LITMIR.BIZ

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of the streetlamps scattered around the drained fountain. A paper coffee cup tumbled toward him and lodged behind his heavy work boots.

      What a fool he’d been to think he was out of the Alliance’s reach. You couldn’t do what he did and expect to get away with it. But, Jesus, he thought he’d been so careful moving to this remote town.

      The sound of the girl’s voice drew his attention once more.

      “Listen, Ryan, I’m not putting up with this bullshit much longer. Either you tell her or I will.” Oblivious to the fact that she was surrounded by those with deadly intentions, she stepped away from the leading edge of the rain and slumped against the building. She popped a piece of gum into her mouth and let the wind carry away the wrapper.

      Could she be the target, not him? Her blood type was relatively uncommon in this part of the country, he reasoned. He’d covered his tracks well and it wasn’t as if this was a planned visit to the campus anyway. No one knew he was here.

      Movement in the overhang of Old Main on the other side of Red Square caught his eye.

      Two figures—darker than the shadows—hugged the ivy-covered brick. Like marionettes on the same wire, their arms and legs moved in unison. To a casual observer, they looked like well-coordinated Goths, but to a fellow vampire, they were remorseless killers who profited from the death of humans.

      Alfonso relaxed. Blood assassins worked alone. They must be after the girl.

      Adjusting the rope grips in his palms, he cursed silently. His fingers felt so weak. Hell, his whole body did. If it hadn’t been so long since he’d taken the blood of a human, he’d be stronger right now. He couldn’t confront them like this.

      Besides, since he was marked for elimination, the average DB wouldn’t hesitate to finish him off if they learned his identity. It wasn’t like he wanted to rub shoulders with them on purpose.

      He tucked the blades away and melted into the shadows.

      As soon as he rounded the far side of the building, his steel-toed boots began to feel like lead, each step more difficult than the last, and he stopped. The hollow pit in his stomach became too hard to ignore.

      He had planned to take only a small amount of the girl’s blood, leaving her tired and a little dazed, yet alive. But if he left, she’d be dead within minutes, her body completely drained of its life energy, her blood portioned out and sold in vials to the highest bidders. A perfect example of how supply and demand worked on the black market of the vampire underworld.

      He didn’t need much from her to regain his strength. Was there enough time to—?

      Nope, too late now. He’d have to let them have her. Better her than him, he thought as he turned up his collar and took off again toward the empty parking lot across the street. The sound of his boot heels striking the pavement echoed loudly between the buildings. Each step seemed to be saying, “Loser, loser.”

      A Guardian would never stand by while a Darkblood took a human.

      I’m not a Guardian, he wanted to remind his conscience. It’s not my job to protect humans from vampires. But he hesitated anyway.

      The Darkblood Alliance believed their kind belonged at the top of the food chain—they had no regard for human life. They didn’t want to blend in; they wanted to dominate. These predators would either discard the body here to be discovered by the authorities, or they’d take her back to their den and drain her there. Regardless of what they did with her, every kill, every disappearance, risked exposing their secret to the human population. That backward attitude may have been tolerated in the Middle Ages, but it wasn’t acceptable today.

      Even in his weakened condition, he realized he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t at least try to prevent the inevitable. Goddamn guilty conscience.

      He made his way back along the edge of Haggard Hall. When he got to the corner, he glanced quickly around. Driving rain fell at a severe angle, but he could still make out the Darkbloods moving on the other side of Red Square.

      He sprinted across the narrow walkway over to Miller Hall, thankful the weather was so crappy. Chances were, even though vampires’ senses were more acute than humans’, the DBs couldn’t hear him above the sound of the wind and rain. As he flattened himself against the brick facade, he formed a plan. He’d jump them when they got closer and hope to God he had the strength to pull it off. Retrieving the blades, he waited.

      Within heartbeats, the two figures emerged like liquid darkness from the corner of Old Main and stopped on the far end of the same walkway, but they didn’t advance farther.

      Damn. Had they seen him? He doubted they smelled him. Not only was he downwind, but their all-blood diet dulled their sense of smell.

      Although he couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying, the wind carried snippets of their hushed whispers. They were trying to figure out what to do next.

      Shit, they had seen him.

      With his lack of strength, the element of surprise had been his only ally. He couldn’t hope to fight them like this and win. His only hope now was for the girl to leave. Then he’d split.

      For chrissake, he wanted to yell at her. Would you get the hell out of here? Your voice is like a goddamn dinner bell.

      Unsure what to do next, he considered his options. Maybe he could stall the bastards.

      Switching both blades to his left hand, he tucked them against his forearm to keep them hidden. He stepped from the shadows and ambled toward the end of the walkway in his best non-confrontational manner, a skill he’d honed to perfection as a double agent.

      Side by side, with their hands on their hips, they waited for him. The tall, gangly one, a female with stringy blond hair whipping across her face like Medusa, fidgeted the heel of her boot.

      A newbie maybe? Seasoned DBs were usually more stoic and controlled. Perfect.

      The other one, a stocky male, stood silent beside her. Both wore matching ankle-length black coats, but because neither one had on the wraparound sunglasses common among DB pairs, he could see their coal-black irises and the lifeless gray of their whites. Along with that rotten meat smell, it was another characteristic of their all-blood diet.

      “What’s going on?” Alfonso asked as he got closer. He touched two fingers to his lips in a fang-slang greeting and dropped his hand. “Darkbloods, right?”

      Wordlessly, they looked at each other, something passing silently between them before they relaxed their stances and returned the gesture.

      Great. Just great. The female couldn’t be as new as he’d first thought—the pair operated in tandem like most longtime DB partners who fed from the same hosts night after night.

      The male cocked his head in the direction of the coed. “You taking her tonight?”

      Relieved that it definitely was the girl they were after, not him, he flashed an apologetic grin, hoping they’d buy his discomfort. “Was thinking about it.”

      “Is she an A-poz or B-poz? We couldn’t tell from over there.”

      “B-positive, I think.” He tried to convey uncertainty, although he knew for sure that she was. “Why?”

      “Excellente,” the male said with a faux accent. “We’re building up our stock and are short on a few of the less common varieties. More people are B-poz up in Vancouver than down here. Didn’t want to head up there just for that, so this is perfect.” He flipped open his coat and displayed his wares. His partner did the same. The inside was like a goddamn pharmacy with vials full of blood, syringes, a few nasty-ass knives and God knew what else.

      “You a revert?” the woman asked, as she fastened her coat and scrutinized him. “Or just slipping.” One of her eyeballs canted slightly off center, not quite moving in conjunction with the other one.

       Glass eye or lazy

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