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  “Team A. Secure?” It was Zach.

  “Secure,” Gina replied.

  “Continue,” Bryce ordered.

  Gina exhaled and turned back up the staircase. Shaking just slightly, I found my breath and followed her.

  We covered over a dozen more steps, accompanied by one or two more creaks but thankfully no more collapses, until we finally found ourselves entering what looked like an attic—not a balcony. There were scattered wooden pillars, piles of old furniture, and a window in the wall far ahead. Another glowed behind us. The windows’ light haloed above us from the opposite ends of the room, relieving the gloom just a little. We moved off the stairs and carefully tested the wooden floor with our feet.

  “Next floor confirmed, Captain,” Gina said quietly on her comm. “It’s an attic. Moving forward.”

  Something pale moved in the corner of my eye, and I jumped. The tip of Gina’s gun darted toward it. We halted. It didn’t move again. I squinted, making out a sheet draped on an old table. Inches of dust covered every surface. It fluttered again in some unseen draft.

  I nodded to Gina to move forward. False alarm.

  We silently passed other tables and chairs, all enveloped in cobwebs. The attic was dead quiet. We peered around, our forms casting even more shadows in the extending darkness.

  “Western stairwell visually confirmed,” Zach whispered.

  “Zach, Roxy, take the stairs. Hopefully you can confirm a balcony,” Bryce said.

  Gina and I planted our feet and held steady. The room was motionless, soundless. If there was a redbill here, it was the quietest I’d ever encountered, that was for sure.

  Our eyes continued scanning the dark. I reached up and slowly picked a spiderweb off my chin.

  “Balcony confirmed,” Zach murmured over the comm. “No movement.”

  Gina stepped forward, and I looked behind us for any stirring. Still nothing.

  She signaled me with her hand, and I followed her deeper into the thick beams and abandoned furniture.

  Thwap, thwap.

  The sound tore through the silence. Gina and I spun toward it. I planted my heels to secure my stance, the slick metal of the trigger under my finger.

  A sudden, bright thrashing and whirling engulfed Gina’s head. I jerked back and adjusted my aim, trying to get a bead on the cloud flailing above Gina’s shoulders—until I heard a quick, flustered cooing.

  “Pigeon,” Gina gasped. She swatted at the bird, and it tumbled down to the wooden floor then bobbed off, its feathers mussed, vanishing into the gloom.

  I pulled the tip of my weapon back up and away from my teammate, my hand instinctively pressing against my breastbone. My heartbeat throbbed in my ears. Holy hell…

  The two of us stayed there for a moment, catching our breath. In the resumed quiet, we peered around for any other movement.

  Zach spoke again. “Moving to western balcony.”

  After scouting the rest of the room, Gina gestured toward the staircase. “Attic clear,” she whispered into her comm.

  I watched my feet as I followed her, to avoid kicking a table leg or brushing any dust-choked sheets. I glanced around in search of the staircase we’d come up, when Gina stopped abruptly. I nearly walked into her and quickly side-stepped. Then I saw why she’d stopped.

  A figure stood directly before the staircase, blocking our only way out.

  As I stared, I realized I could barely call it a figure—it was more a blanket of obscurity. No clear shape to the body. An empty space of jet black, only finding form against the slightly subtler grays of the room it stood in.

  My eyes strained to trace the outlines of the figure’s shadowed face.

  “Hello?” I called out, my voice reverberating through the attic, seeming to fill every jagged crack and crevice.

  Silence. Stillness.

  That was the only response from the living shadow in front of us.

  The hair on the back of my neck rose as I felt a chill, thick and contagious. It spread down my spine, gliding through my extremities with a frigid wake. Still, I gave a small wave, beckoning Gina to follow me forward.

  Thoughts tumbled through my mind. It’s not a redbill. That much is obvious. And we’re highly trained. If it’s a squatter, or some psycho, we can defend ourselves.

  Not to mention, this was our only way out.

  Gina stayed two steps behind me as our boots crept closer to the figure and our exit point. A few feet away, I saw a face begin to take shape amidst the darkness of its boundaries. His boundaries, I realized. And his eyes… My heart froze in my chest. Something about his eyes was so familiar, yet so foreign, that I felt my brow furrow, my mind scrambling to understand. I couldn’t make out their color from here, but there was… something about them.

  I felt my body tense suddenly—some primordial instinct that somehow pieced the puzzle together and hardened before my brain had a chance to do the same.

  Then his hands were on me.

  And despite his impossible speed, I felt it happen in slow motion. Like an almost-lucid dream, one where I was a full participant but couldn’t respond fast enough. My gun flew from my hands and clattered to the ground, the sound echoing off the thick, wood-slatted floor. My comm was ripped from my ear, and my body was heaved over his shoulder.

  In the time it took me to gasp, he crossed the room. So light and fast it felt like we were floating, then, without warning, angling upward. I saw it in a blur—the window. He was scaling the wall to the window. I regained my voice, shrieking frantically into the attic space, and heard Gina’s voice yelling back. A gunshot rang out, but the man didn’t falter. My screams grew stronger as Gina’s grew farther away, and I was plunged into empty space with only the body beneath me to cling to.

  We were freefalling. As we plunged toward the ground, he made a sound—a sharp, guttural growl—and a huge shape appeared out of nowhere.

  Broad wings and thin, dangling legs. An extended beak that had featured in my nightmares a few hours before. A redbill.

  It swooped under us, catching us with a heavy shudder as the man straddled it and hauled me in front of him.

  What is happening?

  I didn’t have time to ask myself anything beyond that. To think. To wonder. I barely even had time to breathe. Because a moment later, the redbill accelerated to cut through the air like a torpedo. I knew redbills could fly fast. But this—this was beyond comprehension.

  The world screamed by in a blur, too fast and jumbled to be anything but a mix of faint colors and the meshing of space and time. My helmet detached from my suit, and I gasped, choking on the wind. I felt the skin on my face being pulled backward. My eyes burned. And I clutched his cloak with everything I had.

  Until, at some point, I realized we’d slowed. We weren’t clipping through space anymore. I blinked, willing my dry eyes to moisten enough to function. To figure out where we were and what was happening. The surrounding shapes took form just as the redbill landed with a brain-rattling jolt.

  Cliff, I grasped. We’re on a cliff. My senses darted in every direction, trying to take everything in. Gray skies splayed out in front of me. Clouds rolled and tumbled in the sky, churning—matching how my stomach felt, tossing and twisting inside me. I heard the roaring of waves as they crashed into the cliff, salt spray cutting up into the air.

  The man slid gracefully off the bird. The wind billowed through his dark cloak, causing it to flare behind him. He turned to me, and I remembered what I’d pieced together before he’d grabbed me. Before the power and momentum and speed swept all thoughts from my brain. My eyes flew to his face. To his eyes. Wondering if what my instincts had jumped to in the milliseconds before he snatched me could possibly be correct.

  The wind swept through his dark hair, and strands of it skated across the pale, yet strangely shadowed flesh of his forehead. I gasped as my gaze caught his once more. I could see his eyes better now that we were free from the dimness of the church attic. Yes, they were blue. But not just b
lue. They were an icy, crystalline blue that seemed to shift and melt in his very irises, tinges of silver and gray surfacing with them. Like glacial waters, haunting and bottomless.

  I knew what those eyes meant. What they were. The depth—the darkness. The shadows. I knew what they were from every story Bryce had ever shared about his past. I was reminded of them every time I saw the cane Uncle Alan still had to use—an ever-present connection to his days as a ground soldier, the dangers he’d faced. I knew them from every whisper between my parents. I knew them from so many of the people who had done everything possible to prevent those eyes from ever seeing a human again.

  And yet, here I was. Staring at them.

  I felt it then: fear. Thick and dark, its talons sinking deep into my core. He reached out, his hands latching onto me. And for a split second, I wondered what it would feel like when he sank his teeth into me. Would it feel like his hands, the strong pressure I felt in them as they clutched me? As though his skin had melded into mine and I could no longer tell where I started and he ended… Or would it be fierce and fast, an anchoring of fangs in my flesh without warning?

  Improvise. Adapt. Overcome.

  The dizzy thoughts flashed through my head one after another until he jerked forward, and I felt my training kick in.

  As he swept me downward off the redbill, I prepared to roll, assuming he meant to throw me to the ground; I wouldn’t go down without a fight. Instead, my feet landed on solid rock. My fists clenched. I saw his lips part. Barely. And just when I gathered the energy of fear and anger coursing through my body, feeling it surge into the fist I was going to throw his way, he spoke.

  His words rolled around us, deep and resonant, as though they’d ridden in on the waves crashing against the cliff behind us.

  “Ah,” he sighed. “I always prefer to have a conversation one on one.”

  Chapter Four

  “What?” I croaked, staring.

  Changing strategy, I shifted backward, my wobbling legs getting as much distance from the redbill and the man—the vampire—as possible. The cliff’s edge appeared in my vision as I backtracked, the sheer drop sending alarm jolting through my core, and I reversed one step toward the two creatures. But just one.

  They gazed at me, indifferent and silent. The redbill turned its monstrous beak under its wing, fixing a few feathers. The vampire cleared his throat and crossed his arms, his cream linen-like shirt frayed under his thick black cloak.

  The wind howled past us again. Sucking in a breath, I braced my feet firmly on the rock. I raised my fists to my midsection.

  “Who the hell are you?” My voice cracked.

  “So we’re past the stage of ‘What are you?’ Good. I don’t have a lot of time.” He pulled his cloak from his shoulder.

  I blinked hard. It was really true? A vampire?

  “How are you even…?” I breathed.

  “I may get to that.” He flipped a hand nonchalantly in the air. “Or I may not. That depends on how you answer my questions.”

  My heart punched the back of my ribs. “Questions?”

  This can’t be real. There’s no way this is real.

  “Yes. Questions.” He nodded, his arctic eyes piercing me. He tapped a finger to his lips and held it there for just a moment. “How old are you?”

  I looked around, turning just my head, assessing the terrain. A thin beam of light broke through the clouds briefly, flashing across his opalescent face. I’d heard that sunlight didn’t bother them, and apparently that was true.

  He snapped his fingers this time and raised his voice, the effect of it pulling the little air left from my lungs. “How old are you?”

  “I’m twenty-one,” I managed, regaining as much of my composure as possible.

  He didn’t miss a single beat. “What are you called?”

  “Lyra—”

  “Not your name, your rank,” he replied impatiently.

  I instinctively flinched. “I’m…” I started, but cut myself off, clenching my fists tighter.

  He was definitely going to kill me after he questioned me. Of course he would—he was a vampire. My suit covered most of my neck, but he could easily get past that. My knives hadn’t been restocked since I lost them last night. And pulse patches were too dangerous to use in tight quarters, so I didn’t have any of them on me either.

  “Tell me your rank.” He crossed his arms again.

  I swallowed, finding the strength to hold his stare with my own. “First lieutenant.” Why in the hell is he asking me this?

  “For how long have you worked with the Bureau?” he pressed.

  “Three years,” I said. I continued scanning the area, searching for a sharp rock or stick within reach. Nothing.

  His eyes bounced about my frame for a moment, then fixated on my chest—on my badge, I realized. He furrowed his brow, frowning.

  “Sloane,” he said.

  My heart leapt again. The wind gusted against my legs, but my footing held solidly.

  “As in… Alan Sloane, the director of Chicago?” he asked.

  How does he know that? I licked my lips quickly and clenched my jaw.

  I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Don’t answer him. Do. Not. Answer. Him.

  Then the thought of my throat being torn open sent a rattle through my body. Swallowing, I decided to answer, because if there were a way to survive this, I would.

  “No relation,” I told him.

  His eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you.” The threat went unspoken.

  Is there a mole at the Bureau? I paused, reconsidering my approach. I had no way of knowing what he knew, and it was clearly far more than he should’ve.

  “He’s my uncle,” I admitted.

  His eyes grabbed mine again, and they looked darker suddenly, with shades of indigo tingeing the wintry swirls. He cocked his head. Another knot tied itself in my stomach; my armor suddenly felt much thinner.

  The vampire sighed. Strange, gray ripples curled under his skin, then vanished, reappearing under his eyes. His shoulders shifted, like a massive weight bore down on them.

  He looked dimmer, drained. Almost… worn.

  His voice carried across the wind. “In that case, I definitely need your help.”

  Chapter Five

  “Help?”

  My mind frantically weighed which option was worse: being held hostage for God knows how long by a vampire—or having my blood drained all over the cliff and my body thrown into the raging ocean below.

  The vampire nodded at the redbill, and a low rumble came from the monster’s closed beak.

  “We need to move first,” the vampire announced.

  I immediately retightened my fists, preparing to lash out. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “You’d rather starve to death in the wilderness?” He swung me through the air before I could strike him, and then I was staring at the redbill’s wings again. My stomach hadn’t forgotten the last ride on this monster, and it churned in protest. The vampire leapt onto the redbill and sat behind me.

  The giant bird shifted its weight, and I grabbed fistfuls of long, rough feathers, my ears already ringing. This wasn’t good: I wouldn’t be able to attempt to fight him and stay balanced on the bird at the same time.

  “A pitstop is in order, if you don’t mind,” the vampire murmured, in a tone that made it clear that he didn’t care whether I minded or not.

  The redbill stretched the tips of its wings straight out and stepped forward toward the edge of the cliff. I held my breath, bracing myself for the drop.

  My back collided with the vampire’s chest when the redbill dove over the cliff, dropping, plunging almost straight down.

  Then the bird extended its wings and caught a gust of wind, the drop stopping so suddenly that my stomach lurched in a different direction. We flew forward, the roaring speed blinding me. I leaned into the redbill’s back, bracing myself. Snippets of whitecaps darted by below. Clouds dampened my cheeks.

  The vam
pire’s arm around my waist felt like a tree trunk. Strands of my hair blew loose and whipped the sides of my face. Even if I’d been able to think, I wouldn’t have been able to hear myself.

  I squeezed my eyes closed, my muscles rigid. I tried to breathe.

  And then it was over.

  The air swirled around us when we landed. The beast’s wings stretched, then calmly returned to its ribcage, covering my legs. I released a clump of feathers, wiping the tears streaming across my face from the whipping wind with one hand.

  My head still spun, but I searched the location. Now we were in a thickly wooded area. Heavy storm clouds hung above us still, like the ones I’d seen over the cliff. A gravel road cut through the trees ahead. No cars, no people, but I thought I heard a very faint hum of a highway in the distance.

  The vampire appeared on the ground to my right. I hadn’t felt or heard him dismount. He pulled his hood over his head and adjusted the sleeves of his tattered shirt. He looked around as if he saw or heard things that I didn’t, and I wondered how much better his senses were than mine. The shadows under his pale skin rippled up his neck and toward his cheekbones, now almost as dark as the clouds.

  “Do not move,” he said. His eyes cut through me. “I’ll be back momentarily.”

  He strode down the gravel path, which led to a sagging old motel partially obscured by trees. Orange paint peeled from the few room doors I could make out through the branches. There was a logo on the glass of a window: “Woodland Lodge.” A flickering neon sign hung below the words. Vacancy.

  I glanced back to where he’d been, but the vampire had vanished. Silence sank in around me… and the redbill.

  The bird seemed entirely unaware of my presence. It preened its chest, grumbling slightly. I looked down. My left hand was still buried in its feathers. I slowly released them, holding my breath. The last thing I needed was to piss off a bloodsucking demon stork.