His grip tightened on her throat. He lifted her, one-handed, off the ground. She cried out, a hoarse strangled sound. Icouldn't stand it, she was either a good actress or she wasn’t lying, but it didn’t matter even if she had done it, in that moment I thought he was going to kill her.
I ran as fast as I could and yelled, “Karson,stop!You’re hurting her.”
“Karson, don’t be rash,” Michael said calmly, although I could hear concern in his voice. “We do not know it was her.”
“Who else could it be!” he snarled, a sound like a feral wolf.
“Stop it,” I said vehemently, clasping his arm. It was not the arm of a human I held beneath my fingers, it felt nothing like the arm I’d linked mine through in the alley. This arm was as hard as iron. And splattered with blood, vivid as garnets strewn across the snow. “Karson, please,” I pleaded, “she’s a female . . . you can’t.”
He grimaced, lowering her to the ground but kept his hand around her throat. “If I find out it was you, Monique . . .” He left the threat dangling, his lips curled up. I caught a glimpse of his fangs. They were snow white. Razor sharp incisors. Designed to pierce effortlessly like a surgeon’s scalpel. If they were to slice into an artery the damage would be catastrophic.
He released her.
She straightened her blouse, flicked her head indignantly and moved away. She was still dressed in last night’s clothes, all three of them were, they must have only just gotten home.
“It wasn’t me, why would I hurt a dog?” Anger had replaced the fear. She threw me such a look of hatred I had to look away.
“What’s going on?” Dahlia commanded, still dressed in short blue cotton pyjamas. Her hair was out and fell like silk down over her shoulders.
“Did you send me a message?” I asked, knowing she didn’t, but asking for no reason other than I didn’t know what else to say.
She eyed me cautiously and shook her head. “No, why?” Her eyes trailed past me toward the drive to the dog. Her hand flew to her throat. Her mouth dropped open and she paled. Then she scanned the landscape, seemingly searching for threats.
Suddenly, the fall I’d taken yesterday slammed back into my mind, right before I fled. I’d heard the voice, and I felt like I’d been pushed.
Pushed.
At the time I’d dismissed it as a trick of my mind. In the depths of the trees, from deep in the shadows, I thought I’d seen a figure, but it was gone so fast, I thought I’d imagined it. Had I not? I closed my eyes and replayed the moment like a video recording. Beside a tree trunk, standing in the shadows, was a thin figure dressed in black, a hood cloaked their face.
My whole body erupted in goosebumps. Adrenaline rushed through my head. My eyes sprung open.
“Someone was watching me yesterday before I . . . fell,” I blurted, twisting to Karson.
“What—how?” He ran this hand roughly through his hair. “And you only thought to tell me now!” His anger flashed.
Suddenly I doubted myself. It seemed so real in my replay. Was it possible to remember something my mind constructed and relive it as if it were fact?
“I wasn’t sure. It was gone so fast . . . I didn’t think it was . . .” I trailed off, unsure myself of what I thought. Maybe there wasn’t anyone there at all. How many times had I made up visions in my head.
Karson and Michael exchanged concerned glances.
“Did you see a face?” Karson’s voice was still alarmingly loud.
My heart boomed in my chest. “No, they were wearing a hood. I couldn’t make out details.”
Karson made a sound of annoyance in the back of his throat and looked like he was on the verge of ringing my neck.
“Was it a male or female?” Michael asked, kindly, “anything you can remember may help.”
Frustrated, I shook my head. “I don’t know. Not largely built, not your size. Tall, but could be either.”
“I can see if I can pick up a scent,” Monique said, seemingly unaffected by Karson’s outburst. “But the rain last night may have washed it away.” She threw me an accusatory look.
Karson nodded and in a flash Monique disappeared.
“Surely it was one of the vamps you disposed of last night,” Dahlia said. She had her head turned toward the inside of the house.
“No,” Michael answered solemnly, “the dog is a fresh kill.”
