But no one answered. The scratching noise was persistent, louder than just a stowaway rat.
I heard another noise, as if the train had hit a large animal. But the train kept rolling. I glanced out the window and a long, low growl I didn’t quite recognize as my own escaped my lips.
There, peering upside down through the window, was Samuel’s brother, Henry. His face was pressed to the glass, and his golden-blond hair was blowing in the wind.
We locked eyes, and for one wild moment I thought he’d come to see Violet, an eager beau’s overtures gone too far. But then I noticed his elongated canines, his bloodshot eyes, and I slowly understood. Henry was a vampire. And Henry wasn’t eagerly looking for Violet. He was hunting—for us.
I slammed the blue damask curtains of the window shut and looked around madly for any escape. But of course there was none. I felt my heart harden. This was Damon’s doing. It had to be. Because why else would Henry be here? Even as children, he’d goad the Giffin boys into throwing rocks at a passing train or letting the chickens loose during a barbeque. That way, he wouldn’t risk punishment. Now, he was doing the same thing, except with a cadre of vampires.
I had to protect Violet. I couldn’t let Henry grab Violet and force her to feed. I couldn’t have her turn into a vampire against her wishes. I hastily stole to the caboose and climbed the rickety ladder to the top of the iron train. The wind pelted dirt and pebbles into my face, and the soot and fumes whirling around my head made it almost impossible to see anything.
“Henry!” I called, steadying myself on the steam pipe poking from the top of the train. I crouched low, ready for a fight.
Nothing. The train continued to chug forward. A sliver of doubt crept through my brain. Had it been some sort of vision? A paranoid hallucination?
A cry of outrage sounded behind me.
Before I could turn, I felt a weight on my back, followed by cold hands sliding around my neck. I gasped and tried to writhe free from the grip. I was locked in a chokehold, Henry’s arm tight around my windpipe. I groaned, trying to fight him off while keeping my balance.
“Are you ready to die?” Henry whispered in my ear. His impeccable accent was perfectly modulated, and his breath was hot against my neck. Once again, he applied pressure to my throat.
Die. The word echoed in my head. I’d forgotten what it was like to be hunted. But now, I was captured. And if I didn’t do something, I would die. And Violet would be worse than dead. I had to do something. I had to . . .
Stay still. A voice—Lexi’s? My own?—screamed instruction in my head, even though it was counterintuitive to my being’s every instinct. My arm twitched beneath Henry’s grasp. Stay still! the voice insisted.
“Frightened? And you thought I was just little Henry. One of Damon’s foppish friends, of no importance and no interest to a big, strong American vampire like yourself. Aren’t I right, chum?” Henry asked sarcastically, pulling me closer. He was clearly going to try to break my neck, and from there, he’d be able to stake me or burn me, or do whatever he wanted. Or he could simply throw me off the train, where I’d be finished off soon enough. A dozen scenarios, each worse than the last, whirled through my mind.
“What? You’re not going to speak to me?” Henry asked, goading me. I stared at the ground whooshing below me, pulling every ounce of strength from the corners of my being. I thought of Callie, the death I hadn’t avenged. I thought of Violet, about to be next.
“This ends now!” I yelled, spinning around, fists ready. I was larger than him, but I knew from the pressure of his arm against my throat that he was stronger than me. I’d have to be faster and smarter.
“Is this the way you want to do this?” Henry half-growled, lunging toward me. I sidestepped him, and my foot began to slip off the train. I reached out, clinging to the steam pipe, as Henry swung his fist. Flesh connected to my temple and for a moment, all I saw were stars.
Henry’s low, smooth laugh yanked me out of my fog of pain.
I pretended to totter as though in danger of losing my grip. I wanted to catch Henry unaware. And then I reached back and swung.
Blood gushed from Henry’s lip and I stepped back, surveying my work in satisfaction.
“Not as easy as you thought it’d be, is it?” I asked in disgust. Damon had probably told his posse I always avoided conflict, even to my own peril. Well, not anymore. I was done with Damon’s games.
Henry retreated a few meters, rubbing his wound and attempting to regain his balance. The wound was fast disappearing, and I knew I needed to act quickly.
I bent my knees, hoping my instincts from decades of jumping with horses would help me. It was all about looking where you were going, and never, ever looking away. I glanced at a small metal dent in the center of the car a few meters away, and jumped.
My body careened through space as I heard Henry growl below me. I didn’t look, concentrating on that tiny imperfection on the train’s exterior until my feet hit the metal with a thud. Then I whirled around and lunged, aiming toward his face, giving him a punch with as much strength as I could muster. My fist connected with his flesh. He stood, his body weaving on one leg, suspended in midair like a dancer awaiting his next cue, before he tumbled off the train. His body landed in a heap on the ground, growing smaller in my view as the train sped on.
“See you in hell,” I murmured. To anyone else, it would be a curse. But for me, it was a promise.
I climbed down the rickety ladder and stepped onto the caboose car, hoping against hope that no conductor or policeman would be waiting for me. I was weak and shaky, covered with blood and soot.
I picked my way back to the cabin, relieved that no one stopped me on my way. Violet was still sleeping, her breathing shallow and occasionally interrupted by a gasp, although whether or not that was from pain or a dream, only she knew.
I couldn’t sit. Instead, I paced like a wild animal, desperate to do something. So Damon had enlisted Henry to do his dirty work. The question was, were there others? I had the strength to fight off one, but could I fight off several? And would we be able to hide from them for long enough, at least to allow Violet to die in peace?
The train whistle blew, and Violet stirred in my lap. We’d arrived at the tiny Ivinghoe station.
“Wake up,” I said, gently rousing her. My temple throbbed, and the wound was slow to heal, a true sign that I was quickly losing strength.