She was still thinking about Clementine’s advice the next Saturday, when she and Balthazar went riding again.
“The sky looks like snow.” Balthazar stared out toward the horizon, where the clouds were a low, even, pale gray. “Good thing we’re riding today. It’ll be a week or two before we could take the horses out again.”
“You’ve gotten to like this as much as I do.” Skye could tell by the lift of his chin, the way a smile played on his face, just beneath the surface.
He patted Peppermint’s neck. “You’re right. Riding out here—it’s reminded me of so many things. Moments I’d let myself get too far away from.”
“You mean, memories of your life?” That short time was all the life he’d had … only one year more than her. Everything else, all the centuries in between—whatever they were, they weren’t living.
“That’s part of what I mean,” Balthazar said. Then he hesitated, as he if he knew he shouldn’t say any more.
Skye thought of everything else he might mean—what else he might have gotten too far away from in all those years alone, and the pleasure they took in riding together—and suddenly it was hard not to shyly look away.
But she didn’t. She kept her eyes on Balthazar’s face, and she could see the struggle inside him, though she couldn’t tell whether he was fighting to speak or to stay silent. The cold wind picked up, whipping past so briskly that her cheeks stung and her ears felt numb. Skye would have remained there all day, though, if it meant that Balthazar might finally take a stand for her—
—until Eb suddenly reared back, dumping her off her saddle.
“Skye!” Balthazar reined in his horse, which was also shifting unevenly, then swiftly dismounted. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” She adjusted her helmet, more embarrassed than anything else. Though she’d landed hard on her butt, that was a pretty standard risk when riding horses. “Eb, what got into you? That’s not like you.”
Balthazar’s hand cupped her elbow as he helped her up. “Take it easy,” he said, looking down at her. Suddenly that one small touch didn’t seem as simple, or as innocent. And that warm concern in his eyes—like she mattered more than anything—
“Your horse knows when you’re in danger.”
Skye and Balthazar turned together to see a figure approaching from the thick underbrush near them: Lorenzo. His eyes were unfocused, almost glazed. The rustling behind them told her he wasn’t alone.
“Redgrave said—” She felt stupid relying on anything Redgrave had ever said, and yet—“He said you wouldn’t come after me.”
“I’m tired of what Redgrave says.” Lorenzo took another step toward them, his eyes only on Skye. “Make me feel alive again.”
Chapter Fifteen
THEY’VE REBELLED, BALTHAZAR THOUGHT. THE idea of anyone else rebelling against Redgrave shocked him—he’d done it, but so far as he knew he was the only one, ever—but that vanished as he saw Lorenzo’s hunger.
In an instant, he was a hunter. Free to kill.
Balthazar leaped forward, straight for Lorenzo. But Lorenzo was equally as fast and far more prepared; he dodged so swiftly that he seemed to vanish. As Balthazar scrambled for balance on the icy ground, he shouted, “Skye! Get out of here!”
Just then Eb whinnied, and Balthazar saw he hadn’t had to tell Skye what to do; she was already mounted again, working to control her uneasy horse. Just as Lorenzo clutched her arm, she drove her heels into the horse’s side, and Eb took off at full gallop. Peppermint followed just behind. Which left him on his own, but he could defend himself.
Balthazar grabbed the closest weapon—a heavy, fallen tree branch—and swung it at Lorenzo as hard as he could. Lorenzo went down, but that would last only a moment, and the branch was too thick to be used as a stake. Worse, he could hear that the other vampires weren’t joining their fight. They were pursuing Skye.
He jumped with all his strength, not toward Lorenzo but into the treetops. Once he was high enough to be above the fray, Balthazar moved forward, leaping from tree to tree, not knowing if Lorenzo was behind him and not caring. Skye was all that mattered.
Where is she? Please, let her be on her horse, let her have a chance—
Even in the heat of pursuit, Balthazar knew he shouldn’t be this scared for Skye. That he ought to be thinking of keeping her secure, not held safe in his embrace. He’d been too captivated by her to sense the other vampires’ approach—had that taught him nothing? No time to question himself now, no time to do anything but fight.
As he launched himself into a taller tree—some forty feet off the ground now—he finally saw her. Skye still clung to Eb’s back, her horse’s dark coat stark against the frosty ground. Though they raced at full gallop, the vampires were closing. How many were there—three? No, four, because Balthazar knew he hadn’t delayed Lorenzo for long. He’d catch up soon.
The others he didn’t know. That meant they were probably young, a hundred years old at the most. Younger vampires were weaker. Balthazar intended to use every one of his four centuries against them.
Balthazar jumped from the tree, letting himself plummet downward, a long streak of black against the gray sky, until he landed solidly in front of one of Skye’s pursuers. The impact would’ve crushed a human’s legs; Balthazar felt the pain of it but still stood. The vampire nearly skidded into him, off-balance, which made it even more effective when Balthazar smashed his fist into the vampire’s face.
The vampire staggered back. Balthazar hit him again, aiming not for his nose but a place about four inches behind it, deep in the skull. At impact he heard the sound of crunching bone, felt the hot, wet smear of blood against his hand; the vampire went down solidly. For a human, the blow would have been fatal. For a vampire, it was a delay, no more. Balthazar grabbed a stick nearby—firm, not too thick—and stabbed it through the vampire’s chest.
Instantly, the glow of knowledge faded from his eyes; the grimace of pain disappeared from his face. What lay before Balthazar now was a dead body, no more. He wouldn’t awaken until someone removed the stake. Hopefully that wouldn’t be before Balthazar could come back and cut off the worthless creature’s head.