To us. “What all do you know about Borns?”
The fingers of her right hand rubbed the wrist he’d bitten. Slow, steady strokes that she didn’t even seem to be aware of making. “I hunt vampires. I know everything there is to know—both about the Born and the Taken.”
“Not everything,” he said, voice soft.
Eyes narrowing, she snapped, “They’re young. I mean the Born change young. They’re strong. Stronger physically and psychically than the Taken. They can—they can control other vampires. Summon those in the line they create.”
Points for her. Time for hell. “Those vampires came to your home all those years ago for a reason, Dee. It wasn’t some random attack.”
“No, they wanted blood. They didn’t care who they hurt—”
“They came for you.”
She paled. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that about sixteen years ago, a level-nine demon made a prediction.” She’d been the strongest precognitive alive. Of course, after her prediction, the demon’s body had been found, minus her head.
One less precog demon around.
“The demon said a new Born was in the world, and that one day, she’d change, just like the others had changed so long ago.” Not so subtle emphasis on the she.
Dee’s lips parted. “No.”
No sympathy. No remorse. “The vampires came to your home because you were the predicted Born. They had to kill you while you were young, before you could change.”
“No.”
The air seemed to thicken around him. “They were under orders not to drain you. They were supposed to cut your head off.” No chance of her changing that way. “They weren’t sure when you’d transform, and the bastard leading them didn’t want to take any chances.”
She backed up a step. “Stop this! This is bullshit, I don’t—”
“They killed your family because they wanted you to be alone. Helpless.”
A tear leaked from the corner of her eye. Blood red. Borns always cried tears of blood. “If what you’re saying is true, why didn’t they come back and kill me? Why let me keep living all these years?”
“At first, because you disappeared.” And because Grim had killed his all-seeing demon. No one had been around to tell him where to find a missing girl. “Then Pak took you in.” Most vamps knew better than to cross him. “Others did come for you, but by then, it was too late. You’d learned to kill, and you were ready for the change.”
“Ready? Ready how? Simon, I don’t—”
Now he did lift his hand. His fingers brushed over her face. The clean, smooth lines of her face. She should have seen this for herself. “You stopped aging.”
She swallowed.
In her thirties, but she looked like she was in her early twenties. The woman hadn’t even realized it. She’d been too busy fighting. He cleared his throat. “You probably began to heal faster from your injuries, too, didn’t you? And killing, I bet it became easier.”
“So much easier.” A bit of sadness.
“You didn’t transform fully because you were still alive.” Tricky part here. “You couldn’t become a vampire until your human self died.” A little rule not everyone knew.
Her lashes fell. “Like I did in that alley.”
No denial now. She just sounded tired. Sick.
“Yes.”
She swiped away the tear and left a smudge of red on her cheek. “Why should I believe this crap? Why should I believe you? You’ve been lying to me from the beginning.”
“Yes.” Again, a simple response.
She growled at him. He shouldn’t have, really shouldn’t have, but Simon found that small growl sexy.
“This could be some kind of sickass mind game you’re playing with me.”
“Could be, but it isn’t.”
Her hands went to her narrow hips. “Then how do you know all this? How do you know?”
His gaze drifted over her face. He suspected she knew this, but he’d tell her anyway. If she wanted the words, he’d give them to her, and he’d brace for her attack. “Because I’m blood linked to the Born Master who killed your family. And from the moment I became a vampire, I’ve known there was a bounty on your head.”
The hunter—she didn’t know it, but all along, she’d been the prey. Prey who’d taken down every vamp who’d come for her.
And who’d made the Born bastard afraid.
Dee drew back her fist, and Simon knew the punch would be hard. He probably deserved it, though, all things considered.
Before the blow could land, a long, loud whistle split the night.
Dee spun toward the front of the house. “This is not my night—” She froze. “Tell me that’s not gasoline.”
But it was. The scent was thick and heavy in the air, because some bastards were out there, getting ready to torch the house, to torch them. “They followed you.”
“What?” Her claws were out. Not as long or deadly as a shifter’s, but still able to do a whole lot of damage. “No way, I’m always careful.”
He shoved past her and headed into the small den. The gasoline scent was stronger here. Not much time. “You weren’t careful enough.”
“Simon—”
Something flew through the already broken front window. A Molotov cocktail. Shit. “Dee! Get the hell out!”
More burning bottles. They slammed into the floor. Into the walls. Into the broken remains of his prized TV.
Then the flames sprang up like greedy bitches, racing across the floor and devouring everything in their path.
Trying to burn us out. No, just trying to burn them. He grabbed Dee and shoved her back into the bedroom. The flames chased them. The smoke thickened the air and he tasted ash on his tongue. He could see flames through the blinds on his window. Tall, dancing, red flames. They’d surrounded the house. Smart ass**les. They’d circled the house with a ring of fire before sending the flames inside.
The better to trap them.
Vampires and fire didn’t mix. He’d seen too many of his brethren fall to the flames.
It wouldn’t happen to them. Not to Dee. He grabbed the tangled covers from the bed.
Dee jumped up and kicked the glass from his window. No fresh air came in, just more billowing smoke.
She hurtled through the broken glass and Simon lunged right on her heels.
Couldn’t see the sky. No stars. No moon. Only that hungry circle of flames, burning closer.