Skye wheeled Eb around, clucking reassuringly for him, to look for another branch. Her gaze swept across the tide pool, and she gasped as she saw something roll just beneath the surface—something that looked like a dead body—
Which is what Balthazar is, right now, and he’s going to stay that way if you don’t do something about it.
She dismounted and combed through the underbrush, looking for another branch; soon she found one less sturdy but perhaps long enough to work. Carefully she picked through the icy edges of the tide pool, her leather riding boots making only the slightest imprint in the frozen mud. As the ice cracked around her feet, she took a deep breath and leaned forward.
There, beneath the murky water, she could see Balthazar’s face. His features were still, his eyes open. Though she’d never seen a drowning victim, she knew now what one looked like, and it sent a chill through her that had nothing to do with the bitter cold.
If he was conscious and could see her, he wasn’t able to act or even to give her a sign. Skye leaned forward and reached out with the branch to snag the shoulder of his long coat; it wasn’t nearly sturdy enough to drag him, but the tide pool’s current kept the water roiling. Maybe just getting him to drift closer would be enough.
It worked, or well enough. Balthazar floated closer to the edge, lying flat just beneath the surface, like a male version of that Ophelia painting. Skye hesitated only a second before ripping off her leather gloves and thick coat; they’d do her more good later if they weren’t wet.
Then she stooped down and plunged her hands through the thin ice, into the frigid water, to grab Balthazar.
But, oh, God, he was heavy. She hadn’t realized how heavy dead weight could be—and even if Balthazar had been in any shape to help her, he was at least six feet three and heavily muscled. Did he weigh two hundred pounds? More? Skye knew she had more upper-body strength than most women, thanks to her many years handling saddles, but it took all her might to tow him from the tide pool.
Even after she’d dragged him free of the water, Balthazar didn’t revive. Teeth chattering, Skye pulled her coat on over her damp sweater and clumsily attempted to replace her gloves for a moment before giving up. The other vampires were probably after them—unless Redgrave had stopped them, but that would only mean that he was in pursuit instead. How was she going to get out of here? Eb could carry them both, but there was no way she could get Balthazar on the horse. With her white, numb fingers, she shook his shoulder. “Balthazar. Balthazar, wake up!”
“He won’t be able to hear you for a while yet.” Redgrave strolled into the clearing near the tide pool, his slicked-back, golden hair unmussed, and his usual carefree smile upon his face. “Hours, I’d think. If he doesn’t get blood soon—days. And since our mutual friend prefers animal blood to human, I’d count on days, if I were you.”
Skye remained crouched by Balthazar’s side. As badly as she wanted to think Redgrave was lying, she knew he wasn’t.
“You look as frightened as a fawn separated from its mother. As fragile, too.” He fixed her in his glittering hazel gaze, and she understood how he might captivate—or hypnotize—someone just with his eyes. Then he glanced over at Lorenzo, who still lay crumpled on the ground with the branch jutting from his chest. “You’re not, though, are you? Here, let me see to that.”
While Redgrave bent over Lorenzo, Skye wondered if she could run, but it was impossible. Redgrave was faster, Eb was several feet away, and leaving Balthazar behind probably meant leaving him for Redgrave to shove back out into the river—or worse. No, she’d have to think fast. Could she bargain with him for her blood? But what was the point of bargaining with him for something he’d soon take by force? Soon he’d unstake Lorenzo, and the two of them would be after her at once, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Redgrave took something from his jacket—something that glinted silver in the pale winter sunlight—and swung down hard. Lorenzo’s head lolled to one side … no, it was rolling, rolling free of his body.
Lorenzo, now beheaded and finally, utterly dead, decayed in an instant. His skin curled up and blackened like paper in fire; his flesh crumbled to dust, the bones following. What rolled to the river still looked a little like a skull when it sank through the slushy ice and vanished. Skye gagged.
“There, there. The worst is over. For now, I mean.” Redgrave walked closer to her, his hands clasped behind his back. “You’ll want help getting Balthazar on your horse, won’t you?”
She remained motionless, staring up at him. Her voice cracked when she finally spoke. “You’re just—letting him go.”
“Letting both of you go. Unless, of course, you choose to stay with me. Which would be both charming and sensible of you.” Redgrave’s grin would have been blindingly handsome, but for the fangs.
“Why would you do that?” There had to be a catch.
Redgrave sighed as he stooped by her side. Their faces were once again close, and she felt the intensity of his presence. “I don’t want to brutalize you, Skye. I want to convince you that joining me is the right thing for you to do. The only thing.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“Balthazar’s been poisoning your mind against me, hasn’t he?” His fingers brushed through the damp curls of Balthazar’s hair, almost fondly. The gesture reminded her of a father with his little boy. “He has his grudges. And his reasons, I suppose. But you must have learned by now that, when it comes to the world of vampires, good and evil can become rather … relative.”
“You broke in my house!”
“To talk,” Redgrave insisted. “You don’t believe me, of course. Well, let’s strike a deal. I’ll help you hoist the formidable Mr. More onto the back of your horse and let you both depart, safe and sound. In his case, also frozen, but don’t worry. He’ll thaw.”
Skye hesitated. “What do I owe you in return?”
“One conversation. You and I, with nobody else present—and that includes Balthazar. And instead of spending all your time talking about what a blackguard I am, you’ll listen. Really listen.” He leaned still closer, and two of his fingers curled around one tendril of her brown hair that had shaken free from the helmet. “Is that so unfair?”
There had to be more to it. She knew that. But what could she do?
“Hurry, Skye. You can’t yet hear the others approaching, but I can. Perhaps it’s Constantia and Charity, who are loyal to me and won’t touch you without my permission—but perhaps it’s not.”
“Well—when do we have this talk? And where?” She was stalling now; it was obvious that he knew it.
Teasingly, he singsonged, “I will choose the time, and I will choose the place. And for once you’ll be a good girl and hear me out. Are we agreed? Choose now, before I change my mind and my offer.”
Skye swallowed hard. “Agreed. Now help me.”
“Bossy little thing, aren’t you?” But Redgrave scooped his arms around Balthazar and lifted him as easily as he could have done Skye herself. She went to Eb and took the reins, soothing him through the placement of the heavy, unfamiliar burden on his back. Balthazar lay unconscious, stomach down, behind her saddle before Redgrave stepped away. “Until we meet again, Skye, I’d like you to remember one thing.”
Hands still on the reins, Skye said, “What’s that?”
“You were in grave danger today, and it wasn’t Balthazar who saved you.”
Redgrave took one step back, and then seemed to melt into the underbrush—running away so quickly, so inhumanly fast, that his afterimage seemed to linger after he did. Skye didn’t stay to find out who else might approach; she swung up into the saddle instantly, thinking only of Balthazar and home.
Peppermint had already found her way back to the stables and stood there outside the door, blinking sleepily.
“You saved your own butt pretty quickly, huh, fatso?” Skye said “fatso” as fondly as it was possible to; she’d been half convinced the old mare had been devoured by frustrated vampires and was grateful to see her. Peppermint had been Dakota’s, after all. Skye wanted to keep something of his safe. Maybe she should nail a couple of crucifixes up in the stables.
She managed to haul Balthazar down well enough. He was beginning to regain consciousness. Though he couldn’t speak, and still didn’t seem to understand her, he tried to balance on his feet as she guided him to the nearby garden bench. As soon as she let go, he slumped back again, but she now knew she could get him upstairs.
Quickly Skye guided the horses into their stalls, grabbed her cell phone, and begged Mrs. Lefler to come over and see to them. Family emergency, she claimed. Fortunately, Mrs. Lefler didn’t ask, just promised to be there within five minutes. Skye stroked Eb’s nose in apology for leaving him wet even for that long, then went back to Balthazar.
Once his muscular arm was draped around her shoulders, she could guide him through the house. By now he had started to talk … sort of.
“Redgrave.”
“That’s right. He was in the woods.” He came after us, she wanted to say, but that wasn’t the truth, was it? And Skye couldn’t bring herself to say, he saved us, even though that appeared to be the case. “Come on. We’ve got to warm you up.”
She brought him to her room. Although her parents weren’t expected back until after midnight, as usual, the one time they’d get home early probably would be when she had a semiconscious man laid out on the sofa. Once they were up there, Skye wasn’t sure what to do until she glanced at the door of her bathroom. “Let’s get you undressed.”
“Wait.” Balthazar pushed away her hands. “Shouldn’t.”
“I’m not molesting you. I’m putting you in a hot shower. You can’t do it yourself.” Skye tugged off his wet coat, then got to work unbuttoning his shirt. The damp fabric stuck to his skin. “I’ve seen a na**d man before, you know. I’m not a virgin. My eyes aren’t going to fall out in astonishment or anything.”
Balthazar didn’t argue any further, but as she got down to yank off his boots (cold river water dribbling out of them), she noticed that he clumsily saw to his own belt and jeans. But as he stripped them off—
Okay, she thought. Deep breaths. Yeah, she’d seen Craig naked, and Craig was a hot guy, but Balthazar was—like a statue, something else perfect—
Skye managed to tear her eyes away long enough to get the shower running. The water ran hot right away, clouds of steam billowing around her, and her red, raw hands stung at the mere presence of heat. Really, she needed a hot shower, too, but climbing in with a na**d Balthazar—that would definitely undo her “no molestation” promise.
Balthazar stumbled into the bathroom, still so dazed that he hardly seemed to care that she was there to see him. Skye guided him in; he was still frighteningly weak. As water ran down him, like glass against his bare skin, she tried to keep her eyes averted while still hanging on to his arm so he could stand.
“Is it helping?” she cried, when she couldn’t take the silence any longer.
“Don’t—don’t know.” Balthazar’s head leaned against the white tiles of her shower. He didn’t seem any better than he had outside.
Her thumb brushed against something on his bicep, and Skye looked—she couldn’t help it—to see a nicotine patch. His vulnerability moved her more than his beauty.
“Come on,” she said. Leaving the water running, Skye guided him out of the shower; his skin was now warm, but the shock of being in the river still stupefied him. Carefully she walked him to her bed and tucked him in. The sheets and heavy quilt would dry his body.
Which is what Balthazar is, right now, and he’s going to stay that way if you don’t do something about it.
She dismounted and combed through the underbrush, looking for another branch; soon she found one less sturdy but perhaps long enough to work. Carefully she picked through the icy edges of the tide pool, her leather riding boots making only the slightest imprint in the frozen mud. As the ice cracked around her feet, she took a deep breath and leaned forward.
There, beneath the murky water, she could see Balthazar’s face. His features were still, his eyes open. Though she’d never seen a drowning victim, she knew now what one looked like, and it sent a chill through her that had nothing to do with the bitter cold.
If he was conscious and could see her, he wasn’t able to act or even to give her a sign. Skye leaned forward and reached out with the branch to snag the shoulder of his long coat; it wasn’t nearly sturdy enough to drag him, but the tide pool’s current kept the water roiling. Maybe just getting him to drift closer would be enough.
It worked, or well enough. Balthazar floated closer to the edge, lying flat just beneath the surface, like a male version of that Ophelia painting. Skye hesitated only a second before ripping off her leather gloves and thick coat; they’d do her more good later if they weren’t wet.
Then she stooped down and plunged her hands through the thin ice, into the frigid water, to grab Balthazar.
But, oh, God, he was heavy. She hadn’t realized how heavy dead weight could be—and even if Balthazar had been in any shape to help her, he was at least six feet three and heavily muscled. Did he weigh two hundred pounds? More? Skye knew she had more upper-body strength than most women, thanks to her many years handling saddles, but it took all her might to tow him from the tide pool.
Even after she’d dragged him free of the water, Balthazar didn’t revive. Teeth chattering, Skye pulled her coat on over her damp sweater and clumsily attempted to replace her gloves for a moment before giving up. The other vampires were probably after them—unless Redgrave had stopped them, but that would only mean that he was in pursuit instead. How was she going to get out of here? Eb could carry them both, but there was no way she could get Balthazar on the horse. With her white, numb fingers, she shook his shoulder. “Balthazar. Balthazar, wake up!”
“He won’t be able to hear you for a while yet.” Redgrave strolled into the clearing near the tide pool, his slicked-back, golden hair unmussed, and his usual carefree smile upon his face. “Hours, I’d think. If he doesn’t get blood soon—days. And since our mutual friend prefers animal blood to human, I’d count on days, if I were you.”
Skye remained crouched by Balthazar’s side. As badly as she wanted to think Redgrave was lying, she knew he wasn’t.
“You look as frightened as a fawn separated from its mother. As fragile, too.” He fixed her in his glittering hazel gaze, and she understood how he might captivate—or hypnotize—someone just with his eyes. Then he glanced over at Lorenzo, who still lay crumpled on the ground with the branch jutting from his chest. “You’re not, though, are you? Here, let me see to that.”
While Redgrave bent over Lorenzo, Skye wondered if she could run, but it was impossible. Redgrave was faster, Eb was several feet away, and leaving Balthazar behind probably meant leaving him for Redgrave to shove back out into the river—or worse. No, she’d have to think fast. Could she bargain with him for her blood? But what was the point of bargaining with him for something he’d soon take by force? Soon he’d unstake Lorenzo, and the two of them would be after her at once, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Redgrave took something from his jacket—something that glinted silver in the pale winter sunlight—and swung down hard. Lorenzo’s head lolled to one side … no, it was rolling, rolling free of his body.
Lorenzo, now beheaded and finally, utterly dead, decayed in an instant. His skin curled up and blackened like paper in fire; his flesh crumbled to dust, the bones following. What rolled to the river still looked a little like a skull when it sank through the slushy ice and vanished. Skye gagged.
“There, there. The worst is over. For now, I mean.” Redgrave walked closer to her, his hands clasped behind his back. “You’ll want help getting Balthazar on your horse, won’t you?”
She remained motionless, staring up at him. Her voice cracked when she finally spoke. “You’re just—letting him go.”
“Letting both of you go. Unless, of course, you choose to stay with me. Which would be both charming and sensible of you.” Redgrave’s grin would have been blindingly handsome, but for the fangs.
“Why would you do that?” There had to be a catch.
Redgrave sighed as he stooped by her side. Their faces were once again close, and she felt the intensity of his presence. “I don’t want to brutalize you, Skye. I want to convince you that joining me is the right thing for you to do. The only thing.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“Balthazar’s been poisoning your mind against me, hasn’t he?” His fingers brushed through the damp curls of Balthazar’s hair, almost fondly. The gesture reminded her of a father with his little boy. “He has his grudges. And his reasons, I suppose. But you must have learned by now that, when it comes to the world of vampires, good and evil can become rather … relative.”
“You broke in my house!”
“To talk,” Redgrave insisted. “You don’t believe me, of course. Well, let’s strike a deal. I’ll help you hoist the formidable Mr. More onto the back of your horse and let you both depart, safe and sound. In his case, also frozen, but don’t worry. He’ll thaw.”
Skye hesitated. “What do I owe you in return?”
“One conversation. You and I, with nobody else present—and that includes Balthazar. And instead of spending all your time talking about what a blackguard I am, you’ll listen. Really listen.” He leaned still closer, and two of his fingers curled around one tendril of her brown hair that had shaken free from the helmet. “Is that so unfair?”
There had to be more to it. She knew that. But what could she do?
“Hurry, Skye. You can’t yet hear the others approaching, but I can. Perhaps it’s Constantia and Charity, who are loyal to me and won’t touch you without my permission—but perhaps it’s not.”
“Well—when do we have this talk? And where?” She was stalling now; it was obvious that he knew it.
Teasingly, he singsonged, “I will choose the time, and I will choose the place. And for once you’ll be a good girl and hear me out. Are we agreed? Choose now, before I change my mind and my offer.”
Skye swallowed hard. “Agreed. Now help me.”
“Bossy little thing, aren’t you?” But Redgrave scooped his arms around Balthazar and lifted him as easily as he could have done Skye herself. She went to Eb and took the reins, soothing him through the placement of the heavy, unfamiliar burden on his back. Balthazar lay unconscious, stomach down, behind her saddle before Redgrave stepped away. “Until we meet again, Skye, I’d like you to remember one thing.”
Hands still on the reins, Skye said, “What’s that?”
“You were in grave danger today, and it wasn’t Balthazar who saved you.”
Redgrave took one step back, and then seemed to melt into the underbrush—running away so quickly, so inhumanly fast, that his afterimage seemed to linger after he did. Skye didn’t stay to find out who else might approach; she swung up into the saddle instantly, thinking only of Balthazar and home.
Peppermint had already found her way back to the stables and stood there outside the door, blinking sleepily.
“You saved your own butt pretty quickly, huh, fatso?” Skye said “fatso” as fondly as it was possible to; she’d been half convinced the old mare had been devoured by frustrated vampires and was grateful to see her. Peppermint had been Dakota’s, after all. Skye wanted to keep something of his safe. Maybe she should nail a couple of crucifixes up in the stables.
She managed to haul Balthazar down well enough. He was beginning to regain consciousness. Though he couldn’t speak, and still didn’t seem to understand her, he tried to balance on his feet as she guided him to the nearby garden bench. As soon as she let go, he slumped back again, but she now knew she could get him upstairs.
Quickly Skye guided the horses into their stalls, grabbed her cell phone, and begged Mrs. Lefler to come over and see to them. Family emergency, she claimed. Fortunately, Mrs. Lefler didn’t ask, just promised to be there within five minutes. Skye stroked Eb’s nose in apology for leaving him wet even for that long, then went back to Balthazar.
Once his muscular arm was draped around her shoulders, she could guide him through the house. By now he had started to talk … sort of.
“Redgrave.”
“That’s right. He was in the woods.” He came after us, she wanted to say, but that wasn’t the truth, was it? And Skye couldn’t bring herself to say, he saved us, even though that appeared to be the case. “Come on. We’ve got to warm you up.”
She brought him to her room. Although her parents weren’t expected back until after midnight, as usual, the one time they’d get home early probably would be when she had a semiconscious man laid out on the sofa. Once they were up there, Skye wasn’t sure what to do until she glanced at the door of her bathroom. “Let’s get you undressed.”
“Wait.” Balthazar pushed away her hands. “Shouldn’t.”
“I’m not molesting you. I’m putting you in a hot shower. You can’t do it yourself.” Skye tugged off his wet coat, then got to work unbuttoning his shirt. The damp fabric stuck to his skin. “I’ve seen a na**d man before, you know. I’m not a virgin. My eyes aren’t going to fall out in astonishment or anything.”
Balthazar didn’t argue any further, but as she got down to yank off his boots (cold river water dribbling out of them), she noticed that he clumsily saw to his own belt and jeans. But as he stripped them off—
Okay, she thought. Deep breaths. Yeah, she’d seen Craig naked, and Craig was a hot guy, but Balthazar was—like a statue, something else perfect—
Skye managed to tear her eyes away long enough to get the shower running. The water ran hot right away, clouds of steam billowing around her, and her red, raw hands stung at the mere presence of heat. Really, she needed a hot shower, too, but climbing in with a na**d Balthazar—that would definitely undo her “no molestation” promise.
Balthazar stumbled into the bathroom, still so dazed that he hardly seemed to care that she was there to see him. Skye guided him in; he was still frighteningly weak. As water ran down him, like glass against his bare skin, she tried to keep her eyes averted while still hanging on to his arm so he could stand.
“Is it helping?” she cried, when she couldn’t take the silence any longer.
“Don’t—don’t know.” Balthazar’s head leaned against the white tiles of her shower. He didn’t seem any better than he had outside.
Her thumb brushed against something on his bicep, and Skye looked—she couldn’t help it—to see a nicotine patch. His vulnerability moved her more than his beauty.
“Come on,” she said. Leaving the water running, Skye guided him out of the shower; his skin was now warm, but the shock of being in the river still stupefied him. Carefully she walked him to her bed and tucked him in. The sheets and heavy quilt would dry his body.
