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the guy’s hand. Jake didn’t need hyperaware senses to know what that meant.

He came straight to the cash register.

The girls in the back were quiet for the moment. If they stayed like that for just a few more minutes, Jake could clear the register and get the robber out of here before they got hurt.

The man moved in front of the register, standing with his back to the security camera that was trained on the door. He put the gun on the counter, kept his hand on it, finger on the trigger.

“Gimme all your cash.” He wore sunglasses and kept his eyes downcast.

Jake already had the register open and scooped the cash into a plastic grocery bag. He stole a glance to the mirror in the corner—the girls were moving, coming up the aisle toward the register. They didn’t see what was happening.

He finished and quickly slid the bag to the guy. A smart thief would have grabbed it and run, happy to get away with whatever he could. The cameras wouldn’t have gotten a good look at him, and corporate headquarters wasn’t going to sweat a hundred bucks when no one got hurt.

But no. He had to stand there and look in the bag. “Is that all?”

“That’s all they let me have, man.”

“—trust me, it’s not going to kill you to drink regular Coke just this once—”

The girls stopped at the end of the aisle, just a few feet from the counter and the man with the gun. The first one, the blonde, looked up, eyes wide, and put her hand on the brown-haired one’s arm. Equally startled, the thief looked at them.

Reflexively, the robber’s hand clenched on his weapon. He brought the gun up, swung it around.

For Jake, time slowed. He knew the guy was going to shoot. It was as if Jake could hear the nerves firing along his arm. That humming in his muscles moved to his skin. His brain wasn’t in control; his panicked adrenal gland was. The bullet would hit the blond girl. Also controlled by instinct, she had moved in front of her friend, putting herself in the line of fire to protect her.

Jesus, Jake was a freakin’ vampire. He ought to be able to handle this.

He jumped over the counter.

At least, he tried, imagining that he could plant his hands and make an elegant leap, swinging his legs and flying toward the gunman feetfirst, knocking him out and saving the day. But he was suddenly a lot more powerful than he thought he should have been, and his whole body turned into a flailing projectile, tumbling toward the assailant. He was flying. Never mind that he couldn’t stop. Could he look like any more of a dork …

It happened so fast the guy didn’t even look at him. One moment Jake was behind the counter, the next he was crashing into him, knocking him into a display of neon-blue washer fluid.

“What the fu—?” the guy said.

The gun went off—two, three times. Jake felt an impact, and the girls screamed.

That humming strength buzzed through him again, and he was on his feet, looking at his stomach where he was sure he’d been shot. His hand even snagged on a bullet hole in his shirt; but there wasn’t any blood, and even the sensation of impact faded to nothing. Because he was a freaking vampire.

He put his hands on his hips, stared down at the guy, and laughed.

The guy screamed, a guttural sound of denial. Still on his ass, he scuttled away from Jake, slipped, and a half-dozen bottles of washer fluid fell on him. His sunglasses came off and skittered on the floor tiles.

Jake was on him in a second, his hands gripping the guy’s collar, pinning him to the floor. With a sense of amazement, he parted his lips, baring his teeth. His fangs.

I could break his neck. Drink him ’til he’s dry.

The guy started crying. His lips were moving, but his words were unintelligible. He tried to bring his hands up, to ward Jake away, but he could only bat weakly at him.

Pathetic. And Jake had thought himself a loser.

He called back to the girls, “There’s some duct tape behind the counter. Could one of you bring it here? And call 911.”

If he’d been alone, he might have done more to the guy. But this was good enough. This made him a hero. A vampire superhero.

The blond girl approached, offering him the roll of duct tape. “That was incredible, what you did. I thought for sure he’d shot you. You must know some kind of funky martial arts.” Her friend was on the phone, her voice shaking and hands trembling.

Jake taped together the guy’s wrists, then his ankles. Not that he seemed inclined to run off. That look Jake had given him must have come straight out of a nightmare.

Jake stood, crossing his arms to cover the bullet hole in his T-shirt. “It was mostly instinct.” He looked bashfully at his shoe. He didn’t forget to smile.

The smile she gave back was warm and beckoning. The other girl hung up the phone and hurried around the counter to hold her friend’s arm. They both looked up at Jake with the same earnest admiration.

He’d seen girls look at rock stars that way. And they were looking like that at him.

He’d just beat up an armed robber. He could do anything.

“Hey, you two look really shaken up. You should sit down, at least until the cops get here.” He slipped between them, put his arms around their shoulders, and guided them to the plastic chairs sitting against the wall by the coffeemaker near the counter. They clung to him, leaning against his body. They were so warm. And fresh. He breathed deeply, taking in the scent of them. He sat on the middle chair; they perched on either side of him and didn’t let go. Score.

“I don’t think I can keep driving tonight,” said the brown-haired one.

“That’s okay,” Jake said. “Stay here as long as you need to.” At least until dawn.

Now, how to play the cards he’d been dealt tonight?

LONG TIME WAITING

Manitou Springs, Colorado, 1900

Amelia’s scrying brought her to a cottage perched on the hill overlooking the road. Tucked in the woods, the place was meant to be charming, but the blue paint had faded to gray and the shadows of the surrounding trees fell across it strangely.

The feeling of doom that had brought her here grew stronger. I am too late. For the thousandth time she rebuked herself; she should have heeded the warning on that crossroads tomb …

Dismounting, she tossed her horse’s reins over the porch railing and charged inside.

Lydia Harcourt, nineteen, lay in the foyer, sprawled on her side on the hardwood floor. A pool of blood had spread around her, a scarlet carpet. Her blue cotton dress was stained and spattered with it. Her throat had been cut so deeply, the head lolled back at an angle that caused it to stare inhumanly over her shoulder. The wound exposed muscle, bone, torn vessels, and windpipe. One would think the girl had been mauled by an animal, but the cut was too clean. A single swipe of a claw, not the work of teeth and limbs. The blood was still wet, shining in the light coming through the window. This hadn’t happened long ago, but the perpetrator was gone, vanished into air quite literally, same as last time. Last month, she’d tracked the demon to a village in Juarez, where it had slaughtered a herd of cattle. She had known it was only a matter of time before it chose a human target, and one likely to most infuriate Amelia.

Nothing in the place was broken, no struggle had taken place, no one in the neighborhood had been alerted by screams. Lydia might have simply fallen where she stood.

“Damn,” Amelia whispered. She cursed herself for having the ability to know what was happening, to mark it and track it, but not the speed to catch the thing. As if the demon knew this, it seemed to taunt her.

She opened the satchel she wore over her shoulder.

Chalk. A red candle. A bundle of sage. Flint and steel. A round mirror the size of her hand. The body had not yet stiffened. A trace of warmth still lingered in the blood. If Amelia hurried, she might be able to catch the trail of