“You’re in the fucking safety zone,” the man snapped. “And trust me, you’re going to want to get out of the way of that.”

There was no question what the guy was talking about, and Mae tucked her arms around her middle, even though she was not anyone’s target. And whether the vampire’s opponent was ready or not, whether the crowd could handle what was about to happen, the male started to come forward, a menace in heavy boots that landed like he was dominating all of Caldwell. With his chin down and his nasty stare straight ahead, his heavy brow and his brutal expression made it impossible to tell what color his eyes were, but in the marrow of her bones, she knew they were black. Black as the depraved soul that dwelled within that awesome and powerful body.

As a sick sense of dread rippled through Mae, she tried to get away even farther, but the bodies behind her were too packed in. And then it dawned on her. Who the hell was fighting the male?

She shifted her head in the other direction. “Oh, God . . .”

The human who was about to get eaten like a meal stood inches shorter and a hundred pounds lighter, and it was clear, going by the naked expression of fear on his lean face, that he knew he was in trouble. He, too, had tattoos, but they were a hodgepodge of different scripts, symbols, and ink colors, the random collection no more coordinated than what had fallen out of her bag the night before. And she imagined, going by his wide, dilated eyes, that his thoughts were no more organized than his markings.

Mae wanted to tell him to run. But he already knew escape was in his best interests. He was checking behind him like he was assessing his flight path—yet for some reason, he sank down into a semblance of a fighting stance, and raised his bony fists up to his cheeks. As his head and shoulders leaned forward, the rest of his body arched back on his hips—like his vital organs wanted no part of this.

And still the vampire kept coming.

The male stopped only when he was inside the wobbly inner circle that had been spray-painted on the concrete—and unlike the human, he didn’t brace for aggression. He just stared at the man with his arms down at his sides and his spine straight as an oak. No fists were made. No lunges hinted at or initiated.

Then again, he was a predator so deadly, he required no defenses and no offenses. He was a law of physics, undeniable and inevitable.

As the crowd went silent and the two fighters became an on-the-verge tableau of a beatdown, Mae found herself staring at the male’s bare chest. There was something captivating in the way the bony hand moved as he breathed with controlled, calm inhales. Meanwhile, across the circle, the human waited for an attack with a jittery series of hops and skips. When nothing came at him, his eyes wilded around. The crowd was becoming restless, and the man seemed to be compelled by their impatience. He approached with caution, the male not moving in response. And then the human threw the first punch, the angle upward and seeking that heavy jaw—

The male caught that knobby fist in his much larger palm, and he twisted the arm like a rope. As the human let out a scream and fell to his knees, the crowd gasped and then went silent again.

“Stop,” Mae said under her breath. “Stop this . . .”

The vampire’s expression never changed. Neither did his breathing. And both made sense. He was a killer who was not exerting himself.

Without a care in the world, he forced the human onto his back and then straddled the prey. The man seemed momentarily incapacitated by terror. That changed. Some gear clicked in his head and he began kicking, his leg small enough that it could bend in and punch his foot out into the crotch area. The vampire jumped out of range—and came back down with a set of face-targeting knuckles that were barely avoided with a roll. The concrete cracked under the force of the punch’s impact and the human jumped back to his feet. His balance was bad, and his greater opponent took advantage of this, grabbing the other arm, spinning him around, and yanking him back against that huge chest.

Don’t bite him! Mae thought. Are you crazy? With this many humans—

Except the human was the one sinking canines through skin, his flat-topped teeth locking into the forearm. That didn’t last long. The vampire ripped the bite free even though flesh went away with that mouth, and then he threw a punch for a second time.

The impact to the side of the skull knocked the human out cold, the thin body going boneless to the concrete, a pool held together only by that sloppily tattooed bag of skin.

The vampire’s smile returned.

Slow. Evil. Deadly.

With only a hint of fang.

As the human began to move his arms and legs like he wasn’t sure they were still attached, the male bent down and waited for consciousness to be fully resumed. Because, clearly, it was not enough to kill. You had to murder your victim only when they were aware you were taking their life—

Suddenly, all Mae could see was her brother. Rhoger was the one lying beneath the menace. Rhoger was the weaker of the two about to be struck. Rhoger was about to die—

“No!” she yelled. “Don’t hurt him!”

Given the shocked silence of the crowd, her voice carried throughout the parking garage’s level, and something about it—the pitch? the tone?—made the vampire jerk to attention. Then that terrifying face turned to her, and those horrible eyes narrowed.

Mae’s heart stopped.

“Please,” she said. “Don’t kill him—”

From out of nowhere, the human’s fist struck out with a flimsy punch that once again missed the mark of that prominent jaw.

Except then came the blood.

A trickle. A gush.

A geyser.

From the throat of the vampire.

Confused, Mae looked to the hand that had done the flimsy swipe—and something silver was glinting in the human’s grip. A knife.

As the red rain fell on the man’s throat and chest, five hundred pairs of shoes and high heels went on a bolt, the crowd racing for the stairwell. Meanwhile, the human seemed shocked at his success. As for the vampire? His expression still had not changed, but not because he was unaware of his mortal wound. He touched the second mouth that had been opened at the side of his throat and then brought his glossy fingers into his field of vision.

If anything, he was merely annoyed as he listed to one side. Fell to his knees. Propped a hand on the concrete to keep from totally collapsing. Meanwhile, clearly unsure whether he was free from danger or not, the human wriggled out from under and took off at a dead—natch—run.

Mae looked at the vampire. Then glanced at the stairwell, which was choked with bodies trying to get out of the parking garage, out of the neighborhood, out of the state.

“Shit,” she muttered as gurgles rose up from the male.

Do not get involved, she told herself. Your first and only concern is Rhoger.

Except she wanted to help. Hell, she felt responsible because she’d distracted the vampire—and that was the only reason the human had survived, the only reason why the male wasn’t going to.

But her brother needed her more than this violent stranger.

The male made a sound.

“I can’t help you,” she said in a cracked voice.

The male was struggling to speak, and as he coughed up blood, she looked around . . . and then went over to kneel down beside him. There was no 911 equivalent for vampires, and even if there were, he was losing blood too fast for any kind of ambulance—or even a healer who could dematerialize to him. Besides, who could she call?