In his family he alone, the strongest of his five siblings, was left standing after a time. There also was a young man who'd arrived a few years back. Strangers weren't always welcome, but the man was beautiful enough to please the ladies, and he’d pulled his weight with whatever work needed to be done.

Mikar and that man, his friend, had been hunting as much as possible in order to feed the village, but one night, his mother took him aside. She had another mission for him. She asked him to get to the caves where no one was allowed but their tlamacazqui, the priests, and pray to their gods.

Aztec gods weren't as simple as the Christian notion later brought to South America. There were nature gods, gods of creation, gods of fertility, gods of death. Some were kind, others wicked.

Legends were that people could bargain with them, if they caught them in the right mood.

Part of him thought about waking his friend up, but he wasn't about to condemn another man to death, if his excursion ended as he feared it would. He hiked alone, up the frozen mountain, wrapped in fur, braving wind and snow.

And he found the shrine, on top of hundreds of stairs carved in the rock. By the time he reached its door, Mikar collapsed, spent. He knew he didn't have enough strength to ever get back down to the village. But he was here with a mission. He prayed for his family, for his little sisters and brothers, like his mother had asked him to. He prayed for Runa, the pretty girl he'd considered taking as a wife. Mikar had been a man for quite some time, but he’d been reluctant to leave his family. With his father gone and his siblings so young, his mother couldn’t spare him. Still, he had hopes Runa might accept to remain home. She got along with his mother well enough.

Mikar also prayed for his closest friend. Belial.

Mikar thought that his vision was playing with him when he saw Belial right in front of him, in nothing more than a tilma and a simple loincloth. He should have frozen to death, but his pale skin didn't so much as shiver in the storm.

"Malikar. You shouldn't have come here, friend."

Mikar had stared, speechless.

"You're dying," Belial told him. "I had not planned for you to go. Not now."

"What are you?" Mikar managed to croak.

"Here, take this." He handed him his lined tilma, but Mikar brushed his hand aside.

His voice rose to a shout. "What are you!”

Belial's eyes settled on him for a long moment. "They call my father Mictlantecuhtli, here. Other names, elsewhere. I'm a lord of the underworld."

Mikar didn't register shock at all, as though he'd realized it the moment he'd seen him, unharmed here. As though part of him might have known it all along.

"My mother," he said. Talking was getting hard, freezing as he was. "My siblings. They…please, Lial."

He couldn't manage more.

Belial looked away. "Your mother sent you away. I should have known she would." He shook his head. "She died today. She killed the children first, so they would not suffer any longer."

His tone was so calm, indifferent. For the first time in his life, Malikar Ashkii knew hatred.

"You could have…you could have…"

"We cannot interfere with every mortal life. If we did, this world would crawl with too many souls, and wither. But I did help," Belial stated evenly. "I protected you from the illness."

Mikar wanted nothing more than to throttle the monster who'd found him worth saving and condemned his family to death. "Why?" was all he managed. He was starting to lose feelings in his fingertips, his feet, and his vision had long since blurred.

"Because one day you saw a stranger with red hair, unlike everyone you've known your entire life, and instead of attacking me, you asked if I was lost. You took me to your village, to your home. You're a rare soul. And you're my friend, Malikar."

He must be joking.

Belial sighed, dropping to a crouch beside him. "I cannot warm you. The flames I wield would turn you to ashes. I cannot stop death. You're at its door. I can only give you another life beyond the veil."

Mikar hadn't realized what he'd said yes to, then.

Almost two thousand years had passed since he'd been turned, and in all that time, he'd never felt this conflicted.

He watched the object of all his woes stride across the valley between Night Hill and the Wolvswoods. The lake, still under a cloud of mist, reflected the green, moss-covered landscape. It was beautiful as always, but Mikar couldn’t pay attention to the autumn landscape. Not when she was here. Her thick, dark hair flying behind her in waves, Diana was a vision. He could smell it from here, the wind carrying her heady scent to his nostrils. She was autumn leaves, white musk, blackcurrant, and warm vanilla. He woke each night after dreams and nightmares where he took a bite.

Why was he this fixated on her?

Even now, he wanted nothing more than to cross the distance separating them and take her unforgettable mouth.

Mikar was used to the shadows. Whether his job was murder or protection, they were his companions, his allies. He moved too quietly for anyone to notice him—prey or charge. At least, until Chloe. From the very start, she'd sensed his presence and turned toward him when he'd observed her, even though her human senses shouldn't have been that astute. And now, there was Diana. It didn't matter how silently he walked, how synced his movements were with the soft brush of the wind. When he arrived, she always spotted him, held his gaze, acknowledging him, before returning to her affairs.

When he replaced Ruby's shift around Chloe this afternoon, the girls had been at the lakeside, putting decorations and buffet tables up. They were preparing for Halloween, he realized, surprised.

It had been centuries since they'd celebrated the holiday in Oldcrest. The students had parties in their dorms sometimes, but no one on the hill had ever attended.

Back in the day, when the castle at the foot of the hill had housed a clan of witches, Levi and the other residents of Night Hill had held celebrations in their honor. In return, the witches used to throw a Winter Solstice ball in the castle. Always one for a party, Mikar had sorely missed both traditions. He wondered what had brought this on. He hadn't heard anything about Samhain being reinstated. Yet the high heap of dry wood, surrounded by stones marked with runes, was unmistakably part of the traditional Samhain celebrations they used to have.

He could practically taste the excited energy on the lakeside. Blair, Gwen, Chloe, Greer, and Diana were having a hell of a time preparing the fair. Mikar was used to missing the fun when he was on duty, but today, he didn’t want to stay at his post. For once, he hated the shadows.

Mikar could technically join them, if he so wished, but it wouldn’t be wise. He saw more from a remote point. He only stuck close to Chloe when there was another guard nearby, surveying the surroundings. Plus, he attempted to give Chloe some privacy and time with her friends, when he could. He doubted she very much liked having someone shadow her every step night and day.

She put up with the consent surveillance to appease Levi's worry. A worry that wasn't quite as justified as it had once been. Chloe used to be vulnerable. Now, not so much. Mikar hadn't realized how little use he was until her sparring round with Diana.

The soft mortal was no more, though Chloe still wore her face.

"Should we move the pyre?" Chloe asked, doubtful, assessing their work. "It seems a little close to the woods. What if it caught fire?"

Diana dragged a hefty dead tree trunk behind her. "That's why we have witches. Gwen can keep an eye on it. You're a weather girl, right?"

The witch grimaced. "That'd be me, but while it's my core strength, I'm not very good at controlling it. I'm as likely to call some hail as rain. Way to ruin a party."

Diana laughed. "That'd be because it's your core strength. The stronger the power, the wilder it is. You're under twenty-five, right?"

It changed from individuals, but as a general rule, witches entirely came into their power around that age, when their brain was done fully developing.

"Twenty-three," Gwen replied. "Not very far off."

"It'll all stabilize later," Diana promised, her tone both soothing and matter-of-fact.

Chloe titled her head. "It sounds like you speak from experience. Are you a mage?"

Diana's expression didn't change, but unless Mikar was very much mistaken, she was schooling it into neutrality. His attention was entirely focused on her. Part of him wanted to step out of the woods, but he guessed that she'd be even less likely to share much if he was obviously paying attention.

"I don't have much experience, actually, but I know the academics."

Chloe had caught her guarded expression, and nosy as always, she pushed. "So, you don't have magic?"

Diana smiled. "I didn't say that. I'm a Helsing."

That reply confused Chloe, but not Mikar. The elder Helsings he’d known back in the day had been magic users of some description. He couldn’t remember exactly what they did. There were rumors that they’d held powers over life and death itself, but he very much doubted that.

"Alexius doesn't have magic," Chloe pointed out. “Well, not the usual type. He does alchemy, right?"

"Right." Leaving it at that, Diana retrieved a sharp ax from the ground and started to hack at the trunk, each of her blows cutting deep.

In no time, she had the tree trunk cut in two long pieces. She returned to the woods, passing close to Mikar without sparing him a glance, though everything about her demeanor said she noticed him. She was bristling, and holding her chin high in defiance.

Mikar was irritated and entertained, as usual. Her apparent distaste didn't wound so much as challenge him. He knew why she acted this way: he'd kissed her, and that pissed her off.

It pissed her off because she'd kissed him right back.

Diana was used to being in charge, of controlling everything. Nothing about their kiss had been controlled. Mikar had learned his lesson, though. He wasn't going to do it again. Not because he didn't want to feel her warm, silky skin, and certainly not because she didn't desire him. She did. He felt it, saw it, smelled it. But he wasn't going to make another move because she'd fled up the stairs last time. If he pushed, she might get the hell out of Oldcrest.