1865

The house Ambrose had established our clan in was a recently finished sprawling, Greek Revival mansion. It was two stories, but larger than anything the people of Willow Creek had ever seen. We’d arrived in the moderately sized hamlet over a week ago, and the original intended occupants of this house, the Jamesons, had met with a swift, bloody end. The man who considered himself the appointed mayor of the town had a list of crimes against others and the townsfolk longer than a thoroughbred full stride. Ambrose had discovered the injustices perpetrated by every member of the family–even the sixteen-year-old daughter–and decided to make it the Nightshades’ business.

The people of Willow Creek believed the Jamesons had left under the cover of darkness, the story supported by Malachi and me taking the family carriage and racing out through the main road. By the time Ambrose and the rest of us moved in, rumors had spread and done most of the work for us. Officially, Ambrose had announced that the Jamesons had fled from him because the man had been deep in debt to the Nightshades. Not that our true nature was advertised, of course.

The villagers were more than willing to believe the story, since the family hadn’t paid their own debts to many in town. Their esteem for Ambrose and the rest of us rose when Ambrose paid the outstanding debts, including to the laborers who’d built the home we now occupied.

Unofficially… the Jameson family had been bled dry as we fed from them, ensuring they suffered every moment. They’d tormented countless people and had deserved the violent justice that they’d never face otherwise. The only one we did not harm was the youngest, a boy of four years old. The night I drove the carriage through the town, Malachi had held him close in the carriage. We delivered him to a family Ambrose trusted, ensuring he would be raised with love and care–and be taught to care for others.

The afternoon is becoming late as I guide the gorgeous black Saddlebred through the gate from the Nightshade estate and onto the road that’d take me to the center of Willow Creek. Wind rustles through the boughs of the trees which the area was named for, adding an earthy floral scent to the clean air. I take a deep breath, taking pleasure in the scents of plants, horseflesh, healthy soil, and wildlife. I prefer this to the city air clogged with smoke, metal, and sickness we left behind. While it had been easier to feed in a crowded city, those we fed on had blood as disgusting as their hearts. If it weren’t for our vampiric abilities, we’d have taken ill just like the human filth we fed on.

Being here allowed me to do something I couldn’t in the city, not properly at least.

“Ready, girl?” I murmur, patting the horse’s silky neck. The stable boy told me her name was Lily Dancer, on account of her light gait. The mare’s ears twist back at my words, and she sidesteps with excitement, proving her name. I’ve always had an affinity with horses. I grin at her eagerness. I cluck my tongue and touch my heels to her side. She doesn’t need any other prompting. Lily Dancer launches forward, moving from a walk straight into a gallop with a toss of her head.

Grinning savagely, not needing to hide my fangs, I loosen my grip on the reins and give her head as I lean forward over her as we begin to fly.

Her black mane whips my face, her muscles working like a powerful industrial machine underneath me, and our hearts begin racing in time together. For a moment, I wish I’d foregone the saddle, but I couldn’t risk the questions it’d raise among the humans. It was unseemly for someone of supposed wealth to ride bareback, never mind that when I was human, I was a stable boy and then a groomsman before being conscripted in the military.

A high-pitched shout cuts through the wind in my ears, quickly followed by a woman stumbling into the road ahead of us. I throw myself backwards, yanking Lily Dancer’s head to the left as I pull back. There’s no way we can stop in time, not with how fast we were going, but I can make sure we don’t trample the woman.

“Whoa,” I say. The instinct to calm and reassure the mare is second nature even as I crane my neck around as we pass the woman. Lily Dancer settles quickly, her sides heaving in breaths and she stomps her hooves in the dirt, sending dry dust into the air. I turn her back around, eyes moving from the woman struggling against her skirts to rise to the trees she came from. I can’t hear anything pursuing her, either man or beast. There’s a woven basket on its side, its contents of greenery spilling out pathetically.

By the time we’ve walked to her, the woman is finally back on her two feet. She’s not too worse for the wear from her tumble, though her high-waisted green skirt is streaked with pale dirt and I spy a tear along one side. Her cream-colored, high-necked, long-sleeved blouse has come half untucked from her skirt, and if her black as night hair had ever been pulled back in an appropriate fashion, it was a mess now.

“Are you in distress, miss?” I ask, unable to take my eyes from the woman. Something is different about her. I breathe in, my nostrils flaring as I scent her. Heat coils in my gut and my fangs ache, lengthening on their own. Mine, the vampire in me growls from the depths of my heart.

She huffs, a sound of pure frustration, and shoves her wild tresses out of her face, finally turning her eyes upon me. Brilliant amber and hazel eyes lock on mine, and I swear I can no longer breathe. Her eyes are golden, but of a different nature than those of vampires. Ours are an unnatural gold, but hers are a gold that makes me think of fields of wheat and fresh, spring honey. Her skin is sun-kissed, with freckles dusting the rounds of her cheeks.

Her eyes widen, the black of her pupils expanding in apprehension. The scent of her changes, a hint of the tang of fear and more revealingly, the smell of witchcraft–the scent of ozone just before lightning strikes.

“Vampire,” she breathes out even as I declare her a witch.

The witch raises her hands, as if to strike first, and only later will I understand what causes me to do what I do next. I dismount, and lower myself to a knee, bowing my head in respect. Something I’ve done for no one after Ambrose turned me.

Her power thickens the air around us; the horse neighs and shies away. I do not move, waiting to see if she will strike me down. I’m unsure if she knows how to kill a vampire, but my body refuses to obey me. I will not defend myself against her. I can’t. The thought of harming this woman, this witch, is anathema to the vampire and man inside of me.

“What are you doing?” she finally asks, her beautiful voice reminding me of the babbling creeks in the area. Cool, crisp, and happy.

“I mean you no harm, witch,” I say, finally daring to raise my head and meet her gaze. My heart pauses and then races faster than I’d just been galloping. She stands above me, like a goddess of the wilds. “By the gods, you’re beautiful.”

Her narrow brows frown before one lifts questioningly. She lowers her hands, until they are on her waist as she inspects me. “And you’re unexpected. I knew that story about the Jamesons fleeing in the night was off. Suppose that was your folk then?”

I rise to my feet, careful to avoid spooking her again. “Aye,” I answer. “We’re the Nightshades, our sire is Ambrose d’Vil. We’d heard what the family had done to people in the city and here.”

She snorts, and seeming to decide I was honest, marches with a limp across the road to where her basket lies. I go to the mare, collecting her reins, and watch the witch grumble as she shoves everything back into the woven basket.

“Never took vampires as the vigilante type,” she says as she stands again, the basket now propped on her hip. “Well, I’ll just be on my way then.”

I blink rapidly, and then stride to her side—reins in hand, where she’d already begun walking towards town, the horse following behind. “You’re injured. Were you being chased?”

The public had stopped hunting witches over two centuries before, but I know too well about the groups of humans who still sought to eradicate anything supernatural.

“No,” she huffs, glancing at me before looking ahead at the road. “I’m just horribly clumsy. Always have been. Tripped over a root as I came out of the trees.”

Her limp is getting worse, her gait lopsided. I couldn’t abide it. I move in front of her, blocking her way and forcing her to halt.

“Let me give you a ride into town,” I tell her, inclining my head towards her foot. “You’ll only make your ankle worse by walking on it.”

Her hypnotizing eyes narrow suspiciously at me. “I’m not one to take rides from strangers, especially if they’re vampires old enough to walk in the sun.”

I can’t let her go so easily. The idea of separating from her fills my chest with the buzz of bees. Thinking quickly, I hold out my hand. “My name is Ashe Halford.”

I swear her mouth twitches as she fights a smile. She sighs dramatically and takes my hand, giving it a quick shake before saying. “I’m Cassandra O’Brien.”

I smile, keeping my fangs hidden though as I squeeze her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, Ms. O’Brien. Now, as we are no longer strangers, may I please offer you a ride on my horse so you don’t injure yourself worse?”

“Only if you never call me Ms. O’Brien again,” Cassandra bargains, her eyes bright with amusement.

I bow deeply, my arm swinging out towards the horse. “As the lady wishes.”

She shoves the basket in my chest as I straighten, a grin on her face. I take it hastily, not wishing to drop it. By the time I’ve got it securely in hand, Cassandra is mounting the mare with a scowl, yanking her skirts down around her legs as best as she can while riding astride. She sends me a look that dares me to say anything about the appropriateness of the scene, and I know better than to take it. Josephine would have my head if I made such a comment to a woman in need of help.

Cassandra gestures forward, commandingly. “Lead on, my unexpected vampire.”

“Try not to fall off the horse,” I tease, clucking my tongue as I begin walking the mare with the reins. “I’m fast, but I’m not sure I can save you from yourself.”

The growl I get only makes me smile wider as we begin down the road again.