Chapter Four
ELIZABETH TOOK ANOTHER bracing sip of her quickly cooling coffee, then started forward. No good could come of standing in the middle of the street, especially with the sound of the horses drawing nearer. Instinct urged her to find a place to hide until she saw what manner of people . . . or creatures . . . rode those horses. But where?
She had no idea what this place was. The streets were laid out just the same as Georgetown’s, but the buildings were all wrong. They appeared not only decrepit but old. As if the buildings she knew had been replaced with their predecessors. Or as if they’d never replaced their predecessors at all.
How is that possible?
As she neared the sidewalk, another thought occurred to her. If she was one of the missing, where were the others? Were they the ones on horseback? Or the ones screaming?
Her stomach quivered.
The sound of the horses grew louder, and she stepped up her pace, running toward the nearest door, praying it offered sanctuary and not greater danger. But when she reached for the knob, she found it locked tight. Glancing at the windows, she shied away. They’d been shattered, leaving deadly, jagged edges like razor-sharp teeth ready to devour anyone foolish enough to try to climb through.
Strikeout. She’d have to hide behind the house instead. But as she retraced her steps to the sidewalk, three horses and their riders turned onto the street. She saw them. Worse, they clearly saw her, for they rode straight toward her, closing the distance fast, the beasts’ hooves kicking up dust in the twilight air.
Her primal self screamed at her to run. Her logical mind scoffed at the notion. She didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of outrunning them. Not only were there three of them, on horseback, but they knew where they were. And she didn’t have a clue.
Sometimes, the best defense was a good offense. Sometimes, it was the only defense. Swallowing hard, she crossed her arms over her chest, careful not to spill her coffee, and waited for their arrival as if they were three young students late to class, and not . . . whatever they really were.
The men slowed their mounts to a walk as they reached her, fanning out around her as they pulled up, eyeing her with smiles and speculation that made her skin crawl. At least it was nice to know her instincts . . . the ones that had told her to run . . . had probably been correct. If only she’d stood a chance of getting away.
Taking a studiously nonchalant sip of her coffee with a badly shaking hand, she studied them, trying to hide just how scared she really was. Two of the men were dressed alike in what appeared, in the low light, to be tan pants and long-sleeved black shirts with tight cuffs and billowing sleeves, reminding her of pirate garb from some old movie. Adding to that image were the swords strapped to their waists. But other than their garb and weapons, those two looked nothing alike. One had skin as black as night, his hair hanging long around a face pierced in more than a dozen places—through the eyebrows, the nose, the lip. A face devoid of softness, devoid of humanity. The other’s skin appeared pale as moonlight though most was hidden beneath a full, bushy, black beard.
The third rider . . . holy cow. His hair glowed. Glowed like a black opal. He appeared considerably younger than the other two, maybe no more than early twenties, and he, at least, watched her with something approaching sympathy. Which meant she probably needed it.
Oh, she was in trouble.
“You’re a pretty one,” the dark-skinned swordsmen said, then suddenly . . . literally . . . disappeared off his horse. Before her jaw could drop, he reappeared an arm’s length in front of her.
Elizabeth jumped back with a squeak, nearly dropping her latte. Her entire body began to quake.
The man threw his head back with a look of such pleasure that she wondered what kind of drug he was on. Or what he was imagining doing to her. Her breath lodged in her throat, and she started to back away. The nicker of a horse at her back reminded her there were three of them, and she was going nowhere.
“I think I’ll claim you for my own, pretty one,” the male in front of her said, his head straightening, dark lashes sweeping up to reveal . . .
The Starbucks finally slipped through her fingers, but she barely noticed, barely heard the splat or felt the splash of liquid against her pant legs as she stared at his eyes . . . dark eyes now centered with a perfect white circle, a white pupil.
Her shock apparently pleased him, for he grinned, revealing long, sharp incisors. Fangs.
Her breath left her altogether. “Who are you?” she gasped, her voice quavering like a twelve-year-old boy’s in the presence of a twelve-year-old girl. “What is this place?”
The man’s smile widened, his look of pleasure deepening, his fangs growing longer still.
“I’m your new master, pretty one. And this place? Washington, V.C. Vamp City.”