Balthazar (21 page)

“… but…” Even that one word was enough to make Skye envision her friend's teasing face at that moment.

“But he won't make a move. I guess he has his reasons.” Breathing out in frustration, Skye said, “I hate his reasons.”

“I say jump him now and ask his reasons later.”

Skye would have told Clem to shut up about jumping Balthazar if she hadn't been laughing too hard to get the words out.

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.”

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.

For one moment, Balthazar felt a grim satisfaction—but then he heard Skye scream.

He turned and ran as fast as he could toward her, so fast no earthly being would have been able to see much of him, but he knew he wasn't going to make it in time. Lorenzo had not only caught up, but he'd also managed to intercept Eb and pull Skye down to the ground, just on the riverbank. She was in the fighting stance he'd taught her, holding him at bay—but with three other vampires surrounding her, too, she'd only be able to buy herself seconds.

Balthazar pushed himself harder, desperate to reach her.

But somebody else made it there before him.

At first all Balthazar saw was a golden blur, but then Lorenzo was flung backward, bodily, until he slammed into a nearby tree and fell. The blur went still, took the form of Redgrave.

“How dare you?” Redgrave didn't sound as angry as he looked; his voice, as ever, was polite, almost cool. He might have been scolding Lorenzo for going out in the cold without his hat. “Were my instructions not clear?”

“You know what she is!” One of the vampires said, almost pleading.

“You know I intend her to be mine,” Redgrave replied. “That should be enough for you. As it isn't—let's try a reminder.”

Constantia appeared as if out of nowhere, her long, blond hair whipping around her, her gray coat swirling behind her like a cape, to clutch one of the other vampires around the throat. Her grip was so fierce that even at a distance Balthazar could hear the crunch of cartilage. Choking a vampire wouldn't kill, but he knew from experience that it could hurt like hell.

Skye had the sense to start running—away from Redgrave, away from all of them—over the next ridge. Eb must have gone that way, too. As much as Balthazar would've liked to use the melee to take a crack at Redgrave—hoped for a momentary distraction that would give him a chance to crush his sire's skull—he thought he'd see whether Redgrave's own tribe might take him out. That would make a nice change. He turned to the side, ready to dash after her, when he came face-to-face with another of Redgrave's loyalists and enforcers.

She stood a few feet from him, silent as a cat. Instead of the heavy coat even vampires would want in this bleak chill, she wore only a short-sleeved white dress that stopped far short of her knees. Her legs were bare; she wore high heels that might have glittered back before they were so dingy. Balthazar knew better than to assume she couldn't run in them. Her fair, curly hair hung loose, halfway down her back, and a few tendrils blew across her face. She'd washed it recently—rare, for her. Her eyes remained locked with his, as if she were as startled to see him as he was to see her.

He could manage nothing louder than a whisper: “Charity.”

“Hello, dear brother.” Charity smiled at him, guileless and sweet—for only one instant. Then her face twisted into a grimace. “Still saving everybody's life but
mine
.”

Guilt and shock froze him only for a moment, but it was a moment too long. Charity swung something into his head; he hadn't even seen that she had something in her hand, but whatever it was, it was metal, heavy, and long. She swung again and again, stunning him further with each blow, and the more his head hurt, the harder it was to defend himself or even to think.

Once again she struck him, and he stumbled backward on ground that sloped sharply. Balthazar fell, rolling over and over, at first only grateful that for a moment Charity wasn't beating the hell out of him.

Then he realized that the only ground sloping sharply beneath him was the riverbank.

If there was one thing vampires hated more than trying to cross running water—it was being submerged
in
running water.

Balthazar grabbed desperately for something to hang on to, anything, but it was too late. He fell from the riverbank, fell through the air for one terrible moment, and then plunged into the ice-cold rapids.

He sank like a stone.

SKYE RAN AS HARD AS SHE COULD. HER SIDE cramped and each breath was cold and ragged in her lungs, but she kept pushing. Eb stood not far away, quivering with fright, but if she could calm him enough to ride, she could take advantage of whatever insane vampire battle was going on to get out of here.

But where was Balthazar? She'd seen him just seconds ago, before Redgrave appeared, but not since. They couldn't have hurt him, could they? Or would they have staked him, beheaded—

Her terror for Balthazar outweighed her fear for herself, and Skye turned to look for him. Within seconds, she sighted him—being beaten, brutally, by somebody who appeared to be a bedraggled middle-school girl but must have been another vampire. He fell backward onto the riverbank, sliding along the loose rocks and brush there, then tumbled into the water.

Could he swim? There was something about vampires and running water, something bad. Skye couldn't remember; she couldn't think straight with her heartbeat pounding and her whole body already aching. All she knew was that Balthazar wasn't able to save her. Instead, she'd have to save him.

Skye ran the rest of the way to Eb, who stood still but remained jittery. Even amid her panic, she knew she had to make sure he was steady to ride; the only way to make her situation worse would be to wind up thrown or trampled by a frightened animal that weighed half a ton. “C'mon, boy,” she murmured as she ran her hands reassuringly along his side. “Good boy. You want to get out of here, don't you? Let's get out of here. Okay, Eb? That's my boy.”

He seemed good—not great, but enough, she thought. Skye hooked her foot into the stirrup and got herself into the saddle. Eb stamped his feet a couple of times, but he remained steady. Grabbing the reins, she urged him forward so that they galloped downstream.

The tide pool
, she thought. She and Dakota had played down there as children before their parents caught them at it and forbade it—after which they played down there only slightly less. They'd discovered that almost anything tossed into the river upstream (Frisbees, canteens, various Nerf sporting goods) eventually washed into the tide pool. If Balthazar couldn't swim, or was too dazed to do so, he'd probably wind up there. Certainly it would be her best chance to retrieve him.

But then she heard the sound of someone—multiple someones—crashing through the trees behind her, and knew Redgrave hadn't stopped all of her pursuers.

Skye spurred Eb harder, wishing she didn't have to do it, and maybe she didn't; her horse wanted out of there as badly as she did. As she steered Eb down the slope leading to the tide pool, Skye looked around desperately; almost right away, she saw what she'd sought. A tree nearby had lost a few branches during the last hard ice, and one hung amid the lower limbs, almost as thick around as her arm and twice as long. Skye tugged it free and clutched it close to her side, end out.