Sin and Salvation

SIN AND SALVATION An Ellora’s Cave Publication, February 2005 Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc. 1337 Commerce Drive, #13 Stow, OH 44224 ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-4199-0144-3 Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned): Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML SIN AND SALVATION © 2005 SHERRI L. KING ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously. Edited by Heather Osborn. Cover art by Darrell King.

Warning: The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. Sin and Salvation has been rated S-ensuous by a minimum of three independent reviewers. Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (Erotic), and X (X-treme). S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination. E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words such as “fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature. X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Unlike E-rated titles, stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

SIN AND SALVATION

Sherri L. King

For you. With love and thanks. Come on a journey with me and I’ll keep you safe. I promise… Thanks to Heather Osborn, who puts up with me. Without you, hon, I’d be lost. For D.

Sin and Salvation

Prologue Priest crouched in the shadows behind an alcove of rocks, waiting. She held her silver blade with its familiar T-shaped hilt clenched tight in her determined fists, knowing the moment was almost at hand. Just over the ridge of rock and stone, a kiss of vampires fed on a poor, hapless villager whom they had captured, plucked right out of his home only a few hours before. Although this villager was poor in funds as well as in luck, his fellow townspeople had valued him highly, for he was a healer and well needed. When it was discovered that vampires had taken him, the town had pooled their resources to secure the services of the first Killer for hire that they could find. It was lucky that Priest had been passing through. The town was quite off the beaten path for visitors nowadays, Killers or otherwise. Whatever tourist trade they might have had in the past eight decades was gone—the Shadow had taken care of that. If Priest hadn’t been near…well, it didn’t matter either way now, did it? It had been easy enough for Priest to accept the job. It was almost welcome, a diversion and a quick way to earn some pocket money. She had nothing pressing at her for the time being anyway. It was almost too easy to track the vampires down. It had been a long time since the last real challenge in her career, and this assignment was child’s play. This kiss was young, not a member could have seen a day over ten years since being Made, and as such they were careless. Stupid. Not yet formidable in their evil ways, as so many others had been when they at last found themselves unlucky enough to be in Priest’s path.

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The sound of the victim’s groans had long since faded to silence. Priest had arrived too late to save his sorry hide. But she would ensure that her job was done, and done right. These particular vamps would have no further chance to prey on the people of Nece Township. This man was dead, there was no helping it, but some lives would be saved, and in the long run it was the needs of the many that concerned her. Not the needs of the single person, of this one, poor dead bugger. Her hand tightened inexorably on the hilt of her sacredly blessed dagger. One of the tanzanite stones caught sharply in the flesh of her thumb, slicing a jagged line. Before one drop of blood could seep from the tiny wound, she swiftly put her thumb in her mouth. The scent of blood on the air, so close to vampires who were already lost in their feeding frenzy, would draw her enemies like sharks in the water. The taste of her blood was salty-sweet. A shudder of revulsion washed through her as she wondered how her blood might taste to one of the abominations she so ardently hunted. Her carelessness cost her but three or four seconds, no more. The bleeding slowed, then stopped. Her resolve hardened, her courage rallied. The bastards didn’t even see her coming. Priest bolted over the rocks like a gazelle, her muscles vibrating with barely suppressed violence. The first vamp she reached died instantly, her blade slicing neatly into the back of his neck, severing the spinal column at its base. For all the vampires’ speed and agility, Priest had already spent several moments planning her attack and was ready to meet nearly every possible move they could have made. She knew the ways of the vampire, almost as well as she knew the shadows in her own soul. For years she’d been exterminating these vermin. She was familiar with their habits, their methodology for fighting and killing. For all that they had been human at one time, and therefore as unique from each other in life as that great race could allow, they were no longer as unpredictable as they might have once been now that they were 6

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bloodeaters. Vampires all seemed to fight the same way, relying more on their supernatural abilities than on their brains. Strength they had, and speed, of that there could be no doubt. No other creatures, werewolves, zombies and shapeshifters included, were as powerful as vampires. Vampires could break a man in half with barely an effort. They could run a country mile in a few seconds. They had many gifts—no Killer knew that as well as Priest. And the vamps relied heavily on these advantages, so much so that it could sometimes lead to their downfall in a battle, because rather than think, they acted. Strategy was their weakness. Luckily it was one of Priest’s greatest strengths. Bloodeaters were vicious and they were brutal, but Priest was cold, methodical and thorough. In this particular battle, there were four in all, a small number to be sure, but this was a young kiss, and she moved to dispatch them quickly. The second and third vamps were a tad bit less arrogant than their compatriot, and they came at her warily. Their caution served them better, but Priest had foreseen this possibility. She let her guard appear to lessen, inviting them to strike. They did. The second vamp’s heart burst on the tip of her blade, but the wound might have healed with time, despite the nearly pure silver content of her dagger. Priest couldn’t risk such a thing, and ended any chance of the bloodeater’s eventual survival by neatly breaking his neck with the strength of her bare hands. A vampire’s regenerative properties were legendary and swift, beyond miraculous. In the days before the Shadow that swept across the land, scientists had even hoped to uncover the secrets of this regenerative process. But for all the creatures’ ability to heal, they could not survive the severing of their vertebrae. One quick blow or cut was all it took to end their vile existence. The trick was getting close enough to them to see the business done, without getting killed during the effort. 7

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The third vampire was cunning, but still too cocky, too reliant on his supernatural gifts to have a hope of triumph. He blurred himself, moving so fast she could barely see him, but she saw the dust kicked up by his darting feet and tracked him that way, watching the ground. The vamp came upon her in a rush, no doubt expecting an easy kill, but Priest was ready for him. He took her down, tackling her, and she bent like a reed in the wind. Effecting as little resistance as possible, keeping her mind sharp for an opening to strike, she let him top her. Let him throw her to the ground. But his motions slowed as he savored what he thought of as a killing strike. He tried to draw it out, as Priest had hoped he would. Slow enough now for her to see, he lowered his head to strike. Priest brought up her dagger and stabbed it into his eye, plunging the weapon in to the hilt. The vamp screamed and fell back and Priest was left to regain her feet with little effort. As he writhed on the ground, incapacitated with his pain for the moment, Priest turned to face the last of her foes. This one was a female and would be much harder to kill. The females held onto their cunning the longest. Rarely giving in to the arrogance of their breed until many years had passed. Priest eyed her warily, more cautious fighting this one than she had been with all of the others put together. The female vampire seemed unconcerned with the melee going on around her. She sat calmly amidst the forms of her fallen kiss, licking her lips clean of the blood she’d drained from the victim that lay beside her. She looked dismissive of the situation, as unthreatening as a puppy-cat. But Priest knew it was all an act. Cautiously, she drew her gun, leveling it at the female. She moved to the wounded vamp, removed her dagger from his eye, and kicked him over onto his side. Lost in pain, he gave little resistance—it was a vampire’s enhanced sensory system that made them feel pain so keenly—and, keeping her gaze locked on the female vamp, Priest stabbed the blade of her dagger into the male’s back. Her strike was true, her blow forceful enough to break through the bones of his vertebrae. He ended with a deep sigh.

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The female licked her lips, seeming to watch it all with fascination. Priest slowly marched up to the female and fired the gun into her face. A simple bullet would have hurt the vamp, perhaps even incapacitated her for a few moments, but ultimately it would have only pissed her off. But the gun Priest used now wasn’t a real one, unlike the one holstered at her hip, and it didn’t fire bullets. This gun was a water pistol—and that made all the difference. The vamp hissed as the water splashed on her face, angry and not a little surprised at Priest’s unexpected move. The bloodeater rose and advanced, stalking her like the graceful predator she was. Priest smiled coldly and made the sign of the cross upon the air, backing up only once to put some distance between herself and her advancing enemy. Time stilled. And then smoke began to rise from the vampire’s flesh. The water was blessed. Priest had spoken the Lahtan words over the water pistol before she’d left the village, and all it had taken was her making the final crossing motion with her fingers—the sacred symbol of the mad prophet who had trained her— to imbue the fluid with true sacred magic. With a shriek the vamp fell back, the flesh of her face liquefying grotesquely. The ethereal water ate into her skin instantly, burning and smoking, effectively debilitating her. Priest tightened her hand around the hilt of her bloody dagger and approached, still wary of the female’s cunning. “Please don’t,” the she-vamp begged pitifully. “Have mercy, I beseech you.” But Priest had no mercy—she never had. Such a thing was reserved for the long-lost clergy, or the few softhearted people that remained on the dark side of Noir. Priest was neither of those things. She advanced, knife ready to deliver the killing blow. The female growled, her blistered lips pulling back to reveal long, bloodstained incisors, and struck out despite her great pain. For all Priest’s caution, she was still a little surprised. The vampire was deadly, nearly catching Priest’s arm with her wicked

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claws. If those claws had connected, Priest’s flesh would have been sliced to bloody ribbons. But the claws did not connect. The silver dagger, however, did. Priest let the female vamp’s own attack work against her. As the vampire slashed out, Priest ducked, at the same time bringing up her dagger for a retaliating strike. A deep, sharp jab into the underarm of the vamp drew another scream, and the monster fell back under the blow. Priest made another stab, this time to the throat of the female, sending the vamp to her knees. Priest moved as quickly as her human muscles would allow, darting behind her foe and stabbing her dagger deep in a killing blow. The battle had lasted no more than a minute or two, but for Priest it had seemed to take a small eternity—such violence always did. Five lay dead around the camp clearing—one human, four vampires. Priest was disheveled, blood making her hands stiff and sticky as she put away her weapons. But she was unharmed, with only a few bruises and sore muscles to account for what she had done here, and she was grateful for that. She had won this time. These vampires had been easy, young. Priest wasn’t always this lucky. With a grunt, she searched the vampires’ meager belongings for any valuables. She found several rings, bracelets, necklaces and earbobs. Spoils from many fallen, human victims, no doubt. Vampires seemed to love shiny jewels and precious metals. Or perhaps they merely loved taking such trophies from their kills—Priest didn’t know or care. She took the treasures for herself now—they were hers by right of victory, and they would help fund her way through the barren landscape of the dark side of the planet as she searched for more paying customers with bloodeating pests to dispose of. The human was dead, but the people of the township would no doubt want his body returned. Priest was not strong enough to carry the corpse alone, but she could conceal it from any passing scavengers while she returned to Nece to collect her reward

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and inform the villagers. She saw to this, hiding the body in the rocks efficiently and quickly, while leaving the vampires to rot where they lay. She left the villager’s belongings untouched. Unlike many others in her line of work, she did have some standards. One of them was to never desecrate a fellow human. Unless, of course, they deserved it. But that was neither here nor there. This man had been a victim, caught up in the wheel of fate that turned for everyone. His turn had indeed been a bad one, an unlucky one. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. It just was. His family would need his personal belongings to pawn or share amongst themselves, far more than Priest would in the dark days ahead. She let his corpse lie in peace. Priest sighed, breathing Lahtan words of consecration over his body—she could do that much, at least—before she turned and headed back to Nece. Where she fully intended to collect her payment, no matter how much pity she might feel for its poor, doomed populace. She had to make a living, after all. Just like every other Killer. It was the law of the land in this time of chaos, and one she had no choice but to live by.

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Chapter One

Planet Noir, Ruption Galaxy In the time of the Great Eclipse Time Elapsed: 83 yrs; 72 days; 13 hrs; 9 mins Nece was small and overcrowded. Most townships were, on this side of the planet. People huddled together in tight masses, but were without the resources necessary to build large enough domiciles to house themselves properly. Shacks of stone and rotted wood served as homes, markets, and jails, sometimes all three at once. It was a poor, pathetic existence. The human race was hanging on here, but only by a thread. Fear and dread hovered like a cloud over everyone and everything. Those few with strength and power exploited the weak, and thrived as scavengers off the once great and thriving civilizations of mankind. The Shadow was winning. Its evil had spread, like inky black tentacles, to stake its claim over the planet of Noir. This whole section of Noir’s northern hemisphere was now cast in the shadow of the Great Moon, plunged into a total darkness that would last approximately a hundred years—or so everyone now hoped. Any longer and there would be no more life left here at all. Priest had never known a day without struggle and hardship, and while many lamented their lot, she had used hers almost as a school of learning. She taught her body how to survive without food and water for long periods of time. Taught her eyes to see better in the dark than in the gas-lit illumination of towns and villages. Taught her body to easily carry her long distances, over rocky and uneven terrain, through rain, cold and fog. She was a fighter through and through. Always had been and always would be, and she was neither proud nor ashamed of that. When the time came that she first encountered the vampires she was ready.

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A kiss had raped and pillaged her town when she was but twelve years old, and she had met and killed them like any survivor would have in a time of war and unrest. On that fateful day she had left her brothers and sisters—her parents had died long before then—and struck out to find a member of the clergy. After that first battle, a plan had formed in her mind. Alone in the shack that was her home, she’d fashioned the silver-spun whip she’d known would help aid her in destroying the undead, and an idea that had seemed so obvious to her at the time began to blossom. She had wondered why no one else had tried it before, or if they had, why hadn’t they succeeded? Priest resolved that she would find a holy man and make him show her how to imbue weapons, use holy magic, and wield sacred power so that she might fight—and win—many battles against the undead. It hadn’t been easy finding a teacher of the sacred magics. Most of the clergy had fled long before she was even born. But after two long years of searching through harsh landscapes and the inhospitable people who inhabited them, she had finally tracked one down. High in the mountains, leagues away from the lands she’d once called home, her quest came to an end. And a new one had begun. The man, her mentor, was a half-mad prophet. He was a wild and crazy fanatic who had, in his early years, fled into the sunlight with his clergy brothers. But he had come back, determined that his purpose lay in the lands of Shadow, not of light. For years he had scavenged in the mountains, living on berries and rodents, surviving the brutal changes of seasons as best he could. Reclusive and alone, he waited. He waited for her to come so that he might teach her the sacred, holy ways—or so he had told her. Priest held no belief in prophecy or fortune telling, no matter that her mentor had proclaimed he’d been waiting especially for her. In truth, she held no real belief in the mad clergyman’s religion or magic either. But that did not matter to her. What did matter, was that such things had great power over the vampires that no other magic or

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weapon could match. And Priest was determined to use that to her advantage in whatever ways she could. For almost three years Priest had learned the secrets of spirituality from the mad clergyman. And when she’d left him, after journeying at his side to the very edge of the land of Shadow so that he might go back into the light of the Southern lands, she had set off to become the most powerful Killer in Noir’s history. As a Killer, Priest had destroyed more vampires than even she could remember. Not out of love or honor or loyalty to the human race, as some of the great bards told it, but out of a keen, driving will to survive. And to perhaps thrive here in some small way, despite the evil that engulfed the land. Priest killed for gold. The metal that even now in these times of trouble, held some value for everyone. Not so much as silver, but silver was much harder to come by and no one dared part with it if they came into possession of the holy metal. It was beyond priceless. But gold could be traded for anything. Sometimes, if a kiss of vampires got in her way, Priest would kill them just for inconveniencing her. She had no love of bloodeaters, after all. But she preferred to make a profit for her efforts whenever possible. Traveling the land, a nomad and now a legend, thanks to her widespread reputation, she was well-known among common village folk and other vampire Killers alike. But this town, Nece, was cut off from much of the other stragglers of human civilization and they did not know yet that they dealt with the legendary Killer, Priest. Priest didn’t intend to enlighten them on that score either, not now. She hated her own fame in many ways, even if it did afford her some privileges at times. The Nece townspeople had seen the three bands of the Trinity, tattooed in black ink around her left wrist, and that was all they’d needed to know about her. The tattoo was the mark of a Killer, a vampire hunter, and the people had approached her, taking the chance that she might be for hire. That she might be induced to find their friend—dead or alive—and kill his undead attackers in retaliation. Of course, the color of their gold

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had been shown and inspected before she’d accepted the job. All good Killers expected no less than the purest metal possible for payment. Like any self-respecting Killer she had accepted the job, seen it through, and would now collect on that payment. The particulars of her name and story were not necessary, and Priest would not share them if she didn’t have to. Vampires had a way of showing up in whatever town she was in. There was a great blood price on her head in the undead community. She never tarried too long in one place if she could help it. Many humans had tried to kill her, hoping to collect on the bloodeaters’ promise of gold and even, amazingly enough, silver. Priest had no problem killing humans, no more than she did vampires, if they dared to threaten her. She didn’t like it. After the first and second human kill at her hands she had felt she might go mad with guilt and despair, but she did what was necessary to survive. She always did. So by the third human kill, she had felt no more guilt. No more despair. Her heart was as cold as ice. And Priest liked it better this way. Countless vampires had stalked her over the leagues and years, but none had ever bested her in a fight. In that, Priest had been blessed. Even with their tricks and their magic, bloodeaters were often undone by the very arrogance that fueled their desire to track and kill her in the first place. An incredibly large blood reward was promised to the vamp or vamps who could bring her down. Promised by whom, Priest could only speculate on in her weaker moments, which thankfully were few. There were leaders in the vampire race, of course. Great and powerful beings, even more ancient than the mountains and rivers of Noir. Masters of the undead race. But they were wise enough to keep their identities secret, even from their own brethren. No one who had ever seen a Master had lived to tell about it. Or else they hadn’t known or registered what they had seen.

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Ignorance of the masses was the insurance that all legendary beings must rely on. Priest, and the few other Killers who had attained a similar fame as she, were no different in that regard. The people of Nece didn’t need to know her identity. And she would not enlighten them. Unless they decided to renege on their promise and not pay her for her services. In that not-unlikely situation, she would lay the cards on the table, and let the townspeople decide for themselves whether it would be better to pay her or to anger her. The decision would no doubt be a swift and satisfactory one. For her. Priest hoped it wouldn’t come to that. But she was enough of a realist to half expect such a turn of events, all the same. As she walked down the primitive, muddy and pitted road that ran through the center of the town, she felt the stares of a hundred pairs of eyes following her progress. It was to be expected, this rude curiosity. Everyone must know by now the details of the healer’s kidnapping, and seeing her alone, without the man in tow behind her, they must also know that he was dead. The fact that she had returned also spoke of the death of the vampires guilty of the crime. No Killer worth his or her salt would return to a village with news that their quarry had escaped. And no Killer could have returned if they had lost their battle— they’d be too dead to return. Or worse, undead. Whenever a human and a vampire met, one of them would die. It was the way of things. Kill or be killed. Only the strongest survived. “What news, Killer?” A lanky man with greasy blond hair greeted her. Priest remembered him from their earlier meeting. He was the so-called mayor of this ragtag community. Mayor, indeed. He looked more like a beggar in his ill-fitting, ragged overalls and dirty, unbathed skin. It was almost laughable, how determined some people were to hold onto the laws and politics of the old days. “Your friend was killed. His body lies one league from here,” she stated baldly, pointing to direct them, knowing no compass would guide them in their search. 16

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Compasses no longer worked on Noir, thanks to the Shadow. “In that direction. The vampires lie there too, dead all of them. I suggest you leave them to rot. “ The mayor sighed, the lines of worry and suffering on his face deepening so that he looked ten years older. “We thank you for your protection, Killer. Please accept this payment.” He offered her a small, leather bag full of gold pieces. Priest weighed it deftly in her hand and nodded her satisfaction that the amount was as promised. She tied the bag to her gun belt, where two others like it already dangled. “Thank you,” she offered politely. “You will stay for food, will you not? We don’t have much, but we will share all that we have, with thanks.” Priest shook her head. “No. I must be on my way now. Your vampires are defeated, but more may come. I will lead them away as I may.” And she would. Nece had seen enough hardship and she would divert from them as much as she could. It would be dangerous for all concerned if she lingered here. “Would you like a canine, or a puppy-cat for your travels?” he offered politely. It was common for people to eat such animals, who were plentiful enough despite the state of the world. Priest liked the animals, knew that they had once been cherished as beloved pets. She would not accept the gift of one, nor would she eat the poor creatures. Besides, they were tough and bitter meats and she had no taste for them. “Keep your stock. I have no need for animals, though I thank you for the offer.” She had a bundle of serpent jerky in her pack. It would be more than enough for her until she found other prey. Or another township, with other foods besides dogs and puppycats. With the gold and the quiet thanks of the villagers, she turned to be on her way. It was then that she saw him.

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***** Bishop had seen her the minute she walked into town. He’d watched the townspeople hire her, watched her leave on her errand and then return triumphant. It had taken nearly all of his remaining reserves of power to capture her attention. To what purpose, he didn’t know, but even if it resulted in his death it would have been worth the effort to catch her eye. He preferred death to slavery, in any case. His chains rattled, chafing his already blistered and bleeding flesh. The chains were silver, a high grade of the metal that was just potent enough to keep him disoriented, imprisoned. It burned. It hurt. But Bishop welcomed that pain. Nurtured and fed it, so that his anger overrode the rising desperation threatening to consume him. Staying angry with his captors made him forget how weak he was and how hopeless his situation had become. A year in these humans’ chains could make any man—or vampire—insane. Bishop had to keep reminding himself, even after sixty long years, that he was no longer a man. No longer a human being. Sometimes he could forget his former life, forget that he hadn’t always been this way. Sometimes he longed for the oblivion of that forgetfulness. But he could never, even for a moment, forget how he had become what he now was. The demons of his memories rankled him, dogging his heels like the hounds of Hel, so that he could not find peace. No matter how much he might long for it. Now, after endless torment, he saw a chance to finally change his circumstances. But how? That was the priceless question. The Killer would probably end his life. It would be a mercy killing, one Bishop almost welcomed. The worst that could happen would be for the woman to do nothing, ignore his plight, and leave him to rot with his merciless human captors. For some reason, he didn’t believe she would do the latter, and that gave him some small hope for survival.

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He had no real powers left to speak of. His captors had fed him only cattle blood, just enough to keep him alive and working. Vampires could gain no real strength from such sustenance, and the humans knew this. But he had just enough power to send his mind out to hers, to touch her, push her to look at him. A dozen unsuccessful tries had weakened him to the point of exhaustion, but with a last, desperate attempt, he’d brought her to look at him. At last, she had seen him. Now he had just had to wait and see. Would he live or would he die? He no longer cared, but that his imprisonment, this torture, ended at last.

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Chapter Two He was emaciated and pale. His eyes, bloodshot and dulled, met hers straight on, unwavering. And they were as deep and dark a blue as the heart of the Misty Ocean caught in the darkness of the night. He might have been handsome once. Long ago. But now he looked sickly. Weak. His hair was long, past his shoulders, its color obscured by tangles and filth. He was bare-chested, so that the crude silver chains crossing his shoulders could bite deep into his flesh. Cuffs at his wrists and ankles punished him further, attached to chains that held him captive to an immovable—or at least immovable to humans—post of solid iron buried deep into the ground. The townspeople held him there, sapped and injured, a slave to their whims. Priest had never seen a vampire in such a situation and wondered how he’d come to be there. The people of the village seemed too weak, too cowed, to capture a live vampire and hold him. How was such a thing possible? “Do my eyes deceive me?” she asked the mayor tightly. With unmistakable pride the man responded, “He is a pet of the town. When we need hard labor done, he is a priceless resource. Even weakened as he is, he is still stronger than any of us.” Priest gritted her teeth, hating the black hearts of greedy and lazy people. True, their slave was a vampire, but slavery itself was perhaps the greater of those two evils. No matter how vile and deserving of this existence the vampire may be, the villagers should not lower themselves to such depths by keeping him as a “pet”. It tainted them with an evil that rivaled the vampire’s. The bleak injustice of it made her livid with anger, and she turned it now on the unprepared mayor. “You dare to call him a pet! Have you any idea of the danger you 20

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court? Have you any idea of the vileness of this situation? Have you no care for your own souls?” The mayor flushed. “You don’t understand. His presence here warns away other vampires. It speaks of our strength and helps to keep us safe.” Priest wanted to plant her fist in his face, but reined in the impulse with iron control. “It did not keep this Kiss of vampires away from your friend,” she reminded him with deceptive calm. “You’re right. Sometimes he is not so strong a charm against our enemies, but you must remember that Jhosiah lived in the house farthest from the town center. It was easy for the vampires to take him and ignore the warning of this imprisoned one.” Jhosiah. That had been the name of the vampires’ victim. Priest hated knowing the names of the people whom she’d failed to save. It was best she never place an identity, and therefore a value, on those poor unfortunates. The information only fueled her rage, but she made certain that the mayor would see none of that on her face. “I see. How did you come by this vampire?” “He was given to us as a gift.” “By whom?” She frowned. Who could have been so foolish? What if the vamp managed to escape? How many people would die in his justifiable rage? In all probability, the entire town of Nece would fall if he ever had a chance to exact revenge. The mayor licked his lips nervously, instinctively sensing that this was not just a casual conversation they were having. “By a kiss of vampires.” Priest could do nothing to disguise the shock and distaste she felt. “The leader of the kiss had no designs on our people,” he hastened to add. “In fact, he promised us some small protection if we accepted the vampire prisoner. The leader wanted to be rid of him, you see. The vampire was already weakened and starved when he was given to us, and we merely followed the leader’s instruction to keep him that way.”

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Priest could hear no more and turned away. “You play with fate, you and your whole town,” she warned. “He is too weak to hurt any of us.” Sickened by the ignorance of Nece’s people, Priest could only shake her head. Time would see all of these people dead at the hands of vampires, she was certain of it. And perhaps they deserved it. But it didn’t make her feel any better. Here was a situation that endangered a whole town, torturing a being that should be dead rather than enslaved. If his captors didn’t kill him, the vampire would eventually escape, and live to exact his revenge against the town and all other humans who crossed his path. And she couldn’t blame him for that, not really. Something had to be done. Priest warned herself to stay out of it. The situation had nothing to do with her. But in a way it did. She was a Killer. Her job, her calling, was to kill vampires. And while there would be no monetary reward in this…there would be satisfaction. The people of Nece deserved to be punished, but Priest could not in good conscience leave them at the mercy of the threat this vampire posed. The vampire deserved to die, his existence was an abomination, but he did not deserve to suffer like this. No one, living or undead, deserved such. Her gaze met the vamp’s one more time. Something passed between them, though he was too weak to speak to her mind, and it was enough. No matter that it was foolish and risky, Priest knew she would leave for now, but once the town slept—keeping to the ways of old and resting when the true hours of night were at hand—she would come back. There was unfinished business here in Nece. Priest would see it done. Faith save her, she was indeed a fool for even bothering with something that was none of her damn business, and she well knew it.

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Bishop felt the weight of his weariness sink heavily into him. For good or ill the Killer would come back for him. He had seen that clearly in her mind. There was the very real possibility that he could kill her before she had her chance to dispense with him, but he would make no such move before she removed his chains. For what would it gain him but punishment if he were to kill her while remaining imprisoned? Her blood would be rich and vibrant, and it would give him all the strength he needed to break free. But how long would it take to absorb her power? He had no idea. He’d only been afforded the chance to feed on humans a few times in the past, when he’d been an unwilling slave to the vampire who had made him. So he could not be sure of the particulars, especially when he was as weak as he was now. Everything was fuzzy, surreal. But once the Killer removed his chains—or even if she didn’t remove his chains—he would strike. He would feel no remorse taking her life. He needed it to survive, to heal. To grow strong enough to track down the monster who had made him what he was, that bastard ancient who had laughed at his human struggles. Who had smiled as he drank Bishop dry, transforming him with the ruthless magic of his evil blood nearly sixty long years ago. It was said that time to an immortal could pass in the blink of an eye. That was not true for him. He’d felt the passage of years crawl by slowly, more so now than ever he had as a human. He was weary of time. The fact that he should have been old and gray by now, only tired him all the more. All of it thanks to that bastard who had stolen his life, and so much more besides. If all went as he hoped, Bishop would take the Killer’s strength and use it to defeat his nemesis. Use it to kill him and all those in his coven. At long last he would be strong again, as he hadn’t been for so very long. If the Killer struck him first…then nothing more would matter. Either way, Bishop would be free. Pain would not follow him into death, though it might follow him into 23

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victory. His existence had been nothing but pain since his humanity had been stolen from him. He was almost used to it by now. Death would have been preferable, if not for his vendetta, and it would be his goal after his ultimate victory was finally attained. He would not live like this, if living was even a proper word for this kind of existence. Some people, most people, crossed over into the world of the bloodeaters with nary a qualm. They seemed to welcome the change. The strength and remorselessness of the cold-blooded predator was addictive, and no one was immune. Bishop himself had felt the pull of his own dark side many times, had almost given in to it. It was that strong. But he could not—no matter how he might sometimes wish otherwise—forget the circumstances that surrounded his rebirth into this horror. Vengeance, his hatred of his maker, was all that kept the last remaining vestiges of his humanity alive within him, and he held to that, even in his weakest moments. Feeling the burn of his shackles, the sting of the silver that he had once so loved and prized, he resigned himself to wait through the agonizingly slow stretch of time and see what the coming hours would bring. He looked forward to his freedom. Even if it would come to him in death. The Killer would ultimately decide their fate. Doubtless, one of them would die tonight.

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Chapter Three His warm lips traveled along the dip of her spine. Strong, lean fingers kneaded the globes of her buttocks. A whisper of breath across her nape…and she knew it was he. “No,” she gasped. “Yes,” he growled, pressing her down into the earth. “I’ve got you now and I’ll not let you go.” “No,” she cried again as he spread her legs wide. His cock was hotter than a thousand suns, burning her apart as he slid deep into her. He was like a sword inside of her, slicing deep and laying her open before him like an exotically ripe fruit. Her back arched against him, unbidden. She clenched her teeth around a moan of lust and fought the temptation to soften, to give in to his sensual demands and feel the exquisite pleasure of their union. “Come for me,” he chanted in her ear. “No.” It was the only word she knew to say anymore. “Come, come,” he whispered like a dark wave in her mind. “Come for me.” Priest felt him drive home violently, reaching for the heart of her and pulling it inside out in their growing passion… With a gasp, Priest bolted upright from her bedroll as the dream disappeared. Come for him, indeed. She would come…and she would kill him for daring to enter her dreams. She tried to ignore the moisture that pooled in her sex as the arousal of the dream faded into memory. It was best that she never admit such a response to the forbidden desire. Best that she ignore it entirely. 25

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***** The gaslights of the houses were dimmed. The town of Nece slept, dreaming and unaware, as Priest slipped back into it quietly. But her reappearance did not go completely unnoticed. The faint, weak glow of the vampire’s blue eyes tracked her every move as she sidled up to the silver cage worth a baron’s fortune that housed him like an animal. He was crouched within, looking tired but calm, and she hoped he wouldn’t prove to be too difficult. The past few hours had given her enough time to devise a plan. A good one, she hoped. It would be dangerous, everything concerning vampires was dangerous, but she hoped to succeed despite the odds stacked against her. He was quiet as she drew her silver dagger, its blade glittering in the shadows. “I will open this cage and let you out. But your chains will stay where they are. You will come quietly. If you make a sound or a threatening move I will kill you where you stand. Do you believe me?” The vampire nodded slowly, his deep blue eyes never leaving hers. Priest picked the primitive lock that held the cage door in a few easy seconds. If the vampire had been any stronger he could have easily snapped the lock himself. She didn’t want to touch the vamp, so she reached in to pull at his chains, helping him out of the silver cage. When he unfolded to his full height, standing straight beside her, she was a little unnerved to find that he towered over her. He must have been an offworlder before becoming a bloodeater. The native people of Noir rarely reached more than six feet, and he was well above that height. He stood nearly a foot taller than she. If he was indeed an offworlder, then he had to be at least fifty years changed. It had been that long, maybe even longer, since the last offworld space shuttle had visited Noir. The other worlds of the galaxy avoided the doomed planet, keeping to themselves, all trade and visitation routes cut off completely. Noir was too dangerous for them to chance anymore. 26

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“Walk ahead of me,” she instructed flatly. “Make no sudden moves.” He did as she said, and she laid the razor-sharp point of her dagger against his back to ensure his cooperation. Stupid and foolish as it might be, she planned to march the vampire straight out of the town with none the wiser. Once some distance had been put between them and the borders of Nece, Priest had every intention of killing him. She would have killed him in his silver cage, but for the risk waking the townspeople with the ruckus. She had a reputation to maintain. And while the villagers likely had no idea who she was, they had her description, and eventually it would be known that the legendary Priest had shown mercy by killing the captive vampire. Priest would just as soon not have this lapse in judgment be known by her peers and enemies. So killing him outright, under Nece’s nose, was unacceptable. However, if the vampire appeared to have escaped on his own during the night, Nece would not question the how, so much as they would prepare for the backlash. They would be on their guard for months to come, fearing the vampire’s revenge, ignorant of the fact that he was dead and therefore no longer a threat. Priest thought the township deserved the fear that would no doubt consume them when they discovered the vampire’s empty cage. In truth, they deserved a much harsher punishment, but she could do nothing about that. The turning of the wheel would mete out all punishment in time, or so she hoped. But she wasn’t one to put faith in such things, even under the best of circumstances, so she put it from her mind as best she could and focused instead on the task at hand. After that…who knew. There were a few bounties she was interested in collecting. One was a call for the head of a male vampire who had been terrorizing the lands for over twenty years. She’d been tracking the vampire for several years herself, not that she had much hope of ever finding him. He roamed wide and covered his trail well. But she’d continue searching, picking up jobs along the way.

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She would feel no guilt after killing this wretched vamp, that was for certain. Her life would not change or alter after dispatching this fiend. Why then did she feel so damned nervous? So unsure of herself, when she was never unsure… “Stop it,” she said, jerking his chains warningly. He was using his mind against her—had almost managed to do it without her notice. Though he looked weak, he was still quite powerful and she had to remember that. It had to be uppermost in her mind. The minute she underestimated him, she was a dead woman, and they both knew it. The border of Nece was nearly half a mile behind them. Priest had lost track of time—a deadly mistake she must not repeat. A few leagues more and she would dispose of the tricky bastard. Once he fell dead at her feet, she would leave him to rot and never look back. She cursed herself again for attempting such a foolhardy stunt as this. Why the hell should she care if a vampire suffered in chains? Slavery was wrong, yes, but she’d never been a slave to her convictions. Fuck, she’d never really had many convictions to speak of. So why now, why here, with this particular vamp? Priest jerked on his chains again, out of spite, and ignored the tiny, betraying flash of guilt that stabbed at her when smoke rose from the scorching burns the silver inflicted on his much-abused flesh. The vampire hissed softly, but it was a small response for what must have been enormous, nearly unendurable pain. She had to respect him for his strength and courage, given the circumstances. And she did, a little. But she was going to kill him, all the same. Her foot fell into a deep cleft in the ground and she stumbled. The chain in her hand loosened for a second, and she fully expected him to take advantage of it. But he didn’t. Her hand quickly tightened on his metal leash and she was the one in control once more. Or was she?

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“I would strike a bargain with you,” he said. They were the first words he’d spoken to her, ere now. His voice was flat, faintly metallic with his otherworldly power, but eerily beautiful all the same. Priest could understand at last why it was so easy for vampires to enthrall humans with nothing but the power of their voices. She’d never believed it before, or had perhaps felt she was impervious to such a trick. It alerted her to the very real threat this monster posed for her out here, human and alone as she was under the dark, foreboding sky. “I do not bargain with fiends,” she bit out, pressing her blade warningly into the flesh of his already scarred back. The scars had been inflicted before he’d been Made—for vampires did not scar. They looked like rough, uneven lacerations. As if his flesh had been torn by claws or knives or something similarly sharp and brutal. “I believe you,” he intoned softly. “But perhaps there is something of worth that I could offer you to induce a reconsideration of your rules.” They could have been talking about the weather for all the importance he seemed to be placing on his words. As if his continued existence wasn’t on the line. “You have nothing that I could want,” she growled, jerking the chain so that it seared his flesh again, cruelly. “Why did you free me?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject and catching her off-guard. “They had made a slave of you,” she said simply, before she could reconsider how the truth might compromise her control of the situation. “So?” There was no emotion in his voice. Priest had never heard such a dull, emotionless tone. It unnerved her as no show of anger or rage or violence from him could have done. “So what?”

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“So why did you free me?” he pressed. Priest weighed her words carefully. She didn’t know why. It was foolish and stupid of her to even bother speaking to him, and she knew better. Why then did she feel the need to explain her motives to him? He wasn’t influencing her in any way. It was her own conscience that moved her. She’d never known she even had a conscience until now. Nece was now over a mile behind them. Weak as the vampire was, he had not slowed her down in any way. It was unexpected, his acquiescence, and it made her more than a little uneasy. “You are a vampire, you deserve to suffer for your evil ways.” Priest wondered if she said this to convince him or herself. “But slavery I cannot condone, even for one such as you.” “You would have me dead instead.” “Yes,” she bit out, impatiently shoving him along ahead of her. “What if I do not wish to die tonight?” “Your wishes are of no matter—” She had known he would try something eventually, had even been ready for it. But he was even stronger than she had feared. And when he turned on her, jerking the chain from one hand and striking the knife from the other, she was no match for his power or speed. He kicked her feet out from under her and she went down, hard. But she was not defeated or cowed. The vampire made as if to pounce on her, but she struck out with her feet, catching him in the chest and shoulder, flinging him away. She rolled to her hands and knees and tried to regain her feet. But again, he was too fast for her. Perhaps faster than any foe she had heretofore faced, which should have been impossible in his weakened condition. But it wasn’t. He was so fast, so strong, he had her on her back in seconds. There in the gray dust, he

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covered her with his body, holding her still, one hand effortlessly binding her wrists together above her head. He did nothing else. He just held her there, making no move to strike. The nowintense blue glow of his gaze leveled with hers, holding her captive there too, as he held her captive beneath him. “I could kill you so easily,” he whispered dreamily, eyes hooded as if savoring the words and the truth that backed them with power. Priest said nothing. For perhaps the first time in memory, she didn’t automatically know how to handle the situation. She faced defeat… No. Not yet. Bucking her body violently, she managed just enough room between them to move her legs. She wrapped them around his back, digging her heel into the silver chain and driving it into his skin with a savage violence. The wicked length of his fangs glittered as he hissed through his teeth. But he did not budge, not even when she ground her heels against him, when his skin began to smoke and blister beneath the metal. His hips ground against hers, and she felt his erection. Until now, she’d had no idea that vampires could attain an erection. It frightened her as nothing ever had before and she lashed out again in mounting panic, butting her forehead viciously against his nose. Snarling, he struck her across the face. Blackness swam with stars, blurring her vision. Priest knew that if she passed out now she would never wake up again—he would kill her. She went limp beneath him, trying desperately to hang on to consciousness, conserving what strength she had. Pushing the nearly overwhelming pain away with all the strength she possessed, she slowly regained control of her senses. He was waiting for her, gazing at her with patient, alien stillness. “I do not wish to kill you. But I will if you continue to fight me.” Priest believed him. He was in no way human, with a human’s mercy and reason. He was a vampire and possessed of the darkest, cruelest soul. It made no sense that he 31

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would not kill her now, while she was dazed and hurting, but she believed his words to the contrary. She also believed that he would kill her just as easily as not. She swallowed, shaking her head slightly to clear it of lingering dizziness and pain. Her cheek felt like it was on fire. But he had not broken skin or bone. For all the anger he must no doubt be feeling, he had withheld the brunt of his strength from her. It would have been easy for him to strike her head clean off her shoulders. So why hadn’t he done so? “What do you want?” she panted tersely, imagining all the ways she’d like to kill him for putting her in such a demeaning position. He shifted against her, letting her feel his desire again. What should have sickened her—the feel of his marble-hard cock pressed intimately into the vee of her thighs— made her feel odd and slightly breathless. Warm and dizzy in a way that had nothing to do with the blow he’d given her. Priest was mortified beyond belief. “What do you want?” she shouted into his face, hating her weakness. Hating the warm puddle of desire that was gathering in her loins. “I would have a truce between us.” “A truce?” she roared. Who’d ever heard of such a thing? An alliance between a human and a vampire, it was abominable. Ludicrous. Insanity. “You have saved me from my imprisonment,” he continued. “While I am grateful, that is not why I would spare you, I admit. You have something I want. And I believe I have something you might want as well.” “You possess nothing that could possibly be of value to me,” she spat up into his face. “But I do.” “No, you don’t,” she protested, struggling against the hand that still shackled her wrists. It did not budge, despite her efforts, and she cursed him with impotent rage.

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His free hand came up and smoothed away a lock of dark hair that had tangled over her face. Priest wanted so badly to recoil from his touch, but it was gentle and coaxing. So cool and strong and tender that she could have wept with a strange and unwelcome longing. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the turmoil that raged within her. What was happening to her? Where was her self-control, her cold calculation, her strategic reasoning? Gone. All of it gone, lost in the deep blue wave that swelled in the vamp’s eyes as he calmly watched her struggle. The long-fingered hand encircled her throat, squeezing gently. “I could crush you so easily. Won’t you at least hear me out?” Priest breathed unsteadily through her nose, pursing her lips tightly to control their telltale trembling. Her teeth would have chattered if she hadn’t gritted them so fiercely. Would he kill her? Was it better to die here, now, than to listen to what he had to say and work to plot some way of escape? “I’ll hear what you have to say,” she whispered. “Good.” He breathed the word across her lips and she felt them tingle in response. “Open your mind to me,” he said suddenly. Priest felt him there, felt him searching her, and could do nothing to stop him. Where was his weakness? Where was his weariness, and torment? He was so powerful, it was almost as though he had never been imprisoned. Never suffered. As if the silver of his bonds did not, even now, bite into his flesh and serve to dampen the potency of his supernatural gifts. Why had he chosen now to show this strength when he could have shown it a hundred times to the villagers, perhaps even enticing one to free him? Had it been fate, chance, circumstance? She didn’t know. There was nothing she could do to stop him. Nothing she could do to protect herself. There was no way to prepare herself for his invasion, his penetration of her mind and thoughts. She felt naked, laid open and vulnerable in the face of his overwhelming power. 33

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It felt as though sinuous fingers were stroking over her brain, caressing her mind, delving in to pluck out all her secrets. The harder she struggled to lock her mind away from him, the easier it seemed for him to invade her. Minutes passed—they could have been hours and Priest would have had no way of really knowing—and then he left her as abruptly as he’d started. She felt wrung out, tired beyond belief. Her body was a limp, trembling mass of useless tissue. The tears burned in the corners of her eyes and she could do nothing to hide their presence from his all-too-knowing eyes. He bowed his head. His breath traced warmly over her face. Her tears escaped her lids and he licked them away, as if he couldn’t help himself, his tongue laving her skin so that not one drop escaped him. Priest cried out and struggled against her lethargy, panic consuming her in a way she had never experienced. An elemental fear of him, not as a vampire but as a male, consumed her. His cock pressed tight and unforgiving against her, his tongue and lips played over her cheeks and eyes to catch her tears. And she forgot what he was, forgot what she was and all that those two things meant between them. She moaned. She strained and fought. Then she choked on a sob, mortified at her loss of control and at her helplessness. He ground his hips against her. Realizing her legs were still wrapped around his waist, she flushed hotly and immediately slammed them back down onto the ground, inelegantly stirring up a cloud of gray dust around them. The vampire’s mouth whispered over hers, hovering, barely touching. The passage of several, dizzying heartbeats made her tremble with anticipation. But he did not kiss her. “There is a vampire for whom you are searching,” he said, surprising her back to the reality of their position and their conversation.

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She blinked, unclear who he might be referring to. There were countless vampires unlucky enough to have her searching for them. Her mind was open to him now, her every thought naked and bared for his perusal, and he seemed to know of her confusion at once. The vampire forced her to see the image of the one he spoke of, and she stilled at once. It was him, the one whose bounty she so coveted, and she felt stupid to not have realized it immediately. “I would have this vampire, too,” he said finally. “Well, you can’t have him,” she snapped. “You can have the purse for his head, I won’t be needing it. But I would be the one to cut his head from his body, I would be the one to kill him.” Priest scowled. She didn’t care if he killed him, so much the easier for her if he did. But she did want that bounty. “Go on,” she pressed cautiously. “I can help you find him,” he practically crooned. His lips moved against hers with each word he spoke. It was driving her mad, for so many different and unacceptable reasons. “Why would you do that?” “I won’t do it for free,” he said. Her heart thundered in fear and she did her best to hide it from him, even knowing that he could likely hear its pounding despite all her attempts at bravado. “I didn’t expect that you would.” “I want your blood.” The words were a breath over her mouth, his fangs a glinting threat behind his parted lips. Priest bucked wildly beneath him. She took him by surprise this time, almost succeeding in dislodging him from her body. Almost but not quite. His imprisoning hand clenched around her wrists, grinding the bones together ruthlessly. His other squeezed a warning around her throat. “I could kill you and take your blood anyway,”

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he hissed, “but I would bargain with you. Be grateful I am so lenient, for you are sorely trying my patience.” His voice had taken on a bestial roughness, a monstrous quality that branded him a vampire as surely as his fangs, his pallor and his adverse reaction to silver. “I will be no food for you, vampire,” she snarled. “My name is Bishop and you will use it, for we will be together long enough that some familiarities cannot be helped.” “Bastard! You forsook your name when you became what you are, and I’ll not use it. I’ll be damned before I willingly spend time in the presence of one such as you.” He growled, baring his fangs, his blue eyes staining swiftly to red. “You’ll say my name, Priest.” He sneered her name, shocking her into unmitigated terror that he could know it, pluck it, steal it from her own traitorous mind. “And you will spend as much time with me as I see fit, or I will kill you.” “Fuck you.” How had this happened to her, she who had always been so careful? Damn her conscience, she should have left him to die in the chains of slavery. He smiled slowly, a devastating flash of razor-sharp incisors that made her shy away. “We may get to that too, eventually.” Priest sputtered in rage, all terror abruptly forgotten. Of all the daring… Her mind stuttered. There were no words to express the level of her anger and disgust—indeed her mind was locked to them. The only certainty she knew was that she would kill him at the first opportunity. She vowed it fervently to herself. He read her mind, the devil. “You’ll never get the chance, now.” He still smiled. His hand at her throat had gentled, and his fingertips now stroked lazily over her pulse. “I would hear you coming before you even knew you intended to strike.” “Get out of my mind.” “No. I rather like it. It’s like a puzzle box, intricate and challenging and so much fun to play with.”

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“Damn you, release me!” “Not yet. First, you will agree to my terms. I will let you live, I’ll even help you find your precious bounty, and in return you will help me grow strong again. You will share your blood with me until I heal completely from the humans’ perfidy, and when we reach our quarry you will leave me to kill him with my new strength.” “I’m not food—” “I know, we’ve been over that already. But—” he surprised her by licking her nose, a rapid dart of his tongue that was there and gone before she could protest, before he continued, “—think on this, if you will. If I have you, a willing donor by my side, what need will I have for any other prey? In agreeing to this truce with me, you will in fact— quite truthfully—be saving the lives of any innocent humans I may find on my journey. And you have my word that I’ll not kill you. Not yet anyway.” The flat way in which he added the last made her heart constrict. “No. I’ll not agree to this.” She’d rather die now than cooperate, losing all her honor, only to die anyway when he tired of her. “Stupid girl. Would you rather I killed you now, than…?” His voice echoed her thoughts and his hand squeezed her throat, tight enough to cut off her air. “Of course you would. I can see that. But if you die, you’ll have lost all. Either way, I win. Also,” he continued blithely, “in addition to agreeing with my terms, you must promise to call me by name. I think this is a fair enough exchange for your life and the price that our quarry’s severed head will fetch you, don’t you, my dear Priest?” She struggled and he eased his grip again. Her breath sobbed in her chest as she struggled for air. “I should have killed you while you were still in your silver cage, you monster,” she rasped. His lips were curved, his eyes blue again. “Yes, you probably should have,” he agreed, and his voice held that flat, emotionless tone again, belying the smile on his chalky-white face. “Do you agree? Or do I dispense with you now? Tell me quickly. I find I am growing bored with this discussion.” 37

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Priest gritted her teeth until they ground together audibly. What choice did she have? She would not be so foolish as to beg for mercy, she knew he had none to give. And she was far too proud to beg anyway. “I accept,” she whispered, knowing she must. Later she would have her revenge. The blue of his eyes flashed and then he was gone. Priest started, then realized he hadn’t disappeared before her eyes as it first seemed. He was standing a few feet away from her, watching her with a solemn stare. He’d moved so fast it was incredible. “Get up.” His voice was tired now, surprising her since he’d been so strong but a moment ago. “I am hungry.”

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Chapter Four Bishop had no idea why he’d made this bargain with her. He could have found countless victims to feed from back in Nece, and it would have been half as much trouble as this. He didn’t need her. But he did. Somehow, someway, and he knew that. When he had caught sight of his maker’s hated face in her mind he had known he would not let her go. She hunted the same enemy as he, for different reasons entirely, but that didn’t matter. They were on the same road, and he found it reassuring in a strange, unexpected way. The spark of undying courage in her huge, lavender eyes intrigued him. Her lashes were thick and long and dark, her eyebrows artful slashes that lent her an almost devastating beauty. The short, waving locks of her brown hair looked so soft his fingers itched to feel it. Her skin was pale—she’d obviously never been warmed by the sun— and pure and translucent as milk. Her body was thin and wiry, strong and tightly muscled from years of hard living. The people of his world prized plump, shapely women. Indeed, the people of Noir were much the same, prizing the full, round curves of a woman while disdaining the thin, compact appearance that was almost unavoidable in these times of famine and strife. She appealed to him on many levels. Her unconventional beauty, her strength and her tenacity were incredibly pleasing. And her blood called to him, too. It made him desperate in a way nothing else could, his hunger for it. He’d never desired blood as strongly as he did now, in her presence, and he had no reasoning to explain it. His body felt starved, deprived, far more than even his present, sorry condition called for.

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There was power in her, he could feel it as well as see it, like a glow about her. Her blood would be sweet and rejuvenating and he would regain his strength quickly, indeed he would be stronger than ever, if only he could drink from her. There was the nearly overwhelming urge to just take her, feed from her, against her will. Perhaps to even drain her completely until she went limp in his arms. But something stopped him, something he knew and understood, when he knew and understood nothing else about the madness of the whole situation. He wanted her. Not just her blood, but her flesh. And not to eat, but to devour. He wanted to fuck her. Wanted to spread her wide and thrust so deep and hard into her wet, tight pussy that they melded into one complete being. For the first time since he’d been Made, transformed from human to vampire, he felt his cock grow hard and heavy with physical lust. But unlike any lust he’d ever experienced as a human, this need he had for her was all-consuming. It transcended any need for blood, even as hungry and starved for it as he was. He would have refused her blood and fucked her instead, if she’d given him the choice of one or the other. It was a good thing she didn’t know this, for he intended to have both from her. Eventually. “I am hungry,” he rasped again. Both savoring and hating the fear he saw in her eyes, despite her resolve to hide the emotion from him. “Come here.” “What? Already?” she rasped, gaining her feet unsteadily. Priest resisted the urge to flee, but barely. His eyes were turning red again, red as the blood he craved from her. It was terrifying in the extreme. “I have been starved for blood for years. I’ve waited long enough.” She frowned then remembered the mayor’s claim that the vampire had been starved even before being turned over to the town. “You were only in Nece for a year,” she countered, knowing she was rubbing salt over an open wound in more ways than one.

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He swore softly, and she realized he had let slip something he likely hadn’t intended to. “It felt like years,” he said easily enough. “That may be true, but it’s not what you meant,” she jeered at him. “I already know you were starved long before you came to Nece. What happened? Did your maker get pissed at you? Were you a weakling in your kiss?” She relished the opportunity to stab at him this way. He was upon her instantly, his hand at her throat again, bruising her this time in his rekindled rage. “My maker took me against my will. I never forgave him for that, and so he punished me in the only way he could. But I promise you—” he bent close to her, eyes burning a furious crimson, “—that in no way was I weak. Even starved to the point of death, I always fought him. And many times I almost succeeded in killing him and his entire kiss. I would have, but for the tricks and magic he used to enslave me as surely as these damnable silver chains. He took such pleasure in seeing me suffer.” He shoved her away from him then and tore at his chains, maddened and ferocious. The bonds he’d worn for so long fell in a heap at his feet, and he stood before her, free at last and panting from his efforts. For a brief moment Priest almost felt sorry that she had goaded him to such an emotional height. “Surely most humans are unwilling when they are made,” she said at last. “Why did you not accept your place as others do? You only courted disaster and suffering by fighting.” He rounded on her, but the calm mask he wore was once more in place. “Can you honestly tell me that you would be accepting of such a fate? That you would not fight it with all of your being, as a human and then a vampire?” Priest frowned. “Indeed, I cannot tell you such a lie,” she conceded. Not even the rebirth into vampirism could change her so much that she would welcome such an evil existence, she was certain of that. “Enough of this pointless banter. I said come here, Priest. Don’t make me take it from you,” he warned. “You wouldn’t like it.” 41

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“I won’t like it regardless,” she countered, defying him still by holding her ground. His smile was silky, full of arrogant, male knowledge. “I could make you like it. If you asked me nicely.” She recoiled from such a possibility. “How much will you need?” She couldn’t believe this was actually happening and she wanted to stall the inevitable for as long as possible. Blessedly, a plan began to form in her mind. His fangs glittered. “I won’t drain you. But I won’t lie. I need quite a lot.” He seemed to diminish as he said it, looking far weaker with each word he spoke. “I’ll give you what I can,” she allowed. “But you cannot bite me.” “How will I draw from you then?” His voice had gone hoarse. The subject was obviously having quite an effect on his long-starved appetites. Priest sneered disdainfully. “You’re as dull-witted as the rest of your breed. I’ll cut myself, of course. Anything to avoid your foul touch upon me.” “Your wound will need to be closed. And only my lips can seal your flesh quickly enough to prevent further blood loss. So I’ll have to touch you. You know that.” “No. If you want my cooperation, you’ll agree to my terms.” She eyed him suspiciously. “And that’s what you really want, isn’t it? My cooperation. Will that make my blood taste better to you, do you think, monster?” “My name is Bishop,” he growled, but it was a weak effort after his recent show of strength and ferocity. At last she felt the scales between them tip in her favor, if only just a little. His strength was waning with every passing moment. He’d expended too much precious energy and power in their earlier struggles. She smiled, trying her best to appear docile, even though such a thing rankled her inside. “I’ll share my blood with you, but you must keep your mouth away from my skin.” She waited patiently and was pleased when he nodded his acquiescence. “Let me have

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a drink first, I’m already parched and I’ll need all the fluids I can get if I’m to share my blood with you.” She veiled her mind with a hard and desperate strength, hoping fervently that he would not be able to see her thoughts. He nodded, eyes tired and vague. Their fierce glow had dimmed considerably. “Hurry,” he rasped. There was a water bag in her pack. Its long twine strap was usually worn over her shoulder, crossing her front to the opposite side, so the bag could bang negligently at her hip as she traveled. But tonight she had packed it away, not wanting anything to interfere or inconvenience her as she maneuvered her vampire away from Nece. When she removed it from the leather sack that held her other, meager possessions, she made sure her back was turned to her monster companion. Her lips formed the Lahtan words, quick as a thought and just as silent, for the sound of her prayer would only have alerted the vampire to her intentions. By the power of the Holy Ones, give to this water the grace of all your beings, so that in the sacrament of righteous execution all those whom you have Forsaken may be cleansed from all Sin and rise to a new birth of innocence in their death. Ahmin. Her fingers deftly formed the sign of the cross as she ended her benediction. She drank from the bag. And she drank deep. “Come here,” he commanded once more, after long seconds had passed. Priest wiped her mouth negligently. “I’d offer you some, but I doubt it would do you any good,” she taunted darkly. Looking around, she spotted her knife several feet from where she now stood and walked over to get it. She pushed up the long sleeve of her drab gray, woolen shirt, exposing the paleness of her wrist and forearm. Their gazes met. She laid the edge of the blade against her flesh and paused, watching as his eyes moved helplessly to watch her movements. The hungry longing in those red depths should have sickened her, but now it only made her feel all the more powerful. 43

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Soon she would have her revenge. And he would be dead at her feet. She blithely ignored the stab of desire that his obvious, elemental need also inspired. It was a traitorous emotion, one that both terrified and excited her. She vowed to forget it once this debacle was over. It wasn’t something to be borne, shameful and forbidden as it was. “Be careful,” he whispered. “We wouldn’t want you to die too soon, from too deep a wound.” Priest gritted her teeth, cursing him silently, and cut a shallow gash down her arm. Blood welled instantly, and he was upon her so fast she barely had the opportunity to gasp in surprise. He went to his knees at her feet, raising his head to her as if in supplication. Priest let her blood flow, let it drip down her arm like a crimson rain, and watched as each wet drop fell into the vampire’s open, waiting mouth. Long, endless seconds ticked by. Nothing happened. Priest began to grow afraid that her plan would not bear fruit. She’d never tried anything like this, indeed had never thought to. There was no guarantee that it would even work. Defeat was a bitter medicine on her tongue. She made to pull away, but the vampire was quick in grabbing her arm and bringing it close. His mouth did not touch her, but his breath burned her wound as he hissed. His thickly lashed eyes, which had fallen closed as he’d savored her blood, flew open. Their gazes locked once again and his stare seemed heavy on hers, weighing her down. The danger of her position grew with each swallow he took. His power was growing, indeed his strength seemed to be recouping itself at an exponential rate. Alarmed, Priest pulled back again, but he would not release his grip on her. Blood squeezed out faster due to her efforts. The vampire shuddered in ecstasy, his eyes falling closed again, and he swallowed every drop. His hunger was endless. He moaned softly and the sound stabbed her in the heart.

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Her traitorous body warmed as desire flooded through her. His breath across her skin was an erotic torture. The pain of her wound only served to heighten her awareness. And every sigh he gave, every swallow of her that he took, sent her head spinning dizzily. The parched, cracked skin of his lips had begun to smooth and plump. The pallor of his skin faded, then took on an almost golden glow. Impossible. No vampire held pigment or melanin in their skin after being Made. His indigo hair took on a new and healthier luster. His wounds closed, changing to pink scars before fading away completely. All the dirt and grime on his skin seemed to fall away. And then he gave a cry, flinging her away from him so brutally that the bone almost broke in her forearm as she stumbled. Priest backed away, unable to take her eyes away from him. The transformation from starving, dirty vamp to handsome, vibrant male was astonishing. But there was something else at work in him, making his skin glow a hot gold now. The ethereal water she’d drunk was finally working, and it couldn’t have come into potency at a better time. She’d almost lost her resolve as he’d fed. Her weakness, her desire and need, angered her more than anything else could have. It also scared her shitless. But now she needn’t worry about such trivialities anymore. Her plan had worked, at last, and now he would die. He cried out again and felt to the ground. His body doubled over into a fetal position, thrashing and writhing in the dirt. Priest circled him warily, careful to keep a safe distance between them in case he should strike. Where was the smoke? The melting skin, the smell of burning blood and tissue? He was in great pain, but there were no visible effects of the blessed water’s working in him. She studied him intently, cataloguing every nuance of his reaction to her blood trickery.

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It was hard to ignore the sudden aching of her heart. But she was used to struggle, even if this was an internal battle, one she had never faced before. The vampire’s face was turned towards her now, screwed up in a harsh mask of suffering as wave after wave of pain hit him. Priest bent down and eyed him as closely as she dared. His eyes met hers, as red as her blood and full of rage. “What have you done?” he snarled brokenly. Priest was not surprised that he couldn’t see the answer in her mind. He’d been so diverted by his own hunger before, and so consumed by his pain now, that he was barred from her thoughts without the aid of her will. She smiled, even as her heart cracked when his body bowed with a new contraction of agony. “The water was Blessed,” she said simply. He roared his anger and lunged for her, but she stepped back quickly and he was too weak to make a bolder move. It took all her will to maintain her soft, smug smile. “You betrayed me,” he panted, blood and saliva foaming at his mouth inelegantly. “I’ll kill you for that.” “Too late. You’re already dead,” she intoned quietly. “Not before you.” His crimson eyes promised a dark retribution. His body convulsed again and he gagged sickeningly. Guilt, and not a small amount of fear, consumed her. If any vampire could survive this deadly strike it would be he, she felt certain. Had he not already proven his immense strength and mettle against her? She would take no more chances with him. To underestimate him, even a little, would spell her doom. Priest gripped her knife tightly, intending to kill him with a deadly strike that would leave no room for survival. To make good her intent she would have to approach him. The very idea made her cold with apprehension.

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But her legends often proclaimed her as being the coldest person in creation. She was used to the ice in her veins by now and she resolved to ignore all else. Fright, guilt, remorse—these things only served to weaken her. She pushed those feelings aside and crept closer to him. As quick as lightning, he rose up against her. His hand struck her knife away as easily now as he had before, but this time she felt his intent to do more than just bruise her. He would have broken the bones of her arm if he had been but the slightest bit stronger. Priest cried out in pain and rage and staggered back, clutching her wounded limb close to her chest, even as blood still seeped from the cut in the other. Bishop fell back, as if the effort of fighting her off had completely undone him. But she knew better than to test him again and retreated further, putting more distance between them. He gasped and groaned and rolled in the dirt, clutching his middle. Blood bubbled between his lips and then, blessedly, he went still. Deathly still. She didn’t want to stick around and make sure he was dead. He certainly looked it, and that was enough proof for her. Her conscience mocked her, castigated her for her duplicity. But she was alive and he was not. Eventually that would make her feel better than any mercy shown to him could have. With a heavy heart and a troubled mind she gathered her things and left him there in the dirt. She didn’t dare look back.

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Chapter Five Hours must have passed before he woke, though he had no real way of knowing how long he’d been unconscious. The burn of the ethereal water had left him now, and his flesh was as cold as the icy rage that filled his heart. Though her trick had succeeded in hurting him, it had barely weakened him. The strength and power of her blood was such that even the sacred weapon of the ethereal water had been unable to dilute it. He felt stronger now than he had since being Made a lifetime ago. Wincing, he gained his feet. His eyes looked about him, over the land that stretched for leagues in every direction. This world was a drab, barren place of hardship and suffering. He wished he’d never been fool enough to accept a post on the TradeMission back on his home world, Anubius. If he had instead sought his fortunes as a politician or masseuse like his brothers, he would never have suffered this fate. It was an old regret. And it served him no real purpose to linger on it now, or ever. The mistakes of his youth could not be undone now. But this new mistake could. Damn Priest to a thousand Hels. She’d dared to betray him and now he would make her rue her decision. It was time for her to pay the price for lying to him. Never mind that he should have seen it coming, never mind that he almost respected her for putting up such a fight. She had hurt him, just like all the rest of the beings on this fucking miserable planet. She deserved to suffer as he had. The taste of her lingered, like a fine liquor or spice on his tongue. Her strength flowed in his veins, like a raging river that filled him up with power. He had forgotten how wonderful his vampiric powers felt when they were strong within him, how incredible the ecstasy of taking human blood for sustenance and using it to fuel his 48

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supernatural abilities could be. For all his rage at Priest, he felt drunk and euphoric with the elixir of her blood singing inside him. He wanted to kill her. He wanted to fuck her. His mind and body were at war with each other, both wanting completely different things from the minx who had dared to try and bring him low. Stumbling, he laughed—it was a harsh sound in the endless, dark quiet of the land—and clutched his head while it swam dizzily. He took deep, steadying breaths and righted himself once more. The scent of her was faint on the wind. She hadn’t immediately bound her wound, and the tiny blood trail she’d left in her wake was like a dimly lit beacon for him to follow in the darkness. She’d already managed to put a good distance between them. But he was gaining more strength with each second that passed. He breathed deep again, smelling the clean, rainwater scent that naturally perfumed her hair. With a little effort he was able to pinpoint the direction she’d taken. Putting one foot before the other, he headed after her, resolved to find her. After that…he’d have to think on the possibilities. Strangling her would be a satisfying punishment. But her warm blood would flow faster from her beating heart, so maybe he would simply drain her dry. His mouth was full of her flavor. His cock was hard and aching, larger now than he could ever remember it being when he was a mere human. Perhaps he’d simply lay with her, taking her over and over and over, until she expired from too many orgasms and too much exertion. He’d love her to death. He’d make her wild to have him in her arms. That idea made him inhale deeply with a dark, erotic anticipation. His fangs glinted like knives in a razorblade smile. The shadows closed about him as he walked into the endless night.

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***** Forty-eight hours later, Priest reclined drowsily next to her campfire. The fire was a foolish risk she rarely dared to take, but tonight she had a very good reason to bend the rules a little. The silver chain that had imprisoned Bishop for so long was melting in the heart of the flames. A fitting end for such an evil thing, and fortuitous for her that she had remembered to retrieve it as she’d fled. Eventually, once the metal had reached a nearly liquid state, she would mold bullets from the precious silver. It was a low gradient of silver, but it would be a priceless and deadly weapon to use against her prey. The chain would require many hours in the fire. It had been nearly two days since she’d dared to sleep for fear of any vampires following her after the killing at Nece, and she was exhausted. Her thoughts were stormy, filled with the haunting image of Bishop’s glowing blue eyes and silky indigo hair. Exactly when she’d begun to think of him as Bishop and not merely “the vamp” or “vampire”, was a mystery to her. But her guilt at having hurt him, as confusing as it was, given that he would have undoubtedly killed her without a qualm, was a big part of that. Her remorse never left her now. She hated it. Indeed she hated feeling anything. Her emotions had somehow gotten tangled up with the vampire—from the very first moment she had seen him in the chains of his enslavement. And it galled and shamed her. Never mind the horrifying desire she’d felt for him, never mind the forbidden arousal he’d inspired in her—she had pitied him from the first. She had felt for him. No vampire deserved such a boon. No human owed tenderness, mercy, or pity to any vampire. Such a thing was not to be borne. It was unheard of. Impossible. Vampires were evil, soulless creatures, they’d proven that a thousand times over and over again with the evil they’d visited upon the world. So why should this one be any different? 50

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He wasn’t. That’s what alarmed and concerned her so terribly. He was a vampire. He deserved no less than her complete contempt, revulsion and hatred. Perhaps she was simply overtired from her travels. She was twenty-seven and strong with the vigor of her young years, but she had been a nomad and a Killer for more years than she wanted to think about. Maybe she simply needed a rest, some time to recover from whatever madness had possessed her to feel even an inkling of regret at ridding the planet of one more monster like Bishop. It had been so long since she’d slept without keeping one eye open. She wasn’t certain she even could anymore. Priest let herself fall into a light, fretful doze. Alas, she found out quickly that her dreams were as troubled as her waking mind. She tossed and turned on the threadbare blanket that made up her bed. The cold, hard ground provided no comfort, but she was used to that by now. She hadn’t slept on a real bed in over a year, when she’d last purchased lodging in a small village. The mattress had been made of straw and twigs, hardly deserving of the name, and she’d ended up sleeping on the floor most of the night because it had proven to be far more comfortable than the bed. There were bruises on her arms from her scuffle with Bishop. The cut she’d made along her forearm was bandaged with the remnants of one of her old shirts, the blood long since congealed. Her aches and pains were a constant reminder that, for the first time ever, an opponent in battle had nearly bested her, nearly defeated her. Weakness was something she abhorred. Especially in herself. To have been so close to defeat… The memory of it repulsed her. Hours passed and still she could not rest. The air was cool and stale, as always. The black and gray pallor of the land beneath the endless night sky echoed her mood perfectly. She had chosen a cluster of low-lying, leafless brush to hide her tiny camp, but she still felt exposed. It was eerily quiet all around, there were no more animals in

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these lands but scavenging birds, lizards, and serpents. And none of them were prone to announcing their presence by making any unnecessary noises. Nothing was different here. Nothing was out of place. This land never changed and she knew it like the back of her hand. Why then did she feel so naked and so vulnerable? She rose to her feet and stretched, working the aching kinks out of her tense muscles. Surveying the barren landscape that surrounded her on all sides, she saw nothing out of the ordinary. Just the odd shapes of the low bushes and the occasional dead tree stabbing high and sharp into the sky. The flames of the fire flickered and went out, plunging her camp into sudden darkness. A jarring, bruising weight slammed into her from behind, taking her down onto the ground. Her face hit a rock in her fall, gashing her cheek so that it fell open in a spray of blood. She grunted, immediately pushing the bright, splintering pain aside, and fought her unseen attacker. Their limbs tangled as they warred, and she inched one of her hands down to the small pistol she kept holstered in her boot. The angry growl of her enemy made the hackles rise on the nape of her neck. She rolled with him, slamming her knees into his midriff and rising atop him. She raised her gun. He grabbed it and tried to wrench it from her hand, but she was a half second quicker than he. Her finger tightened on the trigger, blasting a hole in his hand. Priest’s eyes adjusted abruptly to the complete dark and she saw her enemy clearly for the first time. “Impossible,” she breathed, stunned. Bishop crushed the gun in his hand as if it had been no more solid than a scrap of paper and threw it beyond them. He held his palm up and they both watched, fascinated, as the gaping wound in his palm closed up completely, as if it had never been there.

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He rolled her under him again and snarled down into her face, “You’re always full of fun and surprises, aren’t you, Killer?” “You should be dead,” she gasped and kicked him from her, sending him flying. She was up and running, not bothering to wait around to face him again. Where Bishop was concerned she had no confidence in her ability to best him quickly enough to keep her own hide intact. He tackled her again, rolled her beneath him, grabbing her wrists in his hands. “Don’t move or I’ll break them,” he warned, squeezing her bones with a punishing strength. Priest whimpered and hated herself for the weak, betraying sound. One of Bishop’s hands moved down to her breeches, making short work of the laces. He roughly pushed her clothing down about her knees, without once letting up on his hold. She bucked, in a panic as she felt a frisson of arousal at his touch, and tried to bite at his imprisoning hands. “Don’t move,” he hissed, otherwise ignoring her struggles as if they were nothing against his determined strength. And they were nothing. He was far too strong to notice even her most desperate protestations. The flesh of her stomach quivered and he laid his hand almost soothingly upon it. He petted her, testing her softness until she yelled with rising ire. His hair was a chilly wash of cloudlike softness over her face and she bit at it, pulling it. Again, he ignored her, moving his hands down to cup the mound of her pubis, rubbing her tender flesh lingeringly. Priest screamed up into his face and bucked beneath him. He grunted but held his place upon her, weighting her down into the dirt. His fingers entered her, cool and hard and long. Her traitorous body welcomed his invasion, wet and slick to ease his way. With unerring skill, he found her clit and rubbed it with his thumb. A warm, wet throb ached between her legs. Her clit swelled

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larger, rising to meet his expert caress. She shuddered from head to toe, arousal streaking through her until her very hair seemed to stand on end with anticipation. Priest roared and thrashed beneath him, finally succeeding in dislodging him. He let her, lips quirking in a smile that made her pussy throb and burn. She watched, entranced as he brought his fingers, wet and glistening with her juices, to his mouth and licked them clean. With shaking hands, she righted her clothing, eyeing him all the while. He didn’t move from his crouched position a few feet from her. But the blue glow of his eyes tracked her every movement. “You shave your pussy,” he remarked blandly. “Foul beast,” she spat. “Why didn’t you die?” “Because I like being a thorn in your side?” He shrugged nonchalantly. Then his face hardened into a stone mask of rage. “I meant to come here and kill you.” “So why didn’t you?” she shot back recklessly. His teeth ground audibly. “I don’t know. You certainly deserve it.” She let the silence stretch between them. Indeed, she had no idea what to say to him. “Will you listen to reason, Priest?” he asked suddenly. “You cannot win against me. Will you cease this battle? Or shall I kill you after all, as I probably should have done the first time we met?” “I cannot—will not—bargain with a devil!” “I may be a devil, but I am not the greatest evil in this land. You have to realize that.” “But you are evil,” she spat. “And you deserve to die.” “You may be right.” He didn’t bother denying it. “But I do not want to kill you. As foolhardy as I know it to be, I would hold you to our previous bargain.”

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Priest eyed him warily, astonished at his calm reserve given how angry she knew he had to be. “Why would you do this? Why with me? Why not go your own way, seek your own path? We’re more likely to kill each other than maintain any kind of peace.” He sighed, appearing to have already dwelled on these same questions, himself. “I don’t know why. But your blood…” He shuddered delicately, eyes falling closed for a brief moment. “I need it. And you will give it to me, willingly or no. I prefer willingly. I think you will too, if you would but think on it awhile.” Blood was hot and thick on her cheek, and his starving eyes hardly wavered from the wound as he spoke to her. His intentions were blatantly clear. “I can make you rich. You can make me strong,” he continued. “No one will die to appease my bloodlust so long as you are a willing donor. I give you my word. I will help protect you from your enemies as we travel together and I can even heal any wounds you receive. We compliment each other. We don’t need to fight anymore.” Priest was tired, beyond exhausted. Her hand shook as she gingerly touched the open, bleeding gash on her face. “I don’t trust you,” she said. “I don’t trust you either. It makes for an interesting partnership, at least. Don’t you think?” She met his gaze levelly. “Never touch me like that again.” He knew what she was referring to, if the erotic heat in his gaze was any indication. “I won’t agree to that.” “Never without my permission, then,” she snarled. The grin that stretched his lips was wide, revealing all his sharp teeth. “That I’ll agree to. No rape. I’ve no stomach for it anyway.” “No forced seduction either,” she snapped. “Are you saying such a thing is possible with you?” One of his eyebrows arched and his eyes roved over her salaciously. “Aren’t you too strong to succumb to such a ploy?”

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Priest blushed furiously and tried to tell herself it was with anger and not embarrassment. “Fuck you,” she spat. “Why won’t you leave me alone? I regret ever laying eyes on you, much less saving your damnable hide.” “But you did and you cannot take it back now.” “More’s the pity.” “Do we have a truce or not, human?” His voice was hard as flint. “I’ll kill you the first chance I get,” she promised. “I’ll be looking forward to it,” he hissed. “Truce then. For now.” “For now.” His eyes filled with crimson heat as he crawled towards her. “Let me heal your wound, Priest. It’ll do neither of us any good if you bleed to death now.” Her heart thundered. “Fine,” she breathed. It did hurt, like a fire in her flesh, and she wanted the bleeding to stop. She was growing lightheaded and it had nothing to do with her heady reaction to her dangerous companion. “Is it safe?” he asked softly as his breath tickled over her face. She understood his question, and knew the power of the ethereal water must have long since left her system. It had never been all that strong anyway, if his survival was any indication. Priest nodded, unable to find her voice with him so close. Her nipples were hard, her pussy wet, her clit swollen and throbbing. Damn her body anyway, it was a traitor to her convictions. “I will kill you if you’re lying to me,” he warned. “It’s safe,” she promised. At once, his mouth moved over her wound. The healing magic of his lips sipped at the blood, sealing the torn flesh almost instantly. Priest had heard of the incredible power in a vampire’s lips, but she had never seen it—much less experienced it— firsthand. Incredibly, the pain lessened at once, replaced by a warm tingle as he healed her wound.

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His tongue flicked out, lapping up all traces of her blood. “So sweet,” he breathed appreciatively. Priest shuddered, but not—much to her chagrin—with revulsion. Bishop continued to lick her face, long after her wound was healed and the last tracks of blood were gone. Her eyes grew heavy, her muscles relaxed into languorous ease. “You’re tired,” he murmured against her face. His arms came about her and he scooped her up, gathering her into his lap. “Rest now. Sleep. We’ll start our journey tomorrow.” His power enveloped her, a magic she had no choice but to obey. It was several hours later when she awoke from the best sleep she’d had in years. Damn him.

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Chapter Six It took them three days to reach the next town, always following the direction in which Bishop proclaimed they should go. The truce between them was strained at best, but it held fast all the same. Priest was learning a lot about vampires just from being with him. Their habits, their strengths and their weaknesses. Quite a bit of useful information, really. She resolved to use all of her new knowledge in her work as a Killer. He never slept. He didn’t seem to need rest at all. But each night, he used his magic on her and made her sleep deeply. What he did while she rested, she wasn’t certain, but each morning there was fresh game for her breakfast and a small, smokeless fire to welcome her awake. It was common enough knowledge that vampires possessed keen senses. But Priest had never realized just how true that was. Bishop could see for leagues, clear and accurately. He could smell other vamps long before they posed any danger, and steered her clear of them while they traveled. It was invaluable, at times, having him with her. It was galling for her to admit this, even to herself, but it was true all the same. Before him, Priest would travel for days at a stretch without finding a water source. But Bishop had an uncanny ability to sense out small streams, underground reservoirs, and ponds on a regular basis. Her water bag was never empty, never even close to dry. Strangely enough, Bishop hated the water. Loathed it, in fact. He never drank it, vamps needed no sustenance but blood, Priest knew that. But he also had an aversion to crossing wide, flowing streams, though it was obvious that he tried to hide this fact from her. Once, when they came upon a babbling brook, he had winced as if the sound of the running water had hurt his sensitive ears, and avoided approaching it too closely. 58

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There were small traces of magic in the waters of Noir—remnants from the ancient days when Green Wizards still roamed the land, long before they’d left Noir to settle on one of the neighboring planets. Priest suspected this trace magic was somehow abhorrent to vampires, despite that it was weak and old. Everything she learned, she vowed to remember, and catalogued it away in her memory for later study. Bishop, unbeknownst to her, learned much from Priest as well. He saw her stubbornness, her courage and her cunning. But he also saw the secrets she would have kept from him at all costs, such as her inescapable attraction to him and her own, alltoo-human heart. And the fact that she now always kept her guns loaded with silver bullets. Just in case. It was early in the day. Bishop brought Priest a ground squirrel for breakfast, which he’d hunted and killed during the night. She cooked it over a small fire—it was too small and gamy to preserve in jerky form—and ate it with a hearty appetite. “I’ll need blood from you today,” he said quietly. Priest had been avoiding just such an eventuality since their confrontation in her camp. She didn’t want him anywhere near her, for several reasons, none of them to her liking. He was already too powerful, more powerful than any other vamp she’d encountered. Surely he had no need of her blood so soon? “I can read your mind like a book, Killer,” he mocked. “You know I’ve kept my end of our bargain. You can’t renege on our agreement merely because it suits your offended vanity to do so.” She glared at him and tore savagely into the flesh of her breakfast. He winced with the revulsion she’d hoped he would feel. It had been one of the first things she’d learned about him, that he abhorred human food and that the smell and sight of it almost sickened him. It was one of the things that helped to remind her that he was, in all ways, inhuman. 59

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Well, all ways but one. His cock, even now, was hard and demanding beneath the revealing, tattered remnants of his breeches. Priest resolved at once to find him some more appropriate clothing in the town they were nearing. She found her eyes and thoughts straying far too often to the evidence of his arousal. The enormous, undeniable evidence of his arousal. He was gorgeous, more so now that he’d had time to recover from his wounds and weakness. She hated noticing that fact over and over again. “I can smell your arousal,” he whispered. She recoiled and moved as far away from him as she could, throwing the carcass of the squirrel into a nearby brush pile. He chuckled at her response. “Be careful how you tease me,” he warned. “I wasn’t,” she defended. He gave a disbelieving grunt. “Are you sure we have his trail?” She deliberately changed the subject and went about clearing away any evidence of their camp. Anything to keep her hands busy, to keep her eyes off him. “Certain.” “How can you track him?” He waited until her gaze met his. “I can feel him. From what I understand, that’s not uncommon. He is my father in the blood. We are bonded in such a way that we can never be truly apart. I can feel where he is. I’m sure he could say the same for me and all his other children,” he sneered the last word. “I’ve never met a vamp like you.” “I hate that word.” “So. It’s what you are. A vamp.”

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He sighed and approached with the stealthy grace that was intrinsic to his preternatural self. “What makes you say that, that you’ve never met one like me?” he pressed. “Your self-hatred sets you apart.” “I don’t hate myself.” “You do. It’s more than obvious that you hate your vampirism.” He gave a short, self-deprecating laugh that surprised her. “You’re mistaken. Actually, it’s quite the opposite, if you want the truth between us. I love what I am. I love my power and my strength and my ruthlessness. More than I am comfortable with.” She scowled. “Then why do you want to kill your maker?” “Because he wronged me,” he said flatly. “He stole from me all that was precious, all that I would never willingly have given. He deserves to die for that alone, as well as his many other crimes.” “But by your own admission, he gave you much when he changed you.” “You don’t know the particulars, and I don’t care to share them with you. Suffice it to say, I embrace the darkness in my nature even as I would fight to keep it from consuming me completely. I am no longer human, I have to keep reminding myself that. I cannot have the same morals as you anymore, I know that. But, nevertheless, I will see my maker dead for what he has done to me.” “Just how old are you?” she asked, without thinking of the repercussions. Damn it. She didn’t want to get too chummy with him. It was best to keep her distance from him, to remain strangers for as long as possible. He was entirely too close for comfort. “I was thirty-seven when he Made me. That was sixty years ago…I think. I lost track of the years early on.” He moved closer still. “Back off,” she warned, edging away.

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He followed, easily. “I’m hungry,” he whispered, and the power in his voice made her dizzy with the impulse to just give in to his needs. To let him have his way. To let him feed his every appetite—not only that for blood. “No.” Her voice was ragged. “No. Not now. Later, maybe.” “Let me,” he urged, moving behind her, his cool breath a silky caress on the sensitive skin of her neck. He bent down, so close now, his hands moving to wrap around the muscles of her upper arms. The shiny silk of his blue-black hair fell forward and tangled in the short waves of her own dark brown locks. The urge to surrender was overwhelming. She let her head fall to the side, exposing her neck in a long, tight line. His mouth pressed against her pulse, and a burst of excitement, of raw arousal, shot from his mouth straight through her and into her womb. With a gasp, she jerked away, stumbling in her haste to put some distance between them. He stood still, watching her retreat with bright, emotionless eyes. “Not now.” Her voice shook. “I need to go into town first. I can’t afford any weakness that loss of blood might cause.” “I don’t trust you to go into town without me,” he growled, letting the tense moment of hunger and need between them abate. “You can’t come with me. Even with your gold skin, no one could mistake you for anything but what you are. The villagers would turn on you in a second.” “And I’m sure you would lament such a possibility,” he said sarcastically. Priest scowled. “My reputation is at stake here as well as your life, and I value it far more, believe me. I’ve been here before and this town knows me by name. If they saw you with me—” “Yes, yes, I understand. But I’ll give you no more than two hours and then I’ll come in after you. Don’t make me come after you, Priest.” “Don’t threaten me, vampire.”

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“My name is Bishop. You’ve yet to use it. Don’t think I haven’t noticed, and don’t think I’m willing to let it go.” “Fuck you,” she growled. “I’m leaving. And I’ll come back,” she stressed when he made a move to speak. “But only when I want to. I have errands to run. Supplies to barter for. Two hours may not be enough.” “They’ll have to be,” he warned. “I meant what I said. The villagers have no chance of keeping me from you, if I have to go after you I will. Two hours, no more, or you’ll regret it.” “I’m getting tired of your arrogance.” “Get used to it. I’ve been this way for nearly a century and I’m not about to change to suit you.” “Bastard.” “Bitch,” he returned, lips quirking suspiciously. “Arrgh!” She grabbed her pack, turned her back on him, and marched angrily towards Rosc Township, wishing fervently that he would drop dead from his hunger long before she returned. She ignored his laughter—he’d been reading her mind again—and left a small puff of dust behind her as she left.

***** Two hours and fifteen minutes later, she was trudging the leagues back to their encampment. Her pack was several pounds heavier with her newly acquired items and the purses at her belt were lighter. She’d traded every last scrap of food in her possession as well. Rosc, for all it was larger and more heavily populated than most townships, was desperate for food. Priest only hoped that Bishop would be able to find enough prey to restock her stores.

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She didn’t want to have to resort to dog, or puppy-cat meat. It depressed her to realize that, if not for Bishop’s hunting skills, she probably would have to. The world could not continue in this vein. Everyone knew it. Vegetation was harder and harder to keep alive in the soil. Animals, who fed on the vegetation, were starved, their numbers diminishing. The past ten years alone had nearly wiped out all cattle, and Priest could hardly remember what pure, red meat tasted like anymore. And the threat of the vampires was getting more and more out of hand, despite all the Killers who hunted and exterminated them so regularly. Before the hundred-year darkness was over—if indeed, it lasted only so long as everyone hoped it would—most of the humans still dwelling beneath the Shadow would be dead. Only the strongest would survive the coming years. Priest was determined to be one of them. And when the eclipse was over…she planned on using her carefully hoarded wealth to hire a ship that would take her away from Noir. She had gotten a glimpse of the sunlight in the Southern lands and realized, with no small alarm, that the darkness she’d been born into was the only existence she could ever tolerate. The Black Moon, one of the three satellites that orbited Noir, was always shrouded in darkness. Miners lived there, and rich eccentrics, or they had before all communication halted with the spread of the Shadow. A few vampires dwelled there, but none that were as dangerous as the ones who populated Noir. She would make her home there, in the beautiful hematite cities of Miner’s Crater, and live in splendid comfort all the rest of her days. Until then, she would continue to make a living here, doing what she did best. There was no other choice for her, really. The starships that had traveled across the galaxy were steering clear of Noir now and weren’t likely to return until long after the dangers of scrambled magnetic fields, vampires, and the Shadow’s own black magic had passed. When they did return, she would be all too eager to leave on one bound for

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the Moon, and her secret stashes of gold—safely hidden in the caves where she’d trained under the mad clergyman—would be leaving along with her. When she finally reached the camp, Bishop was nowhere to be found. Priest didn’t know if she should be disappointed or grateful. He came and went as he pleased, and she had to rely on his word that he wasn’t out hunting human prey. Normally, she didn’t dwell on it. Normally she was glad for his absences—she’d never been one for company anyway. But this wasn’t a normal situation. She couldn’t help but remember his insistence, his hunger of the morning. Had he grown so famished that he’d broken his vow? Was he even now drinking from the neck of an unfortunate human victim? Priest cursed, hating him for putting her in this position. Hating herself for not just killing him and having done with it. Surely there was a chance that she could have caught him unawares over the past three days. Surely she could have already rid herself of his presence. If not for the inconvenience of her honor, and her conscience, she would have killed him. Many times over. But she had promised him a truce, and she could not break that promise easily. Perhaps, in some ways, that was why he hadn’t made to kill her yet either. Perhaps, vampire or not, he also possessed some small traces of honor. Or perhaps he merely wanted her blood, her willing blood, and that was why he’d stayed his hand. It had only been three days, after all. Not such a long time, especially for a strong immortal such as he was. Three days had been long enough to once again awaken his appetite, however. And this troubled her more than it should have. She, after all, had to eat at least once a day to keep up her own strength. She should have been glad that Bishop could go for so much longer without asking for her blood. But she wasn’t. And now he was missing, and she was left to worry about the strength of his resolve in the face of his hunger. She busied herself for the next couple of hours as best she could, anything to keep her mind off him and what he might be doing. She unpacked her bag, and repacked it 65

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in such a way that what little storage space she had was better, more economically utilized. She rubbed ethereal water into the leather of her silver-laced whip. Cleaned and oiled her guns. And counted each minute that passed, despite her resolve not to. Where was he? If he was indeed as hungry as he’d said he was, wouldn’t he be here, eager and ready to take her blood? For now she realized that she would willingly give him her blood, if it meant he would stay away from other prey. She resolved to ignore both the desire and the revulsion she felt at the prospect of sharing her blood with him, deciding instead to make the best of the situation and treat it as dispassionately as she could. When the afternoon drew to a close, she felt she might go mad with her anxiety. She, who had never been susceptible to worry or anxiousness, had no real idea how to deal with it. Damn him a thousand times, he better not make her track him down. She was likely to kill him just for making her expend such an effort on his behalf. Priest… Her head whipped up. She looked around, puzzling over what direction his voice had come from. Priest. It came to her again and, with dawning horror, she realized she wasn’t hearing him with her ears. She was hearing him with her mind. “Get out of my head,” she gritted, the sound of her own voice unnerving her even further. One of the vampires on your bounty list is here… I thought you might like to know. She immediately fastened her gun belt around her hips and holstered her weapons. “Where are you?” She assumed he could hear her words in her mind before she even spoke them, but it made her feel less vulnerable to speak them aloud. And, it made her feel much more human. Can’t you feel where I am? He sounded genuinely curious. She couldn’t. Not at all.

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I’m due south of you. Not that way. Turn around…a little more…that’s it. Come this way. She hated the easy command in his tone, but obeyed it nonetheless, marching off in the direction he’d given her. Her bounty list was long, and ever-growing, as vampires threatened towns more and more. But each vamp on the list was worth a handsome amount of gold from the town that most wanted it dead. She only hoped it was Rosc that held the vamp’s reward money and not a settlement further away. She hated carrying vampire heads around with her for too long. They tended to decay rather quickly, and stank so badly that they drew too much notice from scavengers and other vampires. “How far away are you?” Less than a quarter of a league and closing. The kiss is on the move. They have a victim and they’ll be wanting to go to ground with it soon, to feed. “Shit. How many are there?” Only seven. Plus the one with the bounty on his head. Eight of the bastards. She gritted her teeth and checked again to make sure that her gun was loaded full of the silver bullets. Taking the chance that her water pistol wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands, she went ahead and blessed the water within it. She bounced on the balls of her feet as she walked, shaking her arms out at her sides and rolling her neck back and forth against her shoulders to loosen up all her muscles in preparation for the coming battle. “I don’t suppose I could rely on you to kill them before I get there, huh? Or maybe thin out their numbers a little?” she murmured caustically. You’re lucky I even bothered to tell you about them. “I figured as much.” She pushed his presence from her mind and concentrated on planning an approach and attack. If she was lucky, she would be able to rescue their victim—though that

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wasn’t a top priority given the circumstances. She wasn’t being paid to save the human, after all. But she would, if she had the opportunity. Her only hope was that Bishop didn’t have his own nefarious reasons for luring her towards the kiss. When it came to vampires—and especially Bishop—she just didn’t know what to think anymore.

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Chapter Seven She was close now and coming closer still. Bishop was glad. Relieved really. The human child, stunned and sleeping in one of the vampires’ grasp, distressed him more with each passing minute. Her blood called to him, tempting him, causing his mouth to water desperately. He wondered if there would be any chance of his taking her alive, once the fighting started. He hoped Priest could handle this well enough on her own, because he had no intention of hanging around to watch her back. Hunger gnawed at him. He should have forced Priest to relent that morning, should have taken what he wanted from her. Damn her stubborn pride. He needed blood—was weak and trembling with his overwhelming thirst. Priest approached so quietly he couldn’t hear her footfalls in the dust. She was a skilled Killer, he needn’t worry unnecessarily about her. The child held his attention now and he waited for his chance to strike, hating himself for the black hunger that gnawed at him, knowing that he must appease it or go mad. Knowing that to appease it now, this way, would drive him mad…

***** Eight vampires would not be at all easy to kill, especially if they were led by a vampire threatening enough to warrant a bounty on his head. Priest approached the group warily, fully aware that if she made one false move—one noise, however small— she would likely die. Almost immediately after sighting them, hiding as best she could in the shadows of an ancient petrified tree, she saw the little girl in their midst. She was asleep—bespelled

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by the vamps’ magic—and being carried roughly by a wiry vampire who looked no more then fifteen years old. This upped the ante in Priest’s eyes, in a very big way. Hardened Killer, she may be. Jaded and scornful—also true for the most part. But she was not heartless, and the sight of the girl—grimy, cut, bleeding and bruised—in such danger made her blood run cold. The child must be protected at all costs. There could be no mistakes, no slip-ups, or the child wouldn’t survive the ensuing melee. Damn Bishop, where was he? He had to be close enough to see the kiss’s progress across the plain, but she couldn’t see him anywhere. There were very few hiding places out here, the land stretched flat and desolate for leagues in every direction. But with his keen eyesight, he could be anywhere, even far away. The bastard. He’d left her here to fend for herself and the child, alone. To Hel with it. She’d never needed help before, and she wasn’t going to change her methods now. Somehow, someway, she’d get that kid out, unscathed. And she’d collect on the kiss leader’s bounty, taking his head as her trophy and proof of his death. She had a photographic memory, and recalled hundreds of sketches depicting each of the vampires on the bounty lists she’d encountered in each town throughout her travels. Within seconds she had zeroed in on her primary target, a bald vampire dressed in rags and sporting a long rain slicker of tanned animal hide. He would have to die first if she wanted to be in a position to save the child and take out a few—if not all—of the other vamps. When he fell, the rest of the kiss would be plunged into immediate confusion, allowing her precious seconds to gain ground against them. Careful not to make a sound, she unholstered her newly purchased gun—a replacement for the one Bishop had crushed so easily. It was a small, unimpressive affair. But it was deadly in the extreme, especially loaded as it was with her handwrought silver bullets. It was a fist pistol, ugly and crude, and suited perfectly for her small hands. Its long, pepperbox cylinder was made of thick iron. Its stock was solid hardwood, ebony perhaps. It was much heavier—and deadlier—than it looked. 70

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There was no trigger guard to rest her finger on. It would take a strong, steady pressure to fire the self-cocking weapon. If she was lucky, she would have enough of the element of surprise on her side that she could take out three, maybe even four of the vamps before they rushed towards her. The gun wouldn’t fire very far, not accurately anyway. And her bullets were too precious to waste on a potshot, so she waited until the vampires were almost upon her hiding place. She positioned her finger over the trigger, leveling the six-shooting cylinder at her primary target, steadying her firing hand with her free one braced about her wrist. The kickback on this small weapon rivaled that of a much larger shotgun and she had no patience for clumsiness just now. It would take far too long to reload the weapon, so she must rely on it for only these first few, priceless seconds. After that, her other weapons must come into play. She waited. Holding her breath. When the vamps were no more than fifty yards away, she expelled her breath, steadied her nerve, and fired. The lead vamp’s chest exploded instantly and he fell in the dust. Wasting no time, not even to steady her aim—her enemies were so close it was no longer necessary—she fired again, and again, and again. To her complete surprise and triumph, her bullets hit true each time. The silver projectiles were incredibly effective against the vampires’ evil hides, and so long as she was careful to aim and hit a major organ, they fell dead almost immediately. Unbelievably, her gun jammed on the fifth shot. With only four dead, the remaining four honed in on her position and ran at her with dizzying speed. But the would-be child victim was safe for now, still asleep, lying atop the vampire Priest had felled immediately after dispensing with the kiss leader. The other vampires paid the child no heed now as they attacked, and Priest had a moment to be grateful that she’d been successful in saving the little girl, at least. Priest drew her blessed blade and braced herself for the attack. It came suddenly and hard, the first vamp proving to be a deadly adversary. But Priest was fast and 71

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determined. They danced around each other. The vamp eyed her deadly blade warily, knowing the silver would bite horribly should it pierce his skin. The other vampires closed in, ganging up on her. They would not give her the advantage of fighting them one at a time, nor had Priest expected them to. She gave the impression of a stumble, of losing her footing in the craggy ground, and they rushed her as she’d hoped they would. With her free hand, she drew her water pistol, twirling in a circle to spray the lot of them. The water splashed them full in their faces. Their screams nearly deafened her, and she winced in pain. But she did not falter. She did not relent. Their pain distracted them. Priest rose up, dagger winking with fatal intent. Blood splashed hot against her face as she struck them. Some were able to dodge her first blows, but the wounds they sustained weakened them further. It was inevitable now. She moved like water, smooth and fluid and quick. A series of blows to their spines and it was done. Within moments, it was all over, and Priest stood—alive and unharmed—over her fresh kills. That had been easy enough. Why then, even with all her skill, could she not win out against Bishop? What made him so much more formidable, so much more powerful than these, and all the rest of the vampires she’d faced throughout the years? She didn’t know. But she resolved to find out. Priest took a rag from her pocket, wiped the sticky blood from her face, and was surprised to see that her hands were less than steady. Perhaps she had been more nervous about this battle than she’d realized. It was a galling thought, one she decided to ignore completely. The battle was over now. That was all that mattered. That, and the little girl she’d saved. She looked about and headed back to where the young vamp had fallen in the dirt. But the little girl wasn’t with the dead vamp. Nor was she alone. “Hand her to me, vampire,” Priest said softly, cautiously approaching him. 72

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Her vampire was huddled over the little girl, his back to her. Her blood ran cold, her heart nearly freezing in her breast. The child was limp in his arms, her head arched back, exposing her tender throat. Had he fed from her? After everything Priest had done to save her, would the child now die at the hands of her vampire ally? Was she dead already? “Give her to me.” This time, her words were harsh and hard as stone. “Now.” When he looked over his shoulder, his cold gaze meeting hers unwaveringly, his eyes were the brightest blue she’d ever seen. His silence, his deathly stillness, frightened her far more than the kiss’s collective rage had but a few moments before. Everything that was alien and evil about him seemed to emanate from him in an ominous current, making him seem more vampiric than ever before. “Bishop,” she whispered, using his name aloud for the first time. “Don’t do it.” His teeth bared at her in a silent snarl. Then he eased and it seemed to her that he came back from some dangerous precipice. He rose, cradling the child delicately against him. “Don’t do what?” he questioned roughly. Priest held her breath, not daring to move for fear of the danger that simmered in the glow of his eyes. “Don’t do what I know you want to do. She’s just a baby. Give her to me.” His chest rose harsh and fast with breaths he had no use for. “You think I mean to hurt her?” “Weren’t you going to?” she asked with honest skepticism. He deposited the child none too gently into her waiting arms. “Is that how you perceive me? Am I such a monster in your eyes?” He laughed harshly and ran a hand though his hair—a decidedly human expression of frustration. “Of course I am. I can see it so plainly in your mind.” “What am I to think, vampire? I find you crouching over her like some fiend from a nightmare—”

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“I was trying to help her. She is under a very strong spell. I wanted only to ease the magic, so that she could eventually awaken from her sleep.” Priest didn’t know whether to believe him or not. Bishop realized this, of course, he could see it in her mind. His eyes darkened and his face tensed with an emotion she couldn’t define. “I see,” he said simply, softly. Turning on his feet, he stalked away from her without another word. For a few seconds, he moved slowly enough for her to see him. Then, it was as if he disappeared before her very eyes, as he sped off into the darkness, leaving her heart to ache in his wake. Had she been wrong to suspect his motives? He was a vampire, an evil being—of course she hadn’t been in the wrong. She wasn’t even sure she believed that he’d had innocent motives when he crouched so closely over the limp girl. There was every reason to believe him guilty of the perfidy his kind was famous for. Why then, did she feel like weeping as he left her, alone but for her sleeping charge, wondering which one of them was the real monster?

***** Bishop ran long and hard, wanting nothing more than to distance himself from her with an endless stretch of leagues. She had looked at him with such derision, such fear. Hatred even. And what had he expected from her? He wasn’t sure anymore. She had been right to call him out, to bring him back to himself. But the way she did it, with such distaste, made his blood boil. At times he wanted to wring her neck, at others he wanted to fuck her, and then there were the more and more frequent instances when he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms as a tender human lover might. He wanted her tenderness, her

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compassion, her understanding. He knew she was capable of such emotion. He wanted to be the recipient of such things from her. But her suspicious nature worked against them both. He had seen it—in her eyes and in her thoughts—that she completely believed he’d meant to harm the girl. It pained him. What pained him more was the fact that, but for her presence, he might actually have done so. No. He wasn’t so much a devil…was he? He didn’t know anymore. He cried out, raging, pulling at his hair and clawing at the flesh of his face and chest. He hated himself. Hated his undeniable pleasure in being what he was, in being completely predatory, completely powerful. Where was his humanity? That he could look at the innocence of a human child and feel bloodlust was abominable, unforgivable and vile. Was his human goodness truly gone forever? He ran. Expending energy he had no business wasting, considering the gnawing, thirsting hunger that voraciously devoured him with each step he took away from her. And there was the crux of it, really. To be with her made him stronger, always stronger, than ever he had felt before. And even as he hated his supernatural self, he reveled in the power it gave him, the power she amplified whenever she was near. It was addictive. He could never have enough. He wanted to feed from her. Wanted to learn from her, through her blood, the reasons behind his growing need to be close by her side. For surely that was the best place to find those answers—in the sweet fire of her blood. He needed it. He was so hungry, so ravenously starved for it. Damn her for the suspicion in her eyes. He wouldn’t have hurt the child. He’d only meant to use his evil powers for good, to innocently kiss away her cuts and scrapes and bruises. He knew that. Was almost certain of it. Why couldn’t she have trusted him, even a little? If she’d softened towards him in that moment as he’d held the child, trying to save the innocent life in his arms, he could have forgiven her. He could have forgiven himself for those moments of temptation, perhaps. 75

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But her eyes had condemned him. Punished him. Her tone and her words had wounded him. He had never felt so…doomed. And he wanted her still. Her blood and her body…perhaps even her heart. No. Not that, never that. She had no heart to give. And he had no heart to keep such a gift as her love safe. Not anymore. He was long past such human emotions now. And he almost hated her for showing that to him with her punishing, bottomless eyes… Almost.

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Chapter Eight He didn’t return to their camp that night, or the next. But Priest knew he was close by. He’d left her a stringy hare and two vultures for her morning breakfasts. She was a light sleeper, but was used to being oblivious to his comings and goings. He did that to her, made her sleep more deeply when he was around, and not for the first time she was left feeling frustrated by it. She wanted to see him. Wanted to tell him she was sorry for accusing him out of hand. He wasn’t like any other vampire she’d ever encountered and she wasn’t entirely sure it was her fault that she’d mistaken his intentions, but she regretted it all the same. And there was the matter of his thirst. She wondered over and over where he was feeding, and on what—or whom. He had needed her blood, and she’d reneged on their bargain. He could have easily found some human prey. She only hoped he didn’t have to kill to get what he needed. On and on it went, her never-ending circle of suspicion and regret. The child had slept until Priest had returned her to her family in Rosc. It wasn’t until the girl was illuminated by the gaslights of the Township that Priest had truly seen what Bishop had been doing, bent over the child’s body as he had been. He’d been easing the cuts and bruises on her tender flesh with the power of his healing lips. She’d never felt so ashamed. The price that the lead vampire’s head had brought gave her no comfort either. And money had always given her some comfort, ere now. She’d used most of it to buy a gift for Bishop, should he ever return, but even that act of contrition that had not eased the pain in her heart and troubled mind. As the third night came over her fireless campsite—at least a dozen leagues away from the last one she’d shared with her vampire—she wondered if she’d ever see him 77

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again, or if he would merely creep along the edges of her sleeping hours like a phantom in the dark and shadow. It wasn’t too hard to admit it now. She missed him. And it scared the shit out of her. To busy herself, she uncoiled her whip and rubbed ethereal water into the supple leather. “Is it safe for me to join you? Or would you use that thing against me in your anger?” Priest started at the sound of his voice, and was unprepared for the sight of him but a few short feet away. “It’s safe.” She finally found her voice after several shocked moments. “Good.” He smiled humorlessly and settled, cross-legged across from her. The silence stretched uncomfortably between them. “I’m sorry,” she whispered at length, and meant it. His face was grim. “I know. That’s the only reason I came back.” His eyes met hers and she felt her heart bruise with the cold desolation she found there. “We…we make an odd couple, don’t we?” She tried for levity, but ended up sounding far more serious than she’d intended. He merely looked at her, saying nothing. “I never thought I’d feel in the wrong for insulting a vampire,” she admitted. He cocked his head. “But I deserved your insults, did I not? I am a vampire, no matter how you look at it, and that makes me evil,” he said flatly. She swallowed hard, unable to meet his preternatural gaze. He saw too much for her peace of mind. “I don’t know if I believe that anymore,” she murmured hoarsely. “I think maybe, if it were possible, you’d be the exception to that rule. Though I can’t figure out why.” “I think I could tell you, but you wouldn’t believe me.”

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“I’m not sure I want to hear it. I’ve already had more surprises than I care for since coming into your company. I couldn’t handle any more vampire secrets on top of that.” “It has nothing to do with vampire secrets. At least, not directly.” Priest looked at him again and was surprised to see the soft smile that played about his mouth. “Tell me later?” It was as close as she’d ever come to asking him if he meant to stay. “All right,” he said, and it was answer enough for both of them. With a deft skill gained from long practice, she coiled her whip into a compact twist and set it down on her pile of gear. “Thank you for the food.” “I thought you might appreciate my hunting skills after you traded all your food back in Rosc.” She frowned. “How did you know about that, or should I even ask?” “I know a lot about you. Far more than you’d be comfortable with, I dare say,” he teased. It was unsettling to realize just how much she could grow to like being teased by him. Sighing, exasperated with her own fickle thoughts and emotions, she took out her whetting stone and set about sharpening the blade of her silver dagger. Bishop crept closer as she did this, and almost immediately the cross-shaped handle of the blade glowed blue as it protested his nearness. “Sorry,” he whispered as she gasped and felt the burn of the sacred, magical gems. But he didn’t sound apologetic at all. He sounded sensual. “Back off or you’re liable to get cut,” she said lightly. But they both knew how dangerous she could be when cornered. “I’m famished,” he whispered and his breath stirred the hair that fell in a blunt curl over her cheek.

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The trembling that shook her had nothing to do with his nearness, or so she tried to tell herself. It had to do with his reason for drawing so near…didn’t it? “I have fed on naught but animals since the last time…” He let his words die into silence. Priest realized he was trying to assuage her fears that he might have visited harm on any humans during his absence. While this did much to endear him to her, it in no way lessened the apprehension and—though she would never admit to it aloud—the arousal she felt at the idea of giving him her blood again. “Is that supposed to make me feel eager to be your food?” She met his gaze and was caught, trapped, in their glowing blue depths. He was so very close to her now. The dagger fell uselessly from her limp fingertips. His hand reached out, cupping the side of her neck, drawing her closer. The cool, soft fullness of his lips pressed against her temple almost tenderly. Her breath sobbed out of her lungs and she squeezed her eyes shut against the rush of her emotions. Fear, desire, shame and need filled her up like a cup to overflowing. Her skin felt tight and drawn over her very bones. “Please,” he begged prettily in her ear. The warmth of his breath was a caress that reached into her brain to titillate and tease and torment. A lone, traitorous tear escaped the corner of her eye and he sipped it away. Her breathing was shallow and tremulous. His was strong and deep. And both were synchronized in an elemental rhythm that two born soulmates might have shared, if they were lucky. “What are you doing to me?” she moaned tremulously as he pressed his hard, cool length against her side and drew her even closer to him. “Anything you want,” he vowed darkly. His face burrowed in the softness of her hair. She heard his long, indrawn breath as he smelled her scent and it was far more erotic than any coitus she’d ever experienced.

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The press of his lips against her throat made her gasp and draw away. But she had forgotten how strong he could be, and he kept her firm against him with effortless ease. His face stayed in the crook of her neck, his lips rested softly against her throbbing artery. She was trapped in his embrace. “Don’t,” she gasped. But she knew there was no turning back now. Her honor forbade it. His desire and need were far too strong to ignore any longer. “I could make you feel such pleasure,” he whispered sinuously. “I could split you wide open and bleeding,” his voice thickened, “and you would beg me for more.” His fangs tickled over her flesh. “Never,” she gritted out and was mortified that her nipples hardened in response to the magic in his words and voice. “Simply yield to me, Priest. Just this once. And we shall both sate our hunger.” His teeth drew sharply on her skin and she mewled in surprise. “Bishop,” she gasped. “Don’t take too much.” She squinted, bracing herself for the pain. And was stunned when he chuckled. “Don’t fight it,” he said, and there was still a smile in his voice. “You won’t like it if you fight it.” “Easier said than done, vampire,” she spat. “You’re not the one being used as cattle.” She had to say the words, had to infuse them with as much derision as she could muster, otherwise he would win. And she could never accept defeat. No matter how pleasurable it promised to be. His hands tightened on her to the point of bruising and she knew a bittersweet moment of triumph. But then he eased and kissed her softly once more. If this were a kiss meant to punish her, it failed miserably. It made her wet. It made her gasp. It made her nipples ache in sharp points of need. And Priest knew that he had deliberately orchestrated this response in her.

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One of his arms was around her back and waist, coaxing her to rest upon his strength. Without conscious will, she did, and her neck fell back. Her breasts thrust upward and her chest trembled with her quickening breath. His mouth burrowed against her, testing her softness, heightening all her senses so that with each touch they shared, she nearly came. “I want you,” he whispered. And then he struck. Hard. Priest cried out and writhed, trying to escape. But he still held her fast with one hand against her throat, and one curved about her lower back, pressing her tighter and tighter to him. The deep, stabbing pain of his fangs dug in ever harder, and a spurt of hot blood flooded from her artery. With rising fear, she heard him swallow. Heard and felt him draw more from her. His cool skin warmed almost immediately with the borrowed heat from her blood. Her hands rose up to clutch at his shoulders, her nails digging in reflexively, breaking his skin. His jaws worked on her, clenching harder as if to maul her flesh. “Bishop, please,” she whimpered, seeing stars within the bright pain as he fed. The hand at her throat moved down to cup her breast and she gasped. The pain was almost immediately eased, as pleasure replaced it. She heard him swallow again, but she no longer associated fear with the sound. So quickly, so easily, she moved from exquisite terror to exquisite need. “Please,” she moaned again, but the word held a different meaning now. His fingers plucked her nipple, twisting it erotically through the ragged, threadbare fabric of her shirt. She shuddered against him. The arm at her back eased, and he rose higher over her, lowering her to the ground without once withdrawing his teeth from her neck. Desire, sweet and hot, made her weak as he covered her body with his. He cradled her for a moment on the ground, then eased his arm away. He used both his deft hands to push at the hem of her shirt until her breasts were fully exposed to the night air. Nipples peaked, flesh trembling, she’d never been more aroused. 82

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The warmth of his flesh covered her, testing and plumping the weight of her full, round globes. His thumbs traced roughly over the needy tips, and she almost screamed with fervent need. And still his mouth fed on her. Taking her lifeblood, gulping it down like a man dying of thirst—and he was. But with each draw he took she felt a rising euphoria, a new and intense emotion that she had no name for, but wanted never to end. Her skin felt as though it were aflame. With each pass of his thumbs over her nipples, the pleasure she felt came closer and closer to the knife-edge of pain. All her fears were gone now. All her misgivings, all her dread had left and in their place was pleasure. Bright and exquisite pleasure that threatened to explode her heart into a million, bleeding shards. Somehow, he had her pants around her ankles, then off. Her shirt was bunched up above her breasts, and she was naked from the chest down. He’d done all this without breaking from her, without ceasing his blood feast. And she didn’t—couldn’t—bring herself to care. In that moment, Priest no longer belonged to herself. She belonged only to him. Like a wave, he rose away from her. A spray of blood rained down from his mouth and splashed onto her breasts and belly. His gaze was crimson fire and dark—so dark— as his eyes met hers. Her head swam dangerously. From blood loss or desire or both she couldn’t guess. The warmth of her blood cooled against the flesh of her throat. After a dazed moment, Priest realized he’d already closed her wounds. It was an almost painful realization that he meant to stop…and it scared her into madness. The languid pleasure she’d been feeling all this time mingled with her fear and her rage. She lashed out at him, striking his chest and his face and shouting in a garbled mélange of words that made no sense. He let her hit him for a few moments, as if he were still in thrall to the powerful spell of her blood, and then he halted her struggles with a gentle hand that caught her striking fists. 83

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He lay down upon her, weighing her down, but not roughly. His mouth sought out hers, but she shied away. The fullness of his lips were stained red, and a trickle of her blood had traced an artful trail down the corner of his jaw. She didn’t want to taste herself on him, not this way. But he was unstoppable in his resolve. The warmth of his lips found hers at last, drinking in her gasps, sipping from her there as he had from her throat. His tongue was a stream of fire that spilled into her mouth, claiming and defeating her in all ways, so that she had no more fight left to shield herself against him. Open your mind to me, he said without speaking. Open your mind willingly and I will give you everything you’ve ever wanted. Priest had no defense against the exquisite magic that filled his voice with such incredible power. Her mind was laid bare to him, before she even had the thought to deny him. He swept in like a ray of sunlight all the way to her very soul… And they were as one.

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Chapter Nine His hunger, his desire filled her. With impatient hands, she ripped his tattered breeches from him, baring him to her gaze and touch. The incredible girth of his cock, coupled with the length and the texture, made her want to weep with need. The weight of him was heavy in her seeking hands, and his flesh was hot as fire. Spread your legs for me. I want to feel how wet you are, he demanded. And she immediately obeyed. And she was indeed very wet. When his fingers touched her, she cried out brokenly and spread even wider for him. Two of his long, strong fingers slipped and slid over her most sensitive flesh, gliding through her liquid arousal. “Please,” she gasped, thrashing beneath him. Please what? Please do this? He thrust the two fingers deep into her cunt and she screamed. You’re so tight. But you’ll take me… You’ll take every thick inch of my dick and you’ll love it. His words enflamed her, the heat of his lips and tongue against hers nearly drowned her with pleasure. She’d never been kissed like this, as if she were already his, as if he were claiming her. The rough strength of his thumb and forefinger played delicately with her clit. Their kiss broken, he pulled back, and took her nipple into his mouth. The wet, hungry noises his mouth made as he sucked on her made her shudder with delight. Bishop’s mouth opened wider and he took most of her plump breast into his mouth. His teeth bit into her, stopping just short of hurting her, and her body zinged its approval. His lips were ruthless, his teeth were nearly cruel, and she’d never reached a greater height of carnal need.

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I can’t wait, he growled in her mind. I’ve been hard and ready to fuck you for too long to make this last. “Next time,” he murmured aloud against her nipple, “I’ll make love to you all night long before I come inside you. But not tonight…” He shuddered against her. Tonight I have to have it hard and fast. She felt him, the thick, smooth round head of him, at her slit. The blunt weight of him pressed into her, sinking into her wetness. He stilled and rose up over her, his eyes a bright blue glow that drowned out the darkness of her world. “Take me. Take all of me,” he demanded arrogantly, and thrust his hips into her. His cock filled her, balls deep, stretching her so fully that she felt a burning pain in her pussy, but it only served to heighten her bliss. The strength of his hands moved her legs around his waist and his body sank even deeper into her. Priest moaned, and he caught the sound with his mouth, his tongue gliding along hers in a deep, fulfilling kiss. You’re like a sheath of fire, burning my skin and my blood, his telepathic voice was a ragged whisper. Can you feel how much I want you? Yes, she replied, and did not realize that she spoke directly to his mind when she did. I can’t move. I’m afraid I’ll shatter into a million pieces if I do. You make me feel…so alive. So fucking alive. His words held such need, such torment, it made her heart weep. Priest swept her hands down his back, clutching him to her. She arched beneath him, sending him deeper inside her still, reveling in the gasp the move wrought from his lips. She moved, repeating the movement again and again, driving them both towards a shattering climax. Bishop stilled her movements, his hands at her hips, holding her down. Their gazes met in a long, heavy silence that was broken only by their ragged breath.

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A pause and then… Priest’s eyes widened with surprise. A hard, tight pulse shook the liquid walls of her pussy. It was answered instantly by a mighty, heated throb in his cock, like a fist at her womb. They both shuddered. They both cried out, her scream and his shout a desperate, commingled echo that reached and pierced through the stillness of the night. And a warm wash of ecstasy roared through their bodies with all the force of a tidal wave that drowned them both in a mad rush of pure, exquisite release. Their bodies trembled and their hearts were one.

***** When Priest opened her eyes the next morning, her gaze immediately locked with Bishop’s. He was watching her sleep from across the small flames of the campfire. How long he’d been there, she was left to wonder. The memory of the night they’d just spent washed over her like a rain of ice. Mortification and panic made her clumsy as she scrambled up from her pallet on the ground. She was still nude and the air that kissed her bare skin was as chill and unforgiving as the self-castigation in her heart. His gaze never left her, drinking in the sight of her nudity, seeing every nuance of her discomfort no matter how desperately she might have fought to keep it hidden. “Stop looking at me,” she hissed. “Good morrow to you, too, lover.” Priest bared her teeth at him savagely. “I am no lover to you, vampire.” “I would say that the semen on your thighs would attest otherwise,” he pointed out coldly.

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Gasping, she scrambled to find her clothes, desperately seeking a barrier between herself and his cutting gaze. With shaking hands, she hooked her gun belt over her hips and looped her coiled whip over her shoulder. All the while she deliberately avoided looking at him. “You tricked me. You took away my will to fight, to deny you—” “Shut up,” he growled, rising to tower over her. “You can look for excuses until you die of old age, but the fact of the matter is that you wanted me. As much as I wanted you. I used no vampirism to coerce you. You lay with me because you wanted to.” His legs ate up the distance that separated them, anger fueling his every move. He grabbed her chin in a brutal grip, forcing her to look him in the eye. “And you enjoyed every fucking minute of it.” Priest saw a red haze of rage and lashed out in a desire to hurt him as much as his words hurt her. The unexpected, deadly intent of her attack surprised him. Her fist connected solidly with his jaw, breaking the bone instantly. He stumbled away with the force and pain of her blow. They both heard the popping sound of the bone as it immediately healed. But the bruise that turned his flesh a blackish-blue took moments longer to heal, and the sight of it gave her a grim satisfaction. His eyes blazed crimson with his anger, but she felt no fear. “I should kill you for that,” he murmured with deceptive calm. “You could try.” She palmed her fist pistol and leveled at him. “But my bullets might be too fast, even for you to dodge.” She shook with her anger. “You may have survived my attack with the ethereal water, you may have fought me off with your supernatural strength every time we’ve struggled…but there is no way you would ever survive a silver bullet in your brain. So go ahead, vampire. I dare you to come for me.” “Put the gun down, Killer. Do not risk my rage further.” She felt a bitter regret in the depths of her heart, that something so magical but a few hours ago could now feel like a sin. With hard determination, she crushed that

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feeling, pushing it down into the dregs of her soul so that no one—not even he—could suspect her of such a weakness. “Why won’t you just leave me alone?” Her voice rose to a shriek and she felt the horrifying burn of tears in the corners of her eyes. Stress had taken its toll on her emotions and defenses, and she blamed him for that, too. The gun shook dangerously in her hand, and she braced it with the other to keep it steady. He approached her again, but warily this time. “You don’t have to feel ashamed of what happened last night, Priest.” His voice softened into something almost tender. “Don’t tell me how to feel,” she spat at him. “And don’t come any closer!” “Fine. But you know I did not force you. And when you can admit to that, you can think about apologizing to me.” He was on her instantly, plucking the gun from her hand with effortless ease. “I might even forgive you. Eventually. After you’ve spread your legs for me a few more times,” he said crudely. She gritted her teeth and tried not to scream at him with all the impotent rage that bubbled inside of her. He was so close she could smell him, the cold windblown scent of him. It was a smell that radiated now from her own skin, as if he were still somehow a part of her. Gathering a blanket of calm around her, she held her hand out and waited for him to return her weapon. “Our truce still holds?” he asked softly. “For now,” she responded. “That’s as good as I can ever expect from you, isn’t it, my love?” “Fuck you.” “No thanks. I think I’ve had my fill of you for a while.” She holstered her gun, ignoring him, and set about gathering her things. “Lead on, vampire,” she commanded. “I only pray your maker will do me the favor of killing you once we find him. I want to be rid of you as soon as possible.”

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“Perhaps he will, at that. We can only hope.” His flat voice made her heart bleed and she hated him for that. They fell quiet, neither speaking as they walked the leagues that would lead them to their quarry.

***** Vampires did not dream. Or so Bishop had learned after being Made. They didn’t have to. Their waking hours were nightmarish enough, or at least that’s what Bishop believed. It was rare when a vampire needed rest, and even rarer still when they required sleep. But every once in a while, when reserves of strength had been spent, they could recharge themselves by sitting still for a few hours and soaking up the dark power of the Shadow that enveloped the world. On the second night that Priest warred with him in unbroken silence, Bishop found himself in need of a little respite. Sitting still like this often reminded him of how the monks on his home planet meditated. The Anubian holy men who resided in the pyramid temples of the Scion desert could sit in still, silent meditation for years at a time. He often wondered if the Shadow’s influence had extended to the neighboring Anubius, or if those magical holy men had managed to protect his beloved home world from it somehow. Noir was the only planet that he knew of to have been enveloped in endless night. But the Shadow, the dark power of the eclipse, had far-reaching tentacles that affected all planets in the galaxy. While Noir was perhaps the hardest hit—or so it had been when he was still flitting about the system in his starship—none of the eight other outlying planets had been completely immune from the curse. Bishop hoped the monks of the Scion desert had found a way to save his people. He often liked to think that all was not lost to him, that one day he might look upon those lands again. Even if it had to be at night, where the harmful kiss of the sunlight could not reach him. But most of the time, he realized how impossible such a dream was.

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There were no more starships here, and no one would allow a vampire to board their vessel and traverse the stars, as he so longed to do. There was no escape from this place, not for him. He was trapped. Forever. And when he’d seen the look of shame and disgust on Priest’s face, he had felt the hopelessness of his situation more keenly than ever before. She hated him. Bishop could feel her endless anger and, though he hid it well from her, it cut him deeper than any wound she could have inflicted upon him with her weapons or her fists. But he could not blame her for harboring such emotions or for reacting in the way that she had. He was a monster. Though it was hard for him to remember that sometimes, it was nevertheless a truth he could not wholly deny. It was not right that he should expect her, a human, to feel the same passion and desire that he felt for her. Their sin of the flesh was wicked and forbidden, and if any other human heard about it, Priest would be in grave danger. At the same time, he would do it all again and be damned to the consequences or repercussions. So he was a vampire. Priest would have to get used to it. He wasn’t going anywhere, and he was going to have her again the first chance he got. Somehow, he had to find that chance and soon. She made him feel alive again. Sometimes he could have hated her for that. For reminding him how wonderful it felt to be close to somebody warm and human. For showing him how incredible it was to feel anything beyond blood thirst and anger and the endless need for revenge. And he nearly hated her for pulling away from him, just when he was starting to realize how wonderful and new those feelings were. Their silent war made him tired and drawn, far more than slavery and starvation ever had. And so, for the first time in months, he sought the restful stillness of his kind. Priest slept lightly nearby. He watched her often as she slept. It was the only time her

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eyes did not condemn him for what she saw as a weakness in herself—her desire for him. Her face was soft in sleep. Young, innocent and almost childlike. The fullness of her lips relaxed from their customary tight line, forming a berry-colored pout. The delicate skin of her nostrils flared with her breath, her chest rising and falling rhythmically. Bishop no longer needed to breathe. But he did it anyway, sometimes, just to feel somewhat normal. Priest was so small, he sometimes found it hard to believe that she was a Killer. But he had seen her strength, and he could not deny that she was a formidable warrior despite all the odds stacked against it. She was small, a woman, and a human. Born into poverty, hunger and strife, she had nonetheless become strong and capable, never weakening or surrendering in the face of hardship. He was not at all surprised to realize that he admired her. Soon, his mind drifted into silence, down, down into darkness and shadow…and Priest was right there with him. She always would be now.

***** Something was wrong. Priest opened her eyes, darting them about to scan her surroundings with a swift efficiency born of many years’ practice. Sleep fled and her body tensed as she woke, and though she could find no sign of immediate danger, the sense of wrongness persisted. From several feet away, she heard an odd, muffled groan. Bishop had the uncanny ability to wrap himself in darkness, so that it was sometimes even hard for her night-vision eyes to see him clearly. He had done so now, and managed to hold that illusion even in sleep. Not once had Priest ever seen him sleep ere now. While that had at times worried or unnerved her, it was as nothing compared to the alarm she felt now that he had 92

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finally succumbed to his fatigue. She watched him in silence for several moments, watched his eyes dart back and forth beneath his heavily lashed lids as he dreamed. It was he who had made the strange sound. He seemed to be caught within a nightmare. He made the sound again and she realized he was speaking, but the words were impossible for her to understand. They were spoken in the language of the golden people, the Anubians, which she only barely recognized from her studies with the mad clergyman. That would explain why his skin still held a hint of that deep golden hue, and not the waxy gray of most vampires. The color was much diminished from the pure, metallic gold of his people’s skin, but it was enough that he might disguise his vampiric state from the casual observer if he chose to. He was incredibly lucky in that, she realized. He winced in his sleep and murmured with an ever-rising disquiet. He was clearly having a nightmare. Priest wondered what to do. Should she wake him? Dreams were sacred things. It was widely seen as bad luck to interrupt one intentionally, even if it was a nightmare. Bishop did not look at all happy to be dreaming. To Hel with bad luck. Superstitious nonsense notwithstanding, she couldn’t afford to let him continue making so much noise. Not only did it keep her awake, but it might also alert any nearby wanderers to the position of their encampment, and that she would not allow. She crawled over to where he lay and nudged him. “Wake up.” She nudged him, again, none too lightly this time. He was completely unaffected by her attempts to wake him. After several more terse commands and nudges, Priest began to feel uneasy. It was disquieting, how still he was but for his continued mumbling and fluttering eyelids. His sleep was so deep, she wondered if she’d ever be able to awaken him. When he shouted, the sound imbued with such terror and anguish, the hair on her nape stood on end. Determined to wake him, unwilling to watch him suffering 93

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further—she didn’t pause to wonder why the sight of his suffering should bother her in the least—she took drastic measures. Taking a fistful of his long, silky hair, she gave it a mighty yank, and screamed at him in her mind, hoping that he could hear her telepathically even as he slept so deeply. Wake up, Bishop! Instantly, his eyes blazed open. He snarled at her and pounced reflexively, taking her to the ground with a bruising force that made her accidentally bite her tongue. “Farele?” He shook his head as if to clear it, taking a long moment to regain his waking senses. “Who’s Farele?” she asked, and he tensed on her. “No one that concerns you,” he growled. “Why did you pull my hair, wench? My scalp feels like it’s on fire.” “Dolt. You should be thanking me, not complaining. You were having some dream there. A nightmare. Don’t you remember?” He sneered. “Vampires don’t dream. Surely you’ve heard that in your travels?” “Well, you do. Now get off me.” She shoved at him. He didn’t move, but not out of any obvious wish to stay atop her. His eyes grew thoughtful. “How strange,” he mused. “I’ve never dreamt before.” “Who is Farele? Was she in your dream—it is a woman’s name, isn’t it?” “It belonged to a woman, yes,” he hedged and rolled off her. “You spoke another language in your sleep. Anubian. Are you from Anubius then, originally?” “Can’t you tell from my skin tone or my height? I tower over Noirs.” “You have a holy name, a Noir-ish name. From what I understand, Anubians follow a different tradition of naming their children than Noirs.”

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“We still name our children after deities or clergy. Just not so often or so obviously as your people do. Bishop is actually my middle name, as all the men in my family are known by their middle names. My first name is Dikati.” “Dikati,” she murmured, liking the exotic lilt of the name on her tongue. “And your full name is Astrid de Kristos ili Soncti.” He was delving into her mind again. “Priest is your Killing name.” “My true name means divine light bringer of the God.” “I know what it means. It is rather appropriate for you, wouldn’t you agree?” “You still haven’t answered my question, Bishop. Who is Farele? And why would dreaming of her make you cry out?” “Did I?” he whispered, eyes widening almost imperceptibly. “You did. Loud enough to give away our position if there are any vampires or brigands wandering close.” She eyed him closely. “Was she your wife? Your lover? Before this.” She gestured to his nearly naked, vampiric form. “Farele has nothing to do with us.” There could be no misunderstanding his reference to their recent mating. “You have no need to be jealous.” She saw his words for the misdirection they were intended to be and ignored it. “Who is she, then?” He sighed heavily and looked away. “I try to forget about her.” “But you obviously can’t. Not if she haunts your dreams.” The brightness of his gaze stabbed at her again, punishing her for her candor. “Before you, I never had any dreams.” “So. What have I got to do with it?” “I don’t know. Maybe everything. Maybe nothing.” “Quit hedging my questions, vampire. Tell me who she was. I’ll not have her memory weakening you, making a fool of you and endangering our safety.”

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He grunted but said nothing more for long minutes. “She was once my lover. A lifetime ago. Before we came here, we worked for the TradeMission together.” “She came here with you on a Trade? What happened to her?” “I killed her.” Priest reeled with the flat, emotionless bombshell of his admission. She didn’t know what she had expected from him, but she certainly hadn’t expected that. “Couldn’t you guess?” he goaded her. “I am, after all, a monster.” She shuddered. “There’s more to it than that,” she insisted. Surprisingly, she did believe that. Had to. Damn it, she was growing to like him, despite his very obvious brutish nature. And despite her better judgment. She didn’t want to believe him capable of cold-blooded murder. “There is more to it. But you don’t want to know too much about me, remember?” “Don’t be an ass,” she said wearily. “Tell me what happened. What did she do to you?” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Quite honestly, she did nothing to me. Nothing at all. That’s probably why I had a nightmare about her—my guilty conscience wanting me to suffer.” “I don’t believe you,” she whispered tremulously. But she did…and she hated herself for not seeing the trap she’d laid for herself. “Believe it.” His gaze burned into hers. “I deserve a lifetime of nightmares for what I did to her.” “Tell me everything.” He took a deep breath…and did.

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Chapter Ten Bishop could see the fear in her eyes. In some ways he liked it, fed on it. In other ways—the more human ways—it hurt him to see her so afraid. Of him, especially. He didn’t want to tell her about Farele. He didn’t want to even remember Farele. But he would. Priest was the only person he’d ever met who was as stubborn as he, and he knew she wasn’t likely to let the subject drop before he told her his tale. Besides, for some reason, he wanted to tell her. No matter how painful it was to dredge up the memories and share them. “I met Farele on a Trade, on the ocean planet, LaMer. We immediately engaged to endure the trials of soul casting, to see if we were truly fit to be mated. We failed the trials, but we had great fun together despite it.” “I have learned about Anubians and their mate-bonds. Is it true that once mated, you cannot change your mind?” Despite the darkness of his memories, he couldn’t contain a feral grin. He relished the knowledge that he had, knowledge she was ignorant of. He knew she’d be furious with him for it, eventually, but it amused him now all the same. “Anubians do no tolerate divorce as Noirs do, that is true. Once a pair bonds, they are a part of each other’s destiny forever. It cannot be undone.” “It sounds barbaric to me.” “Then it is fortunate that you are not Anubian.” He bared his teeth humorlessly. She snorted, shaking a stray, shaggy lock of dark hair out of her eyes. “Get on with your story.”

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He refrained from pointing out the obvious, that she had been the one to distract him from the topic. Besides, he was too content that she was speaking to him now, to risk pissing her off again. “We worked together for a few years, roving from planet to planet with our crew of Traders. We avoided this planet of course—the TradeMission rarely let its ships port here by that time—but there inevitably came a day when we were offered an absurd amount of money to risk it. “Farele did not want to take the Mission, for it specifically called for us to dock on the dark side of the planet. She felt that no amount of money was worth such a dire risk to our lives. Even in those early days it was common knowledge throughout the galaxy that Noir was hardest hit by the Shadow and its curse of evil. The vampire threat had grown to legendary proportions, rivaling even that of the zombies, demons and werewolves of planet Morte-Nocte. It had been over a year since any ship dared a Mission here and Farele feared we might run into trouble if we landed on Noir.” “She was right.” It wasn’t a question, but he responded to it anyway. “She was indeed, though that comes later. I convinced her that the money our Mission would bring would far outweigh any risks. We would be rich when we returned, wealthy enough, perhaps, to bribe and pay for the appropriate outcome to a soul casting trial. Eventually she agreed to go, but only after I worked on her for days.” He gritted his teeth and forced himself to continue. “So it’s my fault, what happened. “When we entered the atmosphere, it was already plain that there would be nothing for us to Trade for. The land had already begun to wither without sunlight. And when we had begun our docking procedures, we were attacked—right then and there—as we hovered in the sky. None of us knew that vampires could fly, none of us realized how strong they could be. We didn’t stand a chance.

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“The crash landing was enough to kill two of our crew. I was hit by some shrapnel and knocked unconscious, so that I couldn’t have piloted the ship even if it had been fit to take off. Everyone else escaped with naught but a few cuts and bruises. “Once I had regained consciousness, it was clear that the vampires had left just as quickly as they’d arrived. It was unsettling, but we were just happy to have made it through alive. We signaled for help at once, but it was made clear at once that there would be no rescue. “We had a two-day reprieve before the vampires returned. We hid in the cargo bay, thinking the metal of the ship would keep the vampires at bay or maybe even trick them into thinking we had already fled. It didn’t work, of course. They tore through the hull like rice paper and took Farele, a crewman man named Shaolyn, and myself as their prisoners. “The leader of the kiss was content to keep us alive, as cattle, for several days. Days of torture and pain and fear. But then he grew tired of playing with us. And that’s when the true torture began. “What made him decide to change me…I’ll never know. I think, in many ways, it was because I was so stubborn. So filled with anger and hatred for him. I think it amused him to Make me into a vampire.” “What of the others?” Bishop didn’t want to tell her. In truth, he felt such rage and regret that he wasn’t sure he could even tell her. But he would try. If she could still look at him with that endearing mixture of need, desire, and impotent anger after he revealed his shame, then perhaps it would be worth the pain of it. Then again, perhaps not. “It took four blood exchanges for him to Make me—and from what I understand, that is quite a lot of effort for the deed. I tried everything in my power to keep from drinking his blood, but he overcame my struggles easily and the angrier I became, the more determined he was to triumph. After the change was complete—I don’t know

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how long it took—he left me in an underground catacomb, locked away from everyone, chained in silver and iron as he slowly starved me to the point of death.” Bishop could see in her eyes that she already suspected where his tale was headed. But he continued, knowing she would not rest until she heard the truth from him. “I don’t know how long I was down there. Months, I think. The days bled together in the haze of my mind and I nearly went mad. Then, when I had forgotten all but my name and my hatred for my maker, I received visitors.” He paused, looking up at the dark sky overhead. He could see the infinitesimal halo of the white sun shining around the dark mass of the Great Moon, saw how the moon hovered there like a spot of oil, blotting out all possibility of light. If he were on the other side of Noir, he knew he would clearly see the crooked line of planets that made up the rest of the Ruption Galaxy. It had been a lifetime since he’d seen the bright yellow-brown glow of his own planet, and he found the thought of that bittersweet indeed. “My maker came to me. He’d been busy in the time of my captivity. His kiss had only been a dozen strong when my crew fell under siege. It had grown to nearly fifty by the time he came back to me. To my rage, Shaolyn was one of his new children. He accompanied our maker, enjoying the opportunity to taunt me, for he had taken to his vampirism much easier than I had. “They brought Farele with them, and I was both happy and horrified that she was still human.” His voice became rough with the force of his emotions, and he swallowed hard to clear it. “I could smell her blood. It tormented me. I knew what my maker planned, even before he made his move, and I hated him all the more for it. He left Farele with me, and locked the exit to my jail so that neither of us had a chance or hope of escape.” He watched Priest closely now. Her every expression was a torment and a blessing—she had not yet turned from him in disgust. “I held out as long as I could. Farele was crazed—she’d lost her sanity long before he had brought her to me. In the

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end, it was almost too easy to lure her to my side, there in the dark of my imprisonment. She never fought… Not even at the end, when her life drained from her completely and she recognized me, her lover and her killer.” Priest’s lips trembled but she did not look away from him. “What did you do, when it was over?” “I was strong enough at last to break my bonds. It was too easy, really, after my feast. I rose up in my anger and my grief, killing all kiss members who dared cross my path. But I had only the thought and the drive to kill my maker, for all that he had done to me and mine. The others were just fodder for my rage. “Shaolyn tried to stop me. He had no humanity left inside him. His loyalty was only to our maker. We were never really friends, he and I, only crewmates. But it pained me to have to kill him, all the same. He was not so different from myself and he was the only familiar face in a mass of strangers. I took his head with but a pass of my fist. My glorious supernatural powers—unleashed for the very first time—were heady and seductive, and I had no thought to spare him any mercy.” He remembered vividly the warm spray of blood that had splashed upon his face as he’d sent Shaolyn’s head flying. Remembered the feeling of triumph, of strength and power that had filled him when he’d realized that he was mightier than any of his enemies. Human or vampire, it didn’t matter—he had felt invincible. “What happened?” She urged him to continue, and he realized that she was riveted by his story. She sat there, with her knees tucked under her chin like a child, purple eyes wide. For the first time since they’d met, they were sharing a companionable space, neither angry nor spiteful with each other. It had been too long since he’d felt the presence of a friendly soul, and in that moment he realized that he could feel for her all the things he had been unable to feel for Farele. He had loved Farele, in his way. And she had loved him in hers. But it hadn’t been enough. They had been more friends than lovers, really, by the time they had come to 101

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Noir. Their soul casting had failed. It was stubbornness rather than love that had instigated their plan to bribe their way into a bonding. Bishop had the dizzying suspicion that if he were to go through the trials with Priest, they would pass the Monk’s tests. It really was too bad that they were both likely to die before their journey was over. He would have liked to spend a lifetime convincing her that the Anubian way of bonding was not so barbaric after all. The thought alarmed him to the point of panic. He pushed the realization away, and refused to entertain such dangerous, hopeless, thoughts again. Naught would come of a union between a vampire and a Killer. Naught but pain. And death. “My maker let me kill his children without once trying to stop me,” Bishop continued. “When I finally reached him, he merely laughed at my efforts and struck me down with effortless ease. It was humiliating and I cursed him—and myself—for my weakness and my pride. He assembled the survivors of his kiss and had them bind me in my silver chains. And he kept me that way for years. All because it amused him. And also, I think, because I was the strongest he’d ever Made. And it interested him to study me, like some sort of animal in captivity.” Priest sighed grimly. “So you have nightmares about it, and about her. Because you feel guilty that you killed her.” “Never before tonight. But now I vividly remember that I was the one who convinced her to come here in the first place. If not for me, she would have never met such an end.” Priest smiled, startling him. It was a soft and completely warm smile, the first he’d ever seen on her. It made her look so lovely that his heart ached, and he wished more than ever that he could be a man again, just for one night, so that she could love him without the stigma of his vampirism to fester and bleed between them.

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“I have heard your confession, Bishop. And I forgive you your transgressions. I absolve you of all your sins.” She made the sign of the cross between them and he hardly winced. “In the name of the Trinity, you are free now of darkness. Ahmin.” She had managed to stun him completely. “You shouldn’t toy with such sacred rites,” he gritted out. “I’m not. I am a minister, ordained by a member of the clergy. I know you’ve seen that in my mind. I have heard your confession, Bishop. Let these past torments trouble your soul no more.” She rose and dusted the seat of her breeches off. “It’s morning already. We should move on from here.” Bishop found his voice after much effort. “It can’t be that easy. You can’t just say I’m forgiven and have everything wiped clean like that,” he sputtered. “No, I can’t. No one can do that but you, Bishop. And really, that’s what life is about. Sin and salvation—these are but ideas in the minds of the clergy. But within our own hearts they can be the greatest truths to drive us in all that we do.” Priest met his gaze squarely and it held the evidence of her conviction. “I don’t blame you for what you did, Bishop. You have made me see, in so many ways, that I was wrong. That it was I who sinned in condemning you outright for being what you are. “You are a vampire. But your actions are those of a humane heart, more often than not. And that is more than many humans can say. More than I can say of myself—my motivation is gold or food, for the most part. While you can be cruel and vicious at times, so, too, can I. We are not so different from each other. I am sorry that I held such a prejudice against you that I could not see this clearly before now.” “There is nothing to forgive,” he choked out. Her words washed through him like a warm salve, easing the torment of his soul. “I am not innocent,” he admitted. “I have killed—” “So have I. But I have not murdered.” She eyed him, seeing so clearly to his heart that he felt her presence like a physical caress. “And neither have you.” “I am not a murderer. Only a killer.” 103

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“That makes two of us.” She seemed to remember something and opened the drawstring of her pack. She withdrew a rag-bound bundle and handed it to him. He took it, questioning her with his eyes. He had not seen in her mind what this might be, though he’d dwelled there often during their days of silence. “I meant to give it to you, if you decided to return to me after the debacle at Rosc. I had forgotten—or ignored it—until now.” He opened the package, revealing the rich cloth garments that lay within it. “Where did you find such finery?” “Rosc is a wealthier township than most. It was not so hard to find a family who still had such fine garments for trade. The fragile threads of those clothes are not serviceable for the hard, dusty life of a commoner. But you are not so common, and you will easily be able to keep them from getting tattered or dirty, even as we travel the dusty land. I thought you might like them.” She blushed, clearly uncomfortable giving such a long explanation for the extravagance of her gift. Bishop immediately rose, divesting himself of his tattered clothes so that he might don the fine white shirt and vest, the pristine gray trousers and coat. Priest blushed to see him naked, but she did not look away. He preened arrogantly beneath her regard, showing off his new finery. There were even shiny, black, calf-length boots to complete the ensemble. The fit of the clothing and boots was snug, but bearable. There was the faintest smell of age on the cloth, but other than that they could have been newly fashioned, for all their neatness. “Thank you for this,” he murmured, meaning more than just the gift of the clothes. “Let’s hurry. I want to close the distance on this maker of yours. I’ve more reason than money to kill him now.” “I will kill him,” he reaffirmed. “We’ll both have a hand in killing him.” She met his gaze squarely, unafraid. But Bishop knew that her bravery would gain her nothing. If he dared tell her everything he was still holding back from her, she would realize that. And this new 104

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truce between them would no doubt be over as swiftly as it had come. He didn’t want to shatter her innocent ignorance just yet. He enjoyed their closeness, even though he knew it was not meant to last.

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Chapter Eleven “I thirst.” Hours had passed since they’d last spoken and already they’d put many leagues between them and the confessions of the night. Bishop hated to shatter their intimacy with his admission, but he could deny it no longer. It was dangerous to skirt around the truth, and he was famished. Priest eyed him, seeing his increasing pallor. She didn’t know if she should dread or anticipate having him drink from her again. Indeed, she felt a mixture of both emotions, and it was more than disconcerting to realize it. “Let’s take a break here. I’m hungry, too,” she acquiesced. The terrain was changing around them. No longer was the land so flat and barren. Here, there were more and more spots of vegetation and trees—both dead and dying— and the increasing height of the sloping hills had slowed them down, but only just. “We’re approaching a mountain range, I think,” she murmured. “A small one. His camp lies less than fifty leagues from here, on the other side of it.” “Is it the same camp or has he moved?” “He’s moved. When last I saw him, he was moving the kiss to it.” Priest frowned. “I’m surprised he can stay for so long in one place without being hunted down, with that huge bounty on his head. It’s been a year, has it not, since you were with him? That’s a long time for any vamp to stay still, perhaps he’s moved on.” “No.” He gave her a mirthless grin, revealing an impressive length of fang that would have, but a short week ago, made her reach for the closest weapon. “You

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forget—I can feel him, track him. I know he’s still there. He’s there, after all this time, waiting.” “Waiting for what?” she demanded, eyes wide. It seemed he chose his words carefully. “I’m not sure. I wish I knew.” He said the last as an afterthought, under his breath, but she heard it all the same. “Then we should reach him in the next three days, if we keep a steady pace,” she said, biting down savagely on a strip of jerky. “I could get us there faster. After this feeding, I’ll finally be strong enough to do it.” She eyed him warily. “You mean to carry me?” “I could do that. Or I could fly us there.” “No. I’m not in that big of a hurry,” she snorted. He nodded and sat gracefully onto the ground. Priest couldn’t help but envy him his fluid motions—she’d strived for years to achieve just a fraction of his lithesome agility—nor could she pull her eyes away from him. Even pale and drawn as he was now in his hunger, he was more beautiful to her than any human man in her memory. It scared her to death, this growing fascination she had with him. The bright blue of his gaze met hers and she realized that he could hear what she was thinking. “Would you lie with me again?’’ he asked softly. “No,” she answered in kind. “I could take you anyway and make you like it in the end.” The dark silk of his voice reached deep inside, to touch forbidden things that might have bled had he not been so gentle. “I would kill you if you did that,” she sighed. “And you know I would do it.” “I would just have to kill you first then.” He shuddered delicately and Priest was reminded forcefully of just how dangerous he was in this state. In any state for that matter. She warned herself not to forget it again. “We’d both die.” 107

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“It would be worth it, I think,” he hissed, baring his teeth. His eyes had bled to red—he was very hungry. “A fucking and a killing, what vampire could ask for more?” “Stop toying with me,” she warned. “You forget how evenly matched we are.” He shuddered again, but did not look away. “I forget nothing. Just knowing that you could take me on and give as good as you get is making my dick hard as a rock.” “Stop it, Bishop,” she said in the hardest voice she could muster. His words were making her weak-kneed. Her heart was racing. She was growing wet. Damn her traitorous body. She was losing her mind trying to control her reactions to him. He was on her. He’d moved so fast, she’d blinked and she’d missed it. The flavor of his breath danced over her lips, and she darted her tongue out instinctively to capture it. The red glow of his eyes followed the motion and she felt the tensing of his muscles. He was so very close. “I’m so famished.” He moved his head from side to side, as a serpent would before it moved to strike. “Hurry, Priest. Make your choice of veins to share. Or I will make the choice for you.” She pushed the sleeve of her shirt up over one arm. There was disappointment in his eyes as they lingered on her throat and the pulse that beat there. Her fingers were none too steady as they drew her knife from the belt at her hips. “No. Don’t use the blade,” he whispered, taking her arm in his hands and lifting it to his lips. “No—” she started to protest, but he silenced her with a look. “Let me. If I can’t have your body beneath mine, at least let me have this much.” She didn’t want those teeth sinking into her flesh. It seemed far too intimate. Like his fingers or his tongue or his cock, sinking into the delicate folds of her sex. It was too much. “No, Bishop!”

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But it was too late. He reared back, then struck hard and fast into her tender forearm. His teeth sank deep, piercing sharply, so that she stiffened and gasped with the pain of it. There was no pleasure this time, but the pain did abate after a few seconds. Priest felt his mouth pull on her, felt her blood leaving her and flooding into his receptive mouth. His hunger became her hunger. His relief and satiation, hers as well. He took of her life force, shared in her strength, and made her feel…so strange. It was painfully erotic. She had known it would be. Having him so close, knowing he was drinking straight from her veins and savoring the taste of her, was a torment she almost couldn’t bear. The pain was sweet, almost exquisite, adding to her growing arousal, honing it to a knife’s edge despite her desperate fight against it. She did not like being food. His lips looked red and plump against her skin. His eyes were closed, his lashes so long that they brushed his cheeks like delicate indigo fans. There was a look of such rapture, such bliss, on his face that she felt a deep, almost painful throb in the vicinity of her heart. That he could take such pleasure from feeding, it made her both afraid and exultant that it was she and no other who provided this for him. The stab of his fangs dug in harder and she winced, grunting a protest. He rooted like a babe might, drawing from her more and more deeply with each pull, each swallow. The warmth of her blood felt like a river flowing down her arm and into him. Her head swam dizzily for a frightening moment and she made to draw back. He gripped her, tight enough to bruise, and held fast. Her heartbeat thundered in her head and her vision blurred. “Stop,” she said thickly and was alarmed at how quickly she was weakening with each drop of blood lost. “Stop it, Bishop.” She tried to pull away, and again he held her tight. A feeing of primal, instinctive panic assailed her. Not even in the thick of battle with the most dangerous vampire had she felt such mortal fear as now. If she didn’t stop him soon, he would kill her. 109

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“Bishop, please.” She dug her feet into the ground and tried to scoot back. “You’re killing me.” Her voice was hoarse and weak and it terrified her. “Please, stop.” He swallowed so deeply that she heard it, despite the roar of her pulse in her ears. She lifted her boot and kicked out clumsily at his face. “For Fate’s sake, stop it, you fucking vampire!” She kicked him again, this time with the last of her strength. With a roar, Bishop flung himself away from her. Priest was beyond any further attempts at self-preservation or pride. She fell back onto the ground, gasping and trembling. “I can taste your pulse in my mouth. I can feel it beating through my body,” he growled. “Fuck you,” she said faintly. “That’s it. We’re done. No more.” “We’ll never be done, you and I.” She rose on her elbow and stared at him, incredulous. He was sitting calmly on the balls of his feet, watching her with those red, predatory eyes. “You almost killed me, you bastard. You would have if I had been slower to react. It wouldn’t have meant anything to you, would it—?” She broke off with a wince, her head swimming, her heart thundering. “What do you expect of me?” he spat harshly. “You know what I am.” “I won’t forget it again,” she gasped. He was on her, bearing her back down into the dust, holding himself above her like a dark, hovering specter. “I tasted your fear…” He shuddered. “You have no idea how hard it was to stop.” “But you did.” She eyed him intently. “That’s what’s important, right?” There was a long dangerous moment when Priest could see the war of demon and man wage in his eyes. And then it was over, as quickly as it had begun, and he was simply Bishop once again. “You need fluids,” he said, moving back to let her rise again. “And rest.”

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Priest nodded and reached for her water bag, drinking deep with a desperate thirst that alarmed her. She’d come so close to death just now, closer than ever before, and it disturbed her to know that the end could have come at the hands of someone she was growing to trust. Maybe even care for, a little. How ironic, that her icy heart should melt for one such as he. She would have hated herself for it, if she weren’t so practical. Sooner or later they would part ways and she would have no more worries. Her life would be back to its normal, safe—or as safe as life could ever be for a Killer—routine. They would kill his maker and be quit of each other at last. And she would be rich besides. Why didn’t that make her feel any better about this situation? “I’ll sleep for an hour, no more,” she said softly. I’ll find something more substantial than jerky for you to eat. His eyes were distant, his words a mere echo in her mind. She nodded and drifted off into unconsciousness. Bishop watched her as she slept. It was becoming an obsession, this. When she slept, she seemed ethereally beautiful to him. He lost hours sometimes, just watching her. The taste of her was bright and burning in his mouth. He hated himself for taking so much. There had been a few, terrifying moments when he’d been tempted to take all of her. How wonderful, how magical would it be to make her a part of himself forever in that way? It was becoming more and more difficult to deny his vampiric instincts. He knew why, and it alarmed him more each day. As they drew closer to his maker, he left more and more of his humanity behind him in the dust. The power of his master was almost too incredible, too intense, for him to struggle against.

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It wouldn’t have bothered him under different circumstances. But he had Priest to think about now. He didn’t know how he could bear it if he were to lose control and actually hurt her. Kill her. A silent roar of rage and despair filled him. He was so strong now, with her blood filling him. There was something about her that made him powerful, made him feel invincible. It wasn’t only her blood, it was also her nearness, her very presence, that affected him. This had been true since their first meeting, when he’d been so weak from starvation and imprisonment that he should never have been able to survive the ethereal water in her veins. Something about her had invigorated him, energized him, made him strong and whole again. He loved her for it. He hated her for it. For how could he, once knowing her, tasting her in all ways, ever hope to exist without her again? If they died when they faced his maker, all the better, for there would be no after. But what if they triumphed—unlikely as it was—what if they won this coming battle? What would he do when she inevitably walked away from him? With a silent, savage curse, he rose and left her there, needing to hunt something— anything—to get this vicious anger out of his system before she awoke to see it. He would kill to exorcise his demons, but it would not be a human who fell beneath his rage. No matter how dark his words and his thoughts, he would never kill a human if he could help it…right? It was a mad world he lived in. At least for the moment he didn’t have to live there alone.

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Chapter Twelve “Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Priest opened her eyes and looked up to see the man who’d spoken towering over her as she lay upon the ground. Where was Bishop? She rose at once, and felt the familiar wash of ice streak through her veins that came with every battle she enjoined. “Don’t move so fast, woman.” The man leveled a gun at her, aiming squarely at her head, and she stilled. “That’s better.” Priest’s gaze fell on the Trinity tattoo around his left wrist and slowly extended her own to let him see the twin mark that also stained her skin. “I know you’re a Killer,” he panted. “That doesn’t mean I won’t shoot you if you make one wrong move.” He moved towards her threateningly. “I’m not just any Killer,” she spoke, and was glad to hear the strength in her voice. “I am Priest. And it is you who should watch your step. You have invaded my camp. I do not take to unwelcome guests kindly.” The man winced, and Priest easily noticed how drawn and fevered he looked. “Priest. I’ve heard of you.” He laughed ruefully and lowered the gun, but only slightly. “What Killer hasn’t?” “I assume that you, too, have a name,” she purred, watching him closely, gauging his every action. “Jhon.” He winced again and stumbled drunkenly. “I came to rob you of your food and valuables,” he choked, “but now I choose to beg for those things—well, the food at least—instead.”

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Priest had to appreciate his honesty, given the situation. If he knew who she was, then he had to know that there was no chance she’d let him live if he attempted to rob her, and yet he had freely admitted that it had been his intent. She never would have believed him if he’d said otherwise, of course. He had to know that, too. She made her decision, but not lightly. She would watch him closely—as she suspiciously watched everyone who crossed her path. But she would be merciful—she was still human after all. “I will share what I have with you,” she said formally, motioning for him to sit. “I thank you.” He both looked and sounded relieved as he sat heavily upon the ground. Jhon made a cup of his hands and Priest poured a generous portion of water into it for him to drink. He did so, sloppily, as though he’d been long starved for it. She gave him more, and more, until he motioned for her to stop and hoarsely offered his thanks. Priest offered him the last portion of her jerky, a mere handful, knowing that the man needed it far more than she. Besides, she had a vampire to help replenish her stores, if it came to that. She wondered again where Bishop might be. If you can hear me, stay away for a little while, she warned him silently, there’s a human, another Killer, here with me. There was no answer from him, but then, she didn’t really expect one. She wasn’t even sure how the telepathic link between them worked, or if he could hear her without calling out to her first. It was a mystery, one she didn’t have time to investigate, under the current circumstances. The man frowned, seeing the thoughtful expression that crossed her face as she concentrated on warning Bishop away. “Did you say something?” he asked, perplexed. “No.” Priest shifted, keeping her elbow pressed tightly to the gun at her hip. “You look better now.” He smiled and Priest could see the handsomeness of his face, despite the dirt and strain upon it. “I feel better, thank you. I’m sorry if I scared you,” he offered quietly. 114

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“You didn’t.” Perhaps the only thing that scared her now was the thought that Bishop might appear, unannounced, and all hell would break loose. She didn’t have any idea how she might explain away a vampire in her camp to this fellow Killer. “I’ve been following you for two days,” he admitted finally. Priest narrowed her gaze upon him, not a little surprised that someone could accomplish such a thing without her knowledge. And without Bishop’s—a vampire should know better than to be caught unawares. “I should kill you for that insult,” she said softly. His eyes widened. He clearly believed her threat to be real, and Priest wondered just how widespread and outlandish her legend had become. But then, she supposed it was more a statement of fact than a threat. She should kill him—anyone who could track her this easily and for so long was obviously a danger—but would she kill him? Now there was the real dilemma. All morality aside, she was curious about this Killer. And her curiosity would keep him alive. For now. “I meant no offense, Killer,” he offered, almost stuttering in his haste to placate her. “It was not easy, and if I had not been so desperate for food and succor I never would have dared try it.” “You have eaten. And you have rested. You can leave now,” she said calmly, rising to tower over him as he remained seated. “Be grateful I let you leave with your life.” Priest watched closely to gauge his reaction. Would he leave…or try to find a way to stay until his true agenda was fulfilled? And what, exactly, did he want? she wondered. He pursed his lips, which were dry and cracked but somehow still oddly appealing, and averted his gaze. “I would stay with you for a time, if I may, to repay you for your kindness.” Oddly enough, she’d anticipated this answer. But that didn’t mean she liked hearing it. 115

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Priest snorted. “It was no kindness I offered, but practicality. We would have done battle if I had not offered you food and drink, but I have no patience for such a nuisance just now, so I gave you what I have. And now I ask you again to leave.” Is he bothering you? Bishop’s voice took her off-guard, but she was careful not to let her face betray it. I could kill him for you, if you like. Shut up, Bishop. Stay out of this. And blessedly, he was silent. Priest focused intently on Jhon once more. “Did you not hear me?” she fumed. “I said leave.” He sighed heavily. “I beg your mercy, Killer.” He spoke with such genuine respect and deference that she felt a measure of doubt and hesitation about pushing him this way. It was obvious that this man was weak, starving, and ill. It seemed clear that he was no real threat, for all that he’d been able to sneak up on her as she’d slept—no mean feat for a mere human—he was, quite simply, a man who needed her help. She was not such a monster that she would not do what she could to help him. But she would watch him. And closely. “What would you have of me?” she asked, effecting a patient manner, as best she could. “I would travel with you. Grow strong again. I would do whatever you asked of me, to repay your kindness and leniency, until I am well enough to leave on my own again.” Don’t do it, Bishop’s voice growled the warning in her mind. We had a deal, you and I, and you can’t break it for this…this human. Priest heard the derision in Bishop’s voice when he uttered the word human, and that, more than anything, made the decision for her. “A few days with me, no more,” she offered, already wondering if her own stubbornness towards Bishop would have this end in disaster.

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Jhon reached out before she could draw away, capturing her hand and pressing his lips to the back of it with fervent thanks. “You are truly honorable.” Priest regretted her decision immediately. She’d never been good with people, especially men. The next few days would be a strain, no matter how well-behaved Jhon proved he could be. Priest, you fool, Bishop’s voice chided, an echo of her own thoughts. Let me think in peace, vampire. “You have to do what I say, when I say, or we part ways. Do you understand?” she asked irritably. “Of course.” Jhon’s voice was silky and very masculine and Priest’s misgivings rose twofold. “Whatever my Lady Killer commands.” “We’ll break camp now and journey on,” she said offhandedly. She didn’t have any idea what to do besides continue onward. “Where do we go? The same direction we’ve been headed?” “Yes. For now.” Stupid woman, he’s hiding something. Shut up, Bishop. “Are you on the trail of a kiss, or just wandering in search of work?” Would he never cease with his questions? “Wandering,” she lied easily. “As we all do.” “There is a settlement but ten leagues from here. I would have stopped there for food had I not found you first. Perhaps they will have need of two Killers’ services in exchange for supplies.” “Perhaps,” she murmured vaguely, scanning their surroundings for Bishop, but he was nowhere to be found. It was good that he kept hidden. Smart. Why then, did she feel so hopelessly alone?

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Priest knew she should feel anything but alone. In the past two weeks she’d had more company than in all the years leading up to it. She should feel positively crowded by now. Nevertheless, she reached for Bishop in her mind, seeking comfort from his presence, however intangible it was. But he was long gone. Good riddance to the vampire, she harrumphed silently. At least she wouldn’t have to explain her alliance with one of the undead to this Killer. She had a reputation to maintain, after all. It was almost too easy to ignore the aching pain of separation in her heart. Curses. Who was she kidding anyway? The pain lingered. And lingered long. And there was nothing she could do about it.

***** Bishop fed ravenously from the torn throat of the bison. It was unbelievable that he’d found one, so far away from any livestock preserve or cattle pasture—and even such places as those were rare in these hard times. Starved and hardened though it was, it made a delectable meal, full of rich, warm, life-giving blood. Not so miraculous or restorative as Priest’s blood by any means, but it would serve. He had to keep his strength up. Something was amiss. Something about the man, Jhon, distracted him. Unnerved him. Priest was blinded by her attraction for the man— and oh, how that irked Bishop, so much that a red haze of madness clouded his vision—but Bishop could clearly sense trouble ahead. For now, he would keep his distance, as Priest desired. But at the first sign of danger, of anything out of the ordinary, then he would do what it was in his nature to do. Kill. Damn Priest for noticing the human male’s appeal, and damn himself for caring so much that she did. Bishop wanted to thrash her for being so susceptible to the man’s 118

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charm. He wanted to take her, fuck her until she screamed her pleasure, and make her realize that there could be no room for any other in her affections, ever. He was shaking with the need to dominate her, to consume her utterly. To make her his in every conceivable way. She was making him crazy. Never mind that most of his suspicions concerning Jhon arose from jealousy. He recognized that and understood it for what it was. Beyond the jealousy, beyond the envy that the human could so quickly get past Priest’s defenses with but a smile and a little charm, there was every reason for Bishop to keep his guard up and he knew it. Something wasn’t right. But what? If only he knew. Bishop dropped the lifeless bison to the ground, thought twice, then bent to rip a few healthy portions of the stringy meat from the carcass. He’d find a way to get the food to Priest without the human’s notice, somehow. He went in search for more prey, already knowing that this violence in him would not rest until the problem of Jhon was settled.

***** Jhon tried his best to keep up with the pace she set, and Priest was almost happy for the companionship of another human for a change. He wasn’t too talkative, nor broodingly quiet, and considering the increasing difficulty of navigating their rocky, hilly terrain, Priest welcomed a little conversation. But only a little. “I hear you’ve been Ordained, is that true or a rumor?” “Of course not. Where would I find a member of the clergy to induct me? They fled long before I was born.” She told the lie with effortless ease. Years of practice in telling the same lie had served her well. The only ones who knew the truth were the vamps she’d killed, and they weren’t going to spread any tales.

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Bishop also knew the truth, but Priest refused to think about him just now. He was an entirely different matter altogether. Jhon laughed brokenly—his labored breathing would allow for nothing more. “Yeah. I’d always thought that part of your legend was just myth,” he panted. “But what about the one where you decimated an entire town simply because they had held a vampire prisoner instead of killing it?” Priest started. “I hadn’t heard that one,” she murmured, trying to mask her sudden shock at his unexpected words. “When was this supposed to have happened? Recently I’m assuming, since this story is new to me.” The long, blond tips of his lashes were heavy over his brown eyes. Priest was surprised that she noticed such a thing, given the conversation and circumstances. She was no fool. Something was amiss. But what? “I’m not sure,” Jhon finally continued. “It could be new. I haven’t passed by Nece in years so I can’t say if it still stands or not—if the stories are to be believed, it doesn’t anymore.” What had happened in Nece after she’d stolen Bishop away? And how in Hel had her name been connected to it? She’d been so careful to keep her identity a secret from the townspeople. “Well, I can assure you that it’s not true, or at least my part in it isn’t. I’ve never been to Nece.” “Really? Then you must have traveled from a different direction than I’d thought. You would have passed right by there if you’d been following this same path but a couple of weeks ago.” Less than a couple of weeks actually, Priest thought blithely. She and her vampire had made very good time since then. Her vampire? She shuddered delicately at the thought.

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“What about the story that says you killed your first vamp when you were but fourteen years old? Is that true, or are all legends concerning you a little blown out of proportion?” he dared to tease her. Priest returned his lighthearted smile. “Actually,” she purred, hating her vain ego even as she indulged it, “I was twelve. And I killed more than one. I killed an entire kiss of five.” She almost laughed when Jhon started visibly, halting in his tracks. “That’s impossible. I’ve never heard such a thing,” he choked out. His bloodshot eyes were wide with his disbelief. “When was your first kill?” she asked, purposefully redirecting their conversation. He was silent for a moment, as he appeared to think back over the years. “I was seventeen. I only killed one, I’m afraid. A rogue with no kiss. I earned two meals for his head as my reward,” he chuckled, but the sound held no mirth. I earned my siblings’ lives. She smiled bitterly at the thought, knowing it was the only time she’d ever Killed for such respectable reasons. You’re being far too unguarded with this human. Bishop’s unexpected words unnerved her. Priest had almost forgotten that he might still be with her, listening in on her exchange with Jhon. Not that it should matter so much, his knowing about her past history. He had probably already discovered most of it during his previous forays into her subconscious anyway. Stop it, Bishop. It’s not like he can read my mind. Leave it for now. I know what I’m doing. You know nothing, woman. But Bishop seemed content to leave her, his presence in her mind winking out like a light, leaving her to sink into the remaining darkness. Damn vampire. “Do you ever regret following the life of a Killer?” Jhon’s question brought her back from her thoughts with a jolt and she cursed Bishop for so easily consuming her attention.

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“No,” she answered truthfully, seeing no real reason to lie. “I think I was born to this kind of life. I don’t now what I’d do if circumstances had been any different. What about you?” “Same here. I love the adventure, the thrill of victory over my prey. And I really love the rewards that come after a successful kill.” There was something in Jhon’s voice that made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. But she agreed with his words for the most part. She, too, loved the thrill and danger of the job. And she was nothing if not eager to earn rewards for her troubles. Why then did his words concern—even worry—her so? Perhaps her motivations for Killing were changing. But was such a change for good or ill? She didn’t know yet. I’m close now. So close I can see you, Bishop’s voice was like dark, liquid softness brushing over her skin. Break away from the human so that we may talk. Priest surreptitiously looked around, hoping to catch sight of him. There were more shadows here in these hilly lands, more places to hide. She hadn’t noticed it before, and it scared the shit out of her that so dangerous a detail could slip by her notice. Bishop was nowhere to be seen, of course. He could pull the shadows about him like a blanket when he wanted to. “I need to seek some privacy,” she said at last, knowing Jhon would interpret her words to mean something entirely different. Jhon nodded and moved to seek his own privacy in a cluster of enormous craggy rocks. Lead on, vampire. She squared her shoulders and looked about expectantly. Keep facing this direction and walk over the next hill. Make sure the human doesn’t follow you. He won’t. Priest looked around to be certain anyway. Why are you so suspicious?

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Why aren’t you suspicious? It’s not at all like you to be accepting of anyone, let alone a stranger such as this. What do you know of it? I’m not accepting of you because you’re a vampire. Maybe I’m different around other humans, did you ever think of that? Bishop growled in her mind and she didn’t bother to contain her triumph. Be careful of him, Priest. I won’t warn you again. Something about him just isn’t right. She agreed with him wholeheartedly, and she wondered why Bishop couldn’t sense that in her. If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn that Bishop was…jealous. I’m not jealous, you stupid human. I’m merely trying to protect my ready food source. His words slapped her like a physical blow and she gritted her teeth against the pain of it. Be careful, else I might be moved to drink more ethereal water. We both know it won’t kill me, he growled. Who said I wanted to kill you? I merely like to see you writhe in pain, she tossed back with vicious glee. He fell silent in her mind, and she almost regretted her zeal in pushing at him so. But only for a moment did she feel that regret before pushing it fast from her mind and heart. She hated feeling any weakness where her vampire was concerned. Finally, she spotted him. “What took you so long?” he growled, moving close enough to touch her arm. “Why are you so sullen lately?” “There is a taint on Jhon. I’m sure of it.” “Taint? What sort of taint?” “A vampire’s taint.” “Surely you must be joking?” she scoffed. “I mean, I know something’s amiss with him, but it certainly isn’t that.” “Haven’t you ever seen a revenant before?”

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Chapter Thirteen A Revenant? Of course she hadn’t—but she had heard of such abominations before. Pitiful beings, slaves to Master vampires, spies to help the Master see about the lands. Revenants were worse than zombies, they were puppets used only to do their Master’s bidding. “I think that’s a little harsh, even coming from you. Jhon is no revenant—” she started. “You’re wrong. And what’s more, you know it. I can see that you’re well aware of how ill Jhon looks. How little food and water he drinks. How often he needs to rest and to sleep.” “Those are merely signs of stress and weakness. It doesn’t necessarily mean he’s a vampire’s plaything,” she insisted, even while wondering if it could indeed be true. She’d sensed something odd about Jhon from the first. But a revenant…she’d never have dreamed of such a possibility. “He’s here for a reason, and if he’s a revenant—and I’m almost certain he is—then he’s here at the behest of an ancient.” “What would an ancient want with me?” “Are you daft, to ask me such a question? You, the infamous Killer? Priest, any vampire on Noir would be a fool not to hunt you before you have a chance to hunt them. You are world-renowned, and by now all the ancients must have heard of you.” Priest shuddered. “I don’t think he’s a revenant,” she said stubbornly. “Whether you think it or not, won’t keep it from being so. I want you to promise me that you will guard yourself when you’re around him. He might be here to kill you, or merely to learn more about you. And if he’s tainted he might be able to glean some of your thoughts, so guard them as well.” 124

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“Aren’t you being a mite overzealous?” “No!” Bishop paced, his motions so fast she almost couldn’t follow them with her eyes. “If he’s what I think he is, you’d better be damned careful with yourself.” “What about you? What about what happened in Nece, eh? Perhaps he’s after you—perhaps your old kiss is after you, now that they no doubt have heard of your escape.” “If that’s the case then you’d better be even more careful—” “Why?” She eyed him suspiciously. “What are you hiding from me, Bishop?” “Nothing,” he growled, attempting to stare her down. She bristled under his steely gaze. “How could a revenant be an emissary from your kiss, Bishop?” She thought a second and her eyes widened. “Oh holy gods, not that.” “What?” “Are you telling me that your master is an ancient? Were you ever planning on letting me know this very important—deadly!—fact? My gods, you don’t even look guilty—” “You didn’t need to know,” he said smoothly, looking deep into her eyes. “I didn’t need to know?” she ejaculated. “No human can kill an ancient, you fool. You were leading me to my death, keeping this from me!” “You were not to kill him, it was my quest, my place to end him. I never intended for you to even approach him.” “Then how was I to gain his bounty, eh? No wonder the price on his head is so high—he’s a damned ancient.” “I would have brought you his head—” “And what if you failed to kill him? What then? He would have come for me and I would have been completely unprepared,” she pointed out.

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“If I had died, you would have been free,” he gritted out. “My maker would not have known about you.” “But now—if Jhon is as you say—he must know about me. Or he will soon.” “That is exactly why you must be rid of him.” “I’ll have my proof of what you say first,” she insisted. “What proof?” Jhon’s voice sounded close behind her. “Who are you talking to?” Bishop and Priest both spun to see Jhon standing but a few feet away from them. In their argument, neither of them had sensed his approach. “Who’s this?” Jhon asked again. Priest looked at him closely, noting the pallor of his skin and the parched look of his lips. “When did you eat last, Jhon?” she asked him softly. “Not long ago, why?” Priest pulled her gun and leveled it at him. With her free hand she reached into a pouch at her belt and removed a small, wooden cross. “Hold this for me, would you Jhon?” Jhon’s eyes darkened. “Why?” he asked, making no move to approach her or the cross. “Just do it, or I’ll shoot you,” she gritted out. Jhon snarled. “Hateful woman, you’ve been listening to this bastard’s lies about me.” “What do you know of it?” she asked. “I can hear you talking to him. Always with the talking, until my head rings with your conversations. You’re no great Killer to be taking up with the likes of him,” he spat. “You’re a traitor.” “And what of you,” Bishop asked, stepping between them, “revenant?” “I am no revenant,” Jhon exclaimed, though his eyes darted about in a panic, giving proof to his lie. 126

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“You are,” Priest breathed, stunned. “You are a revenant, aren’t you? That’s why you’re so weak and spent. Why you’ve been acting so strangely.” “My Master will make me strong again, you’ll see. He only wanted news of your travels, Killer, not your death. Don’t make me hurt you.” Priest snorted. He didn’t look strong enough to hurt a puppy-cat in his present condition. Her bravado was short-lived, however. Jhon sprang into motion, taking her completely by surprise. He pounced on Bishop, snarling like a wild beast, diving with his teeth for Bishop’s throat. Priest came forward, just as Bishop flung the revenant aside with a violent display of raw power. “Stop where you are Jhon, or I’ll shoot,” she warned. But Jhon was too angered to heed her words. He flung himself at her, hands clawed and grasping. Priest, not one to give more than one warning, fired her gun into his chest. Gore flew, spraying her warmly in the face, ravaging her enemy’s body with a grievous wound. But Jhon kept on coming, despite his wounds, and despite the silver bullet lodged in his chest. Priest made to fire again, but this time Bishop caught Jhon and shook him like a rag doll, stepping between her and her target. Jhon roared and thrashed, freeing himself. “You’ll both pay for this,” he barked. “My Master will see you dead for what you’ve done,” he swore. With one last, long look at Bishop, Jhon fled, his motions fast enough to blur as he ran away from them, over the next hilltop and beyond. “Why did you let him get away?” Bishop snapped. “Me? What about you? You stepped in the way so I couldn’t get a good second shot at him.” “If you hadn’t become so enamored of him, he wouldn’t have been able to surprise you like this.”

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“I wasn’t enamored of him,” Priest swore. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten your treachery regarding this ancient. To think I was beginning to trust you,” she sighed. “What will you do, now that you know? This hunt isn’t safe for you anymore—the revenant will go back to tell his Master that we travel together. And my maker will have no doubts about why I am seeking him, nor you, for that matter.” “I’ll think of something,” she said at length. “I always do, don’t I?” “This time things are far different. You’re right, I should have told you about the ancient. But I didn’t think it would be of any matter. I had the element of surprise—I was determined to catch him unawares.” “But now he’ll be warned of our coming.” “Our coming? No—your path on this journey has ended,” he said firmly. “No, it hasn’t. I want that bounty on his head—more than ever now that I know he’s had a spy in my midst—and I want justice for you and Farele,” she insisted. “How can you want justice for me after I hid this from you?” He frowned, his gaze searching hers. Priest looked away, too unsettled by that intent look of…hope?…on his face. “I just do. Let us leave it at that,” she said finally. They were silent for long minutes, neither daring to look at the other now. “What do you plan on doing then?” he asked quietly. “You offered to fly me somewhere once. Will you offer it again?” She suddenly knew what she must do. There was no way an ancient would let her and Bishop live now that he knew they were on the path to hunting and killing him. No ancient would have achieved such power and immortality if he did not take every threat seriously. “I will take you wherever you wish to go,” Bishop promised. “Then take me south. As far as you can go. As fast as you can carry me,” she bade him. “Right now.”

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Chapter Fourteen The three hundred foot tall wall separating the land of light from the land of Shadow did little to keep the light from penetrating through to the darkened world beyond. It was eighty-three feet thick—one foot more for each year the shadow crept closer to these lands. But the light and dark played tricks with one another. Bishop set her down carefully, avoiding each small shaft of sunlight with a grace that would have stunned her on any other day. The trip over thousands of leagues had taken him but a few hours to finish, even bearing her weight along with him. Priest had never been so impressed, or so hopeless. If Bishop could accomplish such a feat, it was hard to think of all that an ancient would be capable of. She didn’t dare to wonder, or else she might lose all of her nerve. “I’ll only be gone a few hours, I hope. Maybe a full day, I’m not too certain of where I’ll have to go to find him.” “Find who?” “There’s no need for jealousy,” she told him tightly. “I’m speaking of my mentor. I think, perhaps, he might have some answers for me regarding the ancient. Maybe he’ll know of a way to kill him.” “I will kill him, you will—” “Shut up, Bishop. I’m trying to help the both of us here.” Bishop subsided. “I know,” he said softly. “Damn. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” “It’s neither here nor there,” she told him. “But at least now that I know, I can prepare fully for the battle ahead.”

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Priest unloaded her pack, seeking out all her small change purses and securing them at her belt. She felt sure that gold would still hold its value here in the land of light, and she meant to spend it freely in her quest for knowledge. “I don’t want you to go,” he said suddenly. Priest looked at him, startled to find his face so close to hers. “I won’t be gone long.” She whispered the promise. “But I cannot follow you there.” He motioned to the wall, his hand entering a thin stream of light. He let his hand linger there, and within seconds it was red and swollen and beginning to burn. “I am afraid of what might wait for you on the other side.” “I’ll come back,” she vowed. “I wouldn’t blame you if you stayed. You belong in the light.” He put his hand to her hair, pushing it gently away from her face. Priest felt her eyes sting with tears. She would have never thought that saying goodbye to a vampire, even for a short while, would cause her so much grief. “No, I don’t,” she insisted. “I was born to the Shadow. I belong in this endless stretch of night. Trust me, I know it. I’ll come back,” she said again. “I would wait for you forever,” he vowed. A sob escaped her lips, and she leaned forward to press them lightly to his. “Don’t say such things.” She smiled tearfully, tipping her forehead to his. “I’m supposed to be angry with you, don’t you remember? You can’t say such nice things when I’m supposed to be angry.” “You’ve changed me,” he told her, pressing kisses down the side of her face. “You’ve entered my soul and made me whole again.” “You’ve not changed,” she told him, returning his kisses, her body growing hot under the roaming touch of his hands. “You’ve always been as you are. A good and pure soul. I’m only sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”

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“I was dying on the inside, until you made me live again,” he whispered into her throat. Priest pushed his shirt away, laying her hands on the hard muscles of his golden chest. “Who was I before I met you?” she asked of no one. “I was nothing.” “You were Astrid, the light bringer.” “No. Now I am Astrid, where before I was only Priest. You have made me a woman again. Who would have ever guessed it possible?” she laughed tearfully. “Lie with me,” he begged prettily. “Yes,” she breathed, wanting him as much or more than he wanted her. Their clothes melted away, cushioning their fall onto the hard ground. The sound of her change purses were like a hundred tiny bells as they shifted and clinked. His hands took her face, holding her, cradling her for his kiss. His mouth tasted sweet and cool, his tongue was a darting flame across her lips. His breath filled her up, made her warm. Warmer than she’d ever felt before. Desire was a burning sun in her heart, making her weak and causing her to tremble as he swept her beneath him. His fingers traced every scar, every bruise on her body. She let her hands spill down over the lashes on his back, loving how he arched up to meet her questing touches. Then he took one of her breasts in his hand and it was she who arched to his touch. His mouth devoured hers, his tongue delving deep. His fangs scraped at her lips, but it was a gentle pain that only served to heighten her awareness of him. His scent enveloped her, like cool rain and wild wind in her nose and on her skin. His mouth nibbled a path over her jaw and down to her throat where he nuzzled over and over again. “Don’t feed now,” she begged. “Just love me.” “I won’t,” he promised, silencing her protests with another slow, delicious kiss. “And I will. I do.”

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He moved down her body and took her breast in his mouth. His teeth teased her nipple to diamond hardness, his tongue laving away the tiny pain of his bite. He suckled her as a babe might, nuzzling against her as she moved beneath him, moaning. She clutched at him with her nails, holding him tight to her, wanting the golden moment never to end. His skin was cool against hers, his body hard where hers was soft. His cock pressed against the cushion of her sex, his fingers questing there as he sucked upon her nipple. Priest spread her legs, wrapping them around his waist, but he pushed her back. He worked his way down her body, nibbling and kissing each new patch of skin he discovered. Finally, his mouth settled over her sex and she cried out, clutching her fists in his hair. His tongue speared the folds of her labia like a questing finger. He unerringly sought out the button of her wet and swollen clitoris. He brought his lips, teeth and tongue to bear on her, suckling her clit as though it were a tiny nipple there between her legs. He drank her down, swallowing and sucking and licking her over and over again until she was thrashing beneath him. One long, lean finger pressed down into her, pushing aside her folds like a curtain. He dipped that finger into her cream, sliding it up and down her slit in a teasing manner that left her without breath to scream. At last, his finger pressed harder, entering her and filling her until she bucked up to take him fully. Priest keened a wild cry and held him close as his mouth and hand worked their magic on her body. He played her like an instrument, tuning her body to a perfect pitch. Then he surprised her, turning on her, so that his cock rested against her lips while her pussy was still at the mercy of his mouth. She took him deep into her throat, suckling him, licking him, until his flavor filled her up like a bowl. Each pass of her tongue was echoed with one of his. Each suckle reciprocated. She let the great head of

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his shaft bump against the back of her throat, her mouth open wide to accept him, reveling in the moans she wrought from him with each motion of her mouth and throat. He now had two fingers in her pussy and his tongue was laving her clit until it hummed. She tried to hold back, to make the moment last, but he would not let her. He brought her with a moan that vibrated her whole sex, and she screamed around her mouthful of his flesh as she came. Her body shook with the force of it, her vision going dim. Bishop turned on her again, hooking her legs over his thighs as he moved between hers. “Say you want me,” he urged hurriedly, moving against her. “I do want you. You know I do,” she vowed, spreading wide for him. “I want you to come around me, to make me forget everything but the feel of your soft, sweet pussy pulling around my dick.” “Make me come again,” she begged. “And let me bring you this time, too. Let me have that piece of you to take with me.” “As my Lady Killer wishes,” he breathed into her mouth. With one mighty thrust he impaled her. She cried out into his mouth, arching away from the invasion of his body. “Shhh,” he coaxed. “Let me love you, my darling one. Let me in.” She softened beneath him and opened her eyes to see his, so brilliant a blue, looking into her. He brought her knees up higher on her stomach, thrusting even deeper into her at that angle, never letting his gaze leave hers. A droplet of pink sweat fell from his forehead onto her cheek and she sighed, softening further into his impalement. A shaft of sunlight glinted somewhere over their heads and she was blinded for a brief moment. Every sense, every nerve was aroused to a fever-pitch, and she held on to him desperately as her only port in the storm. He knocked against the mouth of her womb, penetrating her more deeply than ever before. His girth burned her, his length filled her up to overflowing. His testicles

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slapped gently against her bottom as he thrust and withdrew, thrust and withdrew, over and over again. Their bodies made soft, wet noises with each movement, burning her ears and making her hotter with each move he made within her. His fingers quested and found her clit. He rubbed and pinched her there, spreading her moisture all around her pussy as he moved in her creamy, soft heat. Priest moaned over and over again, pulling him down to her, to let him nuzzle deep into her neck. Her breasts rubbed against his chest, her nipples burning a rosy red. His buttocks clenched and released with each thrust of his body into hers. His breaths, slow and steady, teased at her skin. She gasped and bucked beneath him, seeking an even deeper penetration. At last, her body tightened, attaining that pinnacle of pleasure once more. She teetered on the edge for a moment, but he would have none of that. He pinched and pulled at her clit and she was lost, screaming into his mouth, which still tasted of her. He grunted into her mouth a second later, and the hot splash of his cum filled her to the core. He shuddered in her arms, his brilliant eyes closed at last as she stroked the thick indigo hair out of his face. “Come back to me,” he said finally. “I promise,” she said.

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Chapter Fifteen Priest climbed the wall using her grappling hook. There was no gate in this wall, as well she knew from her one and only trip, long ago. No one was supposed to be admitted into these safe lands, but she had done it before with her mentor and she would do so again, in search of him. Only he could help her now, for she knew well that the Master vampire who had turned Bishop would not let her live once he heard that she was traveling with his longlost son. She knew that she and Bishop had but one chance for survival, and she had to take it, no matter the risk. The sunlight burned her face as she dropped down onto the ground on the other side of the wall. She pulled her rope and hook free of the stones, coiled it and secured it to her belt. Where she should go next, she wasn’t sure, but she thought perhaps she must start with the nearest church. Only a member of the clergy could help her find one of their own, she felt certain of that much. The light of the sun hurt her eyes, but she blinked away her tears as best she could and made her way from the wall to a small, winding road. She walked for what felt like miles, sweat pouring down her face, until she came upon a small town. In the center of it stood a large domed building made of mortar and stone. Atop its great height shone the sign of the cross and Priest knew she had found a church at last. Her skin was red and throbbing when she finally breached the doors of the building. “I seek a man of the cloth,” she gasped as a clergyman sidled up to her. “You are from the Shadow,” he spat. “Yes, and I would go back to it and trouble you no more if you but tell me where to find the mad prophet, Jermiah.” 135

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“I know of no mad prophet, but I might know of this Jermiah whom you seek.” “I have much gold,” she said showing him her purses. He took one and looked within, nodded, and turned to motion to an altar boy who scurried off into the bowels of the building. Priest sank low on the ground and made the sign of the cross before her in thanks that someone had known of her mentor, so soon after beginning her search. The clergyman offered her a drink and she gulped it down eagerly. The cold wash of the wine against the back of her throat was a blessing in itself—it had been ages since her last draught of wine. She had almost forgotten the biting, bittersweet taste of it. “These lands look as barren as those of the Shadow,” she said to him, holding the cool cup against her hot face. “We are not far from the Shadow’s influence here, after all,” he said. “The days grow shorter all the time. Soon, it will spread beyond the great wall and reach us. Perhaps in several years, if we are lucky enough. Perhaps in one or two if we are not.” “Why do you stay so close to the border then? Why is this town so close to the land you dread so much?” “The Shadow was not always so close. It used to fall short a hundred miles from the wall. Now the wall marks the barrier to the darkness, and soon even that will be in Shadow.” “Do the vampires haunt these lands unfettered yet?” she asked. “Yes, and many more beyond. But we are not without some protection. This church is open always to those who seek succor from the evils of the lands beyond. The evil bloodeaters cannot enter here no matter how strong they may be.” “Priest, my Priest,” came a voice from deeper within the church. Priest looked and laughed, relieved to see her old mentor coming towards her. “I have only just begun to look for you, and here you are to save me again,” she said.

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“I knew you would come. It’s why I waited here. I knew you would need me again,” he said. Priest, who had never truly believed in his gift of the sight, was struck dumb with it now. “I cannot believe this. You have always been here for me when I had need of you,” she realized. “You have come about a Master. I knew it was your destiny to face him, this most ancient of evils.” “I do not know how to defeat one such as he, my teacher,” she admitted openly. “I have followed your ways and made many Kills—” “Yes I know. Your name and your reputation is on the lips of many a skilled bard, even here in the light. You have done me most proud, my pupil.” “Do you know how I can defeat this Master vampire? Have you any idea? Is it even possible?” she asked. “You always question, always wonder. It is a good thing that this has not changed in you, Astrid, light bringer of the God.” “Can you help me?” She bowed to him, supplicant for his knowledge in every way. “I have a gift for you,” he said, reaching deep into his robes. He pulled forth a short staff, white and glinting. “This is a staff of light. It will help you to defeat the ancient one.” “That’s it? A staff is all I need?” she asked incredulously. “Ever were you the doubtful one. Would not so dread a being not have one weakness? Your holy gifts will stand you well in this battle, never fear. But this staff is a light to the darkness you must face, and it is with this that you will eventually triumph over your enemy.” “You cannot give her so precious a weapon,” the clergyman admonished Jermiah sternly. “We have need of every tool here. Let those who dwell in Shadow die in Shadow, I say.”

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“Well, I do not say so, Brother Abram. And as this staff belongs to me, I can choose to give it to whom I will.” “How will I use this weapon, my teacher?” “You will know when the time comes, Astrid. Now come, kiss my ring and be off. Your friend grows impatient with each passing hour,” he said. “How did you know about—?” “I see much, though you have ever doubted it was so. I love you for it, still. Now come and kiss me and then you may go. Be strong in the light as you were meant to be, my darling child. Go and do not fail in your destiny, for it has ever been great indeed.”

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Chapter Sixteen “What took you so long?” “We’re both lucky it didn’t take me a hundred times as long. The prophet was waiting for me at the first church I came upon. He knew I would be there.” “He has the sight,” Bishop breathed. Priest frowned. “Do your people know of such things?” “Yes, of course. But I did not know your people were capable of such magics.” “Neither did I,” Priest told him. “But now I believe. I have to. Look, he gave me this staff—” She cried out as it blazed hot in her hand. The bright, white-hot glare of it nearly blinded her as she brought it out of the sheath of cloth her mentor had placed it into. It was not made of marble or stone as she might have thought, but of glass. The light that shone from within it was blinding in the extreme and hot to the touch. “Put it away,” Bishop cried, throwing his hands up before his face. Priest did, immediately, blowing on her burning hands after she had put it safely back into its sheath. “He says this staff of light will bring us much aid in defeating your maker. I can only hope that he is right, for he has ever been wise in what I took for his madness.” “Enough of this. Let me lie with you, let me love you, so that I know you are here with me,” he said, ignoring her words. Priest had no refusal on her lips, for she was as glad to see him as he was her. The idea that they may never have another chance at this was very real between them, and she wanted this closeness with him as never before. He laid her down on the ground with such gentle care, that her eyes burned with unshed tears. His mouth came down upon hers as his body covered her. His tongue

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delved deep, his teeth clicking against hers as he pressed her mouth open more for the depth of his intent. “Let me feed. Let me taste you in all ways,” he murmured into her lips. “No,” she said. “Never like this. Please?” she softened her rebuke. “I hunger so,” he said with a sad smile against her mouth. “You cannot deny what I am forever, Priest.” “I don’t,” she vowed. “Just please, be close to me, skin to skin. Don’t ask me for the other, not now.” “As you wish.” He pushed her shirt up, exposing her breasts. He took one in his mouth, making her gasp in surprise and ecstasy. His fangs traced over her skin, but did not break it. The dangerousness of such a caress had her panting with forbidden passion, and shaking with sheer, unadulterated longing. He took her clothes from her with gentle care. Her questing hands did the same for him, pushing away his shirt and breeches as if they were made of finely spun air. Soon they were naked, skin pressed to skin, and looking deep into each other’s eyes as they waited for the storm of passion to overtake them. His hands held her breasts, plumping and squeezing them until her breath came in panting gasps. Her nipples were long and hard against his palms and she arched up into his touch like a wanton. He licked a path up her neck to her lips, kissing her deeply, his long tongue exploring every inch of her mouth. She stroked her own tongue along his, tasting and feeling him throughout her body with just that one deep kiss. Bishop pulled her pelvis up against him with one superhumanly strong hand. He fitted himself to her, pressing his hot cock against the juncture of her thighs, resting against her moist flesh until she thought she might go mad with her need for him. His fingers played over her skin, dancing in little circles around her breasts, her belly and her thighs. “Stop teasing me,” she panted.

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“Was I teasing you?” he chuckled. Priest had never heard him laugh that way before, and her heart swelled with the pure joy of the sound. “Take me,” she moaned as his fingers danced playfully over the flesh of her pussy, pressing down between her legs and cupping her fully. “Not yet. Let me touch you all over. Let me know you completely,” he said softly, kissing first one nipple then the other. He flipped her over and laid his lips to the dip of her spine. Priest cried out and arched back against him, wanting a deeper touch. But Bishop would not let her have her way. Instead he sent his fingers skipping along the skin of her back, her buttocks, and the backs of her thighs. He pressed a kiss to the dip behind each of her knees. His hands squeezed and separated the flesh of her buttocks and Priest shrieked when she felt him lick the moue of her anus. His teeth teased her ass, his tongue slid along the seam of her bottom, and Priest shouted for mercy. He pressed one last, hard kiss to her anus and lifted her up before him. “Take me this way,” he breathed against the nape of her neck, scooting her bottom back up against him, sliding his cock between her legs from behind. Priest spread her legs, resting on her knees now, more than ready for him. Her pussy throbbed and ached, weeping its creamy moisture down her thighs. She leaned forward slightly and opened herself to him as his fingers sought out her entrance. He found her, stroking her, delving into her wetness. Then he replaced his hand with the hot, burning tip of his sex. Bishop pressed into her, breaching her with the giant head of his cock so that she gasped and leaned back into his intrusion, desperate for more of his turgid length inside of her. “You are so beautiful,” he told her, pressing deeper. “I’ve never seen anyone as truly beautiful as you. Your heart and your courage make you ethereal to my eyes.” His words enflamed her.

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“You feel like fire around my dick.” He pressed a hard kiss to the back of her neck. “As tight as a fist, but as soft as a kiss and wet as a mouth wrapped around me.” Priest swooned back against him, weak with desire and longing. Bishop reached around her and sought out her clit. Priest cried out, moving over his hand as he tilted her forward to receive more of his cock. He rubbed and pressed against her clitoris until she was flooded with wetness. He pressed deeper still, coming fully into her so that his balls slapped against the back of her thighs. With his other hand, he reached behind her to lift her hair away from her neck. He laid his lips to her bared skin, sucking a small bit of her flesh into his mouth, scraping her with his sharp fangs. Priest cried out and moved over him, unable to hold back her passion. Bishop thrust hard into her so that she gasped, and moved his hand down to play with her anus as they moved. He slipped two fingers into her and she screamed a short, staccato sound that echoed over the dusty land. Priest had never felt so full. His cock filled her, his fingers filled her, and her heart felt like a lump in the back of her throat. He moved over her like a liquid dream, pushing ever deeper into her with each movement of his hips and hand. He held her clit still in one hand, while his other filled her asshole, knuckles deep. When he rocked against her, his fingers were a friction over her most sensitive flesh that drove her wild with lust and need. She could no longer stay on her knees before him. She fell forward onto her hands and pressed back against him. Bishop covered her back, lowering himself onto her as he rocked her down into the dirt. Their bodies were slick with passion’s sweat, and they rubbed against each other deliciously, their moisture mingling between them. “Come around me,” he demanded, thrusting harder into her now. “Let me feel your pussy like a mouth around me, sucking me in deeper.”

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Priest was beyond words, pressing back wildly against him, eager for his ravaging thrusts. She wanted him now as she’d never wanted before and it nearly frightened her, the intensity of their union was that great. “Oh, Bishop,” she cried as he sent her flying, pounding into her from behind so that her cheek touched the ground with each inward press of his body. “Yes!” He growled over her, lips clamping down on her shoulder as he pumped himself into her. He thrust over and over, stretching her and filling her with his creamy cum. His fingers thrust into her behind and she cried out again, her orgasm reaching desperate heights. They cried out together and fell to the ground, spent. It was hours before they moved, wanting the moment never to end. Knowing that eventually, it must. Hating that it couldn’t last forever.

***** “There have to be at least fifty of them,” she said softly, knowing Bishop could hear her well despite her quiet tone. “We’ll have to draw out the weaker ones, just to thin out their numbers so we aren’t overtaken all at once,” he said aloud, not daring to use his mental voice, else the kiss of vamps might hear him more easily. “How should we do that?” she asked, curious to see what he might suggest. “Let’s back off for now and head to that tree line.” He motioned towards the woods, some hundred yards away. They ran, their footfalls barely making a sound on the ground as they passed. Neither Bishop nor Priest was breathing hard once they reached their destination and each was proud of the other because of it. “We’ll need a blood bait,” he told her finally.

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Priest had been afraid of that. “Let me feed from you, a small amount to gain what strength I may, and we will bait them with the smell of your fresh wound.” “No, I’ve a better idea.” She offered forth her arm. “Take what you need first and I’ll show you.” Priest tried not to shy away as he bent to her arm. His teeth sank into her flesh, but the feeling was nothing close to pain. If anything, the bite made her shudder with pleasure and desire. Bishop had been right, he could make her enjoy such a thing. She smiled and let her heart swell with emotion as he fed from her like a babe at the breast. When he finished, he pulled back to watch and wait for her next move. Priest walked over to a tree and wiped her bleeding arm down its hard, rough bark. She moved to a second and a third to do the same before coming back to him. “Close this for me,” she said, “and we’ll wait them out.” Bishop did as she bade, kissing the puncture marks he had made in her flesh. Within seconds they were gone as if they had never been, and all lingering traces of her pleasure vanished as she prepared for battle. Priest pulled her whip and her knife free from their fastenings at her belt and waited. “Let me take as many as I can,” Bishop told her. “Save your strength for the fight ahead.” Before five minutes had passed they both heard the approach of dozens of vampires through the wood. They looked at each other one last time and braced themselves for the onslaught.

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Chapter Seventeen Bishop took the first two who came upon them, grabbing them by the necks in a vicious stranglehold before ripping their heads from their bodies. They fell onto the ground with an inelegant thump. Priest flung her whip out with easy skill, taking another vampire unawares. The silver and ethereal water content of the whip made the bloodeater’s skin sizzle and burn and Priest whirled behind him to bury her knife in the back of his neck, severing his vertebrae with one mighty blow. She flicked her whip again, pulling it free of the corpse and moved on to the next charging vampire. Bishop watched her out of the corner of his eye, astonished at her speed and skill in dispensing with their evil attackers. He’d never seen a human so fast or so sure of herself. It was truly an amazing sight. Still more vampires came, until they were surrounded. Bishop took one after the other, snapping their necks from their bodies as easily as if they were made of paper. His strength astonished Priest, but only just. She had known from the beginning that Bishop was incredibly strong. He’d survived her every attack—something no vampire had ever done before—and he was nearly invincible compared to these young, weak bloodeaters. Priest used her water pistol to keep the vamps away from her, rejoicing when they scattered, crying out in pain and in fury. Her whip lashed out, catching one after the other, and she used her knife to finish each of them off, glorying in each kill she made as the vampires fell dead at her feet. Soon there were none left to dispense and Bishop and Priest reconnoitered to ready for their attack against the remainder of the kiss. They had felled close to twenty bloodeaters, the evidence of their teamwork scattered all around them at their feet. 145

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“Do you have the staff of light ready?” Bishop asked her, neither breathless nor spent, but beautiful and graceful as ever, despite the effort of the battle. Priest found her pack, tossed negligently on the ground during the fight and took the cloth-covered staff from it, along with some tattered, leathered gloves to hold it with—she wasn’t going to let it burn her this time. “I will find the Master and—somehow—I’ll keep him occupied so that you might attack him with the staff.” “I’m not sure how this thing will work.” “You’re to hit him with it or something to that effect, I would suppose.” “We’ll see what happens,” she said, trying not to let her nervousness show. Bishop came to her and caught her chin in his hands. “I’ll not let anything happen to you,” he told her. “But if I fall, you must promise to run from here. Run to the land of the light, and never return, else he might hunt you down.” “I promise,” she said, hating that she must agree, when she knew how impossible it would be for her to do so. But it seemed to make him feel better, so she let it lie at that and said no more on the subject. They approached the kiss’s camp again, warily. The Master was nowhere to be seen, but Priest had expected that. An ancient did not attain such long years by leaving him or herself weak to an attack such as this. “Stay here until I call for you,” Bishop told her. Priest bristled. “No. I’m coming with you.” He took her arms in his hands and shook her lightly. “No. You must stay here until I flush out the Master. I can’t have you hurt before the time comes to use the staff, and I couldn’t bear to see harm come to you. It would weaken me as nothing else could.” “No, let me come,” she begged, tears stinging her eyes, “please.” “I cannot. Do not ask me this, Priest. Stay here and stay safe until I call for you.”

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Bishop didn’t wait around for her acquiescence. He kissed her once, hard on the mouth, and left her there overlooking the camp. Priest watched for him, but saw nothing in the shadows. She held the staff tight to her chest, then put it beneath her shirt to keep it safe and hidden. Several minutes passed and nothing happened. She sighed, looking harder for any sign of Bishop. A hard blow to her head sent her flying. Darkness overtook her and she knew no more.

***** “Wake up, Killer.” Jhon kicked her side viciously and she came awake swinging. Her arms flailed against the chains that held her and Jhon laughed maniacally, watching her futile efforts. “You’ve no hope of escaping, so save your strength. My Master wishes to meet with you.” “When I get free, I am going to kill you, betrayer,” she gritted out from between clenched teeth. “Then it is a good thing you will not get free,” he scoffed, leaving her there in the darkness. Priest bent and felt in the hem of her pants, finding the pin she kept there for just such an occasion. She began to pick the lock to the chains that bound her, fingers trembling with her growing apprehension. A blow to her hands sent her stumbling, but she could not see who had struck her, nor could she see where her lock pick fell, though she heard it ping as it hit the ground. “So you are the infamous Killer, Priest,” came a voice from out of the shadows. “I’ve waited long to meet with you.” “And I you, ancient,” she spat angrily. “Show yourself to me. Or are you too cowardly to do it now that you have me cornered?”

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The vampire stepped forward and she was at last afforded a good look at him despite the darkness. He was not so much taller than she, though his presence made him seem to tower over her. His hair was long and dark, matted to his head like a woolen pelt of fur. His skin was gray and sallow, pulled taut over the bones of his face so that he looked like a living skeleton. His eyes were a pure, bright silver, shining like two bright stars in his skull as he looked her over from head to toe. “You’re even uglier in person than I imagined you would be,” she said. She felt the blow coming before it landed and her head snapped back so that it glanced off her cheek. The Master hadn’t appeared to move, but Priest knew that he had somehow, using his vampiric power to blur his motions in the way of all such arrogant bloodeaters. “Do not tempt me to damage you further, Priest. I assure you, you do not want to court my wrath.” “Damn you, monster. Damn you to Hel.” He snarled, but made no further move to harm her. “Damn yourself, for it is you who are in love with a bloodeater. Do you not fear for your soul, human?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied. “Don’t play coy with me, Astrid, light bringer. You know of what I speak. You have lain with my Bishop, more than once. And you loved every moment of it, did you not?” “Fuck you.” “Perhaps I will let you, once I’ve turned you. Maybe I’ll even see in you what Bishop no doubt sees—he was ever the observant one. Usually, I never play with my food. At least not in that way.” Priest’s blood ran cold. “You won’t make me into what you are. I’ll die first.” “That’s exactly what Bishop said, and you know how that turn of events played out.” “You’re a monster. I’ll see you dead before this day is at its end.”

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“You are welcome to try. I find it makes the kill that much more pleasant if my prey fights me.” Priest spat at him. “How many of my children have you killed over the years, Priest? More than a hundred, do you think?” “Many more.” She grinned around the blood of her split cheek as it trickled down to her mouth. “Such courage. Such bravado in the face of your doom.” “I’m not doomed. It is you who are destined for death this day, not I, foul one.” He hissed and moved up to catch the back of her head in his hand. He wrenched his fist in her hair, tilting her head back. “I will make you suffer for that,” he snarled down into her face. The ancient struck, sinking his teeth deep into her neck. Priest screamed and pulled back against the blinding pain, struggling for all she was worth against his imprisoning hold. But he was immovable as a mountain. She fumbled for the staff, still held safely beneath her shirt, but he shook her and the staff fell useless to the floor, rolling off to the side. The vampire drank at her throat for what felt like terrifying, endless hours. But once she started to grow lightheaded, he pulled away from her. “This shall be our first sharing of the blood. What a magnificent bloodeater you will make,” he grinned, yellowed fangs showing like ancient bones in the shadows. He cut a line on his wrist and forced it to her mouth. Priest sputtered and screamed again, but he would not let her pull away. She gagged and spat, but he held her tight, inevitably forcing some of the blood down her throat. It burned down through her and she cried out, thrashing. She punched and kicked and bit and snarled, but he was not to be dissuaded from his purpose.

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“Let her go.” Bishop’s voice was like a shining light in her darkness. “I’ll not let you hurt her further.” Bishop threw Jhon’s severed head at his maker. The ancient snarled, throwing her aside like a limp rag doll as the head reached him. Priest slid and hit her back against a rock, her chains rattling and biting into her wrists. She spat and gagged, sticking her fingers down her throat to induce vomiting in an attempt to keep the vampire’s tainted blood from entering her system. The master snarled at Bishop. “I had hoped that the humans would break your indomitable spirit.” “Their cruelty only made me all the more eager to see you dead,” Bishop threw back at him. “I see. But perhaps this will change your mind,” the ancient said, motioning off into the darkness. Bishop gasped, but Priest could see nothing in the inky blackness. Her vision was dimming, as the vampire’s blood burned deep within her. “But your kiss destroyed my ship all those years ago,” Bishop said. Priest gasped. His ship? “Yes, but I have captured many with the skills to repair it and turned them to my will. Now I have a way off this planet, and I will take it when the cattle of this land are no more. But you see, Bishop, I need you to pilot it out of here. That’s why I Made you.” “I’ll never take you anywhere,” Bishop yelled angrily. “Then you shall die. And so, too, shall your woman.” The ancient rushed him, taking Bishop to the ground with a bloody swipe at his chest. Bishop screamed, but rolled with the vampire despite his wounds, taking the ancient beneath him.

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Priest cried out, seeing what looked to be a savage wound in the middle of Bishop’s chest. She felt about blindly on the ground, hands seeking her lock pick or the staff, anything to use against the evil one hurting her lover. Her hands found the staff at last and she pulled it free from its sheath. It burned bright and hot as the sun. “Throw it to me,” Bishop called. Priest did, not knowing what else to do, and it landed squarely in Bishop’s waiting hand, which immediately began to smoke and burn. Bishop roared and brought the staff down, stabbing it into the ancient’s eyes. The ancient screamed and thrashed as blood spurted from his wound. Bishop was thrown, landing against her on the ground. The ancient Master began to smoke and burn and spasm, his entire body becoming engulfed in the light. Bishop turned to hold her and shield her as, with one last mighty roar, the ancient exploded, pieces of him flying everywhere about them. Priest blinked blood from her eyes…and realized that the blood was not her own. “Bishop,” she cried, as he went limp against her. “Priest…Astrid…I am done,” he said. “No. No,” she cried. “Not now!” “Yes. I am hurt. You must go. There may be some stragglers left behind. I could not bear it if you were hurt further.” “Shut up,” she said, pressing her hand to the flowing wound at his chest. “Take his head for your bounty, but go.” “Fuck the bounty. I’ve no need for it. Just please hang on.” Bishop touched her cheek lightly. “I love you, Astrid. I only wish we could have met under different circumstances. I know you and I would have bonded in the trials of soul casting. I know you were meant for me.”

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“No, stop talking like that. You’ll be all right, I know it,” she said, even as his lifeblood flowed over her hands like a warm river. “Go now, love. Go.” Priest whimpered and then came to a decision. She pulled him up to a sitting position. “Take my blood from me that you might grow strong again,” she said. Bishop shook his head. “Do it. Please, Bishop. Take from me what you need. I have the blood of that ancient flowing through my veins now, and it will surely heal you as nothing else can.” Bishop sighed against her neck. Priest braced herself for pain. But there was no pain. Bishop’s fangs sank into her neck and it was as pure a pleasure in the giving as she had ever experienced before. He drank and drank from her, and then the world faded away into nothingness.

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Epilogue Bishop put the craft into autopilot mode and turned in his captain’s seat to look at her. “No regrets?” he asked. “None. I’ve always wanted to settle on the Black Moon, and now I have my chance. With you at my side, I shall want for nothing.” “I love you, Astrid,” Bishop told her, looking deep into her eyes. “And I you.” She now admitted it freely, to herself and to him. “Lie with me,” he cajoled. “I hunger for you so.” Priest laughed and opened her arms to him, knowing she had never been happier in all her days. Bishop took her in his arms and carried her to his bed within the bowels of the ship. He nuzzled her neck and she gasped. “Take your fill of me,” she encouraged, willingly offering her blood to him as she offered her body. “I’m strong enough for both of us.” “I’ve never wanted another the way I want you,” he vowed. “We were destined, you and I. It took me a while to realize it, I didn’t recognize my fascination with you for what it truly was, but I know it now.” “Spread your legs for me, my love. Let me inside.” He took her breast in his mouth and she opened herself to him. He slipped inside of her like a dream, filling her completely so that she moaned and moved beneath him. His teeth scraped her nipple, once, twice, and then he sank his fangs into the vein that ran through her breast. Priest cried out, cradling his head to her tightly.

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He rocked his hips into hers over and over as he drew her blood into his mouth. They made the bed squeak softly, and the wet sound of his body entering hers enflamed them both to a fevered pitch. Bishop pulled back. “You are stronger now, with his blood in you.” He thrust hard into her, his movements rough enough that they might have bruised her before the ancient had given her his blood. “But I am as yet unchanged, otherwise,” she told him, glad that it was so. “It would take far more than one exchange with him to affect you.” “Thank all the gods that ever were,” she breathed, holding him tight as he moved within her. “I will love you forever, my light bringer,” Bishop breathed against her breast. “And I you,” Priest vowed. “Forever and a day.” Their ship sailed quietly through the darkness of space, carrying them home, together.

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About the author: Sherri L. King lives in the American Deep South with her husband, artist and illustrator Darrell King. Critically acclaimed author of The Horde Wars and Moon Lust series, her primary interests lie in the world of action packed paranormals, though she’s been known to dabble in several other genres as time permits.

Sherri welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at 1337 Commerce Drive, #13, Stow OH 44224.

Also by Sherri L. King: Bachelorette Chronicles of the Aware: Rayven’s Awakening Fetish Manaconda Midnight Desires Moon Lust Moon Lust: Bitten Moon Lust: Feral Heat Moon Lust: Mating Season Sanctuary The Horde Wars: Ravenous The Horde Wars: Wanton Fire The Horde Wars: Razor’s Edge The Horde Wars: Lord of the Deep The Jewel

Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.

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