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“If you don’t mind narrating as we go, where we’re headed, what we’re seeing, it saves us redoing the voiceover later. You’d be amazing at it.” He says the last part to Ellery without looking at her. He gets out an expensive camera and hands two lapel mics to her. She takes them like she’s been handed a dead mouse, then attaches one to her sweater and reaches over to clip the other to my collar. Her fingers brush the skin under my jaw, and I forget to take a breath. When she sits back, I’m still figuring out how to make my chest rise and fall again.

They ask questions as we make our way to a clearing in the forest about ninety minutes from Fairbanks. Thick spruce and undergrowth all around reduce the ambient light. The land drops away at one end. Get the angle right and the photos come out like you’re dancing in the sky alongside the aurora. The ridge is small and remote with a rocky ledge, so I don’t bring many groups to this spot. Mostly professional photographers, not the guests who’ve had two glasses of wine at dinner.

I hang back to lay out the snacks on the camp table while Chad and Brittany ooh and aah and take a million selfies.

Ellery pours cocoa into an enamel mug and passes it to me. “Not making me do everything tonight?”

“No. Your training is complete.” It’s hot through the metal. She pours herself one too and claims the spot next to me like it’s hers. I’ve stopped trying to make the job hard enough to scare her off. I tried, and she won.

“Cheers.” She clinks her mug against mine.

It tastes like ash. I’ll pay for it later, but I drink it anyway because she poured it.

She sighs. “I love it out here.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty great. Even if it’s all I’ll ever know.”

The mug stops halfway to her mouth. “What do you mean?”

“Just, you know, Ravenslight Creek will always be my home.”

“Marthe and Luca, they make it your home. If you ever decide to venture out again, I’m sure they’d understand.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” It’s easier than the truth.

“Is it always this freezing?” Brittany asks, hugging her arms.

“We can go to another spot where I can make a campfire if you like.” I brought them here because they seemed to care more about the footage than the experience, but we’re not allowed to light fires in this area.

“We should’ve packed something to warm up with.” Chad waves his mug of coffee around. “Didn’t this whole place used to be Russia? I swear I read that.”

“I think it was,” Brittany says, not looking up from her phone. “We should put that in the intro. People love a fact.”

I have nothing to say to that. Luckily, Ellery has a higher tolerance for stupidity than I do.

All grace and patience, she gives Brittany another blanket. “It belonged to Russia until 1867. Then the US bought the whole thing for about two cents an acre, which I’ve been told locals still have opinions about.”

She’s been studying.

“Babe, let’s take a few shots with you and the aurora.” Chad stumbles into a camp chair, cursing. “Could we get more light around here?”

“More light will ruin your shots.” I go back to the van for the lamps anyway. There’s thirty feet and an open door between us when Chad opens his mouth again.

“Elena, sorry, can you step out of frame?” He crouches to set up his camera on the tripod, barely glancing at her. “We’re going for a specific aesthetic. No offense.” Then, lower, almost to himself, “Camera adds ten pounds as it is.”

I hear every word.

Before I know what I’m doing, I’m at Chad’s back, ready to impale him on his tripod. The color drains from Ellery’s face. I freeze. Her shoulders have gone stiff, and she’s folded in on herself, just a fraction, in a way I’ve never seen her do with me. With a tiny shake of her head, she tells me to stand down. She picks up the blanket she dropped and refolds it.

I turn my murderous stare to Chad’s neck. When I became a vampire, I vowed I’d never feed from a human. Right now I’m having trouble remembering why. He gives directions to Brittany as he films her, oblivious to how close he is to dying tonight.

“Nick, help me with this, would you?” Ellery calls, a slight tremor in her voice, enough to put a circuit breaker on my fury.

A breeze brings fresh blood and a vampire under it. Chad slides way down my priority list in favor of whatever’s lurking upwind. Distant, barely a signature, not enough to track. Too far to be an immediate threat, but we’re done here anyway.

“Time to go, folks,” I announce.

Chad nearly drops his precious camera, unaware I’m right behind him.