sense of smell and sight

-Extremely strong, especially during newborn hunger frenzy at sunset

Weaknesses:

-Allergic reaction to sunlight

-Wounds through heart do not heal; vampires disintegrate entirely at moment of death. (This is thought to be a natural stealth process meant to hide their presence from the general population, even in death. Research is understandably difficult to apply.)

-Decapitation leads to instant death.

-Vampires sleep or are unconscious during daylight hours.

-Transformation (“bloodchange”) can be painful and leaves the victim vulnerable.

Reproduction:

-Vampires are created when a vampire drinks a human’s blood, usually through a bite, and offers his or her own blood to the human in return. The bloodchange can be quite violent, and subjects do not always retain sanity, should they survive.

-In rare ancient families (currently surviving: Drake, Joiik, Amrita), vampire children are born to human females. In some cultures, they are known as dhampirs. The ancient families are not traditional dhampirs, in that they transform on their sixteenth birthday. Regular dhampirs are born vampiric. The Council families have been known to change, as families occasionally die out and are replaced.

Young:

-In those rare families, the children born to human mothers age naturally until their sixteenth birthday, when they weaken and die unless human blood is given to complete the transformation into a vampire.

-Once transformed, vampires age normally up to and through puberty, until they reach a biological age equivalent to their early twenties. Some variations occur.

Political Structure:

-Family/tribal groups are generally ruled by the oldest member of the lineage and his or her consort. If their leader is incapable of ruling, consensus rules generally apply. In some cases, the successor is named well in advance; in other cases trial by combat still prevails.

-A nation of families/tribes can be ruled by a single king or queen. This is not necessary and may cause intertribal warfare. This is to our advantage as it weakens them and makes it easier to hunt and dispatch.

9.
Vampire History

The basic structure of vampire society is a combination of feudal medieval values and tribal autonomy. Vampires cling to their youthful cultures and deeply respect tradition and ritual.

They can be ruled by a king or queen and their royal court. Primogeniture is not the general mode of royal succession, though it can sometimes be relied upon. Usually the right to rule is determined by political worth and/or usurpation. There has never been, to our knowledge, a monarch that rules over all the vampires of the world. Usually, kingdoms are determined by modern country territory lines, though some earlier historical lines may also be used. Most families are more concerned with following their matriarch or patriarch, or their personal sires.

Solitaries and renegades reject the power of the family unit, the sire, and the royal courts.

Royal Crest: Ruby crown with sword

Current Queen (self-styled): Lady Natasha (long white-blond hair)

Not in power anymore, thank God!

Lady Natasha was abandoned by her sire, the shaman-king Leopold, in 1722, Switzerland. She survived and was adopted into a Russian vampire family (Romanikovs) in 1851. She took over the North American vampire throne in 1957 when the king (Edward Gopi) was mysteriously chained to a tree and died at sunrise. The culprit was never found though popular belief points to Lady Natasha. “Lady” is a title she appropriated from her aristocratic foster family. The only remaining family member is her step-sister Juliana Romanikov.

She ate a raw deer heart thinking it belonged to Solange. She was way scary.

The Araksaka:

Lady Natasha’s personal guard. Marked with a tattoo of three raven feathers on the left side of their faces.

Reapers:

In the 1980s Lady Natasha sent her reapers through the streets of Violet Hill. She was staying in the royal caves inside one of the more remote Violet Hill mountains, once said to belong to the Hounds (see section 12), and demanded victims be brought to her to feed on. Her favorite reapers were the Domokos siblings, Elisabet and Lyle. They were dispatched in 1983.

Mom helped with that! And so did Bruno. And I think they might have dated but neither of them will admit to it.

Raktapa Council:

The three ancient families of Drake, Joiik, and Amrita form the Raktapa Council. They hold some sway over other vampire tribes, but exactly how much is not known.

10.
The Host

Leander Montmartre is known to all vampires and hunters. He has been creating his own army of vampires for centuries. They are known as his “Host.” Once a lover to Lady Natasha. Reason for separation unknown.

Montmartre was a creepy old perv.

Habitat:

-Manor houses in private countryside settings

Distinguishing Characteristics:

-Fealty oaths sworn to Montmartre

-Act as his personal bodyguard and army

-Uniform of brown leather tunics

Food:

-Blood, preferably human. Take unwilling donors.

Strengths:

-Trained fighters

-Extremely fast and strong, well-developed sense of smell and sight, quick healers

-Unified in purpose

-Loyalty

Weaknesses:

-Usual vampire weaknesses (see section 8)

-Arrogance, blind obedience to Montmartre, power-lust

Reproduction:

-The Host are turned by a vampire bite (from Montmartre, traditionally) and abandoned to suffer the bloodchange without guidance or a sufficient quantity of the sire’s blood. This is believed to make them strong. If they survive, Montmartre returns to claim them as his own. This process is notoriously unstable and vampires often go mad. This is how many of the current Hel-Blar plague were created.

Political Structure:

-Medieval-style fealty to Leander Montmartre

11.
The Hel-Blar

Hel-Blar were at one time considered to be rare. They were mostly human victims who were infected and turned into vampires without knowledge of the process and were driven mad by bloodlust and insufficient feeding. Some retain speech and reason but many are rendered insane beyond cognitive functions.

Ew. Seriously. These guys are gross.

Now dangerously common, especially in small European towns and Violet Hill, due to Montmartre’s attempt to create his own army. Hel-Blar numbers more than tripled as he perfected his creation of the Host.

Hel-Blar means “blue death” in ancient Viking dialect.

Habitat:

-Nesting tendencies in abandoned houses and thick forests

Distinguishing Characteristics:

-Sharpened, elongated teeth; every tooth is a fang. Unretractable.

-Blue-tinted skin

-Smell like rotting mushrooms and swampy water

Food:

-Blood. From any source.

Strengths:

-Strong fighters

-Feral

Weaknesses:

-Usual vampire weaknesses (see section 8)

-Can lose themselves in battle frenzy, as did the Viking Beserkers.

Reproduction:

-The Hel-Blar bite is known as a “kiss” and, unlike a regular vampire bite, can turn the victim without the need for blood exchange. Saliva in an open wound is sometimes enough.

-Even other vampires fear this bite because of the contagious effect on other vampires.

-Always made, never born, even in ancient families.

Political Structure:

-None, beyond nesting. Work in small clans or tribes.

12.
The Hounds

The Hounds are notoriously secretive and information is difficult to gather and decipher. They know themselves as the Cwn Mamau, “The Hounds of the Mother.”

Habitat:

-Prefer caves, the more remote the better. Walls are painted with scenes from their ancestral myths. Details unknown.

Distinguishing Characteristics:

-Sharpened, elongated teeth; double set of retractable fangs

-Very misunderstood; little is known about them

-Superstitious

-Wild demeanor and appearance is common.

-Pale skin

-Wear bone beads and amulets

-Dogs taken into their tribes as totem-type animal companions

Food:

-Blood, both human and animal

Strengths:

-Strong fighters

-Fiercely independent

-Extremely fast and strong

-Well-developed sense of smell and sight

-Quick healers

-Good trackers and hunters

-Magical knowledge about which we have little information

Weaknesses:

-Usual vampire weaknesses (see section 8)

Reproduction:

-Many of the modern Hounds were turned by a vampire bite and abandoned to become one of Montmartre’s Host. Instead of being reclaimed by Montmartre or another unrelated sire, they are rescued by other Hounds and adopted into the tribe in elaborate initiation rituals.

Political Structure and Miscellaneous Customs:

-By all accounts the Hounds do not swear an oath to a particular royal bloodline. They prefer to follow a shamanka (sometimes a shaman) who rules through the use of ritual magic and superstition. They can be recognized by the bone bead necklaces they wear carved into the shape of their particular animal totem. Teeth pulled from previous shamanka totems are also worn.

My dad wears necklaces like that too.

-Braiding of the hair is an initiatory practice. Seven braids is said to be the number of luck for the shamanka, five for their apprentice, four for the sire of a tribe, three for the ordinary warrior. Newly turned Hounds wear no braids until their first kill; afterward a single braid.

-The Hounds are among some of the oldest vampires known. They are fierce and strong and very solitary. They have managed to avoid entanglement in human history and conflict, preferring life in the deep woods or caves.

Current Shamanka:

Kala: (white hair in braids and dreadlocks, blue eyes, painted ritual deer cloak)

Little is known. She is at least three hundred years old, rumored by some to be as old as two thousand. She spent several hundred years living alone in the mountains until she took the mantle of shamanka when the last shaman-king was killed. Her witch-dogs are famous for tracking and finding abandoned vampires during the transformational process of becoming Host or Hel-Blar.

Currently the only shamanka we have intel on; if there are others, they are unknown to us.

Hound Princess: Kala’s handmaiden

Isabeau St. Croix: (long black hair, green eyes, favors fighting in leathers with sleeveless shirt and chain mail)

Turned: during French Revolution and left for dead

Distinguishing Characteristics: beauty mark on right cheekbone, petite, double set of fangs, French accent, numerous tattoos (Celtic knot work, greyhound, fleur-de-lis)

Personality: very reclusive, polite, strong

Strengths: good fighter, determined, loyal to shamanka, magical training

Companion: gray wolfhound “Charlemagne,” Magda (Hound), Finn (Initiated Hound)

Point of Interest: parents killed by guillotine during the French Revolution

There’s a whole new vampire race the League didn’t even know about called the Na-Foir. They’re something between a Hel-Blar and a Hound. They were more reclusive than even the Hounds, because their veins are so blue they get mistaken for Hel-Blar a lot and shot on sight. My cousin Christabel was kidnapped by them so she could be a political liaison. They thought she was me. I’m still not sure what to think about that.

13.
The Drake Family (Local Clan)

The Drakes are of particular interest as they are the current linchpin to most political intrigue within North American vampire society, especially in Violet Hill. Only sons have been born to this lineage since the Middle Ages, until the birth of Solange Drake (b. 1993) to Liam Drake (b. 1901) and Helena Drake (b. 1953–died/turned 1994).

As mentioned previously, a historic treaty is in effect between the Drakes and the Helios-Ra. The Drakes do not drink from humans without consent and never drink enough to cause irreparable damage. We do not hunt the Drakes at this time. A bulletin will be issued should this change.

Exiled but still powerful. Not enough is known about the prophecy regarding Solange Drake.

Because it’s none of your business!

The surname Drake is thought to have originated from the Old English word “Draca,” or possibly from Old Danish “Draki,” both meaning “Dragon.”

Family Motto: “Nox Noctis, nostra domina” (Latin for “Night our Mistress”)

I need my own motto. And maybe a theme song. But I’ll leave the superhero capes to Kieran and Hunter.

Family Crest: Dragon with ivy in its mouth

Origins:

William Drake is thought to be the first Drake vampire, turned circa late eleventh century–early twelfth century. In 1148, he married Veronique Dubois, lady-in-waiting to Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine in France. She gave birth to twins (Arnaud and Christophe) in 1149 and would have died in childbirth if William had not turned her. They were chased out of Aquitaine when the twins sickened on their sixteenth birthday and would only be cured by the drinking of human blood, which turned them fully in 1165.

Exiled from the royal courts by Lady Natasha due to prophecy.

Habitat:

The main Drake homestead is in the outskirts of Violet Hill, near the mountains. Several farms comprise the compound and are patrolled by both human and vampire guards. The Violet Hill area is also home to the caves used by the Hounds, until they were taken over by Lady Natasha.

Current Generation

Father:

Liam Drake (born 1901, turned 1917)

Blue eyes, dark hair; diplomatic strengths

Mother:

Helena Drake, née Cole (born 1966, turned 1994)

Black hair, blue eyes; skilled in several martial arts (including Tae Kwon Do, Akido), as well as fencing, kickboxing, and hunting, even before she was turned. Do not antagonize.

Sons:

Nicholas (born 1992, turned 2008)

Gray eyes, dark brown hair

Noteworthy: Drake training, mechanics, newly turned, need to prove himself, over-protective of his little sister, Solange, and of Lucky Hamilton

Logan (born 1991, turned 2007)

Green eyes, brown hair

Noteworthy: Drake training, wears frock coats and Goth attire, father’s ability to charm, fastidious, cocky

Connor (born 1990, turned 2006)

Blue eyes, dark brown hair

Noteworthy: twin (Quinn), Drake training, computer tech

Quinn (born 1990, turned 2006)

Blue eyes, dark brown hair

Noteworthy: twin (Connor), Drake training, charm, overconfidence, especially strong pheromones?

Duncan (born 1988, turned 2004)

Green eyes, dark brown hair

Noteworthy: Drake training, mechanics, antisocial

Marcus (born 1987, turned 2003)

Blue eyes, dark brown hair

Noteworthy: Drake training, shy, very intelligent, science/biology

Sebastian (born 1986, turned 2002)

Amber eyes, dark brown hair

Noteworthy: Drake training, reclusive, very quiet, little else known

Daughter:

Solange (born 1993, bloodchange expected on August 23, 2009)

Blue eyes, black hair

Companion: Lucky “Lucy” Hamilton (person of interest, human)

Noteworthy: Drake training, acupressure, fencing, solitary, pottery; quiet, seems calmer than her brothers

Point of Interest: First and only daughter born to the Drake clan. Assumed to be the one mentioned in a vampire prophecy to become queen (written down during the reign of Henry VIII, but no other information is available).

Drake Persons of Note:

Hyacinth Drake (born 1857, turned 1877): married to Edward Drake (born 1789, turned 1805, died 1914); lives at the main Drake house, Violet Hill compound.

Geoffrey Drake (born 1910, turned 1926): brother of Liam Drake; biology teacher at local college, Violet Hill. Lives on family compound.

Ruby Drake

Little is known about her. Loss of family is said to have driven her mad. Avoid.

London Drake (of the British Drakes): oathed to royal house, currently Lady Natasha (acting vampire queen)

She’s cranky.

Victoria Drake

Poet

I’ve never met her, but sounds like she’d have a lot in common with my cousin Christabel.

Associated Humans of Interest:

The MacAlister/Hamilton family has strong ties to the Drakes.

Posy MacAlister aided the effort to defeat Lady Natasha’s reapers in the 80s. She dispatched many vampires before and after that event, with her own gang of ex-bikers. Her daughter Janet (changed name to Cassiopeia) retired from vampire killing but has maintained strong ties with Helena Drake. Cass married Stuart Hamilton and their daughter Lucky is close to Solange Drake.

Lucky Moon Hamilton (born 1993)

Look, I’m famous!

Brown eyes, brown hair

Noteworthy: mostly immune to vampire pheromones, especially Drake pheromones. Brash, protective, reckless, good aim with crossbow, annoys Nicholas Drake.

Hey!

Bruno MacGregor (born 1964)

Brown eyes, brown/shaved hair

Noteworthy: Scottish, Drake bodyguard, ex-biker, tattoos; proficient in mixed martial arts, street fighting, gun use, daggers, motorcycles.

14.
Supernatural Miscellany
(basic; see Paranormal Division guide for more in-depth analysis)

It has come to our attention that other creatures may be using the Violet Hill mountains and forests as their base. Local unsubstantiated lore mentions the following: faery folk, werewolves, witches, zombies, demons. Use discretion.

We need a Vampire Relations Department.

Lucky Hamilton
Class Schedule
Grade 11

10:30 a.m. Breakfast (optional)

12:30 p.m. Lunch

1:00 p.m. English Literature (2nd semester: History)

2:00 p.m. Math (2nd semester: Art)

3:00 p.m. Science (2nd semester: Independent Study)

4:30 p.m. Major (Paranormal Division, Science and Technology Division, Hunting Division)

5:30 p.m. Study Hall. Gym. Quiet curfew in effect.

6:30 p.m. Dinner

7:30 p.m. League History

8:30 p.m. Archery/Gun Range

9:30 p.m. Vampire History

10:30 p.m. Kickboxing

11:30 p.m. Supernatural Studies (2nd semester: Technology)

1:00 a.m. Curfew, Snack provided in Common Room

1:30 a.m. Lights Out

Corsets and Crossbows is a glimpse of the early days of the Helios-Ra, told through the letters of the feisty ancestor of Hunter Wild, Quinn Drake’s girlfriend.

May 27, 1815

Dear Evangeline,

I still cannot believe you are stuck in the Lake Country while the London Season is well on its way. It’s horrid unfair. I’d write a strongly worded letter to your mother if I thought it would do any good. I cannot believe she would rather bury herself in the country instead of dancing the waltz and going to the opera. Not that I’ve danced the waltz yet, of course, since I haven’t received permission. Never fear, I intend to dance it before the Season is over, mark my words. The ladies at Almack’s can choke on their warm lemonade and stuffy old rules.

I’m a debutante now and I’ve made my curtsy to the Queen and all that implies. And I didn’t trip on my train and fall on my backside …. I’m afraid that distinction still belongs to you alone. I did consider tripping Meredith but it didn’t seem sporting. She’s hardly made of sturdy stuff.

Please tell me you are still working on convincing your parents. Shouldn’t your father be taking his seat in Parliament? Isn’t that what earls do when they’re too old to have any fun? Make sure you tell your older brother I said that when next you see him. He’s become entirely too stodgy.

Mother has booked another appointment with the dressmaker Madame Blanche even though I’ve stood on that stool and been used as a glorified pincushion for hours now. Hours. I could have written a novel or mastered the art of lace making, which I still find wickedly confusing by the way, in the time it has taken this woman to design and sew a dress Mother approves of for the family ball. I may try hiding in the lilac hedge today. What good is being a vampire hunter if one can’t make oneself unavailable for torture?

I know Eleanor would be aghast at my mentioning such a delicate subject in writing, but truth be told, lately she’s been rather aghast at everything I do. You’d think no one in the Wild family had ever joined the Helios-Ra before. Father is beside himself with pride and Mother preens like a peacock every time the wives gather for their monthly tea. No one else’s daughters have taken up the call except for you, and don’t think for one minute that’s not why your mother wishes to keep you imprisoned in the country house with nothing but sheep and hedgehogs for company. So my annoying, simpering cousin Eleanor can show a little support. She could have joined if she’d wanted to. It’s not my fault she finds it all so horribly shocking and distressing. She actually fainted last week when she saw the stake strapped to my ankle. Can you imagine? Still, she did me a favor, I suppose. I ought to have hidden it better. I am still trying to find a way to hide a crossbow, but the last time I tried to hide one in my reticule the butler asked if I was hiding a duck in there.

I hope you’ve remembered our code or that entire paragraph will have made no sense. I’m not a ninny, after all, despite what my cousin might think. I would never endanger the society or our work.

But if I don’t see a vampire soon I vow I shall do something drastic.

Perhaps I should sneak into Vauxhall Gardens one night. Everyone’s always whispering about the goings-on there, how the paths lead into dark deserted gardens and grottos and women get lured there by ne’er-do-wells. Surely one of those ne’er-do-wells might be a little bit vampiric?

That seems like a fine plan. If I have not seen a fang or bloodstained lip by this time next week, I shall take matters into my own hands. After all, what good is all of our training, all of the fencing and dry history books and calisthenics in a bleeding corset, if I never ever come face-to-face with a vampire? I won’t be an ornament for the League.

I want to be useful.

All my love,

Rosalind

June 3, 1815

Dear Evangeline,

That did not go exactly as planned.

Please don’t lecture me about being rash, I believe I am in complete agreement.

But I’d do it all again, given half the chance.

And I’m not a complete featherwit, I wouldn’t go to the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens unaccompanied. Not as Miss Rosalind Wild, at any rate. But Robbie, Robbie can go anywhere he chooses, can’t he? He’s going to be a most useful alter ego, I can already tell you. And he can carry a crossbow in a bag and no one thinks to question him.

You see, I borrowed, oh very well, I can just see your expression as I write this, I stole a pair of trousers, a shirt, a vest, and a jacket from Cousin Justin. He’ll never miss them; he outgrew me at Christmas and hasn’t stopped since. He might well get bigger than Papa if he keeps it up. I can’t think what he’s eating. And anyway, he’s away at Eton and wouldn’t mind in the least. I don’t understand how he and Eleanor can be related. Can you imagine having her for a sister? Always criticizing and pursing her lips. And she wears rouge now, did you know? Even if she does deny it vociferously, I know rouge when I see it. No one’s mouth is that color unless one’s been eating pomegranate seeds. And she hates pomegranates; they might stain her fingers and her precious dresses.

But I digress.

I had a very good disguise, if I do say so myself. I even passed one of your brothers at the gates to Vauxhall and he didn’t give me a second glance. I was very proud of myself and considered hiring myself out to the Crown as a spy. I think I’d make a very dashing spy. Napoleon wouldn’t see me coming.

I admit I was a trifle less confident by the end of the night.

Anyhow, I paid the coachman several guineas to take me to the gardens and wait for me and not breathe a word to my parents. (Also, I reminded him about the lace drawers I found under one of the cushions last week.) Surely a spot of blackmail and bribery is all right, under the circumstances. One does what one must when one hunts vampires.

Maman and Papa thought I was going to visit Beatrix to help her practice her curtsy as she is going to be presented to the Queen next month, even though she is not yet Out. Something about her papa saving the Queen’s favorite spaniel or some such. Poor Beatrix, she has no use for court and curtsies and Polite Society, but her father will keep getting recognized for good deeds. It’s a trial to her.

It was past midnight when I finally walked down the main lane, lanterns lit in the trees like fairy butterfly cocoons. It was so beautiful, the orchestra playing, the couples dancing, the platters of strawberries and ham circulating in the paid boxes. I saw several people I knew but couldn’t say hello, of course. I will say that Lord Harrisford was whispering to Juliette Thornton while they waltzed and she was blushing. They make a darling couple and I do hope he offers for her soon. And the waltz was lovely, all sweeping turns and fluttering hems. I simply cannot wait to dance it. But you know all that already.

I left the popular courtyards which we’ve both visited enough to know nothing scandalous ever happens there. All the truly interesting stories take place in the groves and forest and Druid’s Lane. I don’t need to tell you I saw our cousin Francis leading two women who seemed rather less than decorous into the oaks. One of them even winked at me! I would have dearly loved to cast off my disguise, just to see the look on Francis’s face. Instead I hid in the bushes until they were gone.

And then I had to hide again when I saw Percy walking with his friends. It’s no secret Maman thinks he would be a brilliant match for me. His mother was famous in her day, did you know? She staked a vampire at her wedding breakfast, though she gave her new husband the credit. I think I’d like to keep credit for myself. Does that make me horribly wicked, do you think? On second thought, don’t you dare answer that, Evangeline Plum.

The trouble is, Percy is so deadly dull I fear I might yawn myself into a stupor every time we are together. I hardly think this is good material in a husband, do you?

And I think he would take the credit for himself, just like his father did.

Anyhow, enough of that, it’s entirely too depressing.

I walked for over an hour until my feet hurt and I was bored. I’d missed the fireworks display and the tightrope walker and the woods were full of giggling and moaning and precious little of the bloodthirsty undead.

Be careful what you ask for.

You’d think I’d know that by now.

I heard a sound unlike the others and one I’d never heard before in my entire life and rather hope never to hear again. It was a kind of hissing, followed by grunts, like someone being struck repeatedly and forcefully. I felt sure I was hearing a vampire attacking an unwary reveler. This is what I had trained for.

Will you think less of me if I tell you I hesitated? And that my heart skipped a beat entirely and my breath trembled in a most unheroic fashion?

I like to think I recovered myself, however. I reached for my stake (which is much easier to hide in your boot when your boot is safely covered by trousers. Also, in your pocket, when you actually have a pocket). I crept through the ferns and bushes. You’ll admit I am rather stealthy when I’ve a mind to be; and I definitely had a mind to be. Vampires have exceedingly good hearing, I don’t need to tell you, and the element of surprise remains our best weapon. Can’t you just hear the Professor now?

So there I was, hunched in a lilac bush at the edge of a deserted folly, all broken stone pillars and headless marble statues draped in ivy. It might have been beautiful and haunting, if my teeth hadn’t been chattering in my head and my palms slick with sweat.

Because there in the folly, under a broken blue-glass lantern, was a vampire.

No, actually, two vampires.

I hadn’t interrupted a vampire feeding on some hapless victim, but two vampires in some kind of dispute. The Professor was always telling us not to run. I can tell you, that is much, much, easier said than done. I had no idea how strong the physical instinct to flee can be, or how nauseating that rush of adrenaline into your veins and belly. I nearly dropped my stake. Only Papa’s voice in my ear shouting, “A hunter never drops his stake!” had me clutching it tighter.

I crept closer, as close I could get, and then I threw my stake as hard as I could. It went fast and accurate, and stuck into the vampire’s back.

He didn’t turn to ash.

I ought to have used a crossbow.

It’s rather difficult to throw a splinter of wood hard enough to pierce a rib cage, I’ll have you know. I intend to bring it up at the next meeting.

He did, at least, give a gratifying howl and jerk back. It was just enough of an advantage to have the second vampire, who’d been struggling to free himself, reach around and push the stake through bone, muscle, and, finally, heart. Ash drifted like dandelion pollen in the moonlight. The remaining vampire reared up and I stumbled back. His hair was dark and fell over his forehead, over eyes as pale as snow. A bloody gash raked under his left cheekbone, and more blood bloomed like a red rose over his white linen shirt, on his right side. His cravat was torn, but his silk waistcoat had silver buttons. He was clearly a gentleman vampire.

A gentleman vampire, Evangeline.

No one ever told us about that. And he was very handsome, even if I couldn’t see his face properly. I could just tell. It’s just an observation. It isn’t as if I stood around to look at him.

I’ll have you know I whirled around at the first opportunity and ran away, even as he yelled, “Wait! Come back!” and tried to follow. He would have been faster than me, of course, but I believe he was wounded and then I managed to lose myself in the crowds before he could reach me.

Now that I’m safe, you have to admit, it is a rather exciting story. Perhaps I should be writing gothic novels. It might have been romantic if I hadn’t been dressed as a boy.

And if he hadn’t been one of the undead, of course.

Of course, that.

All my love,

Rosalind

June 7, 1815

Dear Evangeline,

The more I think on it, the more I am bewildered. Why did no one ever mention gentlemen vampires? We have been told time and time again that they are savage and cruel and ghastly and have questionable hygiene.

Evangeline, he was not ghastly.

What does this mean, do you think? What else could they be keeping from us? Allegedly for our own protection, though I can’t think why we would need to be protected from beauty. Can you? I fear that if I pull on this little thread, the whole tapestry will unravel.

I know that Eleanor would tell me to leave things be, that this is not my concern. But I am part of the society, am I not? I am a vampire hunter. How can I do my work if they are keeping vital information from us? And it is only the women who are being treated thus. I cornered Justin. He is such a terrible liar I knew right away. He was home for Aunt Anne’s birthday and admitted (eventually) that it is only girls who are told these dangerous and condescending half truths. He says it is because we are more susceptible to the charms of a vampire.

Bollocks to that, Evangeline.

These fabrications and convenient omissions put us all in danger, whatever their antiquated reasoning. And if you’ll recall, Cousin Andrew was the one who got himself killed by following some lightskirt into an alley for a tumble. They forgot to tell us that part about his murder, how he died with his trousers down around his ankles. I don’t mean to shock you, but there it is.

Even the League cannot be fully trusted.

What are we to do now? A vampire cannot be trusted just because he has fine features, and a hunter cannot be trusted even when he is family. I vow I won’t keep quiet about this. It’s too important.

I also vow, dear Evangeline, to ferret out the society’s secrets.

Tonight, in fact.

The Wintersons are having their annual ball. It is always such a crush of people, I’m sure I won’t be noticed. I’ll simply sneak into Lord Winterson’s office and see what I can find out. Surely, being the head of the organization, he must keep some items of import in his home? If not, I suppose I shall have to try and search the Helios-Ra town house, but you and I both know that will be nigh impossible.

Never mind. Tonight’s the night. I can feel it.

Your cousin,

Rosalind

Postscript

I really ought to stop making such inflammatory pronouncements.

It never ends well.

Forgive my uncertain penmanship, I am still shaky from the adrenaline and the champagne. And my first waltz. Who could have guessed the Wintersons’ dull ball could prove so very diverting? I hardly know where to begin. I can hear you gnashing your teeth, Evie, but you’ll simply have to be patient with me. I must organize my thoughts if I’m to make sense out of any of this.

We arrived fashionably late, as always. Mother wouldn’t hear of our making an appearance before midnight. The lane was positively clogged with carriages and the ballroom packed with several hundred guests in their finest. I’ve never seen so many fans and feathered turbans. I do hope that particular trend fades quickly, it’s rather distressing. Think of all those bald ostriches and peacocks.

And I admit it, I hid among the potted ferns until Percy went to the cards room to play whist. Probably not very hunterlike of me, but it was effective. I can’t bear to hurt his feelings, his eyes are always so sad. But he has a veritable train of debutantes giggling and fawning over him, surely one of them will console him adequately.

Because I won’t marry him. I don’t care what my parents say. Or his parents. Or Percy himself. I won’t be sold to the highest bidder.

Especially not now.

I waited until the champagne had begun to make everyone a little louder than necessary and couples were sneaking off to find dark corners before I made my way upstairs to the family rooms. Also, I had to time it perfectly as I had no intention of missing the waltz. It was simple enough to avoid the chaperone Mother set on me. And I was well prepared and even spilled strawberry wine on my gown so that I would have a credible excuse should I need one. The gossips and dowager mothers can be every bit as scary as any vampire. I defy you to find a creature more chilling than Lady Kirkwood. Don’t even bother to consider it, there is no such beast. She has made grown men cry in public with scarcely any effort at all. I’ve always thought she’d make an admirable hunter.

Back to the ball. I made it upstairs easily enough. I would have expected the Wintersons’ house to be better guarded, to be honest with you. But I suppose they never suspected for a moment that a debutante might be clever enough to do any harm. And admittedly the town house is prodigiously well protected against vampires; I’ve never seen such a collection of swords and walking canes with retractable daggers. (I mean to fix one of my parasols along similar lines. It is a most interesting alteration and surely to be of great use.)

I could hear the orchestra playing a quadrille, and the noisy hum of a hundred conversations going on at once. There were no footsteps, no flicker of the candle flames, nothing. I was not foolhardy in thinking myself alone. Indeed, I still cannot countenance that I wasn’t.

I found the study with little incident and it was exactly as you might have imagined it to be: spacious, with a massive oak desk, silver decanters and bottles of expensive brandy, and rows of books and curios. I felt rather daring as I skulked through the shadows and opened all the drawers. I found nothing of import until the very last drawer, which was locked. Those new hairpins you devised are brilliant, Evie. I picked the lock with very little trouble.

There were a few banknotes inside, a diamond cravat pin, and other odds and ends, but nothing at all related to the society. I confess I didn’t know what I was looking for. It just flustered me so to know that our cousin died in different circumstances than we were led to believe. It all seems so sinister and suspicious. And overly dramatic.

That was about the time I decided to abandon my search and return to the ballroom before I was missed. There was no sense in damaging my reputation irrevocably over … a faint feeling of disquiet. Even I am not so reckless.

I was at the top of the stairs when I heard men’s voices. Two voices, one older and vaguely familiar though I couldn’t place it and still cannot, the other young and impatient. I slipped between an armoire and a huge brass urn full of ostrich feathers. I take back what I said about the trend for feathers, they can make a most convenient hiding spot. I held my breath as the conversation turned into a hushed argument. I had to strain to hear so I cannot be certain I heard every word correctly.

But I am mostly certain.

“It’s too soon,” the older voice snapped.

“You’ve been saying that for weeks now. I haven’t the time to coddle you if you’ve gone milksop on me.”

“I’ve done no such thing.” He sounded affronted.

“Then let’s get on with it. I’m the one who was ambushed at Vauxhall, if you’ll recall. You’ve barely sullied your fine hands.”

Evie! Surely this is the same man I saw in Vauxhall!

“I do not think you comprehend what I am doing. It’s betrayal.”

“Your problem, not mine. I’m not breaking any oaths.”

“Well, you aren’t a hunter, are you? I am.”

An irritated sigh followed. “Are you going to help me remove Winterson or not?”

“Shhh. Are you mad, saying that out loud?”

“I grow weary of your excuses and hand-wringing.”

“And I of your neck-or-nothing arrogance.”

His voice lowered even more until I had to lean out so far I nearly fell at their feet. “Another incentive not to procrastinate further, wouldn’t you say?”

It took me a moment to realize they’d walked away entirely. I stood in the hallway but I couldn’t hear footsteps or smell a trace of cologne or cigar smoke. I had no way to follow them. It was as if they’d vanished entirely. I went back downstairs because I didn’t know what else to do. People must have thought me mad, I stared so hard at every gentleman I passed. Justin accused me of squinting like a pirate.

I was just inside the doors and could see no one looking nervous or secretive. I sighed, disgruntled.

“Miss Wild, might I have the pleasure of this waltz?”

Dante Cowan, Lord Thornwood and the Earl of Dunrowan’s son, had come up behind me, and was standing so close that I could feel the length of his body nearly touching mine. He was so close that when I jumped and whirled, I elbowed him in the stomach. I didn’t mean to, but he startled me! And the ballroom was devilishly crowded.

Did I mention how handsome he is? I barely remember him from before he went on his Grand Tour but now that he’s returned from the Continent, there is an air about him, something mysterious and dark in his gray eyes. He has away of smiling that makes you wonder what he is actually smiling about.

“I say!” Justin raised his monocle. Did you know he’s taken to carrying one around and wearing pink-striped waistcoats? He fancies himself a dandy now. “Have you been properly introduced?”

“Yes.” I out-and-out lied and I’m not sorry for it. I also crushed Justin’s foot under the sole of my dancing slipper.

Dante smiled his crooked smile at me and held out his arm to lead me to the dance floor.

“Not here.” I tugged him behind a portly couple and into a far corner. “I don’t technically have permission to dance the waltz yet.”

“I shan’t give you away.” His hand went to my waist and he drew me close.

I can understand, now, why the old dowagers make such a fuss over the waltz. It’s not that they fear we’ll get dizzy from the whirling and fall down in a heap of petticoats. It’s that it affords an opportunity to get so close to a charming young man that one can see the way his hair curls over his ears, the exact shape of his cheekbones, the feel of his shoulder under one’s hand.

And when that man is Dante Cowan, there is danger indeed.

I don’t want to be like the other debutantes, obviously fawning over him and simpering when he walks by, but he makes me feel … kaleidoscopic. Does that even make sense? I don’t remember if we spoke much because he maneuvered us out the French doors and onto the deserted balcony. He drew me even closer until a breeze could not have passed between our bodies. It was exceedingly shocking of him, of course. And, of course, I let him. He didn’t take liberties, only kept whirling us until I was laughing and breathless and dizzy.

“You’ve spilled wine on your gown,” he said softly.

I glanced down at the stain near my knee. I’d forgotten all about it. He must have exceedingly good eyesight to have noticed it. “It will wash out.” I shrugged.

“Most girls would be swooning or running weeping for the nearest ladies’ maid.”

“I am not like most girls,” I declared.

“No, I should say not.”

I wanted to ask him if he meant that as a compliment but I was half-afraid of the answer. And I know, I know, I should have been concentrating on the fact that someone was plotting to kill the leader of the Helios-Ra society. I like to think I am talented enough to worry and waltz at the same time.

“There is a maid upstairs if you’d like her to wash the spot out.” He seemed very serious all of a sudden, his eyes flaring.

“The maid is downstairs, actually, and the stain has already set. It’s of no matter.”

The song ended too soon and he bowed over my hand as I curtsied. I know this is going to sound strange, Evie, but I could swear he leaned forward and sniffed me. And his face went hard, his jaw clenched. It was very brief but I saw it.

But I’m convinced that’s just the hunter training talking.

Right?

Botheration. Might Eleanor actually be right about something?

Have I forgotten how to be a normal girl?

Worriedly yours,

Rosalind

June 11, 1815

Dearest Evangeline,

I am so cross I can barely calm myself enough to write this.

You would think that after the training we have endured and, I might add, excelled at, a small measure of trust might be expected. Even the barest trace of confidence in our common sense and intelligence, if nothing else.

I regret to say, that is not so.

I suppose you know this already, with your mother inventing all manner of country pursuits to keep you from London and the hunters. And I can understand that, I really can. She is your mother, and, of course, she will worry. The fact that she worries equally for all your brothers speaks well for her character, I believe.

But this is different. My father ought to know better. It is devilishly unfair. I spent a long sleepless night trying to determine the best course of action regarding the whispered conversation I overhead at the Wintersons’ ball. I do not take it lightly, nor our duty to the League, and I expect the same consideration. Murder is bad enough, but the traitorous murder of the leader of the Helios-Ra by a fellow initiate is abhorrent. It behooves us all to be on our guard, to take our oaths seriously. To take one another seriously.

You see where this is going, I am sure.

By the time the sun rose I was convinced that I must tell my father everything. It is one thing to seek out vampires in Vauxhall Gardens or take one on in a dark alley after the opera, but it is another thing entirely to unravel a conspiracy in a society that barely recognizes you (though I mean to turn that to my advantage shortly. More on that later, I assure you). I am not so reckless that I think I must do everything myself.

I found my father at the table, eating coddled eggs and toast and reading the newspaper, freshly ironed and smelling like scorched ink and paper. He glanced up to smile at me before going back to his reading. “Morning, poppet.”

“Morning, Papa.” I waited until the footman had brought a fresh pot of chocolate to the table and stepped back to a discreet distance. I lowered my voice. “I must speak to you, sir.”

“I am not increasing your allowance, Rosie. You have more than enough for your needs.”

It was an act of will not to roll my eyes at him, Evie. Why do they always think we want more money for dresses and baubles? I’d much rather buy myself a new throwing dagger, though I am not nearly so skilled with them as you are.

“I don’t need more pin money,” I assured him as calmly as I could.

He frowned. “You’re not expecting to race your carriage through the park with some ne’er-do-well again, are you? You must learn to comport yourself with some dignity, my girl.”

Honestly, Evie. Parents.

“Papa, please. This is about something I overheard at the Wintersons’ ball last night.” “Ballroom gossip?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No, two men talking in hushed tones outside Lord Winterson’s office.”

He put his paper down, frowning more intently. “What were you doing up there?”

“Hunting,” I answered proudly.

“You don’t mean to tell me you were chasing a vampire through the family rooms of the Winterson town house, do you?”

I did roll my eyes that time. “No, Papa, of course not.”

“What then? And don’t think we won’t be discussing such cheeky behavior, young lady.”

Cheeky? I was going for stealthy. Heroic, even. Bah.

“There were two men arguing about Lord Winterson. One of them was a hunter, the other was not,” I told him.

“Who were they?”

“I do not know. I didn’t see their faces, only heard them talking. About removing Lord Winterson, Papa. They mean to murder him.”

I waited for a reaction. I’d expected a gasp or for the color to drain from his face. Maybe for him to knock over his coffee cup in his agitation.

I was, most empathically, not expecting him to laugh. My own father, mind.

“Oh, Rosie, you misheard, I’m sure.”

“I did not.”

“It’s not unusual, poppet. Why, when I was your age I was convinced our housekeeper was a vampire. I nearly staked her in the pantry when she was pickling eggs.”

I stared at him, affronted. “You don’t believe me?”

“Hunters take their oaths to the League and to one another very seriously.”

“I know that.” I stirred sugar into my tea with more force than was strictly necessary.

“And as the leader of the order, Lord Winterson is particularly well guarded.”

“I know what I heard,” I insisted stubbornly.

“A whispered conversation late at night, when you’ve been drinking champagne and dancing with young men I have not approved”—he looked pointedly at me then and I knew he was referring to Dante Cowan—“is not evidence enough to toss out wild accusations of murder and treason.”

“But—”

“Leave it be, Rosalind. You’ll only embarrass us and this family if you pursue it.”

“I           wouldn’t!”

“Do you forget last summer when you threw Lord Hallbrook into the pond?”

I scowled. “How was I to know he’d capped his tooth with a diamond. It was a ridiculous affectation and all that glue to hold it in place cannot be good for the constitution. And it looked like a fang.”

“You nearly killed a peer of the realm by drowning him in our fish pond.”

“This is different! I—”

“Leave it, Rosalind. I’m ordering you, as your father and elder in the League, to leave this be.”

I opened my mouth to further protest even as I was fighting the tears burning my eyes. If I had wept then he never would have taken me seriously again. But I wanted to, Evie. I really wanted to. My own father condescended to me and does not believe in my hunting capabilities. The folderol with Lord Hallbrook happened nearly a year ago. Am I meant to suffer for it until I am gray haired and wrinkled as soggy custard?

Before I could say anything else, however, my mother came into the breakfast room in her best day gown, with lace at the hem. Father glared at me warningly and then smiled at her.

“Good morning, my love. Are you off visiting today?”

Mother sat next to him, accepting a fresh cup of coffee. “I am touring the bookshops today, darling. With Beatrix and her mother,” she added, for my benefit.

“Excellent. Perhaps you might take Rosalind with you. She is clearly bored and needs some form of diversion.”

“I was going to train today, Papa. With the throwing daggers.”

“Your time will be better suited accompanying your mother,” he said sternly.

This, Evie, is why my aim with the daggers is not improving at the rate I would like.

There was nothing to be done, just then. I spent the day with Beatrix, at least, which was pleasant. She so rarely comes out into society anymore. She is turning into a recluse, just like her elder sister. But she seems happy, happier than I’ve ever seen her at any ball or musicale. I told her everything, of course. And she at least, like you, believed me. She has promised to write letters to her contacts and to do any research we might need. She’s not strictly from a hunter family, of course, but she is decidedly intelligent and her brother has been on the fringes of the League since he came back from traveling abroad on his nineteenth birthday. I know you don’t particularly care for him, but he may prove useful.

Indeed, I do not know where I would be without such stalwart friends.

Because it’s up to us now, Evangeline.

We are on our own.

Your friend,

Rosalind

June 13, 1815

Dear Evie,

You will laugh.

I have had the most thrilling night and there wasn’t a single vampire anywhere to be found.

Dawn is just unfurling over the city, like lilac and peony petals scattered over the sky. The mist is hanging low between the trees of Hyde Park and I can just imagine it drifting over the Thames. The birds are singing from the rooftops and the swans are like ghosts searching out the ponds in the park. Even the cats in the laneways seem fat and content. You’ll think me fanciful. I just feel as if I am awake for the first time in my life and I cannot imagine going now back to sleep.

I admit the evening did not start so promising. The musicale was horrid, Mother fluttered because there were no eligible bachelors to throw me at, and Father glowered every time I so much as shifted in my chair. I was very glad they decided to go to a private supper with friends and leave me to my own company. They made me solemnly promise I would stay at home.

Ha.

I promised, of course, but I did no such thing. I am not so easily managed. Though I didn’t have much of a plan. I dressed as Robbie again, just to be safe. One never knows, after all. I hired a hack out on the street and told him to drive slowly through Grosvenor Square. I happened to know that the private supper my parents were attending was a Helios-Ra affair at the Honeychurch townhouse, and that Lord Winterson would be in attendance. I wasn’t entirely certain what I was looking for. It seemed unlikely an assassin would choose a crowded house party in the middle of the evening with so many people going to and fro outside the window. Not to mention that I had to hide myself from our own coachman, who waited under one of the new gas lamps. Still, I suppose I thought to acquaint myself with the carriages and crests of the guests. We have so little information, anything at all might yet be useful.

It was dull as tombs. I sat for at least two hours, alone, drifting up and down the street with my crossbow propped at the window, until the coachman complained and I let him stop at the corner. I could still see the front door but, in truth, I was feeling rather useless. I was about to thump the roof to let him know he could abandon the square when the wheels started to roll, first slowly, then picking up entirely too much speed. I shouted at him but got no response. The carriage lurched sideways as the horses ran at a gallop far too spirited for the slick cobbled street we were on. I was beginning to wonder if I should be concerned.

And then I stuck my head out of the window.

Definitely, I should have felt concern.

The horses were running frantically, the reins looped uselessly over the bench where the coachman ought to have been sitting.

Where no one at all was sitting. Instead, the coachman lay in a heap on the sidewalk.

That tears it, Evie. There is definitely mischief afoot.

The carriage wobbled and creaked with disturbing enthusiasm. I have never understood the propensity for carriage accidents until now. The horses were quite mad, as if they had been prodded with a sharp stick. It wouldn’t be long before they ran afoul of another carriage, as the street was rather crowded. Or worse yet, they might trample a night watchman and how would I explain myself then, unchaperoned and in men’s trousers?

It was a mixed blessing when the horses hopped the curbside and went straight into the park, intending, I am sure, to wrap me right round some obliging tree. The sudden rattle of the lurching carriage had me nearly biting my tongue clean out of my head.

So I climbed out of the window like any gothic heroine worth her salt.

Really, what else was I to do? Help was not coming and I hadn’t the patience to wait around for it, regardless. And I didn’t fancy cracking my teeth, or my head entirely, when the carriage finally fell off its axle or shattered a wheel. Hanging out of the window was quite easy; wriggling out enough to grab hold of the roof was less simple. I was exceedingly grateful to be wearing pants. I’d have tumbled clean into the bushes if I’d been wearing a corset and a long silk gown. As it was, I got a mouthful of oak leaves and a slap in the face from a lilac tree.

I finally made it up onto the roof. It was surprisingly loud and disorienting, with the push of the wind, the creaking of the wheels, and the thundering of hooves. I could barely lift my head as I clung to the roof like a beetle on glass. I couldn’t see much except for the trees hurtling past.

A man on horseback suddenly rode abreast of the carriage. His hat had toppled off and the capes of his greatcoat fluttered like crow wings. “Are you mad?” he shouted. “Get back inside!”

I inched forward, vision blurry from the air rushing at my eyelids. I was within reach of the bench when the man leaped from his horse and landed with a thud beneath me. He was reaching for the reins just as I tumbled over, landing hard on the seat. The coachman’s gin bottle rolled, hitting the man’s foot. He tugged on the reins, shouting instructions at the horses. They finally halted, suddenly enough that the carriage skidded sideways and came to a rickety stop, leaning against an oak tree. Acorns rained down on our heads. The horses snorted and stomped. I was panting, my heart like a blacksmith’s hammer striking great blows against my rib cage. I felt lightheaded, my knees surprisingly weak. I sat down with a thump.

“Blimey.” He blinked down at me and then actually bowed. “Miss Wild.”

Dante Cowan.

Of course.

I know you’ll think me a muttonhead when I tell you my first thought was that he would not wish to court a madcap girl like me.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, running his hands down my arms, his eyes raking over me.

“Lord Thornwood,” I croaked, trying not to lean into his touch. He makes me feel positively wanton. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t curtsy.”

“I think we might dispense with titles, don’t you?” he said drily, apparently satisfied that I hadn’t broken any bones or concussed myself. “Seeing as you’re quite obviously insane.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He smiled and there was nothing lighthearted about it. It was wicked and dark and sharp as any dagger I might have secreted on my person. I could have staked a vampire with the edge of it. His voice was no softer. “What on earth are you doing in a runaway carriage in the middle of the night in Hyde Park, alone and wearing trousers obviously too large for you?”

“A … prank. I was playing a prank and it went awry.”

“I am almost afraid to imagine what prank might require you to take such clumsy care of your own life.”

“It’s … complicated.”

“I’m sure it is. You might have been killed, Rosalind.”

I tried a sunny smile. “I’m perfectly well, thank you.”

“Shouldn’t you be swooning or weeping?”

“What would be the use in that?” I asked quizzically. Honestly, boys.

His smile went crooked and delightful. It was as tempting and sinful as chocolate cream. Indeed, had it been such, I would have given myself a bellyache on it.

“What were you really doing, Rosalind?”

I nearly answered him, leaning forward slightly when he did. Dangerous, that smile.

I clambered off the seat and swung down to the ground, just to put some space between us. I did not fully trust myself. There is something about him, something that makes my head feel fuzzy. I checked the horses for injuries, feeling his eyes on me the entire time.

“They don’t seem any the worse,” I said, patting one on the side. He was sweaty and warm, but he didn’t nip or leap away from me. In fact, his companion was blithely munching away on the grass. Dante’s own horse padded over to join them.

“You were very lucky,” he said quietly, leaning down to loop his horse’s reins to the back of the carriage.

“I know,” I answered, climbing back up to sit next to him. “Thanks in large part to you.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know anyone else who would think to crawl onto the roof.”

I shrugged. “I couldn’t just sit there.”

“No, I don’t suppose you could.”

The stars were thick overhead and crickets sang from the tall grass. Mist hung between the branches like smoke. His hair was tousled from the chase, his cravat askew. We might have been alone in the world, except for the soft noises of nocturnal animals and the scent of night-blooming flowers. I think he might have kissed me then, but I ruined the moment entirely.

“The coachman!” I exclaimed suddenly.

He pulled back and I like to think he was a little disappointed. “So you did have one.”

“Yes.” I winced. “I caught sight of him when the horses first bolted and he was on the side of the road in a pile. I do hope he’s not seriously harmed.” I tried to grab the reins from him.

“Do hurry.”

He wouldn’t relinquish control of the carriage but he urged the horses into a walk, easing them off the lawn and back onto the lane. There would be frightful divots in the grass come the light. “I think you’ll have to tell me about this prank,” he said pointedly.

“It’s nothing really,” I insisted.

“Rosalind.”

“What?”

“You do realize, don’t you, that if your coachman was knocked off his perch, it was most likely a deliberate action?”

“Perhaps he was robbed.”

“Perhaps.” He didn’t sound convinced. “Or it may have been directed at you. Did you ever consider that, prancing about without protection of any kind?”

I blinked at him. “There’s no reason to think so,” I said.

Even though there was every reason to think so.

Indeed, I was horribly convinced that we would pull up the Honeychurch town house and hear screaming or the night watchman with his bell. Perhaps the assassin had merely wanted me out of his way to complete his nefarious plans. I couldn’t tell Dante that, of course; he is a gentleman after all and has no notions of such things. The worst he would worry about is thieves, never mind the kinds of creatures we have been told about.

I am happy to report that the town house was brightly lit and filled with music and laughter, with very little suspicious activity to recommend it. In that at least, I have not failed.

Even the coachman was relatively well, with only a sore head and a sore temper. He agreed with Dante that it must have been a thief out for some coin, but he couldn’t remember clearly. He thought there might have been one man, well-dressed. He would’ve had to have supernatural speed to avoid the countless other coachmen on the road.

You’ll forgive me if I leap to the most obvious conclusion.

A vampire, clearly. And perhaps even the one from Vauxhall! I do not think it outside the realm of the possible.

I gave the driver extra coin but he still refused to see me home. He muttered something about going straight to the first pub he could find outside of Mayfair. I don’t think he’ll be in the neighborhood again for some time. Dante very gallantly offered to see me home, even though he only had his horse. I accepted his gloved hand and launched myself into the saddle in front of him. He cradled me very gently against his chest and the short ride home was far too short. The sun was just beginning to burn a faint scar in the sky above the buildings and the trees when Dante hurried me off his mount.

“It wouldn’t do for you to be seen,” he explained, nudging me into the yew tree at the edge of our lane. The birds were starting to sing from the chimney tops. The first of the servants would be up and about soon, and the deliveries would start arriving at the back door.

“Can you get inside without alerting the household?” he asked me.

“Of course,” I scoffed. If only he truly knew what I could do.

“This isn’t over,” he promised me softly. “I mean to find out your secrets, Rosalind.”

I shivered a little even though it was warm out, the summer air thickening between the houses. He closed the gap between us then and slanted his mouth over mine. I crushed the front of his coat in my hands, kissing him back. I vow I could have stood there until the snows came, with his lips on mine, his hands in my hair, his chest pressed against mine.

It was perfect. And over too soon. By the time the sun sent its first arrows of light, he was already cantering down the road and out of sight.

Do you think that means he is courting me now? Shall I call him my beau? I don’t want to ask him but the curiosity is maddening.

Do come home soon, Evie.

I have a feeling I’ll need you desperately.

Yours,

Rosalind

June 17, 1815

Dear Evangeline,

I have never felt like this before.

I have always rolled my eyes at those girls who sigh and flutter and won’t stop talking of their beau’s cravat pins or the dashing length of their sideburns. Never fear, I have no intention of fluttering, but I fear I really must tell you about Dante or else I shall surely burst. In the interest of not finding bits of your dearest friend all over the settee, I’ll beg you to oblige me. I suppose I could talk to Eleanor, she certainly knows about these things, but it would be insufferable. Besides, it is your duty as a true friend. So, you see, you must simply endure it.

This morning, the foyer was filled with flowers. There were at least three dozen roses, all from Percy, poor fellow. It is like comparing milk to whiskey. There were tulips as well, from some bloke who is more interested in my dowry. The fortune hunters this Season lack a certain subtlety. He all but asked how many sheep Father’s country estate can support.

All of those flowers might as well have been made of paper next to Dante’s gift. I admit, at first I thought the Chinese porcelain pot a trifle odd. Odder still the fact that there appeared to be a twig sticking out of it, with nary a blossom to be found anywhere. Upon closer observation however, there dangled a pale green bud from the tip of the twig. The note explained it to be a rare purple orchid, set to bloom shortly. After which it will return to being a twig. But if I keep it in the hothouse after and water it faithfully, I have been promised it will bloom a few times a year for many years. Is that not delightful? I can scarcely wait to see it. I’ve set it on the windowsill by my bed.

I had hoped he would come calling in the afternoon, but he never did. Percy, of course, was perfectly punctual and perfectly polite—he and Mother were so pleased with each other I strongly considered climbing out of the window. Especially when Mother promised him my first dance at the family ball.

I looked for Dante in Hyde Park until I got a cramp in my neck, and Beatrix asked me if I was considering joining the circus as a contortionist. He was not at the Taylor supper either, which was an interminably long and dull parade of curried lobsters and calves’ jellies and lambs’ tongues. I mostly ate the pudding.

He wasn’t at the theater either, and I used my opera glasses to peruse every member of the not inconsiderable audience. (On that note, we ought to consider recruiting Dowager Dewbury to our ranks. She has uncanny abilities when it comes to gossip. Also, Lady Mayford might well be a vampire. Or else she ought to speak to her maid about the overapplication of face powder. It bears further investigation.)

The night wasn’t all frivolity. Lord Winterson was in attendance and I was able to see who came and went from his box during the intermissions, but alas no suspects as of yet. I shall have to try harder. I was feeling a trifle disappointed when the night’s entertainments were over and I was standing in my nightclothes, admiring my soon-to-be orchid with no further word from its bestower—until the crickets paused in their ritual orchestra abruptly enough to have me glance out the window into the gardens.

At Dante.

He stood on the flagstones, bold as you please, grinning up at me. The moonlight touched his white cravat and shirt, as if he were glowing. He was all light and shifting shadows.

I pulled open my window and leaned out. “Are you daft?” I whispered loudly.

He bowed extravagantly, deeply, his dark tousled hair falling over his brow. “Such poetry, my lady.”

“Hush! My parents will hear you.”

He straightened, still grinning. “All the windows appear dark.”

I leaned farther out, twisted my neck to have a look for myself. Satisfied, I turned back to him. “Wait there,” I called out. I didn’t even bother with slippers or a candle but instead raced downstairs by sliding down the banister and crashed into the gardens in my bare feet. Luckily the stones were still warm from the sun and the breeze was heavy with summer. I couldn’t see him anywhere. I followed the path around a copse of twisted hazel and rosebushes. He detached himself from the embrace of the old oak tree with such deliberate and calculated grace, I scarcely saw him move. I only knew that I was tugged suddenly into the shadows, lace ribbons fluttering. He caged me against the mossy trunk, his hand over my mouth to silence me, his eyes an impossible green, greener even than the oak leaves.

I had to try very hard not to give in to my training and kick him. Flirting is harder than it looks.

“Pardon,” he murmured, so close that I could smell cherry liqueur on his breath. He eased his hand away. “I didn’t want you to be startled and cry out, giving us away.”

“I am made of sterner stuff than that,” I scoffed.

“Yes, I forget. You enjoy clinging to the rooftops of runaway carriages,” he teased.

“A girl must have a hobby, after all.”

I could have pushed him away if I’d wanted to. Perhaps that was why I didn’t. I am ever contrary, as you know. But right then I was content to stay where I was, pressed between an ancient tree and a handsome young man in a dark gray frock coat. There were acorns under our feet and moonlight pouring like rain between the branches. My stomach felt full of fluttering hummingbirds; delicate, frenzied, and ticklish. His smile was crooked and solemn.

“Rosalind,” he said softly. “I’ve never known a girl like you.”

He wasn’t the first to say so, but he was definitely the first to say it with a hint of reverence. It made my throat swell a little, to be looked at like that. I am too accustomed to being accused of being hoydenish and headstrong and stubborn. I am all of those things, and proudly so, but it’s nice sometimes to be looked at as if you are more precious than any debutante with maidenly blushes. I think we both know I’ve never mastered the trick of blushing. But he doesn’t mind, Evie. He likes me as I am. I can just tell.

“My mother would have me accept Percy’s suit,” I told him quietly. I’ve no wish to play games and no wish for him to hear it elsewhere as fact when it most certainly is not. I have read too many novels to chance such a misunderstanding.

“And would you accept it?” I shook my head. He leaned in closer, his big hand splayed over the peeling bark by my head. “Then I shan’t worry about the milksop.” He was so close now that his lips moved over mine as he talked, so lightly I might have imagined it. “And would you accept my suit?”

“Yes,” I said, because there was simply no other answer.

And then he was kissing me and there was simply no thought at all.

He took his time, sampling slowly, so slowly. I kissed him back insistently, running my tongue over his bottom lip. He pulled me forward, so that I could feel the silver buttons on his coat pockets press into my ribs. His mouth traveled slowly, as though tasting me, as if I were some delectable dessert he’d stolen from the finest kitchen in the finest royal palace. He kissed my jaw and along my neck, tilting my head back, taking a handful of my hair in his hand and pulling it from its pins. I had to hold tight to his shoulders, crumpling his fine coat. I would have melted otherwise, my knees felt that weak.

We pulled away, gasping for breath. There was nothing but his eyes, his severe cheekbones, and his serious mouth. And then he let me go.

“You’re too good for me,” he said, barely above a whisper, before passing through the lilac hedge and pulling himself on top of the stone garden wall. He stood there for a long moment, his gaze searing into me. Then he bowed and was gone.

Giddily yours,

Rosalind

June 21, 1815

Dear Evangeline,

The night began much as I’d planned.

Which means, of course, that it did not precisely end as planned.

I snuck out after the Middleton ball dressed in my borrowed trousers and shirt. I vow I have had more occasion to wear them than any of my fine dresses. Even Beatrix did not immediately recognize me. She had quite a start when she climbed into the hired carriage and found me lounging in my boots and waistcoat. I’ll give her credit for not shouting, though she did throw her reticule at my head when she realized it was me chortling away in the lantern light. Her reticule is uncommonly heavy with all those journals and books she insists on carting around with her everywhere. But since that is part of the reason why I have taken her into my confidence, I shan’t complain.

I paid the carriage driver rather handsomely with the last of my pin money to take us down the road to the Winterson town house, tucked away behind that elm tree so we were not immediately obvious and still had a good view of the front door and the lane. It seems silly since it’s less than a ten-minute walk from my house to theirs, but we felt we would be better served hiding in the carriage. The park is full of footpads and we hadn’t the time to sort them all out while we spied on an earl’s house. Also, it was raining. You know how Beatrix feels about the rain. I would not be at all surprised if she moves to Egypt one day, or somewhere equally exotic and hot. But tonight all I had to offer her was a carriage with worn cushions and the smell of gin and rose perfume.

We watched the Winterson house for a full hour before the candles were lit in the front hall. They must have been off at some dinner party or another, where at least they had the safety of numbers. It was late at night when everyone had sought their beds and even the horses were asleep.

My father will hear no more of my warnings. He is dashed uncooperative about the whole affair. I even paid a street sweeper to deliver Lord Winterson an anonymous letter warning him of the plot against his life.

Nothing.

I’ve noticed no increased security, no bodyguards, not a single Bow Street Runner lurking in the hedges. I do know he at least read my letter, however, because word got around, as it does. He did not take it seriously either, especially since Father told him he was fairly certain I’d sent it. To say Father was disgruntled is an understatement. I have never seen him turn that particular shade of violet before. He railed at me for a full half hour before Maman gave him a brandy and ordered him to stop endangering his health. He did look as if his heart was in danger of failing. Even the footman looked concerned, loitering in the hall outside the parlor.

Evie, my father accused me of embarrassing him and making a mockery of the Wild name and the League itself. I think that most unfair. I have only ever tried to be an asset to the League, to be a good hunter. But they want none of it. They want us to curtsy and waltz and marry well and trot us out on special occasions as curiosities. They don’t actually want us to be valuable to the war effort. Not when it makes them look less useful, less omnipotent.

I know not what to do. It can’t go on like this. I won’t have our gifts wasted, Evie. It would be a benefit to have female hunters. Think of the places we may go that men may not!! Think of the gossip we hear, the late-night whispers, the eagle eye of certain matrons with young daughters of marriageable ages.

All of that could be a weapon. Will be a weapon. I will see to it.

Beatrix told me stories while we waited of secret ladies’ societies. She is convinced that certain Parisian literary salons were really societies of women affecting political change behind the scenes. She told me about certain tribes in Africa where women gather for secret ceremonies and the priestesses of Bona Dea in ancient Rome who gathered for rituals forbidden to men! And the Amazons, of course, who fought with swords against warriors like Hercules.

Think of the possibilities! Does it not send a delicious shiver of potential down your spine? I wonder how we might do something similar. Surely there is enough talent and cleverness between you and Beatrix and me to truly make a difference. There are other daughters of the League; perhaps they might like a chance to trot out their latent gifts, if it were offered? I admit I cannot stop thinking about it.

It was a long time before the Wintersons returned home and the butler opened the door and the driver took the horses and carriage down the lane to the mews. The candlelight traveled upstairs and was snuffed out, and finally the house sat in the gray misty shadows of a London summer night. Our own carriage driver was quite silent, no doubt asleep on his perch, which suited us fine. We had no wish for awkward questions. I only wanted to be sure Lord Winterson was safe, to acquaint myself with his house at night, and to see where danger might lurk. Already I was quite suspicious of the yew hedge by the servant entrance. A family of four could have hidden comfortably in there with none the wiser. Surely, an assassin might use it for cover?

Beatrix eventually fell asleep. We’d shared most of a flask of sherry between us to keep warm and you know how quickly she is foxed. Her head was tilted at a most alarming angle so I flagged the next passing carriage and woke her up to send her home. She would have protested, I’m sure, but she was too groggy and bewildered, and by the time she’d regained her usual faculties, the hired hack was already pulling away toward her home. There was no sense in both of us being uncomfortable and awake, not so near the dawn when the streets would teem with servants and gentry. Surely one of them might be trusted to come to Lord Winterson’s aid. I can’t be expected to do everything myself. And certainly not under these deplorable conditions. My own father is now reduced to gnashing his teeth whenever he sees me. Never say I have not sacrificed for the good of the League.

I admit I was feeling both proud and a little sorry for myself when a shadow disengaged itself from that yew hedge of which I was originally suspicious. I wouldn’t have seen it at all if I hadn’t been glowering in that particular direction. It was so dark and the mists were starting to curl in the laneways. But the hedges rustled and there was no wind.

And then the servants’ door opened, even though there was no one there. No one discernible, at any rate.

Vampire.

Nothing else can move that fast, as if they aren’t there at all.

The only light left burning in the hall upstairs snuffed out. He was very near the Winterson’s bedchamber. I didn’t have time to run in and stop him. I didn’t even really have time to call for help. So I did the only thing I could think of, under the circumstances. I slipped out of the carriage and plucked up a large stone the size of my palm from where it was anchoring a large fern in some obliging neighbor’s bronze urn.

I threw it as hard as I could. There was a very satisfying smash from a lower window and glass glittering on the sill and over the rosebushes. The coachman woke suddenly with an “Oi!” but I was already back inside on the worn seat. Candles were lit in the house and the house next door as well. There was a pale face at a window, eyes burning. I am not exaggerating. I could see it clearly, Evie. The way he looked down and peered right at me, as if he could see me at the window of the carriage.

And I could see him. He slipped out of the window and swung himself up to the roof like an acrobat.

“Drive!” I shouted up to the coachman, who obliged me most willingly, not wanting to be a witness when the disgruntled peerage began to pour out of their rooms in their nightclothes.

Because I knew that face, Evie; even running along the rooftops beside the carriage.

I was right. Vampire.

Also?

Dante Cowan.

June 22, 1815

Dear Evangeline,

I am sorry I ended that last letter so abruptly. I know it vexed you but I couldn’t properly order my thoughts. I still can’t, truth be told. It seems so unbelievable that Dante Cowan is a vampire. He is an earl’s son, for Heaven’s sake! And no one mentioned he died. Indeed, he waltzed most adroitly for one of the legions of bloodsucking undead. I wonder now what happened to him on his Grand Tour. They say travel changes a man but I hardly think they mean this kind of transformation.

Oh, Evie, I liked him. I rather thought we might make a match of it. It seemed to me that he might make an offer and I would have accepted. We could have ridden on Rotten Row in Hyde Park, watched the horse acrobats at Astley’s Amphitheatre, kissed under the moon, held hands secretly under the dinner table. Now none of that shall be possible. No. I cannot give into maudlin thinking and sulking. It is what it is.

Oh, but he is charming and handsome and has a wicked smile that makes my toes curl. Made my toes curl, I should say.

Vampires can only make my stomach curl, after all.

Right?

Hell and damnation. When did everything get so blasted complicated? I cannot even feel vindicated that I halted an attack on the head of the Helios-Ra. I cannot go to Father with this proof that Lord Winterson is in danger. I’d only have to tell him about Dante Cowan for Father to lock me in my room for the rest of the Season. He would think me utterly mad, even more than he already does.

I hardly know what to think. I wish you were here. But perhaps it’s best that you aren’t tainted with this lunacy. You needn’t scold me for that, I’m perfectly justified. You and I both know if I go any further with this I shall be ruined.

I did swear my oath to the League, to defend humankind against vampires, after all.

And Dante is a vampire.

I know my duty.

Rosalind

June 24, 1815

Dear Evangeline,

I must be losing my mind.

I know you’ll agree. I left the house just before sundown, claiming another outing with Beatrix. If our mothers ever discussed anything but silk dresses and eligible bachelors, their daughters were in serious trouble. As it is, they were both too distracted. Ironically, Mother has noticed my tête-à-têtes with Dante. Perhaps she knows I am out and about but prefers to turn a blind eye. He is an earl’s son, after all, and would make a credible son-in-law in her eyes, as good as Percy. If only she knew the truth.

I borrowed money from Justin without telling him why and then I hired a hack again, not wanting our family carriage to be recognized on the street outside a bachelor’s lodgings. A hunter without a reputation is no hunter at all. How else will I gain admittance to the drawing rooms and ballrooms that swell with gossip nightly? I must think ahead. I must plan and prepare and do my duty. This is the litany that ran through my head as we rumbled down the roads, coachmen shouting at a muffin girl who stepped off the curb without looking, dogs barking, gentlemen laughing and lifting their hats to fine ladies.

It all seemed so ordinary. Just another summer afternoon in London. Behind the windows of Grosvenor Square and the attached neighborhoods, women were bathing with rose petal soap, maids were applying hot irons to ringlets or scrubbing stains out of petticoats. Valets were preparing silk waistcoats and inspecting cravats. Hostesses were scolding French chefs, housekeepers were running off their feet, girls were dreaming of waltzing.

Except behind one window, the window above my carriage door, a vampire slept.

I admit I sat in the carriage for an inordinately long time. The coachman tapped the roof impatiently. “Miss, are you well?”

“Quite well, thank you.” I slid out because there was nothing else to be done. “Please wait around the corner.”

He leered at me, thinking he knew exactly what I was doing. I knew perfectly well it was unacceptable for a lady to visit a man, never mind at his bachelor lodging. But desperate measures were called for, Evangeline. And I had a veil pulled down from my little riding hat to obscure my features. I wore a day dress of sprigged muslin, my favorite velvet reticule held three slender stakes, and I had a crossbow strapped to my back under my cloak. It was most uncomfortable. It wouldn’t do to call even more attention to myself in trousers. I did not know my way around the house and I was certain the proprietor would recognize me as an intruder. It was nearly supper time after all, with no shadows in which to hide.

I went down the lane and around the back. The stable hands were busy with the horses, the maids were in the kitchen or delivering tea and biscuits throughout the house. I slipped into a side entrance and hurried up the back stairs, careful to keep my face hidden. My heart was pounding like cannon fire against the barricade of my ribs. I felt sick.

But I was quite determined to put an end to Dante Cowan. Then perhaps my father might be proud of me and I might claim my rightful place within the League. What did it matter if Dante invaded my every thought, if he made me warm all over and short of breath. Sensibilities have no place in a hunter’s life.

I paced the hall, wondering which door would lead me to him. The wall sconces were well polished, the floors swept clean. I could smell lemon oil, could hear someone’s footsteps clattering up the stairs. All the doors looked the same.

I turned on my heel, frowning. This was a most pathetic and easily thwarted attempt to rid the world of evil. One of the doors opened and I whirled to face it.

“Hey, love, who are you looking for?”

I recognized Jared Peabody, even with his hair rumpled and his cravat askew. There was stubble on his jaw and a glass of red wine dangling negligently from his fingers.

I cleared my throat and tried to disguise my voice by making it husky. I probably sounded like I was coming down with a case of putrid throat. “Lord Cowan.”

His eyebrows rose with his surprise. “Doesn’t usually call for a lightskirt, that one.” I could hardly take umbrage at being thought a woman of easy virtue. Anyway, what did it matter now? “Lucky bastard has a way with the ladies, even the fancy ones.” He drained his glass with a exaggerated mournful sigh. “Ah, well, what’s a baronet to an earl’s son, eh? He’s down that way, next to the green parlor.”

He watched me walk away. I went slowly, pretending to fidget with the lace on my boot. I waited until I heard his door close before stopping in front of Dante’s chambers. I tried the handle but it was locked, as expected. He was a vampire, not an idiot.

I hurried into the parlor and stepped out onto the narrow balcony. Providence was finally smiling on me, for the rooms overlooked the back of the house and Dante had his own balcony, not three feet away. I had to discard my cloak and tie my skirts into knots on either side to free my legs. I slung my reticule securely against one shoulder and my crossbow over the other. It took some maneuvering but finally I was able to stand on the parlor’s iron railing and swing my other leg over onto the other balcony, until I was straddling them both. My dress was bunched at my hips, my face red with effort and I was grunting like a pig at her dinner. I am profoundly glad no one looked up to see me there. I must train harder for just such a circumstance in the future!

I was finally safely over onto the other balcony, my arm muscles straining. I have discovered I am not fond of heights at all. I was faintly dizzy for a moment and my knees felt odd, like jelly.

Dante’s balcony doors had been decorated with panes of glass at one time, but now they were covered with dark wood. I broke the lock though it took several attempts. The doors creaked slightly when they parted and I was wrapped in thick, dark velvet curtains. I peeked inside most carefully, saw the usual furniture clustered around the hearth, the clock on the mantle, the washstand made of mahogany and hung with clean linen towels. There was the front door and then another door, shut and locked, leading to the bedroom.

Everything was quiet. It wasn’t the usual quiet, when you know someone is in the house even if they are not being rambunctious in any way. This was different. You’ll think me dramatic but the quality of the silence was different when there is a human within without a beating heart, without breath of any kind. Shivers chased along my spine, like mice caught in the pantry.

I picked the bedroom lock with a hairpin and it was more obliging than the balcony lock had been. Inside, all was dark shadows. The curtains were even thicker and pinned close to the wall and another set of heavy, plum-colored brocade hung from the four-poster bed. He had created a cave of sorts, secure and private. It wasn’t enough to keep out a seasoned hunter but then, no one had a glimmer of suspicion that he was anything but a spoiled gentleman home from his travels abroad. He stayed out all night and slept the day away, for certain, but so did most of the others. It was easy enough not to be noticed, as long as one was seen at the right balls and soirees. I crept closer still and parted the curtains, loosening the silver pins.

Dante lay beyond, sprawled on his back, shirtless. His chest was pale as starlight. One arm was flung over his forehead, as if he feared the sunlight even in his dead sleep. His hair fell in soft curls over the white pillow and there was a faint scar on his throat, usually hidden by his starched collar points and cravat. They were puncture points, already shiny, as if they’d healed years ago. I knew them to be more recent than that.

It wasn’t his fault, you know. He is a victim, as surely as he is a monster.

The stake was heavy in my hand.

It might have helped if he were ugly in some way, if his mouth was cruel or he smelled like boiled cabbage. His mouth was wicked, sensual. And he smelled of sandalwood soap.

Most unfair.

You’ll think me dishonorable but I didn’t want to kill him, Evangeline. I am weak.

He lied to me. He prowls the night and drinks maidens dry and still I … love him. There is one way to cure such an affliction, such an illness. You must cut the disease from your body, like a parasite. It must not be allowed to sink into your flesh and your bones and alter your very self.

It must not.

I spent so long dithering and entranced by his dark beauty like a pea brain that I never noticed the setting of the sun. There was no change in the light, no lengthening of shadows to warn me. The room was too well secured for that.

There was only a sleeping vampire waking suddenly, near mad with hunger.

That is not an exaggeration, Evangeline. For a long moment I did not recognize him. His eyes went silver, his fangs sharpened and gleamed. He was famished and I was there in my pretty dress like a pastry on a dessert tray. He reared up off the bed and I stumbled back, finger on the crossbow trigger. There was the rattle of metal and the creak of the bed frame as it protested his weight. He flung himself at me, snarling.

But he never touched me.

The chains on his one wrist, hidden under the pillow’s edge so I hadn’t noticed, pinned him down like a moth to a board. And I was the flame.

He nearly whimpered with thirst. Tears burned my eyes. He was suffering, Evie, and suffering keenly. No one ever mentions that part. But I will not forget it. Could not, even if I tried. Some inner strength had him going still, as suddenly as he had exploded into motion. The change was dizzying. So was the hoarse, almost tender, tone of his voice. “Rosalind?”

I nodded jerkily.

“Rosalind, you fool, go home!”

I lifted my chin. “Certainly not.”

He snarled again and lunged for the side table, iron chains rattling. He lifted a jug with both hands and drank greedily. As you must know, it was not wine. The smell of blood was coppery, disturbing. He drank it like it was the finest brandy, the warmest mulled cider on the coldest day. Despite myself, I was intrigued and lit one of the candles. The hiss of the wick catching and the burst of light had him hunching his shoulders, like an animal protecting his kill. When he’d drunk his fill, the jug was empty and sticky. He tossed it aside, wiping his mouth. When he turned back to look at me standing in the pool of candlelight, there was self-hatred in his eyes, now merely gray and not silver.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said.

“I know,” I agreed.

“You’ve come to kill me?” He spread his arms wide, exposing his bare chest. I could see the line of his ribs, the muscles moving under his skin. “Go on then.”

He was mocking me. Or himself. I wasn’t exactly sure which.

“What makes you think I won’t kill you where you stand?” I demanded softly.

He looked amused. “Rosalind, you’re not the sort to stake an unarmed man, vampire or not.”

Devil take it, he was right. I didn’t know what to do, though it should have been painfully clear. Instead it was just painful.

“Since you won’t stake me, you might unlock me.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I rather like you as you are.”

He half-smiled. “Please.”

I tilted my head, curious despite myself. “What would you do were I not here?”

“I knew you’d come,” he admitted. “But I chain myself every morning, just in case. I’ve warned the housekeeper and the maids not to disturb me, but I can’t rely on their discretion. Not when I first wake. I’m not … safe.”

“How do you set yourself free every night?”

“The key is there on the edge of the washstand.” I hadn’t noticed the second washstand, complete with shaving brush and mirror. “Once I’ve … drunk … I can reach it, but I’d rather not contort myself if I don’t have to. The landlord won’t be pleased if I break another bed.”

I eyed him warily and reached out to pluck the iron key off the nail. It swung on a white ribbon. I held it up, considering.

“I think not,” I said finally, sinking into a chair and crossing my ankles demurely. I wrapped the silk ribbon around my wrist. “I think, my lord”—I emphasized his title scathingly— “that I should rather like some answers from you.”

He watched me carefully, as if I was the dangerous one. “And would you believe those answers, Rosalind?”

“Let’s see, shall we?”

“Answer my question first.” He sat on the edge of the bed, smiled wickedly. “Did they give you the Helios-Ra tattoo?”

I narrowed my eyes. “I beg your pardon, how do you know about the League? Or our markings for that matter?” It still rankled that because I was a woman they’d refused to give me the sun mark that every other hunter received when they took their oath.

He read my expression correctly. “They didn’t, did they? Of course not. Did they tell you why?”

“Some tripe about the dangers if I should marry someone outside the League,” I replied, disgusted.

He snorted, equally disgusted. “And it never occurred to anyone that Helios-Ra men marry women who aren’t from a League family all the bloody time?”

“Exactly!” Is it any wonder I love him, Evie? “But wives aren’t supposed to ask questions,” I added acidly. I arched a brow at him, trying to appear more collected than I really was. “Now I really must insist, sir, that you tell me how you know so much about us?”

He folded his arms, looking remote and aristocratic. The candlelight made daggers of his cheekbones. He might have been made of moonlight and marble. “I was born into a hunter family, Rosalind.”

I gaped at him. “Impossible. There aren’t so many families in London that we don’t at least know them by name.”

“I spent most of my youth with my mother’s people in Scotland,” he explained. “They are the hunters, not my father, the earl. He doesn’t know about any of it.”

I exhaled forcefully, mind spinning. “I can scarcely believe it. Why did you never come to London and join the society? They have a house here after all, for the members. Well, for the male members,” I added bitterly.

“I was going to do just that,” he confirmed. “I’d planned to come down to the city with all manner of pomp and circumstance.”

“What happened?”

“I went to France on my Grand Tour,” he answered drily. “And I chose a singularly bad alley to stumble down very late one night.”

“But you survived.”

“If you’d call it that.”

“That’s why you never took your oath.”

He nodded sharply. “And why my mother kicked me out of her house and bid me disappear.”

I was trying not to feel compassion and sympathy for him but failing miserably. I’d lowered my crossbow without even realizing it. “What did your father say?”

“My father thinks we had a quarrel. My mother remains in Scotland and refuses to visit town while I am here. My father is perplexed but finds life easier without my mother and so is not questioning either of us too closely. This family rift suits him.”

Compassion or not, I couldn’t lose my focus entirely. “I’m sad for you, of course,” I said. “But it can hardly excuse you for trying to kill Lord Winterson.”

He snorted. “I saved his miserable life.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He jerked a hand through his hair. “You must. You’re the only one who could.”

“Explain it to me then.” I wasn’t convinced but I needed to hear the rest of his story.

“One of the hunters is a turncoat.”

That much I could vouch for. I’d overheard as much during the ball as I crouched behind the armoire at the top of the stairs.

“You don’t look shocked,” he remarked.

“I’m not. Do go on.”

“That turncoat has hired a vampire to murder Winterson, thus scapegoating every vampire in the city and sending the League into chaos.” He smiled solemnly, without an ounce of humor. “It would be a bloodbath.”

“And who is this person?”

“I cannot say. He hides his face. I would recognize his scent I suppose, but I’ve yet to come across it in a singular setting. Balls and theaters are too … crowded. The smell of blood and warm skin is staggering.” His fangs lengthened and I’m not even certain he noticed.

I noticed. I lifted the crossbow again warningly. He bowed his head, like any noble at court.

“And the vampire he hired?” I prodded.

“I killed him,” he answered darkly. “I won’t let him, or the rogue hunter, start a war.”

“At Vauxhall,” I murmured. “You staked him at Vauxhall.”

He met my eyes. “So it was you.”

“Yes.”

“You are beyond reckless,” he said.

“As I am proving with every second I sit and listen to you.”

His smile was crooked this time, and intimate. Warmth tingled in my belly. I wagged the stake at him again. He chuckled before turning serious again. “I meant to lead the hunter into a trap, to reveal himself and still keep Winterson safe. I could only do that by pretending to at least try to assassinate Winterson. Even so, the traitor is more clever than I’d like. He sent someone else to do the same job.”

I stood up as regally and confidently as I could. “Then I must stop him.”

“You can’t stop him alone, Rosalind. Not even you.”

I hated that he was probably right.

“If you unlock me, I can help you.” His eyes glinted like iron.

I titled my head. “You might drain me dry right here on your fine rug.”

“You might put an arrow through my heart before the shackles are loose.”

“I might.”

But I knew I wouldn’t. I trusted him, despite everything. Don’t judge me too harshly, Evie.

I approached him cautiously, the key swinging from the ribbon at my wrist. “When do we go?”

“Tonight.”

June 25, 1815

Dearest Evangeline,

This is the last letter I will write.

You will scarcely believe what I am about to tell you. And hopefully, you shan’t believe any of the rumors you are sure to hear. I do not think you would ever believe me to be a traitor but I should hate to chance such a thing. Too many will curse my name as it is. No one would believe the truth even were they to hear it. Except you. No one must ever know what I am about to divulge. Not the League, not my friends, and not my family.

The annual summer hunters’ ball was held last night at the Helios-Ra town house headquarters. You will have heard all about it by now. It started as quite the lavish celebration. Dante and I were dressed in our finest. No one would ever have thought us anything but another fashionable couple courting through waltzes and champagne. Even at a hunters’ ball, no one suspected that the hairpins I wore were ebony and sharpened to perfect killing points. They will insist on seeing me as a willful child and nothing else, I see that now.

The ball went on as balls do until everyone was flushed from too much drink. Dante and I prowled the outskirts of the dance floor and eventually made our way outside. I shan’t tell you how many couples were in a shocking state in the back gardens. No one noticed us at all.

However, we noticed a single light burning in the attic.

It was odd enough to have us investigating. The house was so crowded, the orchestra and the chatter so loud one could hardly hear one’s own thoughts, never mind a scuffle in the farther reaches of the town house. We took the back stairs as fast as we could. The door at the top of the landing was locked. Footsteps tracked through the thick dust at our feet. I couldn’t hear any sound at all but Dante seemed certain we were in the right part of the attic. He snapped the lock with a single sharp twist. The door swung open and we crept inside. We needn’t have bothered with the subterfuge.

Lord Winterson stood in the middle of the room, hands clasped together. He turned to look at us, nodding graciously. The door shut behind us and when I whirled at the sound, a hugely muscled guard stood there glowering. The back wall was painted with crosses and hung with garlic, as if they were evergreen boughs at Christmas time. I admit I was baffled. This hardly looked like an assassination attempt on Winterson.

Dante’s nostrils flared as he sniffed the air. “You.”

Lord Winterson smiled coldly.

“You,” Dante repeated. “You hired me to kill you?”

Now I was even more confused.

“What on earth is this about?” I demanded.

“Miss Wild, I regret that you have become involved in this matter. I assume you are the one who wrote that touching letter warning me of deceit and violence against my person?”

“Er … yes.”

“And yet now you stand with a vampire.”

“Let her go,” Dante hissed.

“I don’t understand,” I said crossly. I supposed I ought to have been more frightened but to be honest, I only felt great vexation. As if everyone knew the plot of the story but me. And you know how I feel about being made to look foolish.

“No, you wouldn’t, would you?” Winterson said dismissively. “I knew there was a vampire in our midst, you see. I hired him to murder me that I might flush him out. But every time I got close, something scared him away. You.” He looked sorrowful. The light glinted off the diamond on his gold Helios-Ra ring. “You had such potential and now you’ve let yourself be seduced.”

I wanted to hit him over the head with his own walking stick. “Dante has done nothing wrong,” I declared in ringing tones.

“He’s a vampire, you silly girl.”

“One who thought he was saving your life.”

“Nonsense, he would have ended me had he the chance. And now he will be the night’s entertainment, a sad cautionary tale to dazzle the younger generation.” There was a pile of chains in the corner.

“I bloody well don’t think so,” Dante snapped.

“But you must die, surely you see that. You’re an abomination, boy.”

“You’re the abomination,” I said hotly.

Winterson glanced at his bodyguard. “Gag her.”

He took one step toward me but I was already leaping into the air. I landed some distance away, hairpin in my hand.

The bodyguard blinked. “Ladies aren’t supposed to do that.”

He was stronger than me, which was painfully obvious. He might have crushed my skull like a melon with one hand. But I was faster. I twirled and leaped around him until his breath huffed out and he went red with sweat. “Here now, no more games.”

On the other end of the attic, Winterson lifted his walking stick and a sharpened stake flipped out of the bottom. Dante danced out of the way. The candle flame fluttered. The return descent of the stick caught Dante’s chest, cutting through his jacket and through the skin below. Blood dripped onto the floorboards. Another blow and he stumbled, falling to his knees so quickly the candle tipped over.

The flame caught the tattered curtains and ate though the thin fabric. Another row of curtains caught almost immediately and the rotted wood of the windowsill began to smolder. Smoke poured into the room and I coughed. Before long there’d be no air left to breathe at all. I hurled a discarded vase at the glass, shattering it into pieces. Smoke and flames licked outside, kissing the roof. Someone down in the gardens screamed.

“We have to get out of here!” I yelled.

“Go!” Dante yelled back, clutching his seeping wound. It was too near his heart and weakened him. “Don’t wait for me.”

I ignored him, of course. Men are so silly sometimes.

Winterson shoved past me and before I realized what he was about to do, he and his bodyguard were safely on the landing. The door shut and I heard the ominous scrape of something being pushed against it to lock us in. Lord Winterson meant for us to die in that attic.

I had no intention of indulging him. I used a coat tree to break the other windows, coughing the black smoke out of my lungs. Dante pulled himself to the edge of the window and peered out. Guests were pouring out of the doors, panicking in their fine silk slippers and brocade frock coats.

“I can’t get us out of here in this condition,” he said as I crouched down beside him and tried to breathe clean air.

“I can get us out.”

“You can’t carry me, Rosalind,” he said. “But you can heal me.”

I stared at him.

“Please,” he whispered.

My fingers trembled but I held out my wrist for him. He clutched it as if it were fine pastry filled with strawberry cream. His lips were hot on my skin, the bite of fang was quick. The pain soon faded and a kind of pleasure swooned through me. He drank and drank, making greedy sounds. This moment was more dangerous than any power-mad earl with a stake at my heart. Dante could drink me dry, could give into the bloodlust and finish me here. No one would know. I would be part of the ashes of the burned-out house, a scrap of silk and bone for the inspectors to discover.

“Dante.”

He swallowed slowly, like a glutton testing a fine wine.

And then he pulled away.

Smoke drifted between us, obscuring the blaze of his eyes. And then his arms were around me and he was hurling me through the open window, tossing me up onto the rooftop. I swung through the air, the shock of it compressing my lungs. I landed hard on the roof and slid and might have fallen entirely if he hadn’t followed, gripping my arm hard and lifting me to my feet. The shingles were already hot under our feet. The smoke ate the stars.

“Hurry,” he urged, and we ran, leaping onto the roof of the next house.

We finally hired a hack and are even now on our way to the docks and then to Spain perhaps, or the New World. Who can say? I know what you must be thinking. But Dante is a good man. And I love him. There is no place here for us anymore. Neither of us will ever be accepted. Already we are hearing tales of Dante, the earl’s son, who turned vampire and killed a house full of hunters with fire.

No one will believe us over Lord Winterson. He has told the world that I tried to kill him because I fell in love with a vampire and wanted to prove myself to him. You know this to be untrue. But think of the scandal. I could never remove the stain on myself and it would only harm my family were I to try. We have stopped only to plant an incriminating letter in Lord Winterson’s desk concerning details of the fire. We’ve also sent an anonymous note to the Bow Street Runners. After they are done with him, Winterson shan’t be fit to lead the Helios-Ra. It’s the best I can do. I might be able to return someday but I do not hold out much hope for that. Please tell my family not to worry.

And truly, I have everything I need. I am wearing a silk dress stained with dirt and soot and I have never felt prettier. I haven’t a penny to my name and I have never felt wealthier.

Only know that I love you and think of you fondly and often. Do not fear for me.

Love always,

Rosalind Cowan

The fight between Drakes and vampires starts here! Read on for Lost Girls, the thrilling story of how Liam Drake met his perfect match.

1983

Elisabet rattled the cage, pursing her mouth in distaste. “Is that all?”

The three girls behind the bars huddled together. One wept and one was silent, eyes wide and wary. She was covered in bloody bites at her throat, elbow, and wrist. The third girl spat on the iron bars.

“She’ll do,” Elisabet approved, waving at one of the raven-feathered guards. “Bring her. Lady Natasha’s in a mood.”

*

Violet Hill was a dangerous place.

It hadn’t taken long for Helena to scratch beneath the veneer of laid-back hippie to the jagged underbelly, where each step was more treacherous than the last. All towns had a unique personality, one she could have drawn like a storybook character, and Violet Hill was a cranky old woman who could as easily offer you gingerbread as stuff you in the oven and cook you for the main course.

Helena happened to like that in a town.

And she liked the mountains eating up the sky and casting long shadows over everything. She might climb up to the top and live in one of the abandoned hunter camps once she figured out how not to get eaten by a bear. Tripped-out junkies and drunken frat boys she could handle, but she was pretty sure kicking a bear in the balls wouldn’t be nearly as effective. But it might have been good practice.

If she’d thought of it earlier.

Before a fist to the face knocked her back and had her nearly biting off her tongue.

Cursing and spitting blood, she held up her gloves to protect her face while the spots cleared out of her vision. She knew better than to get distracted. It was sloppy and could get you killed: at home, in back alleys, and in underground clubs like this one.

Sofia grinned at her, blood smeared on her teeth. Her hair was teased into spikes, like needles. Helena’s own long and straight dark hair was currently tied back so it wouldn’t interfere with the fight. She wore tight shredded jeans and her faded Clash T-shirt. It wasn’t much of a costume, like the spectators preferred, but it was her first fight. If she won she’d have money to get proper sparring gear, which would offer more protection than the tulle and leather Mad Max outfit Sofia was currently wearing. Helena wasn’t into dressing up like a superhero. Blood was a bitch to wash out of spandex.

She’d started coming to The Vortex because the manager didn’t look too closely at who was buying drinks or washing up at the bathroom sink. And in the back room, affectionately nicknamed the Thunderdome, girls fought in a makeshift ring for a 20 percent cut of the gambling profits.

Girls without any other options, angry girls, poor girls, lost girls.

Girls like her.

Helena waited until Sofia got closer before retaliating with an uppercut. Her jaws clacked together with a vicious snap and she reeled back. Helena would pay for that later.

The audience clapped and shouted, the hum of violent sound shaking Helena’s bones until she felt disoriented. She stayed light on her toes, always evaluating her exit strategies. It was both instinct and a long habit that had served her well at thirteen and still served her well now at sixteen. People always underestimated you when you were young, even when they knew you. Being underestimated was as effective a weapon as a knife or a fist. And Sofia really ought to know better.

Helena pretended to be more tired than she was, slumping weakly as if dizzy. She tried to look like the scared sixteen-year-old girl they expected to see, and waited. Sofia preened, tossing her head back with a smug grin at the crowd. She wasn’t much older but she was used to this, knew how to play them, knew how to get them stomping their feet and shouting her name.

Besides, she and Helena were always butting heads. When Helena had first arrived in town, Sofia had offered her a place in the lost-girls tribe. Helena had only joined them when girls started disappearing, when having a gang at your back was no longer a luxury. Leadership gradually shifted from Sofia to Helena, even though she didn’t want it. Now they made sure the back alleys were safe for the others. Two girls went missing in the last month alone and though the newspapers claimed fatal drug overdoses, Helena knew the truth.

Vampires.

So she patrolled with the lost girls. They watched one another’s backs. Helena could turn almost anything into a weapon. Billie was brilliant with a blade, Sofia was naturally vicious, and Portia could run faster than anyone. Iphigenia was too frail to fight, but she was smart and she saw everything.

Like the vampire circling the ring right now.

Helena followed Iphigenia’s telling gaze, and swore. “Vamp at two o’clock,” she muttered at Sofia.

Sofia didn’t look. “Let the others handle it.”

Ordinarily, Helena would have done just that. She was kind of busy, after all.

But then she saw the familiar face.

He was different from the others. There was a stillness inside him that made her think of the girls outside the yoga studio down the street or a cat waiting for a pigeon to land. Money passed hands, men whistled, girls laughed. And he just slipped between them, so softly they barely saw him.

But she saw him.

Liam Drake.

The rat bastard.

He was pale, not the kind of pale of her underfed brethren who huddled under bridges for warmth, but the kind of pale that reminded her of moonlight or winter fog. He looked to be in his twenties, with dark hair and wicked cheekbones. He circled the fight, glancing at her again when he got close. She could have sworn she could smell him, even through the fumes of smoke and the deep fryer in the kitchen. He was cool night air, rain, and copper. She felt light-headed and couldn’t help but stare at him as if he was pulling her right out of her body.

She almost forgot to react when Sofia suddenly ran at her.

Her eye was nearly poked out by hair spray–stiffened hair. She straight-armed Sofia, ramming the heel of her hand into her chest. She let the momentum of the hit pull her forward and swept her leg behind the other girl’s knees. Breathless, Sofia fell backward, landing hard. Her head struck the floor. She blinked dizzily and didn’t even try to sit up.

The crowd hesitated, then erupted into cheers and insults. Sofia cursed her viciously and the girls waiting to fight on the other side of the ropes glared at her, but Helena didn’t care. No rules. Grady, the ref, was clear about that before they’d climbed into the ring. She wanted to lean on her knees to catch her breath and steady her shaking arms, but she wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of seeing even a moment of weakness. Billie caught her eye and grinned. Behind her, Liam paused in the audience. He winked at her before melting into the shadows toward the exit. Warmth flooded Helena’s belly and made her cheeks red and she wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Good job, kid.” Grady held her arm up for a victory lap. She barely heard him. She didn’t want drunken accolades or threats, she just wanted to follow Liam Drake.

And kick his ass.

She yanked her arm free and jumped the ropes, shoving through the grumbling until she was able to push through the back door and dart up the grimy concrete steps to the alley behind the club. A group of guys smoked in a huddle. A girl was throwing up behind a Dumpster, and an older man gave her an oily smile. She considered kneecapping him on principle but she didn’t want to lose Liam. He was already down the alley and turning the corner. She knew from experience that he moved faster than lightning when he wanted to.

There was something between them, a recognition she hadn’t felt since before her brother died in that car crash. It was annoying. Even back then her mother hadn’t cared what happened to Helena, but Sebastian had cared. He had always been there to play peacemaker, to see that Helena got enough to eat and new clothes for school. And then he drank too much beer and drove his car into a tree. She didn’t let the memory slow her down; she never did. It didn’t do any good.

And it would let her quarry get away.

She hurried down the alley, mice dodging under the Dumpsters and the wind pushing litter against her ankles. The music from The Vortex thrummed faintly through the cool night air. Her cheek throbbed, a bruise already forming. There’d be another bruise on her left elbow, and her right wrist would hurt for the rest of the week. Sofia was stronger than she looked.

She popped around the corner, stopping at a dead end, full of pop cans and cigarette butts. There were brick walls and a startled cat.

But no gray-eyed Liam.

“Bloody coward,” she muttered. He thought he could ditch her. While she hadn’t thought they’d get married and have lots of fat babies together, they’d fought feral Hel-Blar together near one of the abandoned factories. Before that he’d been kind, watching her with a glint in his eye that made her toes curl. Afterward, a scorching kiss in the darkness.

And now nothing.

She raised her voice. “I know you’re out there, Liam Drake.”

No response. The alley stretched back to The Vortex, and went off to the right into a rabbit warren of narrow, unlit passageways. Inexplicable disappointment made her mouth taste like lemons.

“Stupid,” she muttered at herself. There was no one waiting for her, no moment with a devastatingly handsome young man. And she didn’t want that kind of thing from Liam anyway. She knew better. Girls like her didn’t hear poetry and compliments.

Girls like her heard screams in the dark.

Typically their own.

Cass was so grounded even her grandchildren would be grounded.

She and her grandmother went into the rougher parts of Violet Hill, which was really only a single downtown block near the warehouses, and handed out coffee and sandwiches to the homeless. Everyone knew Posy Macalister. She clomped around in denim overalls and construction boots and terrified everyone but the street kids. They understood she was the one to go to when they were too wary to try the shelters or Children’s Aid. Posy believed in people taking care of one another, even though she claimed that people in general were dumb as dirt.

Cass believed in it too; she loved helping her cantankerous grandmother, even on those bitter winter nights when she thought her nose might actually fall off her face. It felt good to help. Even though she technically knew better than to stray alone in any part of Violet Hill at night. It probably served her right that she was lying on the ground, feeling her own blood seeping into her hair.

Screaming seemed like a really good idea about now.

If only she could remember how.

She felt funny, foggy. Fear rocketed through her but she just couldn’t seem to make herself move. The woman who lifted her off the ground looked too slender to be able to support her weight but Cass hung bonelessly off one arm, as if made of feathers. Blood dripped from the ends of her hair. The woman licked her lips.

Inside her head, Cass screamed but her throat would only make a small mewing sound. Her grandmother taught her better than this. She had Wolfgang train Cass to defend herself. He’d tell her stories, family secrets, and rhymes to help her remember how to keep vampires at bay. But the rhymes fell right out of her head the minute she met a real vampire. She was embarrassed. It was one thing to believe in nonviolence and quite another to die horribly drained of blood because you couldn’t even muster enough will to protect yourself.

She flopped like a dead fish, her arm dangling uncomfortably. She felt the tip of those teeth sink into her neck, felt the sharp jab of skin breaking, the uncomfortable pull of blood being sucked out of her veins. Her neck burned, then tingled. It didn’t hurt after a moment; pain was too simple a feeling for the complicated sensations rolling her about like a paper boat on a stormy sea.

The woman pulled back slightly, sighing with disappointment. “This one’s a vegetarian,” she said distastefully. “I thought the hippies were finally extinct. They never taste as good.”

“Then give her to me, Elisabet.” A man, equally slender and pale and with Elisabet’s same curious amber-colored eyes and blond hair, stepped out of the shadows. “You’re too picky.”

She sniffed. “I have standards, Lyle.”

“And I have an appetite.” The man smiled hungrily at Cass. “So pass her over.”

“No.” Elisabet tightened her hold petulantly, her long blond hair swinging to curtain Cass’s face. “She’s mine. Get your own.”

“Technically she belongs to Lady Natasha.”

Elisabet’s eyes glittered. “Are you threatening me, little brother?”

“Just hurry up.”

She wiped blood off her lower lip with her thumb. “I hate Violet Hill. I wish Lady Natasha didn’t insist on visiting this backwoods village. Everyone tastes … green. Like spinach.” She grimaced. “I miss Texas.”

Cass continued to hang limply, feeling smug triumph mix with the fear and confusion. Her grandmother rolled her eyes when Cass picked the bacon off her breakfast plate or refused to eat the turkey at Thanksgiving. The slight reprieve gave her time to fill her lungs with air. She gathered every last bit of energy inside her and then opened her mouth.

If Elisabet had been human, Cass’s scream would have shattered her eyeballs.

Instead, Cass’s grandmother would have to finish the job.

“Get the hell away from my granddaughter!”

Helena reached the alley just in time to see Posy Macalister swing a heavy flashlight across the back of a vampire’s head. Posy’s granddaughter, Cass, the one who was always handing out baked-tofu sandwiches no one wanted to eat but took anyway because they didn’t want to hurt her feelings, tumbled to the ground. There was blood in her hair and on her shirt but she pushed to her feet. The blond vampire girl staggered against the wall. A guy who could only be her brother swore viciously and attacked.

Helena didn’t think. She didn’t have to. Leaping into fights was what she did best.

She’d been busted for fighting at school more times than she could remember. She didn’t get busted anymore, because she’d dropped out. She’d been on her own since the day she turned thirteen and her mom shoved her down the front steps and changed the locks. She learned how to poach stale bread from behind bakeries and barely wilted vegetables from behind the grocers, how to slip past bouncers at the clubs, how to make a passable fake ID, and how to find clean public bathrooms.

But she still hadn’t learned how to avoid a fight.

To be fair, it wasn’t exactly a skill she was eager to learn.

“Hey! Back off the old lady,” she shouted, swinging her already bruised and bloody fist at the blond vampire who was snarling. She reached for the stake tucked into her left boot. Billie had whittled the stakes to killing points from branches they gathered in the park near their bridge. Hers was plain but sturdy. The weight of it was a comfort in her hand.

“Who are you calling an old lady?” Posy muttered, throwing the flashlight with the force of the old farm wife she was. It caught the guy under the eye, snapping his head back.

“Oh, Elisabet, now we’re going to have some fun,” he promised silkily. Helena couldn’t believe he was still standing after that blow. Something about the two of them made her shiver, and she hadn’t been afraid of a fight since before her brother died.

Elisabet backhanded Posy into the wall. She hit it hard and slid into a pile, groaning. Cass didn’t waste time with more screaming. She leaped to stand protectively over Posy. Helena grabbed a handful of Elisabet’s long hair and yanked savagely, spinning her away. Elisabet screeched and before she’d finished twirling, her brother was on Helena.

“Lyle, I want first blood,” she spat.

Helena punched Lyle in the face. He punched her back. She flew backward, dropping her stake, her shoulder slamming hard into a Dumpster. The bin creaked in protest. Elisabet and Lyle closed in, smiling. Helena scrabbled back, searching for anything else she could use as a weapon. She kicked out with her boots to give her some time. Elisabet reached down and grabbed her arm, hauling Helena to her feet. Her wristbones crunched. Elisabet bent her head and licked the blood off Helena’s battered knuckles. Disgusted and infuriated, Helena struggled.

Posy blew a high-pitched whistle as her granddaughter helped her to her feet.

Lyle was reaching out to grab her other arm when a hand closed over his shoulder and spun him away. He crashed into the metal fire escape. It rattled like iron rain, the sound shivering through everyone’s teeth.

Liam Drake suddenly appeared and flicked Helena an inscrutable glance before blocking Lyle’s counterattack. He moved like water, water deep enough to drown in.

Helena tried not to let herself get distracted by his lean, charming face or his wicked right hook. Instead, she concentrated on keeping Elisabet away from her neck. She smashed her elbow into the vampire’s face. Her nose cracked, spurting blood. Being this close to Elisabet was making her feel fuzzy and tired. She was way off her game. But if there was one thing she knew, it was fighting despite insurmountable odds. She didn’t recognize defeat as an option.

Still, it certainly helped when Liam knocked Lyle into Elisabet with such force they both tumbled away from Helena. When Lyle leaped to his feet, hissing, Elisabet yanked on his arm. “Wait,” she said. “We don’t have time.” All three of them tensed, as if they heard something Helena didn’t, under the sound of Posy’s ear-searing whistle. She blew three short bursts that sounded like a code. “We have to go,” Elisabet insisted.

They vanished into the darkness. Liam closed in on Posy and her granddaughter, nostrils flaring.

“Cass, behind me.” Posy put a protective arm across her granddaughter. Cass was pale, but her jaw was set.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmured. His voice was like brandy cream. Helena wasn’t actually sure what brandy cream was, but she’d read about it once and imagined it was like his voice, dark and sweet, and laced with fire.

He touched his fingertips to Cass’s chin to tilt her head back and look at her wound. His back teeth clenched but his hold stayed gentle. “You’ll be all right,” he said. “You won’t need stitches and you’re not infected.” He looked straight at Posy. “So don’t worry. And don’t let your guard down.”

She snorted. “Like I ever would, boy.”

He turned back to leave, passing so close to Helena that she could see the peculiar pale glint of his gray eyes. He paused beside her. The way he looked at her, when he finally deigned to acknowledge her presence was as if she were a rose where everyone else, including herself, saw only thorns.

“What?” she asked belligerently.

The sound of motorcycles roaring down the alleys from all directions interrupted whatever reply he might have made. Instead, he vanished up the nearest fire escape.

Posy limped over, supported by Cass’s arm. “Are you hurt, girl?”

Helena shook her head, buzzing with adrenaline that suddenly had no place to go. It flooded her bloodstream, making her feel jittery and angry. “I really hate vampires.”

“We have to get out of here,” Posy said as the motorcycles rode into view. Three tattooed, leather-and-jean-clad men looked grimly at them.

“How many?” one of them demanded.

“Already gone.” Posy waved her hand. “Cass needs some bandages and I need some gin. Get us home, boys.”

Helena gaped as the old woman swung her leg over the bike, climbing on behind a grizzled man who looked like he might eat kittens for breakfast. Even Cass perched on the seat as comfortably as if she was sitting cross-legged and meditating, or whatever it was flower children did in their spare time.

Posy pointed at Helena. “She saved Cass’s life. She comes home with me.”

They sped away, leaving Helena blinking at the last biker. He grinned. “Get on. No one argues with Posy.”

Helena crossed her arms, eyes narrowed. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Do you think I’m stupid?”

“No, I think you’re a smart lass.” He had a Scottish accent and bruises on his knuckles. “And maybe a little scared.”

Helena sputtered, “I am not!”

“Posy won’t hurt you. Unless you eat her chili. I’d steer clear of that if I were you. Name’s Bruno,” he added. His hair was long under his bandanna, and tattoos poked out from under his collar and cuffs. “Are you coming or what, little girl?”

He was barely twenty, despite his attitude and the crinkles at the corner of his eyes. And she wasn’t scared. She didn’t do scared.

“Fine,” she said, sliding onto the bike behind him.

“Atta girl,” he approved, taking off the minute her fingers hooked into the back of his belt. Like hell she was going to wrap her arms around him. “Mind the exhaust there, it gets hot.”

She rolled her eyes even though he couldn’t see her. “I’ve been on a bike before.”

“You haven’t been on a bike until you’ve been on mine,” he said as they came out of the narrow alleys and onto the deserted road. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” he shouted over the rush of the wind.

“Helena,” she shouted back. “And if you call me sweetheart again, I’ll knife your tires.”

His laugh trailed behind them.

“You like her,” Geoffrey said quietly as they watched Helena take off on the back of a motorcycle. They stood at the corner of the highest roof in the Warren, with a view of the lights and the humans scurrying below.

Liam stared at the taillight of the bike until it winked out of sight. “You know the rules.”

“Yes, but she’s not like Deirdre.”

Liam clenched his back teeth. “I know that.”

“This one’s strong.”

He sighed. “Does it matter?”

Geoffrey looked thoughtful, sad. “Yes,” he replied finally. “I think it does.”

“Even if Natasha’s noticed?”

“Especially then.”

“I thought I was clear about staying, young lady.”

They were in Posy’s kitchen: a wounded girl, a street girl, and three tough-looking bikers—Bruno, Mason, and Wolfgang—gathered around a scarred harvest table. Between the blood, the bruises, and the tattoos of laughing skulls, everyone knew the old lady was the scary one.

Cass winced. She was holding a striped dishtowel to the now-clean wound on her neck as Posy rifled through a worn first-aid kit for bandages. “Sorry, Nana. She was all huddled in the corner. I thought she was hungry.”

Bruno snorted. “She was, lass.”

After assessing all the exits (sliding glass door, two windows, front door, and a mud room), Helena sniffed at the herbal tea Cass had given her, longing for the black coffee everyone else was drinking. Who wanted to drink boiled flowers? But Cass was so earnest that she kept the cup, feeling like the street kids who ate baked tofu just to see her smile. Bruno caught her eye and winked, sliding his coffee to her and taking her tea. There was something sweet about someone so tough-looking drinking mint and rose petals.

“Jan, sit down before you bleed on my floor.”

“Nana, I told you, it’s Cass now.”

Posy rolled her eyes. “Last week it was Star. I can’t keep up.”

“Cassiopeia is a star constellation, Nana.”

“I’m calling you Beth from now on.”

Cass sat in a chair. “That’s not even my name.”

“No, but it’s easy to remember.” Posy might be acting calm and composed, but her hands trembled when she pulled the towel away from her granddaughter’s throat. She let out a shaky breath. “It’s not so bad. But don’t tell your mother what happened.”

They exchanged knowing, slightly ironic glances. Mason stood up and went to have a closer look. He smelled like smoke and beer.

He grunted. “No stitches, she’ll be fine.” Then he left without another word. The grizzled old biker Wolfgang sat back, relieved.

Posy gently taped a white bandage to Cass’s throat. “He was right,” she said thoughtfully. “The man in the alley.”

“Liam Drake,” Helena spat.

Posy raised her eyebrows. “Know him, do you? The Drakes don’t share their names with just anyone.”

Aside from being someone she’d considered kissing a lot, Liam was also the first vampire Helena had ever met. At first, she’d thought she was talking to a cute boy in the park. When she found out otherwise, she’d tripped over her own foot and fallen in the river. “Yeah,” she sneered. “I’m so lucky.”

“And now you’ve really annoyed them.”

Helena smiled, showing a lot of teeth. “Good. Too many damn vampires in Violet Hill lately.”

“Don’t forget the witches,” Cass interjected pleasantly. “And maybe werewolves, but I can’t seem to get an eyewitness confirmation of them. And someone at school claims his uncle’s girlfriend’s cousin saw a Sasquatch last year.”

Helena crossed her arms. “I know all this.”

“You know about the Sasquatch?”

“Okay, maybe not that part.”

“Definitely a spike in disappearances,” Wolfgang agreed. “And there’s new activity at an old school outside of town I think might be mixed up in all of this, but I’m not sure how. No one can get close enough to find out, not even Posy, and she’s been here the longest.”

“I grew up here,” she confirmed to Helena. “I was born in the mountains, at the start of the Depression. We didn’t even have running water up in our cabin. We ate fish and trapped rabbits.” Posy pulled food out of the fridge. “Anyone who grows up in those mountains can tell you strange creatures are there.” She slapped meat onto fresh bread, then added cheese. “After my brother got bit, we learned not to go too far alone at night, and to always carry a knife or a sharp stake. A girl died not too long after but then it all seemed to go away, like a bad dream. Until about four years ago when they found a girl drained of blood outside of town. She was the first.”

“My sister was the second,” Bruno added quietly. “I only came here because they found her body in the lake after she ran away. I’d never even heard of this place before then.” Bruno’s jaw clenched and there was a glint of something dark in his eyes. Something Helena recognized. “Posy had me pegged practically the second my boots hit the sidewalk at the bus station. I was going to kill them all, you see.” His accent was even thicker now, and bitter. Helena sat down without really realizing it. She knew what he felt. She’d have done the same thing if Sebastian had died that way. As it was, she’d broken into the junkyard and set the wreck of his car on fire the night of the funeral.

“Not that it would have brought her back,” Bruno said, sounding tired. Cass reached over to hug him. He patted her arm awkwardly. “Fell in with a rough crowd, and when I got out of juvie, Posy took me in for a week until I got my bearings again. I was one of her first strays.”

“And still my favorite.” Posy smiled at him affectionately. “The whistle was Bruno’s idea,” she explained to Helena. It was a good idea, Helena thought, one she’d mention to the lost girls. “He’s always looking out for us.”

“Someone has to.” Wolfgang snorted. “Especially now that the disappearances have started again.”

“I know,” Helena said grimly. “My friends and I are doing our best to stop them. But it’s not working as well as we’d like.”

Cass shivered, touching her bandage. “I, for one, think your best is pretty damn good.”

“The thing about vampires,” Wolfgang said, looking at Helena, “is that they tend to be creatures of habit. And vengeance. You need to be careful.”

“I can take care of myself,” she said. “I should go.” The others would be looking for her. And if she stayed away too long Grady would keep her cut of the profits from the fight.

“Sit down,” Posy ordered, interrupting. “You won’t be sleeping behind a Dumpster tonight.”

Helena could have pointed out that she never slept near the Dumpsters. They stank. And the lost girls had rules: no handouts, no social workers, no shelters. “I’m not going to one of those shelters,” she stated. “So save your breath.”

“At least eat something.” Posy slid a plate piled high with sandwiches onto the table.

Helena was hungry enough to stay for a meal. She reached for a sandwich and took a huge bite, even though her leg muscles twitched with the urge to take off. “So, what, you guys just go around killing vampires? I thought you fed the homeless.” Crumbs landed on her shirt.

“I do,” Posy said. “And I do what needs doing.”

“Not all vampires are evil,” Cass said firmly. “Some of them are good.”

Helena honestly didn’t know which category Liam fell into. Even after he’d kissed her that one time.

Maybe especially because of that kiss.

“One of them saved Wolf once,” Cass added.

Liam had saved her too, damn it.

Wolfgang nodded. “Back in my drinking days,” he said crisply. “Drank myself stupid and nearly got bit for the pleasure. Some woman wearing the strangest dress, like Queen Victoria herself, saved me. Never saw her again.”

“You saved Cass’s life tonight. I can’t ever repay that,” Posy said softly.

Helena squirmed, embarrassed. “It’s fine.” If the old woman offered her money she’d walk out. She wouldn’t take pity or charity. Even though her stomach grumbled just seeing the bowl of fruit on the counter, and that was after she had eaten two-and-a-half sandwiches. She wondered if she could steal a few for the girls and sneak out before dawn. Iphigenia loved oranges.

“What do you know about Liam Drake?” she asked. She may as well get information while she was here.

“Not much,” Posy admitted. “He keeps to himself. Haven’t seen him since I was a girl, and that was only because I snuck out to meet a boy. Your granddad,” she added as an aside to Cass. “I saw Liam first. Looks exactly the same, even now.” She looked at her wrinkled hands. “Hell of a thing.”

“Wait, so he’s really old?” Helena asked. Posy speared her with a look. Cass giggled. “I mean …”

“I know what you meant, young lady,” she said, disgruntled. “But yes, he’s older than I am.”

It was totally wrong that someone so old could be that hot. He should have dentures and a comb-over. It made her head hurt.

“Drakes keep to themselves,” Wolfgang confirmed. “Probably for the best.”

“I hope you’ll stay the night,” Posy offered, even though Helena still had a hundred questions about Liam. “I still have the bunk beds from when my granddaughters were little. It’s just Cass now that Lucinda’s away at university. Or you can take the couch.” She ran a hand over Cass’s hair, as if checking to make sure she was still okay. “Those vampires saw your face, Helena, and they have long memories. They might come back. I hope you’ll let us help you.”

“I’ll take the couch,” she said reluctantly, mentally kissing her prize money good-bye. “But just for tonight.”

Besides, she knew in the primal, hidden corners of herself—the parts that recognized the electric smell of an approaching storm—that someone was out there in the darkness.

Watching her.

The girl was going to be a problem.

Helena snuck out of Posy’s house as dawn turned the sky the color of tangerines. She took some food but left the handful of dollar bills crumpled on the coffee table. It took her twenty minutes to walk to their squat under the bridge. The wild tiger lilies masked most of her movements, though no one was likely to be about that early. Even the crazy joggers with their sweatbands and matching leg warmers waited until there was a little more light.

She found the others sleeping under their sleeping bags, except for Iphigenia, who was huddled with her knees to her chest. Her lower lip trembled when she saw Helena crawl under the ivy they’d pulled down as a screen. Only one of the candles stuck into the craggy wall was lit. The light made her look even younger and thinner. “You’re back!” she exclaimed. “We thought you’d be taken.”

“I’m fine,” she said, tossing Iphigenia one of the stolen oranges.

Portia sat up, her hair tilting dramatically to the left. Her eyes were red and worried but the kick she aimed at Helena’s ankle was vicious. “Where the hell have you been?”

Helena jerked back, ankle throbbing. “I ran into some trouble.”

“Good.” Sofia scowled, opening one eye. Billie kept on snoring, oblivious. “You punched me in the face, you bitch.”

Helena wasn’t remotely sorry. “You punched me first.”

“Grady wants you to fight again tonight. Wear something pretty.”

“Kiss my ass.”

Helena grabbed a few hours’ sleep, ignoring the girls as they devoured the fruit she’d left for them. When she woke up there was only a banana left, on which Sofia had written rude things with a marker. Helena ate it anyway, then rinsed her mouth out with the mouthwash they hoarded like candy. It was their single prized possession and the first thing they bought with any scrounged money, before hot dogs, before coffee when they were able to find a decent cup, even before chocolate.

Iphigenia watched her rinse the dried blood from her hair in the river. The water was getting cold as summer faded. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing,” Helena assured her. Iphigenia was such a worrier, she didn’t need to know. “Just don’t go anywhere alone at night,” she said. “You still have that knife?”

She nodded. “Yes, I put it in my bag. Portia said someone was following her last night.”

And Helena had been sure she was being watched. She slipped her own hunting knife into the side of her boot and started to climb out from under the bridge.

Iphigenia scrambled after her. “Where are you going?”

“To get my money off Grady before Sofia sweet-talks my share off him.”

“I’m coming too.”

They’d found Sofia, predictably batting her eyelashes at Grady. He was sprawled at a table near the empty ring, smoking and drinking bottled water. He claimed it kept him pretty. There was glitter in his hair. “My favorite girls,” he said. “All together.”

Helena’s smile was brittle. “Hi, Sofia.”

Sofia narrowed her eyes. “What?”

Helena ignored her, looking at Grady. She didn’t smile or flirt. “Where’s my money?”

Grady looked wounded. “Would I cheat you, darling? You ran off so fast I thought you were leaving it for me to reinvest in the Thunderdome.”

Helena held out her hand. “Like hell.”

He shook his head, blowing smoke rings. “You could be a little nicer, like your friend here.”

Sofia smirked. Helena just raised an eyebrow. “I don’t do nice,” she said. “That’s why I won the fight.”

Grady laughed and passed her a stack of folded dollar bills. He knew the lost girls preferred small bills that attracted less attention. His gaze roamed appreciatively over Iphigenia’s thin body, her huge blue eyes, and translucent skin. “When are you going to join the fun, beautiful?”

Helena stepped in front of her. “Try never.”

His eyes went hard. “All the girls fight for me eventually, Helena. Even your precious lost girls.”

“Yeah, about that. You said you wouldn’t pit us against each other.”

He grinned. “I lied.” He leered at Iphigenia. “You’re kind of skinny, but put you in a short skirt and no one will care if you punch like a girl.”

Helena slammed her boot on the chair, right between his legs. He froze, gulping. If she pressed any harder he’d walk with a limp for the rest of his life. “Leave her out of this.”

He swallowed audibly. “Sure.”

Sofia walked lazily around Helena, sighing. “You’re such a drama queen.”

Helena pressed down a little harder just to prove her point. When Grady went cross-eyed, she backed off. “Let’s go,” she told the others.

Sofia followed more out of a show of solidarity than any real desire to go anywhere with Helena. Iphigenia followed them quietly.

“You have to stop being such a bitch,” Sofia muttered.

“Why?” Helena asked. “He’s sleazy.”

“He also pays the bills, such as they are.”

“Whatever.” She shrugged the bills off. “I have things to do. Look after Iphi.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Sof?”

“What?”

“Do you think vampires can be the good guys?”

“Are you high?” Sofia asked. “Vampires are picking us off, remember? They’re not our friends.”

She’d have thought the same thing before Liam found her in the alley last night.

“Never mind.” She waited until they’d wandered off before heading deeper into the Warren. The alleys were deceptively welcoming at this time of the day, even with the afternoon sun cooking the garbage under clouds of flies. The sounds from the back doors of restaurants were cheerfully boisterous, and someone was blaring Billy Idol out of a fire escape window. Everything here made sense. Survive. Don’t be a victim. Avoid Scrawny Johnny at all costs, if you wanted to get out of the Warren with all your limbs intact. He was the meanest drunk Helena had ever seen and she’d heard the other street girls whisper about him.

What happened last night didn’t make sense.

Starting with the fact that she’d let her head be turned by a pretty set of cheekbones.

Glowering, she stopped at the spot where Elisabet and Lyle had attacked her. It looked like any other alley: Dumpster, skids, litter in the groove of the pavement by the sewer. Cheerful light glinted off the peeling fire escapes, the broken windows at the top of the building on her right. Most of the storefronts were abandoned on this corner.

She stood over a dark stain on the ground, where Cass’s blood had fallen. They’d intended her to be the next missing girl. The gash under her hairline would leave a scar. Helena intended to leave a few scars of her own.

She investigated the entire area, even the broken skids that she’d knocked over. She didn’t find anything that might help her track down Elisabet and Lyle. If they were the ones taking all the girls, she wanted them. She wanted them dusting the end of her stake. She spent several pleasant moments envisioning her revenge.

Until there was the soft scuff of a boot behind her.

She’d stayed too long. The sun had set behind the buildings, casting long violet shadows. It was too dark now. Not the kind of darkness in which she could hide but the kind that hid things from her. She whirled, using her elbow like a mace. She hit a hard chest and kicked a little lower. A hand blocked the strike, held her immobile. She spun out, kicking.

And then she was pressed against a brick wall, fingers over her mouth, gray eyes staring a warning into hers.

“We’re not alone,” Liam mouthed. “Don’t move.”

His hand dropped away and she drew in a shallow breath. He was even more beautiful up close. His gray irises were flecked with black and silver, his mouth inches from hers. His teeth were sharp, faintly pointed but not particularly vampiric. His body touched her from shoulder to ankle, shielding her. She didn’t know what to think. She wasn’t used to being shielded and she wasn’t entirely certain she liked it.

But she liked it better than being caught by Elisabet and her psychotic brother.

“I can smell her,” Elisabet murmured. “I want payback, Lyle.”

“I know,” he replied. “Haven’t you said so a dozen times since we left the caves? She’s a street rat, she could be anywhere.”

“No, she’s close. Can’t you smell her?” she asked again, sounding as if Helena was a pastry fresh from the oven.

Liam eased away from her and she felt inexplicably cold. He motioned to the Dumpster beside them. Helena blinked at him. He pointed. She shook her head. He shoved her gently toward it. She dug in her heels. She was not going to hide in a pile of garbage. She had her pride. Not to mention her sense of smell.

When she refused to move, he just picked her up and tossed her into it. She landed on old Chinese food and rotten cabbage and watched as the lid closed down over her head.

Vampire or not, she was going to kill him.

Twice.

It felt like forever until the lid lifted again, letting in blessedly fresh air. His pale face came into view. “They’ve gone,” he said. He had a faint accent, almost British but not quite. She couldn’t place it. “You can come out now.”

“That,” Helena stated, leaping over the side of the bin, “was disgusting.”

“But necessary.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Elisabet caught your scent, love, and she knows the taste of you now. She’d have tracked you to your bed and killed you there.”

Helena shuddered, both from the wet noodles clinging to her arm and the thought of Elisabet finding the lost girls. “Don’t call me love,” she said, just because she thought she should.

“Come with me,” he said gently.

“Where? Your place?” she asked acerbically.

“The dojo at the end of the edge of the Warren has showers. I can get us inside,” he said, amused. “No offense, but you smell horrid.”

Of course he wasn’t hitting on her. She had moldy lettuce in her hair. Feeling like an idiot, she scowled. “Fine.”

They didn’t speak as he led her there, using the side alley next to the dojo to pick the side door lock. She watched him curiously. He flashed her a brief smile, but it was enough to make her breath catch in her throat. “I know the owner.”

She wasn’t sure she believed him, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want to smell like garbage. And she didn’t want him to smell her like this either. She slipped past him and headed across the studio to the back. She went through the door marked “Ladies” and took the fastest shower she could, watching the door the entire time. Helena washed her clothes too and slipped into a white dojo T-shirt she found in one of the lockers, along with black gi pants. She stepped back out into the studio feeling strangely vulnerable.

Liam was silhouetted against the window, hands in his pockets. He turned to look at her. When he took a step toward her, she moved back, grabbing one of the practice staffs from the wall and holding it horizontally in front of her. “Bar’s closed, pal.”

“I didn’t bring you here to feed on you.”

“Then why did you?”

“To keep you safe.”

She snorted. “Yeah, right.”

He studied her for a quiet charged moment before moving. He was so fast he bled colors and light. He tossed the staff aside. It may as well have been a matchstick for all the good it did her. He spun her around, his arm around her neck. His voice was raw, lips brushing her ear. “If I wanted to hurt you, I could,” he said. “You’re safe with me.”

“You have a hell of a way of proving that.” She kicked back, clipping his knee with her boot. Then she slammed her head back into his face. He stumbled, loosening his hold. She swung a fist at his pretty face but he dodged it easily. She went for a kidney punch and he caught her hand. It was like punching a wall. “Ouch.”

Liam let her go so quickly her shoulder muscles twanged. “I’m sorry. I’ve been away from people too long. I forget how fragile they are.”

“I’m not fragile,” she said, insulted. “I can look after myself.” She was tired of having to remind everybody of that. None of the lost girls had been captured, had they? She thought they were doing pretty well, all things considered.

Eyes narrowing, she kicked out, leaning until she was parallel to the floor. He bent sideways, defying gravity and basic physics.

“I really hate vampires,” she muttered again. She kicked at his knee and he sprawled on the ground. “Ha!” She probably shouldn’t gloat. Hell with that, she was totally going to gloat. She deserved it. Especially since one of the cuts on her arm from her sparring match with Sofia yesterday had opened up. Blood trickled hot and slow down her bare arm. “Think you can—”

His face changed, eyes silver, teeth sharpening. She felt like she had that day when she’d watched him through a veil of freezing river water. She tingled and shivered. Helena lifted both her fists protectively, turned sideways. She’d barely pivoted when he was on her. He should have looked silly in his dark pin-striped suit; instead he just looked elegant, deadly. He closed in like a panther, all sleek muscles and intensity.

There was clearly something twisted inside her that she could find that kind of animal stealth so hot.

Helena reached for the discarded staff but it was barely in her hand when he twisted her wrist and it clattered to the floor. She backed up. He followed.

“Don’t run.” He sounded like he was pleading. She froze, inches away from the wall. “Too late,” he said, desperately.

She should be afraid.

She wasn’t.

It was the weirdest thing. She felt free, powerful. As if this deadly dance was as romantic as holding hands at the drive-in. He sparked something in her, or they sparked it off each other. It didn’t matter. He was leashing his hunger, struggling to stay human. It was noble, difficult.

Liam wasn’t like the others.

Neither was she.

She flashed him a crooked grin, catching him utterly off guard. Then she hooked her leg behind his knee and shoved him. When he fell, she followed him. He landed on the cold hardwood floor and she landed on him, still grinning.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered. “I wonder why that is.”

“Because you’re a fool.” His voice was harsh but his fingers were gentle as they slid through her hair. He traced the line of her jaw with his thumb. His other hand flattened against her lower back, brushing her skin where the edge of the T-shirt rode up. He looked at her mouth. She almost forgot how much she wanted to punch him. Her lips tingled and he hadn’t even touched her. He drew her head down to his, paused just before his mouth could claim hers.

He let her go abruptly. “This is a bad idea.” He shoved her away and got to his feet slowly, painfully, as if he didn’t trust himself. His fists were clenched, knuckles white. “I’m sorry. I came to warn you,” he continued hoarsely. “Those two from the alley are reapers.”

It took her a minute to get her brain off the feel of his cool muscled body under hers. Damn him for making her feel that way. Damn him for pulling away.

And damn her for not wanting him to.

“What the hell’s a reaper?” she asked as a cover for the question she was embarrassed to admit she wanted to ask: Why didn’t you kiss me?

“The Domokos siblings—the blonds from last night. They’re the reason all those girls are disappearing, the reason that girl was bitten.”

“Cass? Do they know her?”

“No, but now they know you. And you’re interfering in their games, Helena,” he said. “Lady Natasha doesn’t take kindly to that.”

“Lady Natasha can kiss my ass.” She paused. “Who’s Lady Natasha?”

He smiled briefly. “Natasha fancies herself the queen of the vampires.”

Helena rolled her eyes. “Lame.”

“Perhaps. But she enjoys her little harvests.”

She paused for a heartbeat, feeling sick. “Harvest? As in …”

He nodded. “As in she likes to feed on them, yes.”

“How do we stop her?”

“You don’t.”

She gathered her wet clothes, the staff. “I do too.”

“Helena, this is my problem. I’ll deal with it.”

“Because I’m a girl?” She threw a wet sock at his head.

“No,” he replied softly. “Because it’s my fault.”

The moment shattered when they left the dojo. She stepped out into the alley and was once again a hungry street girl with damp hair and a suspicious nature. He was a vampire, cloaked in mystery and solitude, and as moody as a fourteen-year-old girl with PMS.

But she couldn’t forget the glimpses she’d seen.

She shoved her hands in her pockets. It was later than she’d thought. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

His profile was chiseled, flawless. It kind of made her want to mess him up. “I’m not leaving your side,” he said quietly.

She frowned. “What?”

“I have to keep you safe.”

“This again.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine. Go away.”

“You’re sixteen.”

She went cold. He thought of her as a little girl. She’d imagined everything in the dojo. He’d been acting as a vampire, not as a man. It shouldn’t matter.

It mattered.

“Liam,” she said as calmly as she could. “I’m not your responsibility.”

He put a hand on her arm, stopping just outside the glow of a streetlight. His expression was stark as he drew her behind the concealing bulk of a parked van. “Do you know why my family is so reclusive?”

She shook her head mutely. When wild animals ventured out of the forest you didn’t speak to them, you didn’t move. You just waited.

“Because five hundred years ago a woman spoke a riddle and named a Drake daughter not even born yet as the next vampire queen.”

“Is that even possible? Having a child? Aren’t you undead?”

“It’s possible in our family.”

If there was one thing Helena knew about, it was girl fights. “Let me guess, this Natasha chick isn’t too happy about that.”

“Not happy and slightly insane.”

“I know a lot of girls like that.” She offered him a small smile. “Maybe you shouldn’t hide,” she said. “You should fight. You have friends.” She was startled to realize she’d fight with him if he asked her. When exactly had she lost her mind?

“I thought so too, once,” he said.

“What happened?”

“I fell for a girl.”

Helena decided she wasn’t the least bit jealous. Really. “So?”

“So Lady Natasha killed her.” He glanced up to make sure they weren’t being watched. The shadows were busy lately. “Do you know why Cass was bitten?” Helena shook her head. “Because I talked to her grandmother once. Her pregnancy probably saved her.”

“That was like fifty years ago.” She paused. “How old are you anyway?”

“Old enough.”

“You look twenty-six, twenty-seven, max.” And that was because of the eyes, not because of any lines on his face. He would have looked younger without all the sorrow and guilt.

“I’m not. My brother and I have seen a lot of innocent girls destroyed by Lady Natasha. The last girl who disappeared? She ran out in front of my car when she was drunk. I took her to the hospital. She was gone the next night.”

She stared, horrified. “So Lady Natasha is targeting us on purpose. Killing street girls because there’s no one to protect them.”

He didn’t smile but his eyes crinkled with dry amusement. “Until you.”

“That’s why you took off after I fell in the river and drew a crowd,” she realized slowly. “And why you wouldn’t talk to me anymore, even after we killed that Hel-Blar vampire.”

“Now, you understand.” He touched her arm, a quick moth-soft touch. “So, please. Please let me stay and make sure you’re safe.”

He followed her to the club, staying in the shadows where no one would see him. She had to force herself not to look over her shoulder. It felt strange to know there were friendly eyes in the dark. The bouncer at the side door of the club nodded at her when she skirted the lineup.

“You’re late. Grady’s mad.”

“Grady’s always mad.” Helena pushed past him into the smoky darkness of The Vortex. She felt Liam behind her but he didn’t say a word, just broke away and lost himself in the crowd and strobe lights. Helena went down the hall to the cramped changing room with the tiny attached washroom. Sofia lounged on the only chair, Portia leaned against the wall eating Pixy Stix, and Billie crouched in the corner whittling stakes.

“Nice of you to finally show up,” Sofia drawled. “Give the girl one win and she thinks she’s a rock star.”

“Oh, shut up,” Helena muttered. “I’ve got fifteen minutes until the fight.”

“And that’s what you’re wearing?” Sofia asked dubiously.

Helena glanced down. She’d forgotten she was wearing the clothes she’d taken from the dojo. Hers were in a sodden mess in her backpack. “Shit.”

Sofia sighed theatrically. “I’ve got something you can wear.”

“Hell no. I’m not wearing a tutu.”

Portia wiped sugar off her shirt. “You can wear this tank top,” she offered, pulling it off from under her fishnet top. She contorted impressively. Grady would have put her in the ring on the spot if he’d seen her.

“Thanks.” Helena caught the black top and switched her T-shirt out. Her baggy black pants were hardly inspiring. She didn’t really care. She couldn’t stop thinking of Liam’s mouth so near to hers. Focus, Helena.

“Trade me these pants for your skirt?” she asked Billie. “Just for the fight.” Her denim miniskirt was shorter than anything Helena would ordinarily have worn but at least she could move freely in it.

“Still needs something,” Portia said.

“Are you going to help?” Billie kicked Sofia’s swinging foot.

Sofia snapped her gum loudly. “I already offered a tutu.”

“Never mind, I have an idea.” Portia reached for the can of spray paint she always carried in her knapsack. Half the art on the alley walls was hers. She shook the can with a grin. “To the lost girls.”

Helena closed her eyes so she wouldn’t get paint splattered into them. The chemical scent floated in the cramped space. Sofia coughed. Portia chewed on her lip, the way she always did when she drew. It didn’t take her long. “There.”

Billie chuckled. “Awesome.”

Helena looked down. Portia had spray painted, in pink no less, a circle with a stylized face, elongated fangs, and a slash across it.

NO VAMPIRES ALLOWED.

For the first time, the thought made Helena uncomfortable. She wondered what Liam would think when he saw it. Never mind that he wore elegant suits and she wore spray paint; he’d saved her life.

“You don’t like it.” Portia sounded disappointed.

“Of course I do,” Helena rushed to assure her. “I need some makeup, don’t you think?” She hurried into the bathroom where she could be alone to wonder why she was suddenly concerned about delicate vampire sensibilities. The whole thing was ridiculous.

“Get your head in the game,” she snapped at herself. She grabbed one of the black eyeliners in the plastic cup on the back of the sink. She was lining her eyes like an Egyptian queen when she saw it.

Iphigenia’s favorite striped scarf.

Stuck to the wall on the tip of a knife.

She turned slowly, her stomach dropping. There was a piece of paper stuck between the blade and the scarf. It was a charcoal sketch of Helena. Calligraphy curved around the edges:

Your presence is required by Lady Natasha in Crofter’s Woods.

She stumbled out of the bathroom. Sofia and Portia were bickering as usual. Their voices sounded thin, distant. The floor shook from the crowds shouting and stomping their feet in the Thunderdome. Billie frowned at her. It took a moment to realize the other girl had spoken to her. “Helena, what’s wrong?”

Reality slammed into her like a wave breaking over the shore. She fought the undertow, lifted her chin. “Iphi’s missing.”

Sofia waved that away. “She’s probably in one of her hiding spots.”

Helena shook her head, lifting the scarf. “It’s got blood on it.” Silence fell like an icicle, cold and deadly. She flung the paper out at them. It floated like delicate pollen, before landing faceup on the dirty glitter-strewn floor. “Let’s go.”

They darted down the hall. Grady stopped them before they reached the back door, motioning to Angelo, one of the bouncers. He was built like a bull and took his job very seriously.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Grady asked silkily. The blue eye shadow he wore didn’t make him look any less threatening.

“We have to go,” Helena said. “Iphi’s in trouble.”

“You owe me a fight.”

“Later.” She shoved past him. He caught her by the hair even as Angelo pushed her down the step, away from the door. Helena hissed.

“You can go after the fight,” Grady said. “Not before.”

Portia and Billie bristled. Sofia was the only one who didn’t look particularly concerned, but Helena read the tension in her brittle hair flip.

“Grady,” she purred. “Can’t you cut us a break? This is important.”

“No.”

She ran a hand up his arm, the one still clutching Helena’s hair. “What if I fight for you?”

“You’re not on tonight’s list, sweetheart.”

“I’ll fight for free,” she offered. “Just tonight.”

He considered it. Sofia pouted invitingly. Helena reached for the pocket knife she knew was in Billie’s skirt pocket. She always had a knife.

“Deal,” Grady finally said. “Because I’m feeling generous.” Helena snorted. He pulled savagely on her hair. “What was that, sweetheart?”

Sofia glared at her warningly. For Iphigenia, Helena didn’t punch him in the crotch. “Nothing.”

“That’s what I thought.” He waited another heartbeat before releasing her. He nodded to Angelo. Helena, Portia, and Billie were through the door before it was even halfway open.

She could have called for Liam. God knew they could use the backup. But Lady Natasha hated him, was targeting him. She wouldn’t add to his troubles. And the lost girls were her responsibility anyway, not his.

She had enough blood on her hands.

Something was wrong.

Liam felt it, smelled it in the thick club air. He searched the crowd for a threat. He was about to head to the back to find Helena when Grady stepped out to the microphone hanging from the ceiling. A girl in a sequined bikini pranced behind him, smiling the smile of a thousand toothpaste ads.

“Ladies and gents,” Grady boomed. “Welcome to the Thunderdome!”

The audience reacted so loudly Liam wondered if there was blood in his ears. Sensitive hearing wasn’t always an asset. He kept his gaze moving quickly, checking the entrances. He still felt it, some secret pull of danger.

“Tonight for your entertainment we have the feral and very fine Finnegan, battling the delectable and sexy Sofia!”

Liam had to fight to keep his fangs retracted.

Helena was gone.

Portia hotwired a car parked on the edge of the Warren. It took them half an hour, at top speed, to race to the edge of the forest that led to Crofter’s Woods. They left the car under a canopy of branches and went on foot the rest of the way. Billie handed out stakes. Portia bit her nails. Helena wanted to scream.

As the path narrowed to a trail, a branch cracked. Helena whirled just as a shadow broke away from the trees. She threw a stake before she fully registered who she was throwing it at. A girl squeaked as a second shadow knocked her to the ground. The stake slammed into an elm tree. Cass pushed Bruno’s long hair off her face. “Ow.”

“Easy, killer,” Bruno said to Helena, helping Cass to her feet.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Helena demanded as they stood. “I nearly staked you!”

“We saw you heading out of town,” Cass replied. Blood spotted the bandage on her throat. “And we heard another girl went missing.”

“So?” Helena asked.

“So, I’m not an idiot …,” Cass pointed out. “You’re about to do something stupid. No one heads into the mountains at this time of night without a monumentally stupid plan.”

Bruno grinned, flipping his pocket knife between his fingers. “And we want in.”

“No way,” Helena said automatically, even though they could probably use Bruno. “You can’t ‘om’ your way through this, Cass. What are you two doing out this late anyway?”

Cass blushed. “Don’t change the subject.” She crossed her arms, crystal necklaces catching the very faint moonlight. “I’m coming with you. Or you can leave me behind and I’ll follow alone. By myself. All vulnerable and shit.”

“Nice threat.” Helena looked impressed despite herself.

“Thank you. Now what’s the plan?”

“Iphigenia’s down there somewhere,” Helena explained darkly. “We get her out. If Lady Natasha’s around, I get to shove a stake in her chest.” For Iphi. For all the missing girls. For Liam. “They’re waiting for us in Crofter’s Woods.”

“I know that place,” Bruno said, all teasing gone from his voice. His accent was suddenly so thick Helena had to concentrate to understand him. “They’ll have guards posted. I have a better spot.”

They followed him around the bend to a rocky ledge. They crawled on their bellies to the edge, peering through the leaves. The clearing was ringed with torches. In the center, Iphigenia was tied to a red pine. The wind tossed needles over her. She was pale, her short cap of blond hair glinting like gold. She must be terrified.

But she was also alone.

“There,” Helena said, rage making her feel hot all over. “We might be able to get her out before they know we’re here.”

Bruno pulled the shotgun she hadn’t seen strapped to his back. “And if not, I’m a really good shot.”

“We’re dealing with vampires,” Helena reminded him.

“Might not kill them but it’ll sure as hell slow them down.”

“Um, guys?” Cass asked.

“What?”

“Hello? Big fat trap down there?”

Helena scrubbed her face. “I know. But it doesn’t matter. Billie, you should stay up here,” she suggested, mind racing. “You’re better with knives. Find a tree to climb and you’ll see them before they see any of us. I’ll go in alone.” She ignored the requisite protests. “I mean it. They asked for me, they’ll get me. Anyway, they won’t take me seriously, a single raggedy girl. So we’ll use it. It might be the only advantage we have.”

“I don’t like it,” Bruno muttered.

Helena shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. It’s all we’ve got.”

Cass took a lighter out of her purse. “Maybe not.” She smiled softly, looking more like her grandmother than a New Age freak. “If we burn them out, they might not notice you freeing Iphigenia. Vampires like to be stealthy and there’s nothing stealthy about a forest fire.”

Portia whistled. “Nice, Tofu Girl. There’s hope for you yet.”

Bruno winced. “You’re going to double back and siphon the gas out of my bike, aren’t you?” She nodded. “Well, shit.” He got up to help her. “Don’t move until we’re back,” he ordered Helena.

“Watch out for the reapers,” she told them.

“The reapers? That doesn’t sound good,” Cass remarked.

“They’re the ones that bit you.”

“Definitely not good.”

Helena smiled at her, sharp and deadly as a fox in a henhouse. “Payback’s a bitch.”

Cass smiled back.

The forest was on fire.

That could only mean one thing, Liam thought.

Helena.

Helena’s heartbeat felt so loud she was sure any vampire within a ten-mile radius could hear it. She breathed slowly, making sure her stakes were secure. She’d already checked them six different times on the climb down to the meadow. There was one in each boot, one in her skirt pocket next to Billie’s knife, and one tucked into the small of her back. She was as ready as she was ever going to be.

She crept through the forest, wincing every time a twig snapped underfoot. She could drift through the Warren and never be seen, but put her in the middle of the woods and she was hopeless. She circled a tree and then passed through a bush she sincerely hoped wasn’t poison ivy. The wind shivered through the leaves. She crouched at the edge of the trees. It felt like forever before she caught the scent of fire. Smoke curled between the trunks, obscuring even the sharpest of vampire vision.

Now or never.

Helena went low and raced across the open field, her neck prickling nervously. She had a stake in one hand, a knife in the other. She heard a shout in the distance but couldn’t be sure if it was vampiric or human. She kept running.

“Hurry,” Iphigenia sobbed, pulling against her ropes. “I’m scared.”

“It’s okay.” Helena slid the last few feet toward her. “Are you hurt? Did they bite you?” Iphigenia shook her head. There was dirt on her face and across her shirt and her jeans were ripped, but Helena couldn’t see any blood. “I’m going to get you out of here. Just hold on.”

She sawed through the thick ropes with the knife until her skin chafed and blistered. Her blood smeared the twine, made her grip slippery.

Iphigenia struggled. “Hurry!”

“Almost got it,” Helena assured her. The certainty that the trap was about to close around them made Helena short of breath. Every nerve ending felt jagged. The knife slipped, cutting into her palm. She wiped the cut on her shirt and went back to sawing. The ropes finally frayed apart. Iphigenia stepped out of the pile coiled around her like pale snakes.

And then she screamed as loud as she could.

Helena recoiled, then tried to slap her hand over her mouth. “Iphi,” she said, thinking her friend hysterical. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here to get you out.”

“I’m not afraid,” Iphigenia assured her, drawing another breath and jerking free. Her next scream was more specific. “She’s here!”

“Iphi?” Helena goggled. “I don’t understand.”

“They wanted you, Helena. Not me.” She shrugged one shoulder. Her waifish pixie face hardened. “It’s always you.”

“But … why?” She could not wrap her head around the betrayal.

“They promised to turn me.” Iphigenia looked enthralled, fascinated. It made Helena want to throw up. “So I can be strong, strong like you.”

Helena shook her head, as if it could change the truth. She took a step back. “This can’t be happening.”

Iphigenia’s scream called her vampire allies out of hiding. They raced between the trees, pale and deadly. They moved so fast, as if Helena was in slow motion. A knife flew past her head, but it missed its vampire target and landed in the ferns. Billie’s knife. Bruno’s shotgun went off from the ridge but Helena couldn’t see where the bullet had struck. She was too busy fighting off Iphigenia. She finally let go with a right hook, sending the tiny blond girl sprawling in the mud.

“You were a lost girl,” she spat.

“And now I’ll be immortal,” Iphigenia spat back. “No one will ever be able to hurt me again. Not Grady, not my brother, no one.”

“Iphi.”

Iphigenia folded her arms. “You pissed them off, saving all those girls.”

“I thought you were saving them too.”

“We both know I was holding you guys back, that I’d be next.” She shrugged. “So I had to save myself first.”

Helena stayed low in the concealing smoke, kicking out when a vampire woman streaked past her. She rolled through the long grass and jabbed down with her stake. Ash clung to the wild-flowers. She crawled away, hoping the fire and the smoke would conceal her.

No such luck.

“Got her!” Three more vampires sprinted in her direction. Bruno shot again but with the fire eating through the leaves and belching thick smoke, he was shooting blind. Helena threw a stake but she missed too. Heat from the encroaching flames hissed at her. Sweat stung as it dripped into her eyes.

She couldn’t hide here any longer. Her escapes were being cut off by fire and vampires. She jumped to her feet and ran, flinging stakes behind her. Bruno’s shotgun blasted again, and another, closer. She slammed right into a guy with black hair and nose plugs. “Who the hell are you?”

He looked military, in cargo pants with a walkie-talkie strapped to his shoulder. He even had night-vision goggles on his head. But he didn’t look that much older than she was. “Roarke Black. Stand down.”

“Bite me.”

“We have it covered,” he insisted. “This is no place for a civilian.” He relented enough to incline his head. “We’ve been keeping an eye on your gang. Good work.”

“You were the ones trailing Portia!”

“Yes. Now get out of here. Don’t run until you’re sure they’re chasing us!”

He and three others, also armed to the teeth, launched themselves into the melee. Crossbow bolts whipped through the air. They burst through the clearing and spread out in all directions. The vampires followed, unable to resist. Iphigenia had already gone to ground. One of Billie’s knives shot past Helena, nearly slicing the tip off her nose. She jerked back, swearing.

There were a lot of the commandos.

But there were a lot more vampires.

She let out an ear-piercing whistle. Three of the other vampires snapped around to look her way. She waved her fingers teasingly. “Hello, boys.”

Then she ran.

She pushed her legs until they felt like they’d crumble, ran until her chest tightened and her breath was like hot sandpaper at the back of her throat. She could hear them behind her, closing in. She tried to stay out of the shelter of the ridge, hoping Billie and Bruno could see her pursuers. One of them fell back, knife in his eye. Helena leaped over a log and kept running. Bruno’s gun took out a second, so Helena had just enough time to turn and stake her through her rib cage, as the vampire clutched her leg. There was only one vampire left and he halted. “Screw this,” he muttered, taking off.

Helena leaned against a tree, panting. The light from the fire pierced the smoke, dancing cheerfully. It was surreal. She forced herself to stumble back toward the clearing.

“I told you these backwoods hicks would make a mess of it.”

Helena froze, recognizing the musical sing-songy voice.

Elisabet.

“Lady Natasha won’t be pleased,” Lyle agreed. “But she can hardly blame us.”

“We’re her reapers, idiot. Of course she can blame us. We’re meant to be reaping. Now even that blond twit of a girl is gone.”

Helena didn’t dare move, didn’t dare even exhale. Somewhere, very faintly, fire-truck sirens sounded. The only reason the Domokoses hadn’t seen her or caught her scent yet was because of the smoke and the general mayhem. Shadows shifted, veiled in curtains of gray fog and ash.

“There are two girls left in the cage,” Lyle reminded his sister.

“Leftovers.” Elisabet sighed. “She won’t be impressed with that.”

“Better than nothing. Let’s bring them to her as a peace offering.”

There were two girls left. Helena held onto that thought, punched on it like a hungry cat. Two girls who weren’t dead. Yet.

She followed the reapers, hoping the sounds of the fire and the fighting would cover her footsteps. Portia and Cass intercepted her.

“I can’t believe Iphi’s a traitor,” Portia said, disgusted. Blood ran down her leg from a deep gash. “That little weasel.”

“Helena?” Cass frowned at her. “You’re going the wrong way. That way’s full of fire and fangs.”

“There are more girls that way,” she said, straining to see where Elisabet and Lyle had gone. If she waited much longer, she’d lose them altogether.

“We’re coming too,” Portia said, gritting her teeth against the pain of her leg.

Helena shook her head. “You’re wounded. Cass, take her back to Bruno and Billie. I have to go.”

“It’s like you do it on purpose,” Portia muttered. She leaned on Cass, shooting a glare at Helena. “If you die you’re really going to piss me off.”

Finding two vampires in the dark smoky woods wasn’t easy.

If it wasn’t for a pair of sleepy doves startled into the sky at their passing, Helena might have wandered for hours. She followed the commotion, staying well back when she caught a glimpse of moonlight on pale skin and gold hair. The Domokoses moved quickly, eyes glowing even from a distance. They were scared.

Good.

They crossed a valley to a small cave nestled among rocks and roots. It was really more of a weed-choked hollow created by a long-ago avalanche. Inside, Helena caught a glint of iron.

The cage.

Lyle pulled out two bony girls in tattered clothing, wearing necklaces of dried blood. They were alive, though, and able to walk. She stayed far back enough that she couldn’t hear what they were saying. One of the girls was trembling so violently she looked like an aspen leaf falling from a tree. Helena scurried after them, picking her way around twigs and branches, praying she wouldn’t get caught.

She paused on a crest of rocks, staying hidden in a scraggly bush. Elisabet and Lyle were coming around the crest, toward another set of caves ringed with torchlight and guarded by fierce vampires. A woman came to the opening and looked out impatiently. Helena fell back, holding her breath. She had straight white-blond hair in a perfect waterfall down her back. She wore an old-fashioned dress and a ransom in diamonds. She glittered and preened, deadly as ice breaking on a winter lake.

Helena knew she had to head them off at the pass, had to get the girls free before they reached the caves and reinforcements. It had to be now.

She had no weapons left except a single stake. She scrounged on the ground for rocks, scrambling back around to the other side of the hill. She aimed the first rock at Elisabet’s head. She nearly took out one of the girls instead. The second rock caught Elisabet’s ear. The third was snatched out of midair.

It wasn’t enough.

Helena crouched down, jamming her back against a boulder. She dug with her feet, kicking and shoving dirt, pebbles, rocks, anything she could reach. The rockslide wasn’t enough to bury Lyle and Elisabet, but it was enough to distract them. The girls scurried like rats to safety. Helena kept kicking rocks. When there was nothing left but dry dirt she hurried to the ledge, helping them up.

“Run,” she gasped, not caring that running was generally a bad idea around vampires. There were no choices left. They had to get out of there.

Fear outweighed starvation and fatigue and pushed them down the rocky hill and through the trees. Helena whistled around her thumb and forefinger, three short blasts, hoping Bruno was close enough to hear. She looked over her shoulder, saw fangs and furious eyes.

She cut right, away from the girls running on bleeding bare feet. The Domokoses followed her. She knew she couldn’t keep up this pace much longer. And it didn’t matter. Vampires were faster, always. She tried to stay within view of the glow of the fire, but she was getting turned around. She was lost and exhausted.

She stopped running when she was gagging on her own breath. She turned warily, not saying a word. Elisabet and Lyle smiled at each other.

Helena raised her chin. If she was going to die here, she’d die with curses on her lips and their blood under her fingernails.

She only just barely saw someone standing behind them.

Liam.

He paced them like a sleek vengeful panther, dark hair blending into the night. Only his eyes gave him away—and the flash of his fangs.

Shock made Helena laugh. Elisabet turned her head.

Liam attacked.

Helena leaped at Lyle, last stake in her hand.

He deflected, sending her crashing into a tree. She slumped, using the same tactic she’d used in the Thunderdome: look more wounded than you are. She waited, gasping. Lyle approached her slowly, even as his sister blocked Liam’s stake.

“Liam Drake.” Elisabet laughed. “Protecting this one, are you? Won’t Lady Natasha be interested to hear that.” She smirked. “She so enjoyed Deirdre.”

Helena was the one who hissed at that.

Lyle grabbed her by her tank top and hauled her up. Her feet dangled. She let herself go boneless. His fangs lengthened. She staked him. Unfortunately, she wasn’t strong enough at that angle to pierce his heart. The stake ricocheted off his ribs. He snarled. She tried to gouge his eyes out but he had her pinned. His fangs brushed her neck.

And then she was falling, ash drifting around her.

Liam’s stake finished the job, piercing Lyle’s heart, ripping her tank top, and landing in a maple tree. Elisabet whirled, too shocked to scream for a moment, before rage made her insane. She howled like a rabid animal, pupils ringed with red. She went for Liam’s throat with her teeth, her nails, every part of her a weapon. Liam fought back but there was already a gash on his upper arm. His shirt was ripped. Elisabet slammed a stake into his chest, just under his collarbone, missing his heart. He pulled it out, blood dripping into the grass.

Elisabet continued to howl. She was strong, snapping Liam’s shoulder out of its socket with a single blow. He snapped it back, blocking the tip of her boot as it jabbed at his kneecap. It wasn’t enough.

Helena yanked at Liam’s stake embedded in the tree, trying to work it free. Sweat made her hands slick.

Liam went down, blood on his face.

Elisabet grinned savagely. She retrieved her stake in the grass and pierced Liam’s shirt, skin, flesh.

Helena finally got the stake out, tears of frustration stinging her eyes. The end was broken. She didn’t care.

She leaped on Elisabet’s back, jamming it toward her heart as hard as she could. Elisabet screeched, releasing her own stake as she flung Helena off. Helena managed to turn over, hands and knees bloodied from her landing, just in time to see Liam pluck the stake from his own chest and drive it into Elisabet.

She turned to ash, drifting like gray snow between the trees.

Helena sat up, wincing in pain. Three short whistles sounded from the woods near the fire. Bruno. Everyone was okay. Helena whistled back as Liam crawled to her, gathering her up in his arms. “You just took years off my life.”

She smiled. “Good thing you’re immortal.”

Liam took her to the lake. It was cold but Helena didn’t care. She stripped down to her bra and underwear and jumped into the water, rinsing the blood and mud and ashes off. Liam followed, pale and perfect.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re insane?” he asked.

She pushed her wet hair off her face. “Once or twice.” Maybe it was shock, but she felt good. Happy. The girls were safe, she was safe. Liam was at her side. There were a million stars above them and the blood was out of her hair. She drew her fingertips around the gash the stake had left under his collarbone and over his shoulder. “Does it hurt?”

He shook his head, drawing her close. “I don’t feel anything but you.”

His mouth took hers or hers took his, she wasn’t sure. She only knew that his claim on her seared through her and burned all the way to her toes. He tasted her, his tongue touching hers, his hands stroking her bare spine. She wrapped her legs around him. The cold water held them up as they finally gave into the longing and the need between them.

“We have to stop,” he murmured against her lips.

She looked at him as if he’d proposed tea with Lady Natasha. “Why?”

He groaned. “Because I’m way too old for you.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re undead and you’re worried about a little thing like age?” Her tongue touched his lower lip.

He swallowed and pulled back, jaw clenched. “You’re turning me into a dirty old man.”

She tilted her head. “How old are you, really?”

“Eighty-one.”

She blinked. “Oh.” She ran her hands up his muscular arms. “You look good for a decrepit old perv.”

He laughed despite himself. “I’ve never known anyone like you.” He kissed her again, quickly, too quickly. “I’ll wait for you.”

“Where am I going?”

“Not you. Me. I’m leaving Violet Hill.”

“Forever?” The water was suddenly cold, freezing her to the bone. She swam to shore. “Then why bother with all this? You should have let Lady Natasha kill you, since you’re letting her win anyway.” She pulled her clothes on angrily, teeth chattering.

Liam was suddenly behind her, arms around her waist. “I’m not leaving you,” he murmured in her ear. “Never. But you’re sixteen. I’ll come back for you in two years. After I’ve had some time to draw Lady Natasha away from this town. She doesn’t know to fear you yet, not with Elisabet and Lyle gone.”

“Are two years really going to make that big of a difference? You’ll be eighty-three instead of eighty-one. Big deal.”

“But you’ll be legal. And you’ll have a chance to find a sense of yourself, a sense of who you could be. You might not want this life.”

“I want you,” she said softly. Admitting it took as much courage as facing down a vampire queen and all of her minions. “And I’m going to take those two years to learn how to really kick your sorry undead ass.”

He turned her around, kissing her tenderly. “Promise?”

She nodded solemnly. “I promise.”

“Good.” He kissed her again and it flared so hot and so desperate it was physically painful to pull away. “I have to go,” he said. “But I’ll find you.”

She dug her fingers into his hair and pulled his mouth back to hers. “If you don’t find me, Liam Drake,” she vowed, “I’ll find you.”

MEET ALYXANDRA HARVEY

Alyxandra Harvey was born in Montreal, Canada, during an ice storm, the day after Christmas. Before becoming a writer, Alyx worked as a volunteer for an archaeologist, cleaning and cataloguing bits of pottery and bones in a dark basement in Toronto, and as a jewelry designer. She even owned her own bead shop. But writing has always been Alyx’s first love. She is now the author of Haunting Violet, Stolen Awayand the Drake Chronicles series. Alyx likes medieval dresses and tattoos and has been accused of being born in the wrong century – except that she really likes running water, women’s rights and ice cream. She lives in an old Victorian farmhouse in Ontario, Canada, with her husband, her dogs and a few resident ghosts. To find out more, read on …

What are your three favorite books, and why?

Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen. Mr. Darcy! Need I say more? Also, Elizabeth Bennet is my hero. She’s smart and sassy and gets to wear a pelisse. I could do without the bonnet though.

Wood Wife, Terri Windling. Beautiful, magical, poetic.

Shadowy Horses, Susanna Kearsley. Historical, atmospheric, lovely.

What was your favorite book when you were a child?

Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte (I have a dog named Bronte)

Mists of Avalon, Marion Zimmer Bradley

Memory and Dream, Charles de Lint (in college)

What book do you wish you had written?

Wood Wifeby Terri Windling.

When did you start writing?

Family legend says I started to write seriously around age 9 on a vacation where a friend of the family suggested I write a short story because I was very, very bored and in need of distracting. I suspect I was also being very, very annoying.

Who or what was your biggest influence in deciding to become a writer?

I don’t remember ever not wanting to be a writer. I’ve been influenced by Jane Austen, the Bronte Sisters, the Romantic Poets, the Pre-Raphaelites, mythology and ancient history.

What inspired you to write the Drake Chronicles?

The story popped into my head as I was thinking of a way to retell the Snow White fairy tale. I wanted it to be fun and slightly snarky, not to take itself too seriously, but to have layers to the story at the same time. And I like playing with vampires. I can indulge in a little historical fiction, some corsets, some magic and some girls who can kick serious butt.

Solange, Lucy, Isabeau and the other girls in your books are totally kick-butt characters. Are you?

Oooh good question! I’m not a violent person and though I do like to play with swords, I’d be more likely to stab myself in the foot. But when I draw a line, I’m pretty fierce. (cue ominous music)

If you could live in any time period, what would it be and why?

I would especially like to visit Regency England, circa 1815. I’d like to run around in a pelisse and flirt with handsome men wearing cravats. Don’t worry, my husband is perfectly aware of this rather odd quirk in my character. :) I’d also like to drop in to Iron Age Celtic Britain, England late 1100’s, Ancient Egypt, Victorian London (and Yorkshire to meet the Brontes), Quebec around 1630 (to see my ancestors!). . . I’d also kind of like to kick Henry VIII in the shins and then vanish back home safely before he could cut off my head. Is that so wrong?

If someone wanted to be a writer what would be your number one tip for them?

Read, read, read. Write, write, write. Carry a notebook. Don’t give up! That last one. Don’t give up! Two years after my first novel was published, I received a delayed rejection for it from a different publisher.

Is there any particular routine involved in your writing process (favorite pen, lucky charm, special outfit)?

I try and write every day, even if it’s just one page. It’s easier to keep the flow going than to pick it up again after a week off. I tend to read over what I’ve written during the day that night and then think about the next scene as I fall asleep. If I’m stuck I’ll take a nap—or at least lie down. This either indicates that my muses like dark and quiet or that I’m naturally lazy. Sometimes atmosphere is required: candles, incense, music (often Baroque. Lyrics are too distracting). Mostly I try not to get too precious about it. I love little rituals and amulets but I’d hate to think I’d be lost if I accidentally set my favorite pen on fire.

Do you want to know more? Then catch up with Alyx on her blog at www.alyxandraharvey.com

Read the Drake Chronicles

from the beginning …

Ruling Passion—includes Hearts at Stake,
Blood Feud, and Out for Blood

Find out more about the Drakes at
www.thedrakechronicles.com

www.bloomsbury.com
www.facebook.com/BloomsburyTeens

Love the Drakes?

Prepare to have your heart stolen, as Alyxandra Harvey’s enchanting new novel transports you to Faery, where nothing is as it seems …

www.bloomsbury.com

Don’t miss
Alyxandra Harvey’s darkly romantic,
spine-chilling ghost story

www.bloomsbury.com

Copyright © 2013 by Alexandra Harvey

All rights reserved. You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce, or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

First published in the United States of America in February 2013
by Walker Books for Young Readers, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing, Inc.
www.bloomsbury.com

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to
Permissions, Walker BFYR, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10010

ISBN 978-0-8027-3620-8 (e-book)