“Why did you kill them?” she asked. “Are you guys engaged in some kind of turf war or something? Are they encroaching upon your territory?” Such derision and scorn. It didn’t belong in that melodic voice.

“I have no territory—not here in the States, at least—unless you count the small parcel of land upon which my current abode resides.”

“You sleep in a crypt or something?”

He laughed. “No. I like my creature comforts. And, no, I am not engaged in a turf war as you called it. I killed the vampires to protect you.”

Anger flared in her gaze. “First of all, I don’t need protecting.”

“The events that transpired the night we met suggest otherwise.”

“That was a unique situation. Vampires don’t usually travel in packs.”

“A comment that makes me wonder just how long you’ve been hunting them.” The fact that she still lived led him to believe this was a fairly new endeavor for her.

“Years,” she responded defiantly.

He may not be able to read her thoughts clearly, but he could glean enough to know she told the truth. Even so, doubt plagued him. “How many years? You can’t have seen more than twenty-five in your lifetime.”

“Twenty-seven, not that it’s any of your business. And I’ve hunted vampires for six of those.”

Astonishment gripped him. This fragile, mortal woman had hunted and fought vampires for six years and survived to tell the tale? With no help from the network?

So much had been happening in North Carolina in recent years: The uprisings. The battles. And she had hunted vampires through it all?

“That’s impossible.”

“Apparently not or I wouldn’t be standing here.” She frowned. “Wait. You said them.”

“What?”

“You said them, that I had been hunting them, not us.”

He swore silently.

“What are you?”

“I have fangs. My eyes glow. I heal at an accelerated rate. And I have preternatural speed and strength. What do you think I am?” he retorted. Until he was sure she and her brother were operating independently and weren’t part of some new threat—especially not members of the mercenary group he and the others had recently defeated—he was reluctant to tell her that he was an immortal.

He had actually once been like her brother: a gifted one, or mortal born with special abilities stemming from advanced DNA, before he had been infected with the vampiric virus. Vampires were human before they were infected and, lacking the advanced DNA, were driven insane by the brain damage it caused.

She shook her head. “You’re different. You’re not like the others.”

He arched a brow. “Because I didn’t try to kill you?”

Her head continued to wag back and forth as her gaze skipped over him. “You’re different.”

He frowned. She didn’t seem to be checking him out. She seemed to be studying him.

Did she see something that set him apart from the others?

“How am I different?”

“You tell me.”

Not bloody likely.

She mimicked his frown and took another step back. “Why have you been following me?”

She’d caught that, had she?

Well, curiosity had driven him to watch her. And she did prove to be a very good vampire lure. He hadn’t killed this many vamps on a daily basis in quite some time.

He should have turned her name and address over to Chris Reordon. But there was something about her. He couldn’t get her out of his head.

Not that he would admit it.

“You make good bait,” he stated just to rile her.

Her face flushed with fury. “I what?”

Damn, she was beautiful. “You make good bait. Hunting vampires has never been so easy. I just follow you and take out the dullards who can’t resist you and slink after you.”

“You . . . I . . . Is that an insult? Are you saying only dullards would be attracted to me?” she sputtered.

If that’s true, you’re standing before a big-ass dullard, he wanted to say. “Of course not. Only dullards would want to kill you.”

“Oh. Well, you can’t do that. You can’t just follow me and take out any vampires who fall for my trap.”

He shrugged. “You can’t really stop me, can you?”

“The hell I can’t.”

“Well, you could if you ceased hunting and left the slaying of vampires to me,” he suggested.

She stared at him. “Seriously, what are you?”

“What are you?”

“What do you mean? I’m human.”

“Your brother isn’t.”

The tip of one of her swords nicked him as she pressed it to his throat. “What do you know about my brother?”

“That he’s a healer, a gifted one.”

“I don’t know what a gifted one is, but you leave him the hell out of this,” she snarled.

“As long as he aids you in your quest, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“I’m not kidding.” Her expression fierce, she pressed forward. “Stay. The hell. Away from him.”

“If you fear for his safety, you have only yourself to blame. You led me to him.”

Alarm and self-condemnation flitted across her pretty face.

“It’s only a matter of time before you lead vampires to him as well,” he pointed out, “if you haven’t already.”

“I haven’t. I’ve been careful.”

“Are you sure? Did you know I followed you?”

Fear suffused Krysta.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

She’d been so stupid! She’d been so confident! She’d been so sure that she had gotten away clean after each hunt.

And she had led this vampire straight to Sean?

Worse than that, she wouldn’t have even known it if he hadn’t told her.

Her hand began to tremble.

How many times had Sean begged her to stop? Told her it was too risky? Admitted he feared losing her? And now she could lose him because of her own hubris and carelessness.

She lowered her sword. “Don’t hurt him. If you’re going to kill one of us, kill me.”

“Why not kill the both of you?” he posed.

“Because I’m the one with the quest.”

“And what quest might that be?”

“To kill every bloodsucking vampire in existence.”

He pursed his lips. “That’s quite a quest. I’ve been killing vampires for two hundred years and have barely made a dent.”

Shock struck her speechless.

Two hundred years? She didn’t know what stunned her more. That Etienne was that old—he didn’t look a day over thirty!—or that there were really that many vampires on the planet.

“Are you serious?”

“Quite.”

“I had hoped . . .”

“That vampires were a regional thing?” he finished for her.

She nodded dumbly. How had he guessed so accurately?

“They aren’t,” he said, and there was kindness in his voice. Sympathy. From a vampire.

One who had, if she could believe him, spent the past two centuries—two centuries—killing other vampires.

Abruptly, the song “Squirrels in My Pants” from Phineas and Ferb filled the air.

Etienne fumbled in his pocket and withdrew a cell phone.

She hadn’t even noticed until then that his weapons were all sheathed. Not once, in this entire conversation, had he threatened her.

He glanced at the caller ID. “One moment, please.” Turning away slightly, he answered. “Oui?” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Maintenant? . . . Je suis dans le milieu de quelque chose . . .” He groaned. “Bien. Bien. Deux minutes.”

He pocketed the phone.

“Squirrels in My Pants?” she couldn’t resist asking.

His handsome face lit with a faint smile. “Inside joke. I’m afraid I must leave.”

“Places to go, vampires to party with?”

He shook his head and backed away. “Go home, Krysta.”

How the hell did he know her name?

And why did hearing him say it induce shivers of pleasure?

“No more hunting,” he ordered. Or implored.

She just couldn’t read this guy. She was attracted to him, damn it, and it was warping her judgement. So she said nothing.

“Promise me,” he insisted.

“I promise,” she said. “No more hunting.”

His handsome face relaxed into an easy grin.

“Tonight,” she added. “No more hunting tonight.” She needed to take a step back and try to absorb everything she had learned.

His scowl returned. “Stubborn wench. Until we meet again then.” He bowed. “Bonne nuit.”

His form blurred and dashed around the corner, moving so swiftly ordinary humans wouldn’t be able to follow him with their eyes. He could run past some and all they would feel or notice was the breeze his passing created.

But Krysta could follow his aura. It lit up the night.

Hurrying to the corner, she peered around the building’s edge.

Etienne was a distant, dark figure surrounded by phosphorescent, constantly shifting white and purple near the frat house.

In the blink of an eye, a second dark figure with an identical aura joined him.

She gasped. The other’s aura hadn’t approached from any direction. It—he—had just appeared out of thin air.

The stranger touched Etienne’s shoulder. Both vanished.

Her knees weakening, Krysta leaned against the rough bricks of the building beside her.

There were two of them. Two vampires with that fascinating aura she had never before beheld.

And one of them could teleport.

Or could both of them? She hadn’t heard or seen Etienne’s approach tonight. One second she had been demanding he show himself. The next he had spoken behind her.