“There’s still time.” His voice was like a growl in the back of his throat.

I paused, staring at him for a moment. I couldn’t place the accent, and I’d heard many over the centuries. It was old, very old. Not nearly as old as Jabari’s Egyptian lilt, but something that hadn’t been uttered in ages. It would be something to ponder, but I had more pressing queries.

“Maybe,” I conceded with a slight nod. “But instead you came to the New World. While I may be one of the oldest here, I am far younger than Valerio. Why travel such a distance?”

“Aren’t you called the ‘Fire Starter’?”

I laughed, a deep throaty sound that curled through the air and brushed like a warm hand against his cheek. The ability to touch another with your voice was an old trick that came naturally to some nightwalkers. It had few real uses, but was great for unnerving your opponent. Danaus shifted from one foot to the other, but his expression never changed.

“Among other things.” I walked back toward the opposite wall, but this time I moved a few steps closer to him. His muscles tightened but he didn’t step backward. It was enough for me to brush against the circle of power that enveloped him, rubbing against my bare skin like warm silk. It also gave him a better taste of my own power. By the time I reached my original corner, something had changed in his eyes.

“You were at the Bonaventure cemetery three nights ago,” he said.

“Yes.” The word came out a whispered hiss.

“I killed two vampires that night.” He said it as if it should have explained everything.

“So? Since entering my territory a month ago, you have killed five nightwalkers.”

“Why didn’t you try to stop me?”

I chuckled softly, with a slight shake of my head. Try. Were we both truly this arrogant? I lifted my shoulders in an indifferent shrug. “They were not mine to protect.”

“But they were vampires.”

“They were fledglings without a master,” I corrected him. Pushing off the wall, I started to walk toward him. “A master you killed more than a week ago.” Of course, I’d been planning to kill Riley myself, but Danaus beat me to it. Riley had been expanding his own little family without my permission, and a balance had to be maintained in order to preserve our secret.

Danaus moved, mirroring me as he stepped out of the doorway. He turned so his back was to the wall as we circled each other. His steps were graceful and fluid, like a dance. The knot tightened again in my stomach and my body hummed with energy.

I took a single step forward, testing him, and Danaus lashed out with his right hand. Jerking away, I kept the blade from slashing at my face. Yet, he surprised me when he immediately spun back around, lifting his left hand to reveal a Saracen blade curving up the length of his arm. His first move had been a feint to get me to expose my throat. I dropped into a spin kick, clipping one of his feet before he could move. The hunter stumbled as he backed away, but remained standing. Balanced on the balls of my feet, I pressed my fingers to the dusty hardwood floor.

“Nice sword. Gaelic runes?” I inquired, as if making idle small talk, but my eyes were locked on him. The hand holding the sword tightened. It was an exquisite blade, with a line of runes etched down the side. I couldn’t read them, but I would have wagered that they were more than just decoration.

He grunted, which I took for an affirmation to my question.

“Thanks for not coming at me with a stake,” I said, standing. He looked at me, his dark eyebrows briefly meeting over the bridge of his nose. “It’s so cliché.” The right corner of his mouth twitched before he could stop it.

“You would have set it on fire,” he said stiffly.

“True.” I waited a heartbeat, then crossed the distance between us, hitting him in the chest with both hands. Air exploded from his lungs. The blow threw both of his arms involuntarily forward as he stumbled back. I kicked out with my right foot, hitting his left hand. The impact loosened his grip and sent the scimitar spinning across the floor, to clatter against the far wall. Unfortunately, he recovered faster than I expected and swung his right arm forward, grazing my cheek with the dagger.

The unexpected stab of pain screamed through me, and I jerked back out of arm’s reach. I hissed at him, fangs bared, my body hunched as if prepared to spring. Yeah, I know. The hiss was even more cliché than a wooden stake, but the grating sound erupted from my throat before I could think about it, let alone come up with something a little more civilized. I’m 603 years old, not an Ancient.

Again I forced myself to stand and relax. Danaus drew in a few ragged gulps of air before his breathing evened out. Breathing would be painful for a while, but at least he still could. I lifted my left hand to my cheek and then moved my fingers into my line of sight; my eyes never leaving his tense form. Blood covered two fingers. Slowly, I licked them, letting the copper taste coat my tongue. The pain in my cheek was already gone and I could feel the wound closing. In another moment there would only be a smear of blood.

That bit of blood had been enough. The taste lit the lust, sending it burning through my veins. Sure, it had been my blood, but it was all the same; vampire, human, and even whatever Danaus was. It all pulsed with power from the soul, the very essence of life, and I knew this time it would be his I tasted.

I rushed him again, but Danaus was ready. He swung the blade at me, once again going for my throat. I easily caught his hand. He swung his left fist at my face. I batted it away. Squeezing his right hand, I tried to force him to drop the dagger without breaking his hand, but despite the pain, he wouldn’t drop it. Out of the corner of my eye I saw his left hand go for another weapon at his side.

“Fine.” The single word escaped in a growl as I grabbed his left wrist. I swept my leg beneath his, throwing us both down. Lying on top of him, I pinned both of his hands against the floor. Sure, he was heavier than me, but even with all his muscles, I was still stronger. Vampirism has its perks. Sliding along his body, my leather pants slipped along his legs until I was straddling him. I smiled down at him, rubbing against the hard bulge in his pants. He didn’t carry a gun. Unless you put a shotgun in our mouths and pulled the trigger, you really couldn’t kill a nightwalker with a gun. It generally didn’t even slow us down.

“I thought you were glad to see me,” I purred, unable to keep the laughter from my voice. Danaus glared at me, his eyes hardening into cold gems. I knew better. The violence turned him on, not me. The thrill of the hunt.

He stared at me, his mind turning over thoughts I wished I could hear. Something about me bothered him. Sure, I was beautiful, but all nightwalkers were a pretty face and a nice body. If his attention was that easy to catch, he would have been dead long ago.

The question that flickered in his eyes was the only reason I think he had not actually tried to kill me yet. We’d taken a few nice stabs at each other, but no killing blows. The other fights I watched had been quick. Each of his attacks were precise and efficient, planned to end the battle and take down the nightwalker. Maybe we were still sizing each other up, enjoying the building tension, but it felt like there was more hanging unsaid in the ether.

With my hands still locked on his wrists, I pulled backward, lowering my face until my chin rested on his sternum, my eyes locked with his. I could feel the muscles in his body tighten beneath me, but he didn’t jerk or try to throw me off. Despite the fact that my lips were barely an inch from his chest, I couldn’t bite him at that angle. We both knew this, so he lay still, waiting.

Drawing in a deep breath, I let his scent fill me. I could smell sweat and that certain musky scent of man, but there was more, the wind, a distant sea, and best of all, the sun. The scent was so strong I could taste it, conjuring up ancient memories of basking naked in the midday heat.