As winter drew near, rumors of evil lurking within the colony began rippling through the town, creating an undercurrent of anxiety and concern that spread like a disease. Men and women were dying. Lacking reasonable proof as to why, the townspeople turned to faith and superstition for explanation. But it was Thomas who finally made the connection.

"The people who have died," he began urgently as he and Margaret were taking their evening walk through town. "They are people from whom we have fed."

Margaret looked at him sharply. "Are you sure?"

He nodded. "Quite. Do you not remember Miss Evans, whose father owns the rice plantation?"

She grinned. "How could I not?"

At first, the Abernathy family had preyed on vagrants and men without family or position, those who would not necessarily be missed. Founded, in part, as a sanctuary for the impoverished, Georgia was rife with newcomers seeking a fresh start. Occasionally they took slaves from the fields, whose disappearance could be attributed to them having escaped and run away. Still, they could not continue as they were indefinitely. Seeking a more sustainable method of feeding, Margaret had begun experimenting with her talent for persuasion to compel others to let them feed. It was a work in progress.

"Why do you suppose they are dying?" Margaret asked. "We have been careful not to bleed them beyond their capacity to heal."

Thomas shook his head as they continued to amble along. "There are several types of venomous serpents here in the colony," he said. "Just last week a woman died when one bit her hand. She had gone to collect eggs from the henhouse, and there it was."

"Goodness!" Margaret exclaimed. "Are you . . . are you suggesting our bite is deadly?"

"Maybe not at once, but perhaps over time. Did Abigail never speak to you about such things?"

"Abigail was not concerned with preserving human life," she reminded him. "Our situation is unique in that we must live among them."

"Well, this certainly changes things," Thomas said.

"Yes," Margaret agreed. "We must speak to father. And soon."

"Margaret!"

She turned at the sound of her name being called, only to find Willy running down the road after them. Thomas's arm tightened around hers, but she patted his hand in reassurance. "It is all right," she said.

Willy met up with them, struggling somewhat to catch his breath. But now that he was there, he didn't appear to know what to say. Thomas spared him further awkwardness.

"William," he said warmly. "How are you?"

"I am well," he replied. His eyes went to Margaret. "All things considered."

Margaret cleared her throat. "Tommy, would you allow William and me a few moments alone?"

Thomas hesitated. "Margaret, it is not appropriate—"

"Leave us," she commanded.

Thomas released his hold on her without further argument, and then turned and walked away.

Willy offered Margaret his arm in his place. "Walk with me?"

Her brows shot up. "Are you not scared?"

He shook his head, his expression softening. His voice was smooth and velvety when he spoke. "I am only scared of losing you, Meg."

With a sigh, Margaret took his arm and they set off at a slow pace, heading in the direction of the dock. The afternoon was growing late, and slate-colored clouds loomed on the horizon. A gust of wind blew in from the Atlantic, bringing with it the smell of salt and sea life. Willy shivered, though Margaret was oblivious to whatever chill might be in the air.

"I think it will rain soon," Willy commented.

Margaret laughed. "Are we to talk about the weather then?"

"We can talk about whatever you would like," Willy replied.

"All right," Margaret said, accepting the invitation. "I haven't seen you in weeks. I was beginning to think you had changed your mind and left the colony. I had hoped it was so."

"I would rather risk my life here, among a family of vampires, than on a ship this time of year."

Appalled, she looked at him to find him grinning down at her. "Is that meant to be a joke?"

"Apparently not a very good one," he said. "I am sorry. Forgive me." They walked in silence for several minutes until Willy asked, "How is Eliza, by the way?"

"Brokenhearted, as you might expect. Eliza loves you, Willy. She will always love you. But she knows she cannot be with you. Just as I cannot be with you."

He let out a deep sigh and pulled her to a stop, turning her so that they were facing each other. "Yes, I know that now."

A part of her hoped he would argue with her, try to convince her otherwise, and yet she was grateful he had finally accepted just how impossible their relationship was.

Drops of rain began to fall, leaving dark spots on their woolen overclothes. "Come to my uncle's home where we can continue our conversation over tea?" Willy asked hopefully.

Margaret pushed a lock of damp hair out of her eyes. "I haven't had a proper tea in ages."

"Neither have I," he said. "Not since I left England. "Is that a yes, then?" he asked. "My uncle will be there. He has been asking after you and your family."

"You have not told him of us?"

He touched her cheek briefly. "No, of course not. Your secret is safe with me."

"All right. For a bit," Margaret said, relenting. "Though you will have to excuse me if I only pretend with the refreshments." She looked over her shoulder then, but Thomas was nowhere to be seen. Just as well. He wouldn't approve of her continuing her visit in private.

The rain was starting to come down now in earnest, and they all but ran down the road to Willy's uncle's home, laughing as they dodged puddles and mud. Margaret's dress would be ruined, but she didn't care. She felt giddy and light to have Willy back in her life, even if it wasn't how she had once hoped. They stopped undercover on the front porch, Willy catching his breath and Margaret smoothing her hair and skirts.

"My uncle will be pleased to see you again," Willy said.

"Are you sure it is not too late?" Margaret asked.

"No. It's not too late at all," Willy assured her.

Margaret smiled. "I am so happy . . ."

The words died on her lips as they entered the house into a throng of severe-looking men clustered in the room, weapons in hand. She recognized many of them, prominent merchants and landowners. A few were in her father's employ.

"What is this?" Margaret demanded as she scanned the men with growing unease and suspicion.

Willy grabbed her arm, pushing her ahead of him. "I have your devil right here!"

"What is the meaning of this?" she said, struggling in his grasp. She was stronger now than when she was human, though still no match for Willy, and certainly no match for so many men.

"Show them!" Willy demanded, his voice loud and insistent in her ear. "Show them what you truly are!"

"This is nonsense," Margaret said, striving to keep herself under control even with the realization that he had betrayed her. Her mind spun in circles as she tried to think. "Willy, I don't know what you are playing at, but my father will not be happy once he learns of this."

He laughed, harsh and mocking. "There is an entire family of demons among us," he said to the men. "Vampires, they are called. Monsters who prey on the blood of innocent people."

He was squeezing her neck from behind, digging his fingers into her flesh. The room was overly crowded, all the men yelling and jeering, pointing the muzzles of their guns in her direction. Margaret closed her eyes to blot them out, wishing she were anywhere but there. But wishing would not spare her life.

"Stop!" she cried, trying to compel them. "You have no right to hold me here! Let me go this instant!" But it made no difference. She was in no frame of mind to bend them to her will.

"You are not going anywhere," one of the men said, stepping forward. His breath was foul with drink and rot and she reared back, her head knocking into Willy's mouth.

"Ow!" he exclaimed.

The scent of blood was fresh and pungent, and Margaret's canines extended at once.

"There!" another of the men cried. "Do you see? William was right! She is the devil!"

Margaret clapped her hand over her mouth to hide the truth, but it was too late. "Move aside!" she cried. "You have no right to detain me!"

One of the men lunged at her and she met his attack without hesitation. He screamed, causing the crowd to fall back a little. "The monster bit me!" he exclaimed. He held his hand cradled against his chest, though he was laughing. His eyes were wide and maniacal with glee.

"I am not the monster!" she cried. You are!"

Several others came at her then and she blindly lashed out, gnashing her teeth, not caring who among them she injured. But then she saw Willy with his hand against his neck, his eyes wide as he stared at her. The taste of his blood was fresh and irresistible on her tongue. Still, his grip on her had loosened, and she took the advantage to escape. Lunging through the crowd, she pulled open the door, stumbling into Thomas's arms.

"Tommy!" she cried, breathless. "Oh, thank the Lord!"

He looked beyond her, sensing the danger at once. Without asking any questions, he offered Margaret his outstretched hand. She took it at once and together they fled from the town, running faster than they had ever run in their lives.

*****

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