parameters of déjà vu.
One thing was for sure. Tonight had just gotten a hell of a lot more interesting.
Enlisting the full resources of his extensive mental databanks, Rhys searched deeply for images to pinpoint this newcomer. Concentration brought him success. Beneath the noticeable wisp of old power lay another scent that was as different from the grimy London street odors as possible. Perfume, indicative of golden things. Sunrays on the clear water of a fountain. Morning dew on green grass. Fields of flowers.
Sure as hell, no monster he knew of smelled like that.
Shaking his head to clear his mind of images like grass and fountains, Rhys got back to the task at hand. Golden scents were always a distraction because they brought back memories of his days in the light, so very long ago, in another lifetime.
I see you, he wanted to say to test this stranger’s awareness levels. If you’re so strong, can you feel me watching?
Hunting monsters in the mortal world, finding and dealing with predators, had been his calling for as long as he could remember. Hell, with freaks and bloodsuckers increasing in numbers by the truckload, somebody had to take care of the problem so mortals could remain ignorant of what actually lurked in the shadows.
He stared at the alley, and the creature passing through it.
Are you a predator, my fine friend?
A fancy parasite, perhaps?
His inability to determine the answer to those questions was annoying and highly unusual.
“So, what are you, exactly?” Rhys whispered.
The only beings remotely as potent as this one in terms of presence were his brethren, and all six of the other Blood Knights were accounted for. He could touch their minds with his if he wanted to, just as they could touch his. None of them were anywhere near England at the moment.
You, newcomer, are a snag in my nightly rounds.
And it seemed that more surprises were in store.
Small flares, like a medley of tiny shooting stars, appeared to light this stranger’s path. Not the steady beam of a flashlight, but some other kind of source. Silvery sparkling particles swept steps ahead of their master as if clearing the way. The night itself seemed to hold its breath as the strange creature with the little fireflies journeyed through the alley.
You’re something tricky, then?
Uncomfortable with his ignorance in this matter, Rhys delved farther back into the landscape of his memory, searching for answers. Passing data regarding recent times, postmodern times, Edwardian years, he sailed backward, straining to place the interloper.
The detail he finally discovered was such a shock, he doubled back over it to make sure he’d gotten it right. The stranger in the alley had been flagged as an old soul hailing from a time prior to any of the centuries he had searched through.
Still more surprises were at hand.
This creature’s vibe now resonated as feminine. A richly layered female spirit.
By all that was holy, he was looking at a woman. One who was both basking in and shielding her presence from everyone other than a special kind of onlooker with a flair for tracking anomalies in the darkest places.
Impossible, was his initial response. He’d gotten those details wrong. No female immortals existed, as far as he knew. None without fangs and a nasty need to bite, anyway. Yet only true immortals, those with their souls intact and their chests filled with echoing heartbeats, left such an indelible imprint on the world.
Excitement drove Rhys toward the edge of the roof. In spite of everything he had seen and done over the centuries, and though he would have thought it impossible for him to be stunned by anything, that’s how he felt right that minute. Stunned.
In all the years since becoming immortal himself, how was it possible that he had never gotten wind of an immortal She?
Pulses of excitement pounded at his throat. He felt his blood pressure spike.
What are you doing here? he wanted to shout, to see if her hearing was as exceptional as his and if she possessed the kind of telepathy he and his brethren shared, a connection enhanced by the designs carved into their backs. Blood Knight sigils had been etched with the mingled black blood of all seven of them, fostering true closeness.
Are you friend, or foe?
He could jump down there to confront her with that question. His network of jangling nerves demanded that he did.
Find her. See her. Speak with her, those nerves seemed to whisper to him. Red flags waved in his mind. His sigils were scoring him raw, as if they knew whatever facts he was missing.
Then again, he had no real right to confront her if she wasn’t a beast. No universal agreement existed between species that directed them to announce their presence to those already in residence when entering any particular area. Out of necessity, immortals moved around. He had been in London for less than a year, and in many other cities before that. So many cities, he’d lost count.
Is it so with you, my fine bearer of light? Are you a nomad?
As the strange female wove through the alley on this dark fall night, an even stronger feeling of familiarity washed over Rhys. Like a hound dog on a scent, he followed her progress toward the closest street by moving soundlessly above her from roof to roof. At the corner, where the alley met the main boulevard, the woman’s accompanying lights winked out.
At least you show some sense.
Fascinated, Rhys watched her slip to the door of a storefront as if that had been her intended destination. When she opened the door, the thunder of loud music poured out.
Rhys saw her hesitate. His body rocked, mimicking the shiver that ran through her as she altered her shape enough to face the mortals inside the shop. Not a shape-shift, just a setting of her real power back to stealth mode.
Mortal was a game immortals often played.
How many times had he done that same thing when confronting the good people of London and elsewhere? Masking his identity, hiding his power, was the only way to walk among them.
The marks on his back throbbed with empathy. This female didn’t look forward to going inside. Four walls would make her feel trapped if she was in any way like him. Loud music would be sensory torture for an old soul.
I know, he wanted to tell her. I know how you feel.
No one that had come out of Castle Broceliande’s gates ever truly became used to extremes. Throughout time, the Blood Knights had been doomed to exist on the fringes of society, sharing the shadows with bad things that preyed on the people of those societies—keeping to themselves to avoid the hustle and bustle of mortals clumping too close together.
And you, my friend, are going to enter a building where mortals hang out. For that, my interest is piqued.
Anxious, Rhys shifted sideways for a better view of the doorway, eyeing the female down there, unable to keep from thinking back.
His Makers had
