The vampire was pale, and his black hair looked even blacker against his white skin. His eyelashes were
dark on his cheek. A little blood matted his hair in the back.
"I don't think he's the same one Elliot and I saw last night. That one looked bigger," Vicky said.
Nyala pressed forward, staring at her very first captive vampire. "What difference does it make? He's
one of them, right? Nobody human could have thrown Steve like that. He might even be the one who
killed my sister. And he's ours now." She smiled down, looking almost like someone in love. "You're
ours," she said to the unconscious boy on the floor. "Just you wait."
Steve rubbed his shoulder where it had hit the wall. All he said was "Yeah," but his smile wasn't nice.
"I only hope he doesn't die soon," Vicky said, examining the pale face critically. "You hit him pretty hard."
"He's not going to die," Rashel said. "In fact, he'll probably wake up in a few minutes. And we'd better
hope he's not one of the really powerful telepaths."
Nyala looked up sharply. "What?"
"Oh-all vampires are telepathic," Rashel said absently. "But there's a big range as to how powerful they
are. Most of them can only communicate over
a short distance-like within the same house, say. But a few are a lot stronger."
"Even if he is strong, it won't matter unless there are other vampires around," Vicky said.
"Which there may be, if you and Elliot saw another one last night."
"Well..." Vicky hesitated, then said, "We can check outside, make sure he doesn't have any friends
hiding around that warehouse."
Steve was nodding, and Nyala was listening intently. Rashel started to say that from what she'd seen,
they couldn't find a vampire in hiding to save their lives-but then she changed her mind.
"Good idea," she said. "You take Nyala and do that. It's better to have three people than two. I'll tie him
up before he comes around. I've got bast cord."
Vicky glanced over quickly, but her hostility seemed to have faded since Rashel had knocked the
vampire over the head. "Okay, but let's use the handcuffs. Nyala, run up and get them."
Nyala did, and she and Vicky fixed the wooden stocks on the vampire's wrists. Then they left with Steve.
Rashel sat on the floor.
She didn't know what she was doing, or why she'd sent Nyala away. All she knew was that she wanted
to be alone, and that she felt... rotten.
It wasn't that she didn't have anger. There were times when she got so angry at the universe that it was
actually like a little voice inside her whispering,
Kill, kill, kill. Times when she wanted to strike out blindly, without caring who she hurt.
But just now the little voice was silent, and Rashel felt sick.
To keep herself busy, she tied his feet with bast, a cord made from the inner bark of trees. It was as
good for holding a vampire as Vicky's ridiculous handcuffs.
When it was done, she turned the flashlight on him again.
He was good-looking. Clean features that were strongly chiseled but almost delicate. A mouth that at the
moment looked rather innocent, but which might be sensuous if he were awake. A body that was lithe
and flat-muscled, if not very tall.
All of which had no effect on Rashel. She'd seen attractive vampires before-in fact, an inordinate number
of them seemed to be really beautiful. It didn't mean anything. It only stood as a contrast to what they
were like inside.
The tall man who'd killed her mother had been handsome. She could still see his face, his golden eyes.
Filthy parasites. Night World scum. They weren't really people. They were monsters.
But they could still feel pain, just like any human. She'd hurt this one when she hit him.
Rashel jumped up and started to pace the cellar.
All right. This vampire deserved to die. They all did. But that didn't mean she had to wait for Vicky to
come back and poke him with pointy sticks.
Rashel knew now why she'd sent Nyala away. So she could give the vampire a clean death. Maybe he
didn't deserve it, but she couldn't stand around and watch Vicky kill him slowly. She couldn't.
She stopped pacing and went to the unconscious boy.
The flashlight on the floor was still pointing at him, so she could see him clearly. He was wearing a
lightweight black shirt-no sweater or coat. Vampires didn't need protection from the cold. Rashel
unbuttoned the shirt, exposing his chest. Although the angled tip of her bokken could pierce clothing, it
was easier to drive it straight into vampire flesh without any barrier in between.
Standing with one foot on either side of the vampire's waist, she drew the heavy wooden sword. She
held it with both hands, one near the guard, the other near the knob on the end of the hilt.
She positioned the end exactly over the vampire's heart.
"This kitten has claws," she whispered, hardly aware she was saying it.
Then she took a deep breath, eyes shut. She needed to work to focus, because she'd never done
anything like this before. The vampires she'd killed had usually been caught in the middle of some
despicable act-and they'd all been fighting at the end. She'd never staked one that was lying still.
Concentrate, she thought. You need zanshin, continuing mind, awareness of everything without fixing on anything.
She felt her feet becoming part of the cold concrete beneath them, her muscles and bones becoming
extensions of the ground. The strike would carry the energy of the earth itself.
Her hands brought the sword up. She was ready for the kill. She opened her eyes to perfect her aim.