Constantia … he hated her, but not like that. Not enough to enjoy killing her.

But he would do what he had to do.

The plan was mostly his, in the end; Charity could hardly focus on anything past telling him where the house was and what time to come. Just at sunset, she said: Constantia liked the anonymity of the streets after dark and would often go out prowling. During the day, she’d almost certainly be sleeping.

That seemed unlike the Constantia he remembered—Balthazar recalled her minding sunlight less than any other vampire he’d ever encountered—but he hadn’t shared her bed for 140 years or so. Habits could change.

Wasn’t he proof enough of that?

He dressed as if for a fancy party; she’d see it as a compliment. Then he went to the address Charity had given. Evening shadows falling across the stricken, eerily silent city, Balthazar made his way up the steps and simply rang the doorbell.

It took a long time for anyone to approach. His sensitive ears picked up the swishing of skirts, the click of her boots against wood. Balthazar leaned close to the door. If Constantia breathed in deeply, she would recognize even his scent. Already he recognized her. For a few moments, he simply remained there motionless while she did as well; he knew they were aware of each other, poised only inches apart, at the intersection of wrath and desire.

Finally Constantia opened the door. She stood there, blond hair down and loose as if she’d just risen from her bed. “Balthazar,” she said. “My God. Charity told the truth. With her, you never know.”

He’d told Charity to inform Constantia that he was in town. That he was lonely, regretting his isolation from other vampires. That he’d been excited to learn they were without Redgrave. Lies were always strongest when mixed with the truth: Redgrave had taught him this much.

“Constantia.” He managed a smile for her; it was bent and uncertain, but that was all right. She wouldn’t have believed an overly enthusiastic welcome. “May I come in?”

Instead of welcoming him, Constantia merely stepped backward. Balthazar walked into that space and shut the door behind him. They stood very close. She was the only woman he’d ever known tall enough to look him in the eyes.

“Where’s Charity?” he asked, as if he didn’t know.

“Wandering the streets, as usual. She can hunt on her own now. Quite well, in fact. You’d be proud of her.”

Proud wasn’t exactly the word. Still, his sister had followed the plan. She was away from the house, away from any potential blame should he fail. Already he could see that her description of this place had been entirely accurate; she could focus better than he’d realized before. Celadon paper wreathed with white vines covered each wall, and the home possessed newfangled electric lighting and a broad stairwell just next to the door. That meant the room he could barely glimpse upstairs was the bedroom Charity and Constantia weren’t using … the one his sister would have hidden the stakes in.

All he had to do was get Constantia upstairs.

To judge by the quick rise and fall of her breath as she looked at him, Balthazar thought he could manage.

“You’re finally done with Redgrave,” he said.

“We don’t always travel together. You know that by now.”

“I realize that. I meant it as … a suggestion.”

Constantia cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t want to come back to Redgrave’s tribe. You want us to start a tribe of our own.”

“You and me and Charity. A good place to start, don’t you think?” Balthazar leaned forward, slid one hand along her waist. Apparently she’d joined the fad of doing without corsets; only thin fabric separated his skin from her flesh.

She whispered, “You hate me.”

“I hate Redgrave. You—you I miss, from time to time.”

A lie mixed with the truth. He hated his old desire for her; that didn’t meant it wasn’t still a part of him.

“You wouldn’t want us to hunt the same way.”

“There are other ways to hunt, Constantia. Ways that let us lead lives almost like normal.”

“Since when did we care about normal?”

“You can’t like existing this way,” Balthazar insisted. “Always on the fringes. Always in the dark. Always coming and going at Redgrave’s command. Take control, Constantia.”

He came closer still to her, so close that their lips almost touched.

Balthazar finished, “Take me.”

Impossible to say who kissed whom first, or where the lies ended and the truth began. For a few moments, he knew only that Constantia was familiar to him, darkly beautiful even now, and how good it had felt to drown his soul in her night after night.

But even as he backed her toward the stairs, Balthazar reminded himself, I’m about to kill her.

Conscience pricked at him, but not as much as the need to finally rescue his sister. He could finally do it—set them both free. Constantia had helped imprison them to begin with; now she had to pay the price.

They found their way into the bedroom and fell together on the bed. Balthazar cupped her face in his hands, kissing her deeply even as he opened his eyes to look for the bedside table on the right. That was where Charity would have hidden the stakes. Once he’d staked Constantia and paralyzed her, he could burn this house down.

He pushed her back, not roughly, but an old signal he thought she’d recognize. Sure enough, Constantia began to shrug off her dove-gray dress, laughing throatily. Her perfect body could still move him. “You haven’t learned any new tricks these past centuries, have you?” She grinned at Balthazar as she scooted across the bed, the better to undress. “I see I still have a lot to teach you.”