No time to worry about that. Red threw herself between the wagons and the stable, Silver at her heels. Arrows thunked into the wagon.
“Muck,” Red grumbled under her breath as she pressed herself against the wagon. She rammed her dagger into the side of the wagon, then worked the arrow in her shoulder all the way out. It came free, at the price of pain. Red pressed her head against the wood, woozy and sick to her stomach.
More arrows thunked into the wagon. The guards were advancing.
Red swore. “Best I run for it now.” She glanced down at the animal at her side.
Silver looked up at her, and the intelligence in those eyes struck her hard. It waited for a moment and then shook its head in a negative gesture.
Red’s skin crawled. The movement looked unnatural and wrong. “You got a better idea?” she whispered.
Sliver moved his head up and down with an odd deliberation.
Her stomach clenched. “Fine,” she snapped.
Silver barked and darted back into the courtyard. He—and Red had no doubt he was a “he”—moved fast.
Shouts from the men. They had crossbows now. Bolts clattered on the flagstones. Red heard cranking as the weapons were reloaded. She glanced around the wagon. The men were moving, slowly coming closer, the bowmen toward the rear.
Two more vores darted toward the men, then away. Bolts and arrows rained down, but none hit their targets that Red could tell.
Silver came across the courtyard at a run, then whined and half collapsed. Shouts rang out as he dragged himself toward her. Red reached out with her good arm and hauled him into cover. She knelt and ran her hands over him, searching for …
The big animal stood and shook himself. And gave her a toothy grin.
“Faker,” Red growled in admiration. “Still, we—”
Screams.
Red was up and moving, but Silver was faster. They both broke out from cover to see that the new vores had come up from behind and targeted the crossbowmen.
Silver howled, and a fierce joy filled Red. She charged—
She took a few more steps, then stopped. No sense in being stupid. Besides, the beasts had them down. There was no need.
A slim man made his way down the side of the wagons, wearing a tattered tabard around his waist. The cloth bore the crest of the young Queen, the white dagger-star on a red background. “Are they all dead?” the young man asked, his ribs sticking out, with whip marks on his chest and face. “Are all the slavers—”
Red nodded.
The man sighed, and slowly lowered himself to the cobblestones. “Thank the Lord of Light.”
Two of the creatures padded over and crouched next to him.
“What are these things?” Red breathed, watching as they finished the guards.
“I don’t know.” The young man shook his head. “The slavers stripped me, beat me, then threw me in the wagons, figuring I’d be eaten. The creatures hadn’t been fed, the wagons hadn’t been cleaned. They had to keep the snarling beasts back with spears when they opened the door. I thought I was dead when they tossed me in.”
“But—,” Red prompted him.
“But these creatures, whatever they are, I swear they knew I wasn’t one of their captors. They understood me. They didn’t hurt me, and slept with me, kept me warm. I’ve—”
“The High Baron of Athelbryght sent me,” Red interrupted him; then a high-pitched screech interrupted her.
From out of the manor house ran a fat man, dressed in silks, fleeing the vores snapping at his heels. The dark animals chased after him, their tongues hanging out, and Red could have sworn they were laughing as they herded him in her direction.
The fat one screamed again when he saw the blood and the dead, but he threw himself at Red’s feet, sobbing. “Call them off! Call them off!”
The vores stood there, hackles raised, growling. Staring.
Red looked down at the slave master. “If it was my choice, you’d be their prey and rightfully so.”
Silver started stalking toward the fat man.
“But it’s not my choice,” Red warned.
Silver gave her a hard look.
“Into one of the wagons,” Red ordered. “The High Baron will decide your fate.”
“But…” The man gathered his robe tight around his body.
“Now,” Red barked.
The fat man scrambled off the flagstones and ran for the wagon door.
“You’re hurt,” the Queen’s man said to her.
“It can wait.” Red managed to sheathe her dagger, and pushed the weakened hand into her belt. “We need to open the main gates, and send word to the High Baron. Then there’s questions to ask, and slaves to free.”
“Aye to that.” The young one smiled. “And then there’s them.”
The vores were all seated, staring at them. Red could swear they were listening.
“True enough.” Red looked around the courtyard. “We’ll summon the High Baron, and see if we can find some answers. Can you get the main gate open by yourself?”
“I’ll try.” The young man pushed himself up with the help of the wall. “But what will you be doing?”
Red looked over at the guardhouse. “Oh, I’ve a promise to keep.”
SUPERMAN
Jeanne C. Stein
PROLOGUE
My name is Anna Strong. I am vampire. It’s been over a month since I fed. A month since the first anniversary of my becoming. A month since I assumed the mantle of the Chosen One. I’ve gone about my daily routine as if nothing has changed, when in reality, everything has changed.
I move out to the deck off my bedroom and sink into a chaise. The early-morning sun is hot on my face. It feels good. I can almost feel my blood warming, though I know that’s an illusion. Only feeding and sex warm a vampire’s blood.
I haven’t had either in a while.
I sip coffee. A few blocks away, the ocean sparkles under a flawless summer sky. I live in San Diego, Mission Beach to be exact, near the boardwalk. I love it here. The sea is vibrant, alive. People drawn to it are vibrant and alive, too. Kids at play in the sand, surfers bobbing on the waves, sunbathers eschewing warnings of dire consequences to bake pasty skin to a toasty brown. All share a common bond. They are human. They belong.
I drain my cup, rise to go inside. I’m feeling the effects of lack of blood. Like a diabetic without insulin, my body is slowing down, my mind becoming sluggish. I’d better call Culebra and make sure he can arrange a host to meet me at Beso de la Muerte. I can’t afford to let myself become vulnerable—not anymore. Not to anyone.
