Two months earlier
Jamming the syringe into the gel-tipped shotgun cartridge,
Ravin filled the last of a dozen bullets with five milliliters of
her blood. She did this every Sunday night. It was a ritual. She
needed rituals. After two centuries of living, rituals kept her
life on track and her focus sharp.
She’d been stalking the Kila tribe for weeks. They laid low
and never made a mistake. She attributed that to their leader,
Nikolaus Drake, who was known to keep a very tight rein on
the tribe members. No unnecessary kills—that was their law.
A dead vampire was never an unnecessary kill, as far as
Ravin was concerned.
A count over the weeks had determined two dozen in the
tribe. The number of enemies didn’t faze Ravin. She was a witch. So long as she kept her back to a wall, and her gun
loaded, no longtooth was going to mess with her. The
vampire’s choice was to either run, or take a blood bullet and
explode into ash.
She preferred the exploding part as opposed to running.
But they could run forever; she’d never give up her quest to
annihilate every bloody longtooth on this earth. It was a
promise she’d made to her parents on the eve of their deaths.
Ravin checked the sawed-off shotgun for a full load and
fitted it into the leather holder strapped across her back.
Another belt strapped at her thigh secured a silver dagger, the
edged metal soaked in her blood. She wore leather chaps over
tight-fitted black suede pants and a black T-shirt beneath her
leather vest. A big silver cross swung around her neck.
Reaching back, she secured her shoulder-length dark hair
out of the way with a rubber binder. Her gloves slid on and
snapped, and she donned clear safety glasses to protect her
eyes from vampire debris.
The only thing that could take her down tonight was reluctance
or fire.
Neither would bother her. For beyond the innate determination
lived an indelible image of her parents’ dying faces. No
matter the notches Ravin marked on her gun, or the plunge
toward darkness that occurred when slaying tipped her
balance, that image would never be erased.
Not once did she question her relentless quest. For if she
did, the truth might be harder to face than a tribe of bloodthirsty
vampires.
The wolves had sent a messenger stating that there would
be no communication-gathering this night. The nerve of
Severo, the leader of the northern pack. He insulted Nikolaus
