The animal stood upon a fat, winding branch of a sycamore while grasping another limb in his hands. His legs were spread wide and his posture resembled more that of a wild animal than that of a man.
Cain tracked and branches rustled as it leaped from one tree to another. Its comfort with the elements was evident in its agility.
Growing tired of the production, Cain sighed. “Are you trying to slaughter me or dance with me?”
More tree limbs jostled above and the beast plunged twenty feet through the canopy, landing in a crouch directly in front of Cain. “Dance it is.”
The creature sprung to its feet. It was no male, yet it wore the stink of a male’s scent.
Dark eyes, almost black, acted as mirrors in the dark, glowing with reflected moonlight and the red hue of the campfire. Cain couldn’t tell where her irises ended and her pupils began.
Her flesh was filthy, without a stitch of clothing, and her hair was long and matted with dried clumps of mud and debris. A repellant odor poured off of her soiled skin.
“Who are you?”
“Who are you?” the female echoed, mimicking the inflection of his accent. Her voice was not feminine but shredded as if her words passed over shards of glass.
“How did you come here?”
“How did you come here?” she parodied again with a glimpse of rotted teeth. Sharp fangs showed she was, in fact, immortal. Her lack of civility confirmed she’d long ago became vampire.
“Are you the one killing all the women?”
“Are you the one killing all the women?”
Cain rolled his eyes. Great. A looker and smart. Did she speak English? “Sprichst du Englisch?”
“Sprichst du Englisch?” She spoke slowly, her filthy lips wrapping deliberately over every unfamiliar word.
Then Cain noticed something that gave him pause. A mark on her hip. A tattoo.
Immortals couldn’t get tattoos. Well, they could, but they would fade and heal, disappearing in a matter of days.
He squinted, trying to read the scrolling print under the layer of grime that coated her skin. Ricky.
His head cocked as she prowled about. “You’re a transition.”
“You’re a transition.” Reminding him of the excitable orangutan he’d once seen caged at a zoo exhibit, she flung her limbs and bobbed about, circling in a way that translated a low intellect.
Transitions were different from bonded mates who were once mortal. They were… unique and not in a good way.
The longer she gyrated and cackled about, the more his discouragement grew. Wonderful. He had stumbled across a deranged parakeet. “Who is your sire?”
“Who is your sire?”
Cain pinched the bridge of his nose. This could go on forever.
Perhaps he should capture the girl and bring her back to his farm to hand over to The Council. Of course, they hadn’t been too concerned about the presence of a rogue. Why would he assume anything had changed?
Or perhaps this was his purpose in this life, to protect those who needed protection from wild creatures of his own kind. The idea of becoming a celebrated hunter and hero of The Order appealed to him, but the thought of destroying this unstable female did not suit him. Females were soft, gentle creatures meant to be loved and caressed.
“Look, if we could just talk, you could possibly come out of this situation alive.”
“Alive.”
Dear God, this would never end. “How did you come here?” he shouted, as if she had a hearing problem rather than a processing one.
“How did you come here? How did you come here? How did you come here!”
She cackled, lowering to her haunches, exposing herself to him and rocking back and forth. He looked away from the gruesome, unwashed view.
That could scar a man.
She stilled, causing a tangible shift in energy. Peeking over his shoulder, he frowned at the hunched way she crouched as if she were sad he no longer wanted to play with her. Big black eyes stared up at him and she pouted.
“Oh, come on. Look, I’m just not into—”
She hissed and lunged. Claws scraped over his chest, slicing through his clothing and scoring his flesh. The burn of torn skin instantly stung as the heat of spilled blood gathered over his flayed skin.
Flinging her off of him, he bared his fangs with a feral growl, then crouched to face off. Playtime was over. He no longer saw her as female, only the enemy. “Game on, bitch.”
Annalise entered the house and called for Abilene. She was supposed to meet her at the barn so that they could take a buggy to town, but her mother-in-law had not shown up. “Mom?” she called as she walked through the kitchen. “Abilene? Gracie? Jonas?”
A floorboard creaked and Anna stilled, scenting the air. A soft, distant whimper broke the silence, and Anna rushed up the stairs.
“Abilene?” Her mother-in-law lay curled up on her side, weeping.
As Annalise crossed the threshold, she stumbled, the other woman’s hunger hitting her like a sucker punch to the gut. “Jesus, Abilene, you’re starving. When’s the last time you fed?”