flicker, but it shone brightly enough to warn her: There was something on the ground in front of the stairs . . . no . . . someone.
Olivia’s hand snaked into her bag and pulled the stake, and she moved sideways out of view, approaching silently. Her body automatically slipped back into guard mode, senses on alert; it was probably just a homeless guy, passed out drunk, but she hadn’t survived this long without being paranoid.
She got close enough to see that yes, it was a person, face down on the ground, unmoving. He or she was clearly unconscious, but Olivia wasn’t going to let her guard down until she was safely inside with the door bolted. She approached in a wide circle, sniffing the air; if it was a homeless person she’d be able to tell pretty easily by scent.
Strange. No smell of alcohol or accumulated filth. In fact . . .
Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit.
Vampire.
There was no way a vampire showing up outside her home was a coincidence. There simply weren’t that many of them in this part of town.
Closer still, and she saw something else that made her stomach twist with dread. He wore a long black coat, but something metallic that caught the light stuck out from under it.
A sword.
Elite. Goddamn it.
Most likely he’d been on patrol and gotten injured, which meant there would be others arriving any second now. She had to get inside, and quickly, before they saw her.
She didn’t stop to look any closer. She jumped over the unconscious vampire, her boots thudding dully on the steps, and started to run for the door.
“Olivia.”
Terror, instant and overwhelming, short-circuited her brain, and she spun around toward the voice, stake at the ready.
There was no one there . . . except the body. And while the vampire on the ground was male, the voice had been unmistakably female.
Breathing hard, she looked around the street, just barely stopping herself from calling out.
No one in Austin knew her name was Olivia.
Since arriving in the States after her flight from Australia, she had gone by her mother’s name.
The street was silent; even the wind had fallen still. She saw movement in a tree across the street and clamped down on a horror-movie scream as she realized it was just a bird—a raven, sitting in the branches, watching her. Well, it certainly hadn’t called her name.
She stared down at the man on the ground, heart in her throat, and before she could make herself run and hide, she descended the steps to the body and, with her free hand, took him by the shoulder and shook lightly.
“Hey. Hey, mister . . .”
The only answer was a soft groan. Cursing herself inwardly, she cast one more hunted look around the scene and then turned him over.
“Oh my God,” she gasped.
Ten years ago, she had flown to London in service of the Signet; she had taken part in the Elite tournament . . . and she had seen the face before her once, standing among the others of his kind, watching the fights through deep blue eyes that held the quiet power and nobility reflected in the red stone at his throat.
It was impossible. Completely impossible. But she knew, even as she wanted to deny it and escape while she still could, that this was no lost Elite.
Prime David Solomon lay on her doorstep . . .
. . . and he was alive.
Six
“What are your orders, my Lady?”
Miranda walked from one end of the line to the other, examining each of the five vampires her Elite held captive. They all looked petrified, and with good reason.
She nodded to the lieutenant, who gestured at the others; they shoved their captives to their knees, and seconds later, the sounds of steel swinging and the dull thud of heads severed from necks ended the last handful of Jeremy’s thugs.
They were out in full view of the Shadow District, and Miranda knew she was being watched—she could feel eyes peering out at her from the windows of the businesses and clubs that rose up on all sides of the execution. She wanted them
Olivia’s hand snaked into her bag and pulled the stake, and she moved sideways out of view, approaching silently. Her body automatically slipped back into guard mode, senses on alert; it was probably just a homeless guy, passed out drunk, but she hadn’t survived this long without being paranoid.
She got close enough to see that yes, it was a person, face down on the ground, unmoving. He or she was clearly unconscious, but Olivia wasn’t going to let her guard down until she was safely inside with the door bolted. She approached in a wide circle, sniffing the air; if it was a homeless person she’d be able to tell pretty easily by scent.
Strange. No smell of alcohol or accumulated filth. In fact . . .
Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit.
Vampire.
There was no way a vampire showing up outside her home was a coincidence. There simply weren’t that many of them in this part of town.
Closer still, and she saw something else that made her stomach twist with dread. He wore a long black coat, but something metallic that caught the light stuck out from under it.
A sword.
Elite. Goddamn it.
Most likely he’d been on patrol and gotten injured, which meant there would be others arriving any second now. She had to get inside, and quickly, before they saw her.
She didn’t stop to look any closer. She jumped over the unconscious vampire, her boots thudding dully on the steps, and started to run for the door.
“Olivia.”
Terror, instant and overwhelming, short-circuited her brain, and she spun around toward the voice, stake at the ready.
There was no one there . . . except the body. And while the vampire on the ground was male, the voice had been unmistakably female.
Breathing hard, she looked around the street, just barely stopping herself from calling out.
No one in Austin knew her name was Olivia.
Since arriving in the States after her flight from Australia, she had gone by her mother’s name.
The street was silent; even the wind had fallen still. She saw movement in a tree across the street and clamped down on a horror-movie scream as she realized it was just a bird—a raven, sitting in the branches, watching her. Well, it certainly hadn’t called her name.
She stared down at the man on the ground, heart in her throat, and before she could make herself run and hide, she descended the steps to the body and, with her free hand, took him by the shoulder and shook lightly.
“Hey. Hey, mister . . .”
The only answer was a soft groan. Cursing herself inwardly, she cast one more hunted look around the scene and then turned him over.
“Oh my God,” she gasped.
Ten years ago, she had flown to London in service of the Signet; she had taken part in the Elite tournament . . . and she had seen the face before her once, standing among the others of his kind, watching the fights through deep blue eyes that held the quiet power and nobility reflected in the red stone at his throat.
It was impossible. Completely impossible. But she knew, even as she wanted to deny it and escape while she still could, that this was no lost Elite.
Prime David Solomon lay on her doorstep . . .
. . . and he was alive.
Six
“What are your orders, my Lady?”
Miranda walked from one end of the line to the other, examining each of the five vampires her Elite held captive. They all looked petrified, and with good reason.
She nodded to the lieutenant, who gestured at the others; they shoved their captives to their knees, and seconds later, the sounds of steel swinging and the dull thud of heads severed from necks ended the last handful of Jeremy’s thugs.
They were out in full view of the Shadow District, and Miranda knew she was being watched—she could feel eyes peering out at her from the windows of the businesses and clubs that rose up on all sides of the execution. She wanted them
Similar Books
