Catherine surged to her knees, ready to kill whatever might attack. Her senses flared as the night came alive with sounds. An owl fluttered from a nearby tree, spreading its wings and taking off into the night. She hissed at it.

Dillon's familiar scent reached her, but the vampire ignored it, focusing on the nearest trees. Even with her night vision, the woods were little more than shifting shadows.

A small rock collided with her shoulder, and her head snapped to the left. Her gaze caught Dillon's, who was warily watching her. His calm settled her down. Catherine stretched and yawned, instinctively letting her senses roam beyond their little camp.

We are still alone, she thought, noticing the little aches and pains caused by lying on the mulchy forest floor.

The rich scents of damp earth and pine mixed with body odor and horse sweat.

She wrinkled her nose, listening for the sound of a running stream, but there was none, and their water was running low.

"It would be wise to continue our journey," Dillon said. His voice was gruff from lack of sleep, sending an odd but pleasant shiver down her spine.

His five-o-clock shadow already had the makings of a scruffy beard, making him look more dangerous and debonair—more her style. The air had acquired a crisp bite, the moon barely illuminated the dense forest, and first light was still a few hours off.

She nodded and stood, disappearing among the trees to see to her business. When she returned, Catherine packed their things and saddled the horses while Dillon smothered the fire with sand. There was no point in trying to hide their camp—a vampire would know.

"Let's go," Dillon said, swinging into his saddle. She did the same, marveling at how well her body had recovered.

He steered his horse north. Its ears perked like it knew they were going home.

The gloomy forest seemed alive with threats, like a lurking monster or an ever-present enemy waiting to strike.

We risk the horses, she thought, but waiting might endanger our lives.

They traveled faster than good sense allowed, caution abandoned as Dillon's hand hovered near his sword, the other gripping the reins. Every fluttering leaf and cracking twig set her on edge.

The grim set of his face and hooded expression spoke as loudly as his tense body. The horses responded to their mood, becoming restless and skittish. Catherine would have left them behind if she were alone, but Dillon, being human, lacked both her speed and stamina.

Hellenic will not slow himself with horses or humans, she thought darkly. Then, she hesitated, guilt stinging her consciousness at her lack of charity. She peered over her shoulder for what felt like the hundredth time.

The duke will not give up so easily.

Nothing stirred in the thinning forest, and the quiet unnerved her. Catherine's mind strayed to the times she had helped Hellenic hunt down criminals, escaped slaves, or crooked traders who had crossed her father. His relentless fixation on his target had been impressively chilling when she hadn't been the aim of his vindictive nature, but now...

The sensation of being watched intensified, knotting her insides in a ball. Her sweaty hands felt sticky on the reigns, and her scratchy eyes burned with fatigue, her vision blurring.

It would be easier if our enemy showed himself, she thought, and all of this could be settled one way or the other.

Something blundered through the undergrowth to her left, startling her horse into snorting and backing up.

Cold dread washed over her as she instinctively controlled the horse. Her hand closed around the knife, and she tossed it without thinking.

The wild boar stumbled in its tracks with a soft, surprised grunt. Its knees folded, and it plowed into the ground. The aroma of blood filled the air, calling to her like a siren. The vampire surged eagerly to the surface, a reminder of the darkness lurking beneath her control as her fangs slid free before she could stop them.

"Go," Dillon said, turning his horse away as she jumped to the ground and took advantage of the situation. Even as she did, she could tell that her actions only reinforced Dillon's understanding of how dangerous and volatile she was.

The taste of wild boar blood was not her favorite thing, but her thirst proved she was not as well healed as it seemed. The vampire filled her mind with images of a metal cup, and she suppressed it as her senses homed in on her guardian. Not that she wasn't overly aware of him already. Even though he wasn't watching, his being there seemed too intimate.

When she had enough, she cut its throat and removed a few choice pieces of meat before leaving the rest for the scavengers.

"Since no one seems to be following us, we might as well cook that and dry a few pieces over the fire for the road," he said, dismounting with a creak of leather and a jingle of the harness.

Already, the sounds he made and the sight of him were permanently imprinted on her vampire senses, and Catherine was constantly aware of him.

She wet a piece of rag and wiped her mouth and chin. His eyes followed the movement, and she wanted to turn away, but at the same time, she noticed the shadows in his eyes.

He's making himself watch me, almost as if to remind himself of what I am. Her brow wrinkled. Dillon has a past with my kind. My presence resurrects something dark and painful—a wound that has never healed.

His gaze returned to the tree line, and she moved off to gather wood, but her thoughts roamed free.

A sigh escaped her as she stacked the wood and searched her pockets for the flint and the little piece of iron. When she found it, she raked some dry leaves into a pile with her free hand.

She missed the discussions with her father and peers about their business and world. Dillon was her master, and starting a conversation with him would be improper. He had to talk to her first or give her permission to speak freely; he was not a man of many words.

"You miss your people," he remarked.

How is he so oddly attuned to me? she wondered.

"Yes, master."

Perversely, this was the one subject she did not want to discuss, and her emotions boiled below the surface.

"My father sent me away too," Dillon admitted unexpectedly, his voice low.

She looked at him, and something unsettling lurked beneath his calm exterior.

"But you have his title and lands?" she ventured, wondering if the weight of his father's legacy had made him the man he was.

"No, I possess my uncle's title and lands," he corrected tightly.

"Does your father still live?" she asked tentatively, directing his focus away from her.

"He is dead to me," bitterness dripped from his venom-filled words.

Dillon's jaw squared, his mouth compressed in a tight line, and his shoulders tensed as he steadied himself against the enormity of this truth.

"How old were you?" she asked, curious despite herself.

He looks to be about thirty now, she guessed.

"Five," his flat answer hid as much as it revealed.

She observed him, wondering why he chose to speak of a wound that still seemed so raw.

"Why did he do it?"

Despite common belief, vampires were very protective of their young.

"I have four half-brothers," he revealed. "Their mother died during the stillbirth of her daughter, but my father took a young bride. She was barely eighteen, pretty, and a prize more than anything else. Unable to stand his abrasive personality, she jumped from the turret when I was two."

His hands fisted around the reins, and she waited for him to get to the heart of the matter.

"I was a sickly child," he continued. "Not strong like my brothers or big like them, and the physician said I wouldn't live long. My father despises weakness, so he sent me away, hoping I would die."

The clipped pattern of his speech turned his pain into a living thing that resided beneath his skin.

Lord Dillon had become a tall man with powerful shoulders on a lean frame, with every inch of him solid muscle, and she had trouble picturing him as a feeble child.

"You never returned," Catherine concluded.

"No."

Although he stared at the trees, he focused inside.

"It would be better if I hated Eduardo," she admitted, "but he was not always the man who almost executed me. Growing up, I loved him and still love who he had been to me, but I can't stand the man who sent me away."

A dark scowl creased his forehead.

"Suffice it to say, you are not the only one who noticed the changes in him," he remarked. "His behavior has become unpredictable, and even the vampire lords no longer implicitly trust his motives."

Their eyes briefly met.

"They fear him too greatly to stand against him," she said, adding more kindling to the fire before stacking a few sticks. "The Drake's armies are too big, and his allies too many for them to risk his ire."

The playful breeze directed the smoke right at her, and she blinked rapidly against its sting.

"Some wonder if Hellenic and that woman make his decisions for him," he suggested.

The wind turned again, but the fire had caught and was steadily burning.

"The two of them influence him more than is good for our... his kingdom," she admitted, searching around for smaller sticks to feed into the cheery little blaze until it burned on its own.

"Hellenic made you look like a traitor and a murderer."

Their gazes locked. He wasn't asking—he already knew.

"Yes," she admitted, not ready to speak of it.

"And your father never questioned the evidence?"

"No."

The silence settled in again, her thoughts straying to murky places.

"Did being raised without a father bother you?" she deflected.

Lord Dillon remained quiet, and she wondered if he would answer.

It was hard enough growing up without a mother, and she could not imagine life without any parents. Eduardo had shaped so much of her identity, and she was who she was because of him. It was the reason she found it so hard to see her father as a monster.

Does that mean that I will turn into one under the right circumstances? A chill slithered down her spine. Will I allow the vampire's inky nature to invade me and take me over like he did? It is always there, waiting for me to slip up.