“No, I can’t imagine this is what Aurora would want either, but then again, after talking to Cynnia, I’m beginning to think this may have been a part of her master plan after all. I’d just be wary of how Nyx fits into all of this.”

With a wave of my hand, I extinguished the flames that separated us, plunging the tiny plaza back into total darkness. Rowe growled softly at me, and the hiss of the blade as it left its scabbard warned me of his attack. I ducked low and drew my own blade. The naturi scored a hit on my upper right arm while I made a shallow cut across his chest before we both separated again.

He crouched several yards away from me as wings exploded from his back—the trademark of a member of the wind clan. With a span at least nine feet long, they were perfectly black with an almost leathery texture. They were kept low to his body as he prepared to take flight on the wind still whipping through the city.

“Don’t bother to have me followed,” I called to him, still tightly gripping my knife. “I’m going to see my own kind. I’ll not see Nia again until the night of the equinox. And if I suddenly disappear, Danaus will kill her.”

His only answer was a low grunt, and then he threw open his wings, allowing them to catch the wind and pull him up into the black night above me. I had been partially lying. I was just hoping that he at least believed the lie, as it would buy me a little more time.

Putting the knife back in its sheath, I leaned back against the monument and inspected the cut along my arm that was still bleeding. Normally it would have healed already, but all naturi weapons contained a poison that slowed the healing process and burned like the fires of Hell.

“Don’t hurt her,” commanded a soft voice from the darkness. My head snapped up, and I was surprised that I hadn’t actually been alone with Rowe. Flinging my arm out, I sent five fireballs speeding out into the surrounding darkness, not caring who saw me—naturi or human. I needed to see who my new companion was.

The naturi stepped between two fireballs as they went speeding past her. She was still dressed in the same soft gray clothing that I had seen her in at the Palace of Knossos. Her black hair danced in the wind and her pale skin seemed to glow in the lamplight. Cynnia’s sister Nyx.

“Abide by my wishes,” I told her, “and I promise that Cynnia will be safely released.”

To my surprise, the woman nodded and said, “I’ll see what I can do.” She then threw out her own black wings, but these were different than Rowe’s. Nyx’s wings were not made of the same leathery material, but covered in glossy black feathers. Once again the wind rushed through the park, and then she was gone into the night sky.

My upper arm had stopped bleeding by the time I reached the Plaza de Armas. A good portion of my sleeve was soaked in blood, making the minor cut look much worse than it actually was. If I was lucky, Danaus would overlook the little scratch. He hadn’t been in favor of me traveling through the city alone, and the blood covering my arm didn’t exactly argue my case.

I was struggling to ignore the bite of winter wind. With the city at more than two miles in the sky, the night air had dropped down into the low thirties. I reminded myself that though it was September, in Peru the land was slowly plodding through its winter months. Cold generally didn’t bother me, except when I was low on blood. The wound Rowe inflicted had left me needing to feed yet again. However, most of the tourists were now tucked away for the night in their respective hotels, forcing me to wait around in a dark corner for some drunken sot to stumble from one of the local bars so I could drain a pint off of him to keep me warm.

The Plaza de Armas was a large square flanked by a cathedral and two other churches to the northeast, and another, more ornate, church that rose up from the southeast. With a frown, I was forced to cut between the quartet to reach the Hostal Loreto. As I walked, I mentally reached out and tapped the minds of the nightwalkers around me, sending them images of my route and calling them to my side. When I reached the Loreto, I could feel close to forty vampires approaching. It was going to get crowded.

Of course, that concern was temporarily derailed when I passed through the lobby and halted at the entrance to the bar. It was as if I had left Peru and stepped back into the United States. It looked like so many of the places I had visited in the U.S., with its enormous bar, crowded tables, and scattering of televisions flashing whatever sporting event their satellite could pick up. I could only guess that the owner was a motorcycle fanatic because the walls were covered in photographs, posters, and other biker paraphernalia. This theme was evenly balanced against the soccer posters that also covered the walls. Maybe not the exact kind of decoration you would find in an American bar, but close enough to make a traveling Yankee feel at home.

After scanning the room briefly, I located Danaus near the back talking to Eduardo. Weaving through the throng, I joined the pair. However, Eduardo took one look at me and excused himself before shuffling off to the kitchen. I shrugged as I slid into a chair across from the hunter.

“He thinks he may be able to track down a couple of tourist vans,” Danaus said. “The drive to Ollantaytambo is about two hours, probably longer at night.”

“How many can fit in a van?”

“About ten.”

“We’re going to need more than two vans,” I murmured, my eyes drifting up to the entrance, where a steady stream of nightwalkers poured into the bar and headed over to our table. Not one of them looked like a local. There was no chance of blending in, but then again, I hoped to have them all out of Cuzco before dawn.

I bit back a curse and closed my eyes for a moment when I discovered that Stefan was leading the group across the room. While he was slimmer and a few inches shorter than Danaus, there was something very impressive about the vampire. He was only a few years shy of being considered an Ancient, but you couldn’t tell it by the way his powers were pushing against the walls and filling the air. Like me, Stefan had been created with care and patience. He was a First Blood and he carried himself as if he were royalty. Stefan had no idea what it meant to be chum.

To make matters worse, his appearance was absolutely heart-stopping. In general, all nightwalkers are attractive. It’s almost like evolution considered it one of the items necessary for our survival, like the white fur of a snowshoe hare. How else would we lure our prey? But Stefan’s beauty was so perfect it was almost frightening. At the moment, his dark brown hair was cut short and brushed to the side so it hung slightly over his left eye, which was a cold, heartless shade of pale gray.

And Stefan was as cold as he was beautiful. I’d say he had inspired Oscar Wilde to write his Dorian Gray tale, except that I thought Dorian had more redeeming qualities than Stefan.

We’d met only a couple of times, and he had a very reluctant respect for me. In his eyes, we were of the same elite class. We were also both survivors of Machu Picchu, not that I remembered him being here. Of course, I’m sure I managed to destroy whatever grudging respect he had for me through my continued association with Danaus.

“I’m surprised,” I said, arching one brow at him when he was standing beside our table. “I never thought I would see you in Peru again.”

With an elegant shrug of his slim shoulders, he said, “I have been to the ancient city before. I know its layout.” His voice danced around the room, melodious and seductive at the same time. He made it seem as if we were going out for an average night of hunting through the streets of Paris. I knew better. There were no signs of concern in his languid gray eyes or along the corners of his full, soft lips, but I knew. Very few of the nightwalkers that visited Machu Picchu five centuries ago had survived. We were pressing our luck by returning.