After that, Cain regularly patrolled with any man from the village who could be spared. When no one could be spared, he went alone. With the other men, and most particularly a youth named Judoc, whom he discovered he could trust to obey him without question, he strode out on foot, his movements long and smooth, but no faster than a mortal man could pace, and he seldom traveled out further than ten miles. Alone, he covered land with tremendous speed, whipping through the night as silently as an owl and twice as swiftly.

He did not slaughter Drust's men, did not kill humans at all when unnecessary, but he harried them. He made it clear to any who trusted him that the village whence he had come was protected, and that he would always hunt down any who robbed it, or who bothered the villages around it.

Cain seldom stayed in that village itself for more than a single day, sleeping between patrols and updating the elders and peeking in on Ruth, to make sure she was well. Other than that, he could not stand to stay long, for Abel always tried to approach him, to speak to him.

Things continued this way for three months. Then one day, so like the others, Cain's foot juddered before one step and the next and he turned swiftly to Judoc. "Did you say something?"

Judoc looked at Cain cluelessly. "No, I didn't say anything. Did you hear something?" Judoc replied.

Cain took a deep breath and willed himself to relax. I must be tired, Cain thought. It wasn't physical fatigue so much as mental. He missed Abel, despite avoiding him. He thought about him constantly, wondering how he's faring.

How Abel was faring. Even now, even during patroling and hunting, he thought of his brother and his brother's lover and their child. Even now, he couldn't escape.

"What are you thinking about, Cain?" Judoc asked worriedly.

"We have to get back to camp," Cain replied curtly, instinct giving him the answer in a wave of fear. "I think something's wrong. I can't explain it, but-"

"But we'd better get back," Judoc said. "I trust your instincts."

Back in the village, Abel sat bolt upright beside Ruth. It was yet early, but winter was coming on, and the sun had set after only eight hours in the sky. Abel tilted his head back, nostrils flaring, ears on high alert.

"What is it?" Ruth murmured sleepily as Abel flowed to his feet.

"Shh," he said. "Stay here. Don't go back to sleep." With a whisper of movement, he was at the door, then stepping out.

The villagers were still away, tired after a day's work but not yet ready to sleep. They'd sleep long when winter came and they had no greater duty than to keep warm and save food, but tonight they sat outside, around a great fire, eating and chatting merrily. None of them sensed anything wrong.

The attack came without warning. From the trees at the far end of the village roared twenty men, stone knives and spears thrust high into the air. The villagers started to their feet, dropping food and instinctively pushing the children behind them.

The bandits didn't hesitate. With Drust at their head, they rushed forward. They moved as a pack, in such numbers that the villagers had never seen.

"No!" Abel shouted, running. "No, stop!"

Even he wasn't fast enough. Drust thrust his stone knife into the gut of the nearest villager and left him writhing on the ground. Another bandit threw his spear at a woman and missed, striking the leg of the child beside her.

Abel's world went red. He forgot about Ruth, forgot that he was pretending to be human. He forgot everything as thoroughly as he had that first day, that very first day when the bloodlust had come upon him. He made no sound, but his movements were no more than blurs as he whipped forward, striking the bandit who had injured the child with such force that the bandit's head twisted around, his neck snapping. Then Abel leapt on the next bandit and the next, plunging fingers into eyes and ripping out throats with his teeth.

The bandits didn't even try to run; they were too shocked, to taken with the speed of his attack. Within seconds, all the bandits but Drust were dead, some still falling to the ground.

Drust had time to see his opponent for an instant before Abel decended upon him, plunging fangs into the bandit's neck and draining the blood from him.

Drust's body landed on the dirt with a thump, dying, and the red haze cleared from Abel's eyes, although some of the wildness remained. He turned and saw the villagers staring at him, their shock melding with horror.

And there was Ruth, standing outside the tent they shared, hand on her swollen belly. Abel went to her and was there in the blink of an eye, so that she staggered back from him. He tried to withdraw, but she regained herself quickly. "Come inside," she said. "Take a rag and clean your face."

Abel tilted his head, uncomprehending.

"Clean the blood off it," Ruth elucidated. She pushed Abel inside the hut behind her and stared defiantly at the villagers. "Well?" she said. "Stop gaping; he saved your life. Build up this fire, and we can burn the corpses."

The villagers moved, but not to obey. The braver of the men picked up the spears and knives the bandits had dropped and stepped toward her. All might have gone very ill for them had to Cain appeared. Judoc was not with him; he had been unwilling to wait for the human's slower speed when every instinct was screaming at him to get back. Cain looked at the bodies, and especially at Drust's, and then at the villagers-and at their horror.

There was nothing he could say, but he had to try. "We will protect you as long as we are here."

Someone sobbed. "Protect us from that?" she cried, thrusting a finger at the hut that housed Abel. "You've brought a monster in our midst, a servant of Death."

"The bandits are dead," Cain said soothingly. "You are safe."

"Then leave us alone," begged the villager. "Send the demon and his woman far away from here. You can stay; we like you. You have been our protector."

"Yes," Cain said, "I have. And that's my brother." He drew back his lips, extending his fangs. "And I am the same as he is. Am I a demon, too?"

The villagers backed away from him, too terrified to speak. Cain's hands clenched into fists.

Ruth, who had retreated into the hut to retrieve Abel, emerged with him. "Cain," she said, "it's time to go."

He turned to her, no longer bothering to hide the supernatural smoothness and quickness of his movements. "Ruth . . ."

"Don't you see?" she asked. "This is our punishment. You were meant to go to Eden, meant to face Amos, and you tarried here for my sake. Now we must go on."

"But you cannot walk that far!" Cain protested.

Ruth gave him a watery smile. "No. Which is why you and Abel are going to take turns carrying me."