“What happened. Have you ever done that before?”

I didn’t have to ask what he was talking about. Hours ago Danaus, Tristan, Jabari, Sadira, and I had been at the Themis Compound, surrounded by naturi. It seemed that we were dead. There was no escape, nothing to swoop in and save us. In a last desperate attempt, Danaus and I agreed to use our powers: boiling blood and fire. If we survived, we’d be exhausted and at the mercy of our “comrades.” Instead Danaus somehow pushed his powers into me, his deep voice echoing through my brain as I destroyed them all. And not just the ones at Themis. I had killed every member of the naturi within several miles of the Compound.

“Incinerated someone? Yes,” I said, purposefully vague. I wanted to hear him say the words. I needed to know that I wasn’t alone in what I felt.

“That’s not what happened and you know it,” Danaus snarled. He flinched at the loudness of his voice as if afraid he would wake Tristan. He couldn’t, but I wasn’t about to disillusion him. I didn’t need him yelling at me. I had enough on my mind without an irate vampire hunter to worry about. “We destroyed their souls,” he continued in a low, heavy voice.

I remained silent. Was there anything I could say that wouldn’t sound lame? Not really. Maybe a part of me was hoping I’d been wrong. But I wasn’t. Danaus had felt the same thing.

“I’m assuming you couldn’t do that before,” I finally said.

“No!” he shouted, lurching to his feet. His hands opened and closed restlessly at his sides twice before he finally returned to his seat, his emotions once again under control. “No, I haven’t. I can’t do that. I’ve never heard of any creature doing that.” His voice was a little calmer than before, but it was a forced calm. Panicking would solve nothing, not that I wouldn’t have enjoyed the brief luxury.

“Then why did you force me to do it?” My own voice turned even harder and colder than I meant it to. I hated the naturi with every ounce of my being, but even so, destroying another creature’s soul? It…it was an unspeakable act, something that smacked of true evil.

“I didn’t force you to do anything!” he said, jerking his eyes back to my face.

“I heard your voice in my head. You told me to kill them. You told me to kill them all.”

“Not like that.”

“I tried to crush their hearts or set them on fire but you wouldn’t let me.” I shifted uncomfortably, placing both of my feet flat on the floor as I moved to the edge of my seat.

“I didn’t stop you from doing anything.” Danaus shoved one hand through his thick black hair, pushing some strands away from his exquisite blue eyes. I could almost sense the frustration humming through his muscular frame, building in him as he recalled events from earlier in the evening. “The moment I touched your hand, it felt like my powers had been amplified. Considering we were outnumbered and about to die, I didn’t think this was a bad thing.”

“And that’s all?” I asked, failing to keep the skepticism from my voice.

Danaus took another deep breath and held it for a moment. “I could hear your thoughts,” he finally admitted, his voice near a whisper. His eyes moved away from my face, dropping down to his hands, which rested half open on his thighs. “You were scared and in pain. I just kept thinking, ‘kill them. Kill them and the pain will stop.’” He paused and I could feel his anger starting to ebb. The faint smell of the sea filled the cabin, seeming to cleanse the air. Danaus’s unique scent. My eyes drifted closed, letting his voice brush against my cheek. “I didn’t tell you to destroy their souls. I didn’t think such a thing was possible and I would never have asked that.”

“I didn’t think so, but this is all new to me. I wanted to be sure.” My head fell back against the bench. I didn’t want to think about this anymore. There were no answers for what had happened or for what I knew would happen again.

Danaus let a deep, heavy silence slip back into the little jet, holding us together in the gathering darkness. It was several minutes later before he bothered to speak again. Neither of us wanted to think about this anymore, but certain questions had to be answered before we reached Venice and the Coven.

“How is it that I can…”

“Control me?” I finished the statement that seemed to get stuck in his throat; whether because he had a sudden concern for my feelings or just a distaste for the ability, I didn’t know. Despite my own carefully crafted facade, I couldn’t keep the bitterness from my tone. Jabari could control me. Sadira could. While he lived, so could Tabor. The original three members of the triad, and my makers. And now Danaus.

“I’ve been around enough vampires throughout my life. What I felt when I touched you…” Again his voice died, and I let the sentence wither away before I spoke.

“I can answer only part of that question. Jabari and Sadira and potentially other nightwalkers can control me because I was…made differently.” I paused, nearly choking on the word. This story was not supposed to go this way. All the popular tales told of a chosen one, a child born under a particular star that was supposed to rise up and lead the downtrodden to redemption and victory. Well, this so-called “chosen one” was a tool, a weapon, a nightmare that could just as easily destroy my kind as lead them to salvation, and I hated it.

Frowning, my eyes darted around the interior of the plane as I tried to frame my explanation. “There are two ways to make a nightwalker. The first is quick, easy, obviously the most common. A nightwalker drains a human of his blood and replaces it with the nightwalker’s blood at the exact second of death. The next night the human rises a nightwalker. It takes a few centuries for these vampires to gain any significant powers. These humans are reborn as nightwalkers to serve as a form of entertainment for their master. They’re not expected to live long existences and rarely outlast their masters.”

“Why?”

A grim smile skipped unchecked across my face, causing the hunter to stiffen. “Because many of our entertainments are lethal, even for nightwalkers. Among my kind, these quickly made nightwalkers are commonly referred to as chum.”

“Is Tristan…chum?” Danaus asked, the term falling from his lips like something distasteful.

“Yes, but I wouldn’t call him that to his face.”

“I guessed as much,” he murmured under his breath.

“Most nightwalkers are made this way. It takes little effort and dedication to the task.”

“Have you ever…?”

“No.” My hands gripped the edge of my seat for a moment as I sat straight up. “I have never made a nightwalker, nor will I.” With a shake of my head, I relaxed again and sat back. There were enough of us roaming the earth.

Closing my eyes, I listened to the steady rhythm of Danaus’s heartbeat, the sound barely rising about the dulled roar of the jet engine. The beat was soothing, wiping away my momentary anxiety. I didn’t create nightwalkers.

“But I wasn’t made that way, and up until a couple nights ago I thought that Sadira was my only creator.” I paused again, licking my lips as I searched for the words. “There are three stages of death. The first is that the body stops breathing, then the heart stops, and then finally the soul leaves the body. When I was made, the transformation was started before my soul had left my body. Sadira worked slowly and carefully to make sure my soul never escaped from my body.

“The process takes years—sometimes decades—to complete, but when the nightwalker finally awakens, he is stronger and more powerful than those newly born chum. Some believe that by retaining the soul throughout the whole process, the nightwalker attains a higher level of power. In general, those made this way are stronger, more powerful, and harder to kill. They are called First Bloods.”

“So Tristan doesn’t have a soul?”