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Three Years Ago

PROLOGUE || MICHAEL

“Just the way I like them.” I grinned at the vampire as it barreled toward me. “Big, dumb, and evil.”

“Just stake it,” Danny Neizghání gritted out from beside me, pumping his shotgun, probably to blast the vamp with another round of the powdered silver and rock salt he had loaded the barrels with. The fact that the vampire was coated in silver was probably the only reason we weren’t dead yet. Silver saps a vamp’s abilities, rendering it about as fast and strong as it had been in human life.

“You’re no fun,” I shot back. I didn’t know why he was so concerned. I had plenty of time. The vampire—who was built like a linebacker but almost comically slow without his vamp speed—was taking his sweet time reaching us.

He really was big. He was at least my size in build, but half a head taller than my six feet, and pale like a fucking sheet of paper. His face was smeared freshly red from his latest kill: a middle-aged man who had been out walking his dog in the middle of the night. The poor guy’s lifeless body was lying in the alleyway sixty feet away. The dog—with the leash still attached to it, presumably—was long gone.

Rage boiled through me when my gaze landed on the body yet again.

We hadn’t tracked the vamp fast enough. That guy’s blood was on our hands. We should have stopped it. We should have been better. Faster.

I grabbed my machete from its side holster and gripped it tightly at waist level.

The vamp eyed it, as though confused about what I was suddenly doing with a weapon instead of running away and screaming like most of his meals probably had. But he didn’t slow down—though, if he had, he would’ve been coming toward us at a leisurely stroll instead of a slow jog.

When the creature got close enough, I stepped forward, ducking under his outstretched arms easily when he tried to grab me. I’m faster than most monsters anticipate, given my obvious size. They expect me to be dumb and slow, too.

I’m not.

I turned and took his head off with a clean sweep of my machete. The blade was so sharp that there was only a faint snicking sensation—an instant of hesitation—where it passed through bone. It set my teeth on edge.

The vamp’s body collapsed to the ground.

I turned to find Danny covered in the creature’s blood. His dark eyes were wide with alarm.

“Fuck,” he breathed, spitting thick black blood onto the ground. “Some of it got into my mouth. I swallowed it.”

Unease swept through me. But this wasn’t a crisis. You had to ingest a fair amount of vamp blood, then die shortly after, before your body has a chance to process it, in order to come back as one ofthem. That wouldn’t happen to Danny. Just swallowing a bit of the blood was gross, but no big deal in the grand scheme of things.

And he definitely wasn’t dying on my watch.

“You’ll be fine,” I told him. “We’ll bury this jackass, then go back to the motel room and get you cleaned up. You’ll be goodas new tomorrow.” Forcing my tone to be as light as I could manage, I added, “So long as you don’t die between now and then.”

“Gee, your concern for my well-being is overwhelming,” Danny shot back, his voice thick with sarcasm. “You can stop coddling me, Michael. I’ll be fine. Promise.”

I chuckled, because it seemed obligatory. But I couldn’t help the flash of longing I felt. If only things were different, and Danny wouldletme coddle him.

But that was out of the question.

Danny was straight and I’d already shot my shot, years ago. He wasn’t interested. Things between us were strictly professional. And they always would be.

* * *

Hours later, Danny passed the bottle of Jack Daniels back to me. We sat on the floor of the motel room, both with our backs to the wall, shoulder to shoulder, facing the door. Danny had showered while I had drawn warding sigils over the window and the doorway in chalk, and then a spirit trap on the floor in front of the door. Even over the too-sharp smell of the booze, I caught a whiff of the shampoo he’d used: cedar and sandalwood. And something else, too. Another scent that was distinctlyhim. It had always been there, pleasant and calming, even though I could never really place it.

“Have I ever told you what my last name means?” Danny asked, his voice strangely intense.

I frowned, considering it. “No. I mean, I know it’s from your father’s side, so it’s Navajo.”

Danny nodded. “It means monster hunter. Or killer of enemies. Whichever.” Danny paused. “It’s a name my family took, generations ago, because of who we are. Which is why Iwant you to promise me something,” Danny said, as I took a swig from the bottle and passed it back over to him.

I swallowed and shot him a sideways look. Danny was always too serious for his own good, but he was rarely this maudlin. “Yeah, sure.”

“I don’t want to be a monster,” Danny whispered, a little rawer than I’d heard him in a while. “A long time ago, my brother promised me that he’d take care of it if I ever turned. But he’s dead now. All I have left is you.” Danny let out a low exhale, staring into the bottle he held in his hand, perhaps without really seeing it. “And now I want you to promise me the same thing.”