and he suddenly tugged it away from her face. The Order knights wore blades at their collars to deflect vampire bites. Verity wished she’d worn more than the comfortable slip dress. Like full armor with a neck guard.
Get to safety!
She was safe in this man’s arms. She knew it without doubt. That was her mother’s voice prodding her to flee. Never trust a man. Most especially a hunter.
“Who are you?” she managed between sniffles and gasps for breath.
“Name’s Rook,” he offered. “I’ll see you home?”
“No, go after the vampire. He could harm someone else. And I need to fix this. To find a spell to stop the vampire taint from changing me.”
He bent to meet her eyes. Compelled to look into his eyes, Verity’s breathing calmed. Despite the frail light from the distant streetlamp, she clearly saw his irises were blue. Intense, bright and true. Yet something about him was as far from the truth as it could ever be.
She had no idea what that meant.
“I felt…” He looked at her chest where he’d touched her earlier. “But not now.” He shook his head and stared at his hand, as if battling with an inner argument. Then he touched her cheek where the vampire had slapped her. “Zmaj.”
She knew that tribe. How did he know? He must have been tracking them.
“You sure you’ll be okay if I go after the longtooth?”
She nodded fervently and looked at her shaking, bloody fingers. “Yes, you’ve a job to do.”
“I will—uh, what’s your name?”
“Verity.”
He gave her the oddest look. “Your name means truth, yet…” Now he laid his hand against her chest again, and she wanted him to hold it there forever, imbuing his surprising coolness into her very being and stealing away her fears. “I can’t read you. Strange.”
“Go,” she said against the screams from her heart that begged her to swoon into his arms so he’d have to carry her home.
He nodded and, helping her up, walked her to the end of the alley. “You live around here?”
“I—yes. I need to orient myself. Where is Les Invalides?” The military museum, which was also a hospital, always served as a navigation point for her.
“That way.”
“Then I can walk home in five minutes. I’m good now. Thank you, Rook. You’re with Order of the Stake?”
“Yes.” He took out a metal stake and spun it between them. His body shifted as he stepped from foot to foot, eager to return to the chase. “Start walking. I want to make sure you can so I don’t have to worry about you.”
Taking directions, she meekly turned the corner and scampered homeward, finding adrenaline carried her to the front door. Once inside, she raced upstairs to her attic bedroom and through to the bathroom.
Flicking on the light, she leaned toward the vanity mirror. A bloody handprint dripped down her cheek. But that wasn’t half as disturbing as the actual bite mark. Panic rose at the sight of her bleeding neck—and then she adjusted that unnecessary fear into more helpful focus. She twisted on the faucet and sloshed hot water on the wound. Cleaning it wasn’t important. Vampires rarely carried disease or anything communicable—save vampirism itself. Stopping the vampiric taint from entering her bloodstream was paramount.
Verity raced out into the attic bedroom, half of which was her spell area. The lofty room was dark, save for moonlight that beamed through the cathedral window on the south end and across the gray floorboards and walls. Silvery light glittered in the dozens of grounding crystals she’d strung from the ceiling beams, like stars to capture the night’s enchantments.
Grabbing the centuries-old grimoire that she’d been writing in since she was a child and slamming the massive tome onto the floor, she then knelt over it and paged through the spells.
“Please let there be something in here to stop me from becoming a vampire.”
* * *
The bald vampire tossed the bloodied necklace onto the table before Slater.
“You did it?” Slater asked. He stood before the window, looking out at Sacre Coeur’s multiple travertine domes, lit from below by spotlights.
The vampire nodded. “She’s dead.”
“What’s that thing?”
“A trophy. Ripped it off her neck after I bit her.”
Slater studied the simple wooden heart, stained with blood. A worn leather cord had been run through a small metal loop at the top. It felt warm, almost as if it possessed a pulse. He recalled Verity’s skin had been warm and soft, electric against his skin. He inhaled the blood scent but didn’t want his tribemate to see him devour her essence.
And then he remembered. She’d always worn this necklace. Had once even said something curious like, “I’m keeping it safe.”
For what, he often wondered. Heh. Guess she hadn’t succeeded.
“That’ll be all, Clas. Thanks.”
“No problem. Let me know when you need another favor.”
“You know I will.”
The vampire left, closing the door behind him, and Slater lashed his tongue over the bloodied heart. Verity’s taste burst on his tongue. She’d never allowed him to bite her. He’d always known she’d taste sweet. Pity he only got to experience her sweetness postmortem.
“This is what happens when you piss me off, witch,” he muttered and tucked the necklace in his desk drawer.
A beam of morning sunshine prodded at Verity’s eyelids. She popped upright from lying on her side in the middle of the hardwood floor. Looking about the attic bedroom, discombobulated by the sudden awakening, she winced as sunlight flashed through a crystal suspended overhead and lasered her directly in the eye.
With a yawn, she stretched her arms and legs, curling her toes inside her boots. She still wore her ankle boots? And her clothing from last night.
Her fingers landed on the open grimoire, a thick, centuries-old book that had been in the Von Velde family for six generations. Bound in blue leather, it was two feet long and almost as wide. Beside it sat black and red candles, both guttered to wax puddles that would leave a stain on the painted floor. Beside that lay a dead dove that she’d deftly eviscerated to get to the beating heart. The heart lay embedded in the guttered black wax.
The grimoire was opened to a blood-spattered (from the dove) page that detailed the spell for Fending Off Imminent Vampirism in Mortals. She wasn’t mortal by any means, but it had been her only hope. In desperation she had recited the ancient Latin incantation and torn out the dove’s heart.
Once
