“What are you?” she demanded and began to edge around him, giving him a wide berth.
“You don’t know?”
“Would I ask if I did?” she countered. “You’re different from them.” She motioned to the deceased vampires, a couple of whom were only piles of empty clothing now.
Étienne studied her closely. “Because I didn’t kill you?”
She shook her head, her eyes roving him as if she could see a difference.
“You seemed to know me, when I joined the battle. Do you?”
She inched toward the entrance of the alley.
Étienne didn’t follow. He could catch her easily if she should decide to run and he didn’t want to frighten her any more than he already had.
“I saw you,” she said. “On the roof of the building across from the frat house. Were you following me?”
“Actually I was hunting the vampires you lured away and had no knowledge of your existence until that time.”
“I’m supposed to believe you hunt vampires?” She snorted. “You are a vampire.”
“You yourself said I’m different.”
“Different but the same.” Her gaze went to his fangs.
Étienne breathed deeply and forced his fangs to retract.
Her eyes widened.
The rumble of an approaching engine reached Étienne’s ears. Fortunately most drivers were so busy chatting or texting that they wouldn’t notice anything peculiar taking place in the alleyways they passed.
“Put your swords away and let us discuss this,” he suggested reasonably. He needed to keep her talking while he decided what to do about this, whether to call Reordon or . . .
Well, he didn’t know what else.
“No,” she responded. “I don’t think so.”
“You’ve nothing to fear from me. I just saved your life.”
“So you could take it yourself?”
“No,” he said with the same exasperation he had heard in her voice earlier.
“So you could turn me?”
“Hell, no.”
Her frown deepened. Perhaps she had finally identified the sincerity in his voice.
A somewhat battered economy car screeched to a halt behind her. The driver leaned over and thrust open the passenger door.
Krysta backed into it, never taking her eyes from him. Sitting down with swords still at the ready, she swung her feet into the car. “Don’t follow me.”
As soon as she lowered her blades, the car shot forward out of sight, her door slamming shut from the momentum.
Merde. He hadn’t expected that.
Gritting her teeth, Krysta turned around and stared through the back window.
“Who the hell was that?” her brother demanded, barely tapping the breaks as he turned the corner and began a roundabout, wild-ass ride in the general direction of their home.
“I don’t know.”
“His eyes glowed. He was a vampire?”
“I don’t know what he was. Is. He looks like a vampire, but . . .”
“But what?”
She grabbed the door handle and hung on as Sean skidded around another corner. He had all of the talents of a freaking stunt driver. And that had come in handy. Not once had a vampire managed to follow them all the way home.
“His aura is different,” she told him. “Way different. And . . .”
“And what?”
“He saved me.”
“Oh, shit. He didn’t bite you, did he?”
“No.” She faced forward and slumped back in her seat, wounds throbbing. “There were four vampires this time.”
“Damn it! I told you to stick to one or two!”
“I didn’t know there were going to be that many!” she defended herself. “It’s not like I can stop, look back, and take a head count. That would kinda spoil the whole Victim Here deception.”
He shook his head. “Four? How did you even—?”
“I took out three.” She began to shake as reaction set in. “But I had to leave myself wide open for the fourth in order to take out the third and, when I turned around, there were half a dozen daggers sticking out of his back.”
Sean shot her a disbelieving look. “Are you saying the vampire in the alley who was dressed like Johnny Cash killed him?”
“Him and the seven vampires who showed up next.”
Epithets filled the little car, full of force and fear and determination. “That’s it. No more. This is over. You’re done.”
“It—”
“When it was one or two, that was one thing. You could handle it. But for the past couple of years it’s been insane. You’ve nearly died too many times to count and I’m not ready to lose you.”
“I’ll just have to be more careful—”