The woman, of course, must not be found. Rebekah dragged her from her seat, carrying her into the trees until the broken wagon was no longer in sight. Roots and thick undergrowth made digging even a shallow grave a risky waste of time, so she shoved the body under the densest bush she could see, and then examined her work. It had been wise not to drain the woman, even though she wouldn’t have minded a second course to her meal. The ground was barely disturbed, and this way there would be no telltale trail of blood to lead anyone to the corpse.

Rebekah ran back to the clearing, turning her full attention to the dead man. The bite marks were small, but a more obvious cause of death would be an improvement. Eyeing his neck critically, she found a knife in the cart and slashed it across his throat, severing an artery and hiding the marks from her teeth. It wasn’t perfect—and he didn’t have nearly enough blood left to make it as dramatic as she would have liked—so she added a few extra cuts to his hands and arms to tell a more detailed story.

Finally, she lifted him from the cart and propped him against an oak tree in what she cheerfully imagined looked like a valiant—if hopeless—last stand. Her rescuers might notice how quickly she healed if she injured herself, but she carefully ripped at her own clothing, creating a few artistic tears in the powder-blue fabric. She rubbed her hands in the dirt. Wrinkling her nose a little, she smeared some on the apples of her cheeks, then streaked her delicate collarbone and the skin where her torn dress revealed a creamy slice of abdomen. She could hear hoofbeats now, so she tousled her hair roughly while glancing around one final time at the scene she had set. Then she collapsed against the oak tree next to the dead body.

From the sound of the horses, she guessed there were six men. They stopped, and she heard startled murmuring. It was all she could do to keep her eyes closed and her body still while they took in the disaster in the clearing. They approached carefully, and she could picture them examining each of her clues. Even though the sun had already slid below the tops of the trees and the light was poor, she was glad she had been so thorough.

“She breathes,” one of the soldiers announced suddenly, and Rebekah let her long eyelashes flutter open. She stared around in apparent confusion, pressing one hand to her head as if it ached. Six soldiers stood in long blue coats that cut away to show flashes of red. The French army had arrived to save the day.

Rebekah’s head rolled to the side so that she could see the dead man propped against the tree trunk. “My husband!” she shrieked, clutching her hands to her chest. One of the rips in her dress gaped strategically, and out of the corner of her eye she noticed several of the men watching it keenly. “Those horrible men killed my husband.” She threw herself melodramatically across the wagoner’s lifeless chest, hiding her smirk against his shirt.

“There have been reports of bandits on this road, but nothing like this,” one of the soldiers told the others quietly. “Do you think it’s the villains that the captain has mentioned?”

“It may be.” She heard some of them shift uncomfortably, and wished she could stop playing her role long enough to look up and read their expressions. The soldier’s voice dropped so low that a human wouldn’t have been able to hear it, although of course a vampire could. “She called them men, but we can’t be sure that it’s not one of those other crimes.” His volume returned to normal. “The bandits must be getting bolder. The new captain will surely want to increase patrols.”

“You won’t be able to spend so much time in the city brothels anymore,” another one chuckled, and Rebekah heard sounds of scuffling.

Really? A murdered man and a damsel in obvious distress, and they still acted like children? Humans could be so predictable, so undisciplined. She could barely remember how it felt to be their kind of alive—the kind that was temporary. She cleared her throat a little and straightened up again, tossing her loose blonde hair as if it were the accidental result of her movement. Once again, she had the patrol’s undivided attention.

“Madame,” the nearest soldier began, diplomatically placing a hand on her shoulder, “I am a lieutenant in the garrison here, but please just address me as Felix. I am terribly sorry this has happened. We will escort you back to the city.” He was reasonably attractive, Rebekah decided, with thick black stubble and a hooked Gallic nose. She still intended to aim for the captain, but a lieutenant could be useful as well. More important, this Felix could be enjoyable enough company while he escorted her to her real target.

“I can’t go back,” she disagreed, taking hold of the wide cuff of Felix’s sleeve. “My husband had debts; the Navarros were looking for us. My husband hoped to join his cousin in Shreveport, but he hadn’t answered our letters yet when we were forced to leave. I don’t even know if the cousin is still there.” She softened her grip on the lieutenant’s arm and made her eyes wide blue pools of shock and sorrow. “I warned him his gambling would ruin us.”

“We can’t send her back,” a short blond soldier said worriedly. “The Navarros are criminals; she won’t be safe if she can’t pay them.”

“We can’t very well escort her all the way up to Shreveport,” another countered. “And who even knows if she has people there?”

Felix nodded his head decisively, as if agreeing with his own thoughts. “We will bring her back to camp for now,” he ordered. “She will have military protection until the captain can determine a safe place for her to go.”

“Thank you,” Rebekah whispered. “Thank you all so much.” Fainting seemed like overkill, so instead she let the hook-nosed lieutenant help her onto his waiting horse.

“Bring the husband. The captain will want to inspect him,” Felix called over his shoulder as he mounted his horse and situated himself behind her. “And of course we must give him a proper burial,” he added more softly for, Rebekah assumed, her benefit. She shifted forward in the saddle as much as she could. Oh, dear. She had hoped to leave the body behind entirely to avoid further inspection, but that had probably been unrealistic. The patrol arranged the wagoner on a roll of canvas secured with rope, and Rebekah hoped that her late “husband” was fat enough that the ropes would break from his weight.

Even with the extra burden of the dead man, the encampment was only about a half hour’s ride. Rebekah was relieved, as it quickly became apparent that she had drastically overestimated her lieutenant’s charms. No matter how many hints she dropped about her new status as widow, he had little to say aside from clumsy attempts to console her. She hoped that his captain would demonstrate a little more imagination; she preferred to save compulsion for emergencies rather than relying on it for every little thing.

There was no doubt which tent was his: It stood proudly in the center of the camp and fleur-de-lis decorated every available surface. Rebekah had to remind herself not to dismount too fluidly, instead falling into her gallant soldier’s waiting arms with deliberate clumsiness. The horse helped by shifting and shying away as she moved; it was better trained than the cart horse had been, but it was no more fond of her. “Please be brave, Madame,” Felix whispered as he released her hand, and Rebekah stifled a laugh.

The short blond man must have run on ahead to alert the captain, because Rebekah noticed him hurrying back toward them on foot, and he was not alone. The new arrival crossed the camp in long, easy strides that indicated effortless authority. Although there was no doubt in her mind that he was in charge here, he was younger than she had expected; maybe not even over thirty.

The French had a sizable army stationed outside of New Orleans, so either he was an unusually adept commander or extremely well-connected. Or, most likely, both. His hair was thick and brown with just a hint of gray at the temples, which Rebekah immediately decided was attractive. His eyes were a warm hazel shade, and surprisingly kind—with an alluring hint of mischief. When he looked up at her and smiled, she felt so protected and reassured that she forgot she wasn’t in any real danger. Rebekah knew that a man this handsome could only lead to trouble, and she felt herself already starting to travel down that dangerous path. A striking Frenchman in a position of authority was exactly her type—and she’d been long starved of it.