Rare Vigilance (Whitethorn Agency)

Atlas rose and looked out the windows. There, running in a sluggish line was the river, which meant the windows were pointed south. He doubted Mary had been dragged to this spot for the purpose of destroying her body; likely, the animal that did it was hoping to find a sheltered back corner, far from prying eyes, where it could enjoy its kill at its leisure. That observation wouldn’t change anything though, so he didn’t say it.

“That thing hunted her,” Cristian murmured. “There’s not much that could kill one of us. Whatever left those prints would have to be strong.”

“And fast,” Atlas said. He looked over the picture again, working through the details. “Have you ever seen anything that could take down a vampire this easily?”

He looked at Cristian and found the other man watching him already, expression wary. “I haven’t,” Cristian hedged, “but you have.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in and, when they did, he understood Cristian’s hesitance to broach the subject. Cristian had been in his head, had accidentally invaded his privacy, but he’d also suffered through the memory of the attack. He was the only one alive who had witnessed it through Atlas’s eyes. It was no longer just Atlas who could remember the creatures’ clawed hands and preternatural strength. Only Cristian was brave enough to revisit those memories and put the pieces together.

Atlas tried to scrape air past the bands of panic tightening around his ribs. “No,” he declared. “They can’t be here.”

“I’ve never seen anything like them before. It took a predator to kill Mary. Can you think of something else that could do that?”

“Of course not,” Atlas snapped. “But no one would believe my story.”

“I believe it,” Cristian said, painfully earnest. “Blood bonds don’t lie, Atlas. You can shift attention, you can guide someone to certain memories, but you can’t change the truth. You saw those monsters and survived them. Your blood is honest.”

“You don’t know me,” Atlas whispered, rubbing at his chest to ease the sharp pang of guilt clawing against his sternum. If Cristian only knew what he’d just tried to do the other night...

Cristian’s eyes flashed with a hint of gold, and his frustration was written on every tight line of his face. “I do, whether we want me to or not. I don’t know how they got here, but if those monsters are in Scarsdale, they’ll be hunting others the same way they hunted you. Mary put up a struggle. Other vampires will do the same. What do you think will happen if your monsters learn there’s even easier prey around? If they run across a human one night?”

They’d ripped through his platoon with thoughtless ease. Nothing had saved him or anyone else, not their training, not their weapons, not their strategy. They had fallen before they knew their lives were over. Civilians wouldn’t stand a chance.

“What do you propose we do?”

“I need to tell my father what’s hunting in his territory.”

“Will he listen to you?”

Cristian bit his lower lip. “I don’t know. He’s distracted now and—”

“You can tell him what I saw,” Atlas offered. Every word hurt on its way out, but he pushed on anyway. “If it’ll help convince him to stop these things, tell him whatever you need to about my past.”

He looked down at Mary’s ashes. “I can’t let this happen again.”

“Okay,” Cristian said quietly. He lingered over the ashes for a moment before declaring, “We don’t have much time.”

Atlas hated walking away from the ashes without doing anything, without relying on some tradition or ritual to acknowledge Mary’s death. Maybe finding her ashes was enough. It still felt like too little. He quickly scratched Mary’s name into the dirt beside the ashes with the end of the tire iron. It wasn’t enough to commemorate a life, he knew, but it would have to do until Cristian and Decebal could figure out how to keep others—vampire and human—from meeting a similar fate.

Cristian would have to face his father alone. Atlas had his own battle to fight. He needed to convince Jasper and his employer to delay their plans, at least until Decebal eliminated this new threat. As much as he wanted Decebal’s influence gone from his hometown, there were more dangerous monsters to fear now.

* * *

Cristian’s trust in Atlas’s memories was the only thing that held him together the rest of the night. He survived the end of his shift, with Decebal’s ill-tempered return and the suspicious glances shared by Cristian’s friends over Cristian and his dark moods. When he finally left and returned to his apartment, sleep escaped him. He lay in bed, replaying the night’s events and drafting what he’d say to Jasper’s employer. Bea came over for lunch and he went back to bed the moment she left. When he couldn’t put off getting ready for his next shift any longer, he forced himself up to shower and dress. He bribed himself to get into the car with the promise of picking up a coffee on the way. Getting a second one for Cristian, one of the disgustingly sweet, flavored things he favored for some godforsaken reason, seemed only fair exchange for his handling Decebal.

For the second night in a row, Cristian surprised him by anticipating his arrival,

this time meeting him a step past the threshold. “Thank God you’re never late,” Cristian mumbled as he snagged hold of Atlas’s arm and dragged him back outside. Decebal’s usual security avoided them as they made their way through the gardens. Well, as Cristian led Atlas forcibly through the gardens. He didn’t let go until they were at the edge of the lawn where it bordered a small copse of pristinely maintained woodland.

“What’s going on?” Atlas asked, confused by Cristian’s erratic behavior and still juggling the coffees.

“I needed to talk to you,” Cristian said. He paused, took in Atlas again, and tilted his head. “Why do you have two coffees?”

“One’s for you,” Atlas said, and handed it over.

Cristian lit up and took a careful sip. He closed his eyes and hummed in pleasure. Even from a foot away, Atlas could smell the peppermint on his breath when he said, “Thanks.”

“Sure. Now, why can’t we talk inside?”