It wasn’t just the white hair that told me he was the rogue. This vampire was different. It was something in his manner—the way he studied me as though I were an alien creature. It was in the feel of him, too. He radiated power—I felt it like a tug in my gut. Like electricity penetrating me, rippling deep beneath my skin.
He was ancient. I felt it. He was beyond pale, his skin pallid, lacking any color whatsoever.
He was simply dressed and a lot less soiled than I’d have expected a rogue vampire to be. No, somebody was housing this creature. Cleaning his clothes. Weirdest of all, he wore sunglasses. I realized I’d never before seen a vampire in sunglasses.
I looked away, desperately scanning, search
ing for an escape route, even though I knew there wasn’t one.
He laughed, and compared to his hissing, it was a bizarrely human sound. “Such a pretty pretty. ”
Cold dread washed over me, and I backed up. Slowly, I edged away from the water. This thing would probably kill me, but I refused to be drowned.
He followed slowly, his head tilting as he studied me. “Normally I wait until dark to feed. But I can’t avoid the pretty pretty. ”
So creepy creepy. I backed away faster now. I inventoried my weapons: three stakes and three stars. Maybe if I could get to higher ground, I could figure something out.
He laughed again, chanting, “Here, pretty pretty. ”
Cold sweat prickled my skin. I broke into a backward jog. He was so foreign to me, so terrifying, so powerful, and yet I couldn’t take my eyes from him. I went faster, even though I knew he could overtake me. He was toying with me. And it was working. My heart hammered in my chest, and I fought to breathe normally. My skin had gone clammy. I shot a quick glance at the hillside. It wasn’t so steep here. I’d spied the trail. If I could climb up, maybe I’d be able to make a run for it. Maybe someone would see me.
Maybe maybe maybe…
I spun and broke into a flat-out run, my arms pumping, sprinting as fast as I could. But the damned sand made it so hard. My feet chuffed and thumped along, and I grew winded quickly. But I made it to the bottom of the hill and instantly began to clamber up, using hands and feet to pull and hoist myself up and over.
I made it.
But then he appeared—he’d just jumped, and there he was, standing before me, blocking my path, whispering, “Pretty pretty. ”
I tried to dart around him, but each time he’d appear in front of me. Laughing and muttering.
I thought maybe I could distract him, and I tried, asking ridiculous things, like, “Who are you?” and “Did you kill those people?” All the while, I wriggled my arm, working the stake out from my sleeve. My stars would do no good against this thing. My only chance would be if I surprised him. Finally, a stake slipped loose, slid into my hand, its tip concealed in my palm.
I scrambled around him—I had to get away from the ledge—and this time he let me. But he was always just there, at my shoulder, chanting, “Here, pretty pretty. ”
His voice was changing. Intensifying. He was growing bored, or thirsty.
I had to do something. He’d act soon, and I’d need to beat him to it. I stopped short, whirled, and lunged for him, slamming my arm up, until my stake met flesh. The impact reverberated up my arm.
He screamed and flew backward. I’d pierced him, but it was lower than his heart. His eyes locked with mine as he pulled the stake from his body and tossed it over the cliff. He smiled at me, and it was chilling.
“Pretty pretty likes to fight,” he said, and his voice was unexpectedly sultry.
It was the most disturbing thing I’d ever heard. I gritted my teeth, mustering bravado. “Don’t think you can creep me out. ”
He frowned at that. “A creep, am I?”
Disgust shriveled his features, and he lunged at me. It was too fast. I didn’t have a chance to pull my other stake all the way out. He held me, held my skull crushed between his hands. I fumbled, squirming and fighting against it, but he wrenched it back, exposing my neck.
He held my head, but he didn’t have my hands. I clawed at his face. Tore off his glasses.
He hissed again, shoving me away, flinching from the daylight. His eyes were pale and red. He squinted at me, staring, raging. No longer did he resemble a predator toying with his meal—he was all fury and retribution and malice.
I stumbled backward, screaming.
He opened his mouth to hiss, and kept his mouth hanging open. Other vampires hid their fangs, or at least tried to create the illusion of humanity. Not this one. This one kept his mouth open, hissing and hissing like a rabid animal.
I’d scratched a deep welt on his cheek, and reddish black blood oozed down. He stretched out his tongue, slowly licking his own blood, and it was obscene, almost sexual. I shuddered, watching as his skin healed, slowly knitting together before my eyes.