Balthazar (2 page)

Eb's steps quickened further, and the muscles in her body tensed to hold her steady in her seat. Twigs snapped beneath his hooves, and ice crunched—and yet she could hear more than that. She could hear footsteps behind them.

Skye glanced over her shoulder and saw the watcher in the brown coat, walking after them now, unusually sure-footed on the treacherous terrain. His unnerving expression hadn't changed at all, but his hands were no longer in his pockets. He was clenching and spreading them, over and over, as if preparing for some kind of strenuous task. Like, say, strangling somebody.

Which was probably completely paranoid of her, she decided; she couldn't allow her visions to bleed over into her every waking thought. But she looked back at the trail ahead and wondered if she dared to urge Eb to move faster. Rocky—snowy—but not too bad. She jabbed her ankles into his sides, not too roughly, just hard enough for him to know it was time to move.

Eb shifted into a brisk trot, or as brisk as he could manage given the undergrowth, but it was enough to leave behind any human who wasn't running to keep up.

Again, Skye looked over her shoulder. The guy was running after her. And more than keeping up.

This was real. It wasn't paranoia, or a supernatural vision of death, or some hysterical hallucination cooked up by what she'd been through at Evernight. That man was real, and he wanted to hurt her, and he was coming after her as fast as he could.

Skye dug her heels into Eb's sides and snapped the reins, the signal for him to gallop. Treacherous as the ground was, Eb responded immediately by breaking into a run. She leaned forward, the better to avoid being smacked in the face by the tree branches now rushing by her. Her breath quickened, the air so brutally cold that her throat ached. Fear lanced through her, but anger, too—fierce enough to almost overcome the fright. How dare this jerk try to come after her? He was a disgusting creep and she wished she could take a horsewhip to him, but she knew that instead she had to get the hell out of here.

Above her, she heard a strange thudding in the trees. Her eyes darted upward, and despite the blur of motion overhead she could make out his shape. He was above her. Twenty feet up. And leaping ahead of her as if he were weightless.

Oh, my God
, she thought.
It's a vampire
.

This one wasn't like the vampires at Evernight. He wasn't trying to hide what he was. He was moving faster than Eb. Coming for her. Coming to kill her.

Eb stumbled so suddenly that even Skye's expert seat couldn't hold her in place—she went tumbling in front of him, hitting the frozen ground so hard the breath was sucked out of her.

Dazed, Skye stumbled to her feet. A fragment of her helmet lay shattered against the snowy ground; but for the helmet, that would've been her skull. Her left hand was scraped badly enough to drip blood, and plenty of it. For one moment she looked at her horse, who hadn't budged since the stumble, as though he were stuck in place—if his leg was broken, he'd have to be put down, oh, God, no, not Eb—

But then the vampire landed only a few feet away, and she had to run.

Skye went as fast as she could, but he was faster. He leaped ahead of her, making her skid to a stop. Desperately she ripped off her helmet and held it in front of her chest—it was the only shield she had—but he began laughing.

Laughing
at her. Toying with her. And there wasn't a damned thing she could do about it.

“Are you cut?” he said. His voice was smooth and pleasant; he spoke as if he'd just found her there, injured, and wanted to be of assistance. Of course he wasn't fooling her and he knew it. This was just a game he wanted to play.

Well, she'd be damned if she'd play along. “Get lost.”

The vampire stooped down and dipped two of his fingers in the small red puddle her blood drops had made in the snow. “It looks beautiful against the white, doesn't it?” he said dreamily. “Like red roses in a bridal bouquet.” Then he lifted his fingers to his lips and licked her blood away.

Then something happened to him—his gaze seemed to dim, and his jaw went slack, and his entire body became still. It was completely bizarre, but it was a chance and Skye meant to take it.

She bolted back toward Eb. If he was injured then—no, she couldn't think about that. If he wasn't, she might be able to get back on him and ride out of here still. Head whirling, Skye pushed herself faster and faster, seeking Eb's black form amid the deepening afternoon shadows—nightfall would be on them soon—

Until a hand closed over her elbow, jerking her back so sharply that she cried out. Skye turned back to see the vampire no longer distracted. His grip was so strong it hurt, and though she pulled back there was no freeing herself.

“Let's make red roses in the snow,” he whispered.

She thought,
I'm going to die
.

And then someone else reached from behind her, grabbed the vampire away from her, and threw him—physically threw him, farther and harder than any human could have done—so that he thudded into a tree trunk two dozen feet away before landing on the ground.

Skye turned to see her rescuer—and then gasped. There, his strong profile outlined against the dim glow of sunset, was another vampire—one she knew.

His name escaped her lips as a whisper: “Balthazar.”

BALTHAZAR HAD COME HERE LOOKING FOR Skye Tierney. Thanks to Lucas, he'd known she was in trouble. But he hadn't expected to walk right into a fight against another vampire.

Then again, neither had his opponent, who was about to get one whether he liked it or not. Balthazar intended for him not to like it one bit.

“Balthazar.” Skye was wide-eyed with fright and astonishment. “What are you doing here?”

“Right now? Kicking this guy's ass. Stay back and get out of here if you can.” Thankfully, she did what he asked, stepping farther away toward safety. That meant he didn't have to worry about protecting her and could concentrate on making this vampire sorry he'd ever decided to feed on a helpless girl in the woods.

His opponent righted himself, no more than dazed by the throw. Balthazar had expected as much. He bolted toward the guy as fast as he could. The element of surprise was all he had going for him. He didn't drink human blood often, and obviously this one did, plus something about him told Balthazar that this one was older than he was. Stronger. More powerful.

Surprise paid off. He was able to tackle the vampire solidly, taking him down to the ground. Balthazar grabbed for a nearby branch, a short one that could serve as a stake. Though he disliked killing his own kind and avoided it whenever possible, the alternative here meant leaving behind a threat to human life. No way. But as he lifted the stake overhead, readying the fatal blow, something happened that he hadn't expected.

He recognized the vampire.

“Lorenzo,” he said. Knowing him was more reason to stake him, not less, but the astonishment of seeing this vampire—from the most terrible moments of his past—froze Balthazar half in place, stake still clenched in his fingers. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I might ask the same of you.” Lorenzo's shock was similar to his own; this meeting was a horrid coincidence, no more. Immortality seemed to increase the probability of coincidence. Given enough time, paths would inevitably cross—even the ones you least wanted.

“Leave this girl alone. Why are you after her?”

“Because she is human and we are vampires—something you too often forget. Now, ask what you really long to know,” Lorenzo said. “Ask me if I came here with Redgrave.”

He said the name so sweetly, as though it were a father or a lover. For all Balthazar knew, it was some of both. The name never ceased to send a chill through him—part dread, part hate.
Redgrave
.

“Where is he?” Balthazar demanded. His voice was almost a growl now.

“Not near enough to watch you die.”

The blow slammed into Balthazar's chest—both hands, spread broadly, nearly enough force to crack ribs. It sent him flying backward, not far, but enough for Lorenzo to skitter free. Within an instant they were both on their feet, facing each other. Balthazar still clutched the stake; it was as close as he would get to an advantage from now on.

Lorenzo de Aracena, of sixteenth-century Spain, a would-be poet and a dirty fighter. Often subservient to his sire—Redgrave, the darkest vampire Balthazar had ever known or hoped to know—but just as often renegade. Sometimes his sire pushed him away for his own reasons; Lorenzo always went limping back eventually, eager for someone to tell him what to do, what to think, whom to kill. He would always be someone's slave. Most vampires were, in the end.

Balthazar wasn't. He didn't know if he was strong enough to kill Lorenzo, but he was damned sure going to try.

“Do you want the girl for yourself?” Lorenzo smiled, almost politely. “That's impossible, I'm afraid.”

“She's not going to be yours,” Balthazar replied. He kept his voice even as well. Inside, though, he was uncertain—it was strange of Lorenzo to challenge him about Skye in particular. For the two of them, just seeing each other was reason enough to get into it. But why claim possession of Skye? She was just a girl, just a convenient victim chosen at random.

Wasn't she?

“So many possibilities,” Lorenzo said. “So many opportunities. Too rich to waste on a battle with you.”

And then he vanished. As if he'd disappeared into thin air—a gift some few vampires aged into, but only after a couple of millennia. Lorenzo didn't have that talent; he'd just streaked into the night without a sound. Balthazar turned and ran in the direction Skye had gone.

He hadn't learned what the guy was up to, only that it wasn't good—and that Skye still needed his protection.

Balthazar caught up with her not far away; she'd stopped by a large dark horse, evidently hers, and kneeled by its front hooves. Lorenzo was nowhere to be seen, and the woods around them were silent. The danger seemed to have passed for the moment, but she couldn't have known that. He said, “You'd have done better to run.”

“If you won the fight, I didn't have to run. If you lost, it wouldn't have done any good. The other vampire was faster than me.”

Which was a good point, actually. He liked her steadiness in the face of danger. “Is your horse hurt?”

“Eb's okay, I think.” Skye sounded as relieved as though she were talking about a good friend, not an animal. “But I want to be sure—and I'm so freaked out I can't tell if he's shaking or I am.”

“Let me check.” Balthazar clucked his tongue—an old habit, one he'd almost forgotten, but it still worked. Eb allowed him to run his hands along his legs, which were sound. “You were right. He's not hurt. Only startled.”

Only then did Balthazar really look at Skye. Her long hair—deep brown, if memory served—looked almost black as night drew on. Although her breaths still came quickly, she was surprisingly composed given what had just happened to her, and how much worse it could have been. Her cheeks were flushed from the exertion of her headlong chase.

“We need to get out of here,” she said. “Do you know how to ride?”

“It came in handy before the invention of the car.”

“Oh. Right.” That caught her off guard for only a moment. “Eb can carry us both as far as the stable. Come on.” Skye looked up into the darkening air as if another vampire might come plummeting toward her at any second. Though Balthazar didn't sense any others nearby, he thought she had the right idea about leaving this place as soon as possible.

So when she swung up into the saddle, Balthazar didn't hesitate. As soon as she had her seat and Eb was steady, Skye offered him her left arm. The reins remained in her right hand; her control of the horse was such that she was able to slide her feet out of the stirrups and hold him steady just through that mysterious communication between human and animal. Balthazar put one foot in the stirrup and mounted easily—he hadn't done this in a long time, but his muscles retained the memory, and then he was next to Skye. They were sitting so close that they touched, thigh to thigh and shoulder to shoulder, and for one moment he couldn't help noticing how warm she was. How fast her heart was still beating.

“Hang on,” she said, readjusting her feet so that she had the stirrups—taking command again.

“I'm ready.”

With that, she spurred Eb back into action, and the horse began taking them back toward civilization. Back toward safety, Balthazar would've said—but he wasn't totally sure of that at the moment.

Her breath made clouds of fog in the bitterly cold air. His didn't.

The stables turned out to be not some major commercial enterprise, the way most of them were in twenty-first-century America, but a smaller structure built of wide planks of wood not far behind Skye's home. Though the lighting was electric instead of candles, it ran through heavy black lanterns that conjured up old, pleasant memories. The scent of hay took him back.

As they approached, he said, “Will your parents come outside? Do we need to cover who I am, what I'm doing here, anything like that?”