Beyond the Moon

“Your blood, witch.” The vampire slammed his hands to either side of her shoulders and leaned in to sniff at her hair. “You burned me, so now I’m going to make you scream before you die.”

Before she could reward him with the scream he sought, the vampire sunk his fangs in her throat. Instinctively, Verity jammed her knee upward but only managed to connect with his thigh. The bloodsucker didn’t even groan. She beat his chest with her fists, but he easily wrangled her hands with strong, pinching fingers.

The teeth in her neck tore at her skin. It hurt like nothing she’d ever experienced before. She’d never been bitten. Would not suffer a vampire to be so intimate with her, despite having once dated one. The creep sucking at her vein drew out her blood. He moaned as if in the throes of orgasm and—

A yell from down the alley stopped the vampire. He tore out his teeth from Verity’s skin, twisting his head to pinpoint the origin of the shout. The wounds hurt so badly, the pain manifested as a scream. Slapping his hand to her cheek, the vampire mimed a goodbye kiss, but thankfully, his bloody lips did not touch hers.

As the vampire ran off, Verity sank against the wall. Grasping her neck, her fingers slipped in her blood.

The hunter lunged to a diving kneel before her and lifted her chin to peer at her neck. He inspected her cheek and swore. “Damn it. I didn’t see that one get away!”

Eyelids fluttering, Verity tightened her jaw to keep back the tears that threatened. She wanted to beg him to save her, to make it all better, but she knew it was too late. She’d been bitten. And the vampire couldn’t have had time to seal the wound. If the wound was not properly sealed, the victim risked becoming a vampire.

“You a witch?” the hunter asked quickly.

She nodded.

“Impressive fire magic back there. Are you going to be okay?”

“Of course,” she gasped. Dragging her knees up, she hugged her arms about her legs. “Just a little nibble.” It hurt to conceal the pain, but she was an expert at hiding her weaknesses.

“I think I got here in time.” The hunter stood.

He scanned down the street. She knew he wanted to go after the vampire—and he should. But he squatted again before her, drawing her in to his overwhelming presence. An easy authority that felt not too harsh and not too hesitant. When he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her against his chest, she sank into the comforting embrace.

How strange that he gave her the comfort she had craved, yet had thought to skillfully conceal that need.

You must get home and find a spell to counteract the bite!

But right now Verity could only tilt her head against the hunter’s shoulder. She felt so good in his strong arms. He smoothed a hand over her hair. Perhaps a teardrop spilled down her cheek. Or it could be the repulsive heat of the blood the vampire had taken from her vein and smacked onto her cheek.

She clutched his jacket, 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.”