“Your horse knows when you’re in danger.”

Skye and Balthazar turned together to see a figure approaching from the thick underbrush near them: Lorenzo. His eyes were unfocused, almost glazed. The rustling behind them told her he wasn’t alone.

“Redgrave said—” She felt stupid relying on anything Redgrave had ever said, and yet—“He said you wouldn’t come after me.”

“I’m tired of what Redgrave says.” Lorenzo took another step toward them, his eyes only on Skye. “Make me feel alive again.”

Chapter Fifteen

THEY’VE REBELLED, BALTHAZAR THOUGHT. THE idea of anyone else rebelling against Redgrave shocked him—he’d done it, but so far as he knew he was the only one, ever—but that vanished as he saw Lorenzo’s hunger.

In an instant, he was a hunter. Free to kill.

Balthazar leaped forward, straight for Lorenzo. But Lorenzo was equally as fast and far more prepared; he dodged so swiftly that he seemed to vanish. As Balthazar scrambled for balance on the icy ground, he shouted, “Skye! Get out of here!”

Just then Eb whinnied, and Balthazar saw he hadn’t had to tell Skye what to do; she was already mounted again, working to control her uneasy horse. Just as Lorenzo clutched her arm, she drove her heels into the horse’s side, and Eb took off at full gallop. Peppermint followed just behind. Which left him on his own, but he could defend himself.

Balthazar grabbed the closest weapon—a heavy, fallen tree branch—and swung it at Lorenzo as hard as he could. Lorenzo went down, but that would last only a moment, and the branch was too thick to be used as a stake. Worse, he could hear that the other vampires weren’t joining their fight. They were pursuing Skye.

He jumped with all his strength, not toward Lorenzo but into the treetops. Once he was high enough to be above the fray, Balthazar moved forward, leaping from tree to tree, not knowing if Lorenzo was behind him and not caring. Skye was all that mattered.

Where is she? Please, let her be on her horse, let her have a chance—

Even in the heat of pursuit, Balthazar knew he shouldn’t be this scared for Skye. That he ought to be thinking of keeping her secure, not held safe in his embrace. He’d been too captivated by her to sense the other vampires’ approach—had that taught him nothing? No time to question himself now, no time to do anything but fight.

As he launched himself into a taller tree—some forty feet off the ground now—he finally saw her. Skye still clung to Eb’s back, her horse’s dark coat stark against the frosty ground. Though they raced at full gallop, the vampires were closing. How many were there—three? No, four, because Balthazar knew he hadn’t delayed Lorenzo for long. He’d catch up soon.

The others he didn’t know. That meant they were probably young, a hundred years old at the most. Younger vampires were weaker. Balthazar intended to use every one of his four centuries against them.

Balthazar jumped from the tree, letting himself plummet downward, a long streak of black against the gray sky, until he landed solidly in front of one of Skye’s pursuers. The impact would’ve crushed a human’s legs; Balthazar felt the pain of it but still stood. The vampire nearly skidded into him, off-balance, which made it even more effective when Balthazar smashed his fist into the vampire’s face.

The vampire staggered back. Balthazar hit him again, aiming not for his nose but a place about four inches behind it, deep in the skull. At impact he heard the sound of crunching bone, felt the hot, wet smear of blood against his hand; the vampire went down solidly. For a human, the blow would have been fatal. For a vampire, it was a delay, no more. Balthazar grabbed a stick nearby—firm, not too thick—and stabbed it through the vampire’s chest.

Instantly, the glow of knowledge faded from his eyes; the grimace of pain disappeared from his face. What lay before Balthazar now was a dead body, no more. He wouldn’t awaken until someone removed the stake. Hopefully that wouldn’t be before Balthazar could come back and cut off the worthless creature’s head.

For one moment, Balthazar felt a grim satisfaction—but then he heard Skye scream.

He turned and ran as fast as he could toward her, so fast no earthly being would have been able to see much of him, but he knew he wasn’t going to make it in time. Lorenzo had not only caught up, but he’d also managed to intercept Eb and pull Skye down to the ground, just on the riverbank. She was in the fighting stance he’d taught her, holding him at bay—but with three other vampires surrounding her, too, she’d only be able to buy herself seconds.

Balthazar pushed himself harder, desperate to reach her.

But somebody else made it there before him.

At first all Balthazar saw was a golden blur, but then Lorenzo was flung backward, bodily, until he slammed into a nearby tree and fell. The blur went still, took the form of Redgrave.

“How dare you?” Redgrave didn’t sound as angry as he looked; his voice, as ever, was polite, almost cool. He might have been scolding Lorenzo for going out in the cold without his hat. “Were my instructions not clear?”

“You know what she is!” One of the vampires said, almost pleading.

“You know I intend her to be mine,” Redgrave replied. “That should be enough for you. As it isn’t—let’s try a reminder.”

Constantia appeared as if out of nowhere, her long, blond hair whipping around her, her gray coat swirling behind her like a cape, to clutch one of the other vampires around the throat. Her grip was so fierce that even at a distance Balthazar could hear the crunch of cartilage. Choking a vampire wouldn’t kill, but he knew from experience that it could hurt like hell.