Nightwalker

One

His name was Danaus.

And what I remember most were his eyes. I saw them first by lamplight; a flicker of dark cobalt as he paused a distance from me. His eyes were the color sapphires were meant to be, a grim sparkle of pigment. I stared at those eyes, willing time to slow down as I slipped into those still, stygian depths. But it wasn’t the waters of the Styx I swam in, but a cool lagoon of Lethe where I bathed in a moment of oblivion.

He stopped on the deserted street outside the edge of a pale pool of light thrown down by a wrought-iron lamp, his eyes darting up and down the empty expanse. He drew in a deep breath. I think he could sense me watching from some perch but could not peg my exact location. His right hand flexed once at his side, and to my surprise he stepped forward into the light, his night vision momentarily destroyed; taunting me with the bait he dangled before my eyes.

I slowly ran my tongue over my teeth. Not only was he impressive to look at, but there was a confidence about him that begged my attention. I was half tempted to step away from the shadow of the chimney and allow the moon to outline my slim form. But I hadn’t survived for more than six centuries by making careless mistakes. Balanced on the ridgepole of the three-story house across from him, I watched as he continued down the street. His black leather duster flared as he walked, snapping at his heels like a chained wolf forced to follow its master.

The truth was, I had watched him for more than a month. He’d blown into my territory like a cold wind and wasted no time destroying my kind. In the past weeks he had killed nearly half a dozen of my brethren. Almost all had been fledglings, with less than a century to cut their teeth upon, but it was still more than any other had dared.

And these killings had not been spineless daylight stakings. He hunted each nightwalker under the caress of moonlight. I had even watched some of these battles from a hidden perch and barely kept from applauding when he knelt, bloody, over each of his prey, cutting out the heart. He was speed and cunning. And the nightwalkers were bloated on their own inflated sense of power. I was the Keeper of this domain, entrusted with protecting our secret; not protecting those who could not protect themselves.

After weeks of watching my would-be prey, I thought it was time for formal introductions. I knew who he was. More than just another Nosferatu hunter. Something wonderfully more, with a vibrant power all his own. I wanted a taste of that power before he died.

And he knew of me. In their final seconds some of the weak ones had mewled my name, hoping my identity would buy them a last second reprieve. It hadn’t.

I sped silently along the rooftops, leaping over the gaps and landing with the sure-footed grace of a cat. Slipping past him and down two more blocks to the outer edge of the historic district, I stopped at an abandoned home with a widow’s walk and worn red brick that would serve as a nice meeting place. Its single turret and dark windows gazed out toward the river like a silent soldier.

The night air was warm and thick despite the fact that we hadn’t had any rain for more than two weeks, leaving the brown lawns struggling from yet another rough summer. Even the crickets seemed to put forth only a halfhearted effort with their chirping, burdened by the oppressive heat. The light breeze that blew in from the sea carried with it more moisture, thickening the air until it carried a weight all its own. I had come to Savannah more than a century ago, seeking anonymity, an escape from the world that had consumed me for nearly five hundred years. I loved Savannah’s grace and history, the ghosts that seemed to haunt every shadowy corner and rambling house. Yet I could do without her oppressive summers. I’d spent too many years in cooler climes.

The abandoned house was half hidden behind enormous oak trees dripping with Spanish moss, as if guarded by a pair of grand dames swathed in antique lace. The front of the property was lined with a tall, spike iron fence ending in a pair of stone pillars that flanked the path up to the house. I sat on the top of the left pillar with my legs crossed, waiting for him. The subtle throb of my powers tumbled from my body. I wanted him to follow the trail until he came to me, like the pied piper trilling his merry tune for the children of Hamelin.

Danaus stopped when he reached the edge of the property to my left and stared at me. Yes, it was brazen, and maybe even a little overconfident on my part, but I didn’t want him to grow too sure of himself. He would have to work for his blood tonight.

With a slow smile, I rolled off the pillar, disappearing behind the spike fence and into the deeper shadows of the overgrown yard. I cut through the air as if I were made of the night, disappearing through an open window on the second floor at the back of the house.

Waiting in a former bedroom, I listened. Anticipation coiled in my stomach, my body tingling with the thrill of the hunt, so rarely had I the chance to pit myself against something that could actually destroy me. I’d killed my share of human hunters, but they hadn’t been a real challenge, waving their silver crosses about and praying to a god they had abandoned until that moment of final judgment. After so many long centuries, there were too few ways in which to feel that rush, to dance along the razor’s edge and remember, even if only for a breath, what it had meant to be alive. Danaus would help me remember.

This hunter was different. He was as human as I was. His body was only a shell, barely capable of restraining the power that seemed to pour from him like a river.

Downstairs, the front door exploded open, banging against the wall. I smiled; he knew I was here waiting for him. I strode across the hardwood floor, moving into the master bedroom, the heels of my boots echoing through the empty house. Now he knew exactly where I was, too.

Peace, Mira, I reminded myself. No reason to rush this. You haven’t hunted him for more than a month to snap his neck in a careless moment.

No, I would put an end to his destruction of my race and enjoy it as I did so.

Once in the bedroom, my steps quieted until I didn’t make a sound as I crossed to the far side of the room. I leaned into the empty corner, letting the shadows fold around me like a cloak, falling into the darkness that had long whispered secrets of the night and death. Around me the old house creaked and sighed as we both waited.

Danaus finally appeared in the doorway, his shoulders so wide they nearly brushed the sides of the entry. I stood silent for a moment, enjoying the slow, even rise and fall of his chest. He was perfectly calm. He was tall, maybe six feet, with raven black hair that hung wild to his shoulders. His cheekbones were high and his jaw strong and hard like granite. Along the way he had shed his black coat, and his right hand gripped a six-inch silver blade that caught the moonlight.

“You are the one they call Danaus,” I said. My voice slithered out from the shadows while my body remained hidden. His head jerked toward me, his eyes slits of blue in the darkness. “They say you killed Jabari in old Thebes.”

I stepped forward, the shadows sliding their arms about my body, and paced across the room so he could see me clearly for the first time. In the soft light that poured through the windows, my pale skin glowed like white marble. I moved no closer to him, giving him a chance to size me up.

“But you missed Valerio in Vienna,” I said, curiosity lifting my voice. “And Yuri waits for you in St. Petersburg, though he is not half as old as Jabari.”

“There’s still time.” His voice was like a growl in the back of his throat.

I paused, staring at him for a moment. I couldn’t place the accent, and I’d heard many over the centuries. It was old, very old. Not nearly as old as Jabari’s Egyptian lilt, but something that hadn’t been uttered in ages. It would be something to ponder, but I had more pressing queries.

“Maybe,” I conceded with a slight nod. “But instead you came to the New World. While I may be one of the oldest here, I am far younger than Valerio. Why travel such a distance?”

“Aren’t you called the ‘Fire Starter’?”

I laughed, a deep throaty sound that curled through the air and brushed like a warm hand against his cheek. The ability to touch another with your voice was an old trick that came naturally to some nightwalkers. It had few real uses, but was great for unnerving your opponent. Danaus shifted from one foot to the other, but his expression never changed.

“Among other things.” I walked back toward the opposite wall, but this time I moved a few steps closer to him. His muscles tightened but he didn’t step backward. It was enough for me to brush against the circle of power that enveloped him, rubbing against my bare skin like warm silk. It also gave him a better taste of my own power. By the time I reached my original corner, something had changed in his eyes.

“You were at the Bonaventure cemetery three nights ago,” he said.

“Yes.” The word came out a whispered hiss.

“I killed two vampires that night.” He said it as if it should have explained everything.

“So? Since entering my territory a month ago, you have killed five nightwalkers.”

“Why didn’t you try to stop me?”

I chuckled softly, with a slight shake of my head. Try. Were we both truly this arrogant? I lifted my shoulders in an indifferent shrug. “They were not mine to protect.”

“But they were vampires.”

“They were fledglings without a master,” I corrected him. Pushing off the wall, I started to walk toward him. “A master you killed more than a week ago.” Of course, I’d been planning to kill Riley myself, but Danaus beat me to it. Riley had been expanding his own little family without my permission, and a balance had to be maintained in order to preserve our secret.

Danaus moved, mirroring me as he stepped out of the doorway. He turned so his back was to the wall as we circled each other. His steps were graceful and fluid, like a dance. The knot tightened again in my stomach and my body hummed with energy.

I took a single step forward, testing him, and Danaus lashed out with his right hand. Jerking away, I kept the blade from slashing at my face. Yet, he surprised me when he immediately spun back around, lifting his left hand to reveal a Saracen blade curving up the length of his arm. His first move had been a feint to get me to expose my throat. I dropped into a spin kick, clipping one of his feet before he could move. The hunter stumbled as he backed away, but remained standing. Balanced on the balls of my feet, I pressed my fingers to the dusty hardwood floor.

“Nice sword. Gaelic runes?” I inquired, as if making idle small talk, but my eyes were locked on him. The hand holding the sword tightened. It was an exquisite blade, with a line of runes etched down the side. I couldn’t read them, but I would have wagered that they were more than just decoration.

He grunted, which I took for an affirmation to my question.

“Thanks for not coming at me with a stake,” I said, standing. He looked at me, his dark eyebrows briefly meeting over the bridge of his nose. “It’s so cliché.” The right corner of his mouth twitched before he could stop it.

“You would have set it on fire,” he said stiffly.

“True.” I waited a heartbeat, then crossed the distance between us, hitting him in the chest with both hands. Air exploded from his lungs. The blow threw both of his arms involuntarily forward as he stumbled back. I kicked out with my right foot, hitting his left hand. The impact loosened his grip and sent the scimitar spinning across the floor, to clatter against the far wall. Unfortunately, he recovered faster than I expected and swung his right arm forward, grazing my cheek with the dagger.

The unexpected stab of pain screamed through me, and I jerked back out of arm’s reach. I hissed at him, fangs bared, my body hunched as if prepared to spring. Yeah, I know. The hiss was even more cliché than a wooden stake, but the grating sound erupted from my throat before I could think about it, let alone come up with something a little more civilized. I’m 603 years old, not an Ancient.

Again I forced myself to stand and relax. Danaus drew in a few ragged gulps of air before his breathing evened out. Breathing would be painful for a while, but at least he still could. I lifted my left hand to my cheek and then moved my fingers into my line of sight; my eyes never leaving his tense form. Blood covered two fingers. Slowly, I licked them, letting the copper taste coat my tongue. The pain in my cheek was already gone and I could feel the wound closing. In another moment there would only be a smear of blood.

That bit of blood had been enough. The taste lit the lust, sending it burning through my veins. Sure, it had been my blood, but it was all the same; vampire, human, and even whatever Danaus was. It all pulsed with power from the soul, the very essence of life, and I knew this time it would be his I tasted.

I rushed him again, but Danaus was ready. He swung the blade at me, once again going for my throat. I easily caught his hand. He swung his left fist at my face. I batted it away. Squeezing his right hand, I tried to force him to drop the dagger without breaking his hand, but despite the pain, he wouldn’t drop it. Out of the corner of my eye I saw his left hand go for another weapon at his side.

“Fine.” The single word escaped in a growl as I grabbed his left wrist. I swept my leg beneath his, throwing us both down. Lying on top of him, I pinned both of his hands against the floor. Sure, he was heavier than me, but even with all his muscles, I was still stronger. Vampirism has its perks. Sliding along his body, my leather pants slipped along his legs until I was straddling him. I smiled down at him, rubbing against the hard bulge in his pants. He didn’t carry a gun. Unless you put a shotgun in our mouths and pulled the trigger, you really couldn’t kill a nightwalker with a gun. It generally didn’t even slow us down.

“I thought you were glad to see me,” I purred, unable to keep the laughter from my voice. Danaus glared at me, his eyes hardening into cold gems. I knew better. The violence turned him on, not me. The thrill of the hunt.

He stared at me, his mind turning over thoughts I wished I could hear. Something about me bothered him. Sure, I was beautiful, but all nightwalkers were a pretty face and a nice body. If his attention was that easy to catch, he would have been dead long ago.

The question that flickered in his eyes was the only reason I think he had not actually tried to kill me yet. We’d taken a few nice stabs at each other, but no killing blows. The other fights I watched had been quick. Each of his attacks were precise and efficient, planned to end the battle and take down the nightwalker. Maybe we were still sizing each other up, enjoying the building tension, but it felt like there was more hanging unsaid in the ether.

With my hands still locked on his wrists, I pulled backward, lowering my face until my chin rested on his sternum, my eyes locked with his. I could feel the muscles in his body tighten beneath me, but he didn’t jerk or try to throw me off. Despite the fact that my lips were barely an inch from his chest, I couldn’t bite him at that angle. We both knew this, so he lay still, waiting.

Drawing in a deep breath, I let his scent fill me. I could smell sweat and that certain musky scent of man, but there was more, the wind, a distant sea, and best of all, the sun. The scent was so strong I could taste it, conjuring up ancient memories of basking naked in the midday heat.

I needed to get off of him, to put some distance between us. I was becoming giddy on his power as it wrapped its arms around my cool flesh. Giddy, along with other things I knew would serve us no good tonight, except maybe kill him a little faster. And I so wanted to do this slowly, to enjoy the fight that he offered.

“I didn’t come here to destroy you,” he said, his voice rolling through the silent room like a rumble of distant thunder.

A bubble of laughter escaped me as I moved forward so my face hovered above his. “And that is supposed to stop me from killing you? You come into my territory, kill my people, and then you say you’re not here to destroy me. No, Danaus, I plan to dig around inside of you to find out where that little ball of power is hiding.” I smiled at him, broadly enough to expose my fangs.

Danaus was moving before I even had a chance to react, rolling so he was now on top of me. But I was still holding his wrists. I pushed him backward, throwing him off me and across the room. The hunter landed on his back and slid a couple of feet. When he was standing again, I was on the other side of the room.

I leaned back into the corner, balanced on my heels, with my shoulders braced against the two walls. After letting his warm powers wash over me, I forced myself to slow down. I had never encountered a creature with powers that felt like his. We had acquired a new, dark threat. I needed to discover who or what he was, and if there were more like him. We had not spent countless centuries fighting, and finally defeating, the naturi, only to find ourselves faced with a new foe. One free to walk about in the daylight hours.

I forced a laugh, sending the sound dancing around the room until it finally skipped out the open window to my right. My laughter seemed to put him more on edge than my straddling him. Or maybe it was the fact that he had enjoyed being pinned. I doubted he’d ever allowed any nightwalker get that close to him without putting up a fight.

Staring at him now, something else caught my eye. “Where’s your cross, Danaus?” I called across the distance, hooking my thumbs on the front pockets of my leather pants. “All good hunters have a cross dangling about their necks. Where’s yours?”

“How can you control fire?” he demanded. His face was grim and half hidden in the shadow of his hair as it fell forward. “It’s forbidden.” He took a wary step forward, the gritty floor crunching under his foot.

I gracefully rolled to my feet, as if I was a marionette pulled up by my strings. There was nothing human about the movement, and I was pleased to see it still unnerved him even after all his years of hunting us. He took a half step back before he could stop himself, his frown deepening.

“Forbidden?” I repeated. “Has someone written a book of rules on nightwalkers that I don’t know about?” Information. Could that be the reason he had come hacking and slashing into my domain? He was curious and seeking information?

“No vampire has ever been able to control fire.”

“Few have ever hunted us without the protection of a silver cross,” I countered.

Danaus stared hard at me. I had a feeling he would have growled at me, but I think he was leaving the animal-like noises to me. He turned the knife handle around in his hand, weighing his options. How important was this information to him? Enough that he would finally be forced to divulge some of his own? Of course, he could then kill me and that would be the end of it.

When the hunter spoke again, the words seemed dragged from his throat. “A cross cannot protect one who is already damned to Hell.”

A dozen new questions rushed to my lips, but I had my answer and knew he wouldn’t willingly give up any more. At least, not without my answer to his question, and I was willing to play, for now.

“We all have our gifts,” I said with a shrug. “Yuri can call wolves to his side. Seraf can raise the dead.”

“But fire…” His voice drifted off.

“Doesn’t quite seem fair,” I said. “The one thing that is supposed to kill us all, and I am completely immune. But it has nothing to do with being a nightwalker. I could control fire before I was reborn. Somehow, I retained the gift.”

“Like the naturi,” he murmured.

“I am nothing like the naturi!” My temper flared to life instantly and I took a step toward him with my fangs bared. All I saw was a quick flick of his wrist, faster than I had ever seen any human move. But that was my fault. I was still thinking of him as human.

The blade flashed for half a second in the moonlight before burying itself in my chest. I stumbled backward, my back slamming into the wall behind me as my hand closed around the knife. It was an inch below my heart, clipping the side of my left lung. With his skill, I guessed he missed my heart on purpose. Even a blow to the heart wouldn’t have necessarily killed me, but weakened me enough so he could stroll over and take my head off. It was supposed to be a warning, and if I wasn’t so angry, I might have heeded it.

I pulled the dagger from my chest, gritting my teeth as it rubbed against bone and sliced more muscle and flesh. Pressing my left hand against the wound, I tried to slow the flow of blood as it moved like warm fingers down my stomach. The dagger fell from my fingers and clattered to the floor. The sound echoed through the house like shot across an empty plain. I glared at him, finding he had already pulled another knife and held it clenched in his right fist, waiting for me.

This time I walked across the room. I wanted him to see me coming. The movement pulled and twisted the cut in my chest as the flesh struggled to mend. I’d worry about that later. I kept the faint smile on my face, burying the scream of pain deep in my chest.

He slashed at me with the same speed he’d thrown the knife, but I expected it as I watched the twitch and flex of muscles play below his skin. I knocked his hand away, feeling the crack of bone in his wrist as my arm connected. The knife fell to the floor as his fingers spasmed under the flash of pain. He kicked out with his left leg, trying to keep a safe distance between us, but I caught his leg with my right hand and threw him back into the wall. I grabbed his arms, slamming them against the drywall with enough force to dent the surface, keeping them raised above his head. My left hand pressed a bloody handprint into his forearm, and I crushed my body against his with enough force that he grunted. I was done playing nice.

I was shorter than him even in heels, but I could still reach his neck without tiptoeing. I smiled, displaying my fangs. His heart skipped faster, pounding against my chest with its intoxicating warmth. His scent came back to me, the sweet kiss of the wind sweeping over dark waters and the bright sun.

“What are you, Danaus?” I whispered, peering into his eyes. His lips were pressed into a firm, tight line. He was furious. I smiled and leaned into him, close enough that he could feel my words caress the tender flesh of his neck. This time he struggled, muscles straining up and down his body as he tried to rid himself of me, but he was trapped. In a battle of strength, he knew he couldn’t win.

My breath brushed across his ear. “It doesn’t matter.” My lips dipped down to graze his neck, and I could feel a chill skitter across his sweaty flesh. “You’ll tell me one day. Before I’m through, you’ll even trust me.”

I released him and jumped backward, landing easily on the other side of the room. No reason to give him another chance to put a knife in my chest. I had a feeling that this time he wouldn’t miss. I stared into his eyes, and there it was this time: fear. A deeper look of uncertainty and doubt. I had finally shaken him down to his core; touched something no one else had. It made him infinitely more dangerous, but then again, I had just become infinitely more dangerous to him, threatening him with something far more horrible than a painful death.

“We’re not finished,” he said, one hand holding his fractured wrist.

“Oh, you’re right. We’re not finished by a long shot, but tonight’s fun is over,” I announced, tilting my head to the side.

“I didn’t come here to kill you.”

“Really?”

One corner of his mouth jerked into a half smile as he watched me. “Not this time.”

“Just remember that your business is with me. Touch another nightwalker and you’ll be dead before you even know I’m there.” I let my hands fall to my sides, palms facing him. Drops of fire tumbled from my fingertips like water. The flames pooled at my feet for a moment, then shot out like something alive, surging toward the walls and across the hardwood floors. My eyelids drifted lower until my eyes were barely open. I could see him watching me, but my focus was on the fire that had slipped down through the floor and was quickly seeking out both of the exits.

With one last smile I darted out the open window to my right and landed in the yard. I jogged across the lawn and only paused to look back when I was in the middle of the street. The house was engulfed in brilliant orange and yellow flames. I knew he would get out. Men like Danaus didn’t die so easily. I was half tempted to remain behind to see him run from the building, but there wasn’t time. The night had grown old and I needed to feed to replace the blood he’d spilled tonight. I would finish killing the hunter later.