“Put your hands up!”
Cassie poked Dante in the back. “Don’t burn him.”
Not yet. She knew Dante tended to have instincts that demanded he attack first and think later.
It wasn’t one of those instances.
Dante lifted his hands.
“Tell the woman to step around you! I want to see her!”
She started to ease around him, but Dante moved at the same time, blocking her.
“You put down that shotgun,” he snapped, “and then you can see her.”
A stark pause. “You humans?”
Dante wasn’t. She . . . Well, Cassie didn’t know where she fell on that score.
“Yes,” Dante said, his voice clear and calm.
A flashlight was shone on them. More footsteps came toward them. A lot of footsteps. And a lot more flashlights.
“Show us your fingers and your teeth!”
Wait. Fingers and teeth?
Fear twisted in her stomach. She didn’t like where this was going at all.
“He looks normal!” a new voice called out.
“Drop the shotgun,” Dante snarled.
She was afraid he was about to fire up.
“Thought you were one of ’em . . . always come up at night . . .”
That fear in her stomach was twisting into an ever bigger knot. She lifted her hand and clutched Dante’s broad shoulder. “One of what?” She was on her toes and could see that the shotgun was pointed at the ground.
“Vampire.” The man holding the shotgun—she couldn’t see much of him, just a dark shadow—said the word like it was a curse. “Only them vampires are different . . . black claws, every tooth’s a fang, and they just want to feed and feed.”
Primal vampires. “You’ve seen some of them? Here?”
“We staked five last night.”
The infection was spreading. She’d thought all of the primals in Louisiana had been stopped, but it was so easy for their virus to spread. One bite, and the human was infected.
Her gaze swept the circle of flashlights. “Were any of the people here bitten?”
“Jamison . . . he ran into the woods before we could—” The man broke off, but she knew what he’d been about to say.
Take him down.
Cassie flinched. “This is why I have to get to Mississippi,” she whispered to Dante, guilt pushing through her. She’d been tired so she’d wanted to stop and rest, but people were dying. “We can find a cure.”
“Ain’t no cure for them,” the man with the shotgun called out. “Only death. If we want to keep livin’, we have to take out all the vampires.”
But not all vampires spread the primal virus. The virus had been man-made, generated in Genesis.
“Now get back on that motorcycle,” the man shouted to her. “And you drive as fast as you can through the bayou. Don’t stop for anyone or you’ll be dead.”
Dante wasn’t moving. Cassie tugged on his arm. “Come on, Dante.”
“They’re lying.”
Her heart slammed into her ribs. “What?”
“Get out of here!” the man yelled at the same time.
“More were bitten. I can smell it, like rot in their blood.”
Oh, crap.
Dante pointed straight ahead. At the man with the shotgun. “He’s infected.”
The shotgun blast broke the night, but Dante had moved in an instant. He’d grabbed Cassie and shoved her back against the glass window of the motel.
“I think Jamison might be the only one not infected,” Dante muttered. “I can smell the rot on all of them.”
But . . . but they were talking. The primals she’d seen had been barely able to do more than growl and snap with their teeth.
Is the virus still mutating? That was a terrifying thought. But . . . it had to be. Mutating, changing, as it was transferred from host to host.
This was so bad. Very, very bad.
“Why did they tell us to run?” Cassie whispered. She didn’t get that. Why not just spring up and attack them?
Crap—those thudding footsteps were closing in.
“Get away from the woman!” The shout came from the darkness. “Or we’ll kill you.”
“They wanted to see what I was before they attacked,” Dante whispered. “I can smell them, and they could smell just enough about me to tell them I was different.”
The motorcycle was about ten feet away. They could run for it, but . . .
What would happen the next time someone stopped for gas or a motel room? It was the perfect place to pick up prey.
The shotgun blasted again. It blew out the glass in the motel’s window.
Cassie gasped as a heavy shard of glass embedded in her arm. By habit, she immediately clamped her lips together, holding back any other cries.
Her cries didn’t matter. The blood did. And that scent was in the air. As if things weren’t bad enough.
“Sweet . . . so f**kin’ sweet . . .”
“Blood . . .”
“Mine!”
The voices were wild, frenzied, and suddenly, at least four men were charging for her. As they rushed closer, Cassie saw that their mouths were full of gaping fangs.
“She’s not yours.” Dante’s voice was flat. “So go to hell.” He opened his hand and sent a ball of fire rolling right toward them.
Cassie grabbed the chunk of glass, yanked it from her arm, and backed away. That fire he’d just sent out—“The gasoline!” Had Dante forgotten they were near a gas station?
The explosion ripped through the buildings, and the force of the blast sent her flying back through the air. She didn’t know where Dante was, couldn’t see him at all and—
“Got you.” His voice. The man who’d been talking before. The man who’d shot at them. He grabbed her injured arm.
She felt the slide of his claws over her skin. Then his mouth was on her, and he was drinking her blood. Guzzling it.
“No!” Cassie screamed as she punched at him.
Her punches weren’t having any effect.
But . . . her blood was.
He stiffened. Shuddered. Fell onto the ground as he convulsed. His head jerked and twisted and then—he stopped moving entirely.
The virus might be mutating, but her poison still worked.
Her arm throbbed where he’d bitten her.
“Cassie!” Dante was there, hauling her to her feet and running his hands all over her as he searched for injuries. When he touched the blood on her arm, he froze. “Did he—”
“He bit me.” His teeth had torn into her, digging deep. “But I won’t turn.” She couldn’t. Though the first time a primal had bitten her, she’d been terrified that she’d spout fangs and claws.