It was only one of many shocks he’d received that day, but in some ways it was the greatest. Redgrave and Constantia had been together when he met them; their alliance had continued from centuries before Balthazar’s birth to now. Constantia turning on Redgrave was like the moon turning on the sun. “You can’t mean it.”

“I do.”

“How?”

“He’s right about Skye,” she said. “As soon as I tasted Lorenzo’s blood and knew what he’d experienced through her, I realized the potential. The vampires are already massing. They’ll do whatever they have to do just for a taste.”

“So how do we stop it?”

Constantia stared at him. “We don’t. We use it for ourselves.”

Incredulously, he stared at her for a long moment before he could speak. When the bartender put his scotch in front of him, Balthazar found his first words, “Give me the whole bottle.”

As it slid across the bar to him, Constantia said, “Don’t reject it out of hand.”

“If you think I’d ever put her through that—”

“What would you be putting her through, Balthazar? She adores you. Skye’s sweet teenage putty in your hands. Just get her to give a pint every six weeks. Standard blood donation. That would be more than enough for you and me to claim power over Redgrave. Over anyone. Skye won’t even mind, not if she’s doing it for you.” Constantia gave him a sidelong glance. “And I promise not to be jealous. Though maybe you’ll let me watch occasionally? For old times’ sake.”

He had to stretch this out a little longer. Besides, he truly wanted to know: “Why would you ever turn against Redgrave?”

“You’re not the only one who got murdered, you know.” Constantia stared into the distance for a moment before throwing back another swallow of her drink. “Did that ever sink into your self-absorbed mind? Some of us hide our resentment better than you do. You were always a guy who wore his heart on his sleeve, Balthazar. Me—I take my time. I choose my moment. And the moment is now. He’s never played for higher stakes; that means he’s never been more vulnerable.”

Balthazar let his inner turmoil show on his face, the better to weigh his words with the proper reluctance. “It seems inevitable—with so many vampires after her, they’re going to get her blood one way or the other. I just can’t believe this is the only way out. But it is, isn’t it?”

“I knew you’d see sense!” Constantia leaned closer. “Or is it just that you’re past ready to slice off Redgrave’s head and throw it in the nearest river?”

“That would be a side benefit.”

She laughed—a rich laugh, husky and sensual. “They’re taking her to Redgrave’s hideout. You’ll never guess where—I’m sure you looked—well, it’s the old church on Holland Avenue.”

“A church?” Churches repelled vampires; Balthazar couldn’t have searched the churches in town even if it had ever occurred to him. “How is that possible?”

“Desanctified.” Constantia’s grin widened. The unsteady light from the television above the bar painted her face and blond hair in different shades, second to second. “Something ghastly happened there—I’ll spare you the details, since you were always the squeamish type. Anyway, it’s about as holy as a McDonald’s. Let’s go there. You explain to Skye how we’re going to handle this. Sweet-talk her. You know how. And we take Redgrave out forever, claim Skye for ourselves.”

Balthazar tilted his face toward her—not suggestively close, but not far short of it. “Just one thing, Constantia. Which part of this do I need you for?”

“If you could take Redgrave out on your own, you’d have done it by now. So would I. Together, we have the chance neither of us had alone. After that? You’ll stand by the bargain, because that’s the kind of sap you are.”

Drifting still closer to her as his fingers closed around the scotch bottle as if to pour again, he said, “You might be right.” Then he smashed the bottle into the side of her head.

Constantia collapsed, unconscious. “Hey!” the bartender yelled. This place didn’t have high standards, but apparently knocking women out during happy hour was beyond the pale. “Hey, what are you trying to do?”

Balthazar went for the door, pointing at the bill Constantia had left on the bar. “Keep the change.”

As soon as he was out, he took off—pushing himself into a run, faster again, then faster, as hard as he’d ever driven himself, praying against hope that he’d reach Skye in time.

Chapter Twenty-six

SKYE WALKED OUT OF HER HOUSE WITHOUT THE vampires laying a hand on her.

Redgrave had her, utterly, completely. In whatever spell he could weave that controlled her actions, he pulled her forward. With one hand on the banister, she carefully descended the stairs, the vampires behind her mocking her powerlessness. She struggled with all of her strength—and yet she remained trapped within the meek, pliant shell Redgrave had sealed her in.

As she walked, she could hear her phone chiming—she had a text from someone, probably Balthazar—but she was as unable to answer it as she was to do anything else of her own free will.

The effect wore off once she was in the van, but by then it was too late. Vampires sat on either side of her, their clawlike hands clamped around her arms, and the one behind the wheel was taking them toward the highway.