Page 19 of The Vampire Trap

I start at the desk. My fingers hover over the closed ledger. I’m not sure what sort of evidence there could be. If he’s guilty, then he wouldn’t be stupid enough to keep a record of names and dates, especially out in the open like this.

To ease my conscience, I decide to leave, what is most likely, his financial records for last if I don’t find anything else. I search the drawers, finding no sign of trophies he might have taken from victims or anything made of night-forged silver.

Quickly, I move on to the shelves. I’m not exactly sure if there’s anything that could be hidden among the vast number of books. It’s unlikely that I’ll find a hidden lever that will open a secret door.

I’m beginning to think there is nothing to find because Thomas is not the murderer. Then I spot a book without a title on the spine that doesn’t quite fit with the other books. I pluck it off the shelf. The slightly warped pages have the deckled cut of a journal.

A book falls against another in the new gap. The strangethunksends my pulse racing so fast I think my heart might explode. Once I get my nerves under control, I grab that one too. Something shifts inside.

The leather groans as I lift the cover. A curved blade resembling a claw with a hole big enough to hook a finger through sits nestled inside. The grip is nothing more than a soft leather strip wrapped around the bottom. Though I’ve never seen night-forged silver in person, it is unmistakable. Nothing else could look like liquid moonlight. My breath quickens. I remove it, testing it out in my hand, then slide the hollowed book back in its place, then open the journal.

Thomas’s neat handwriting is on every page. The dates vary, never too close together. Some are dated before he moved to Sangate. I don’t read more than that—my invasion of his privacy is bad enough as it is.

Keeping my eyes on the dates, I flip through the pages until I come to the last year. Even then, I only read a few lines here and there. I search for details only the killer would know or something that shows irrational anger toward other vampires and the humans who volunteer to feed them.

Towards the end, there is a single entry about the equinox ball dated a few months after the murders begin. After that, there are only a few short entries without dates.

Tragedy has found Sangate again. The authorities still have no leads.

The tragic events are growing more frequent. I expect them to become more so until the culprit is caught.

“Bruising around the mouth and fingertips.”

Note: research.

While none of these are close to confessions, anxiety twists in my chest.

“What in the Otherworld are you doing?” Thomas’s voice is filled with a dangerous warning.

I start, and the journal falls to the floor at my feet. He grabs my shoulder and whirls me to face him. The claw blade is still clutched tightly in my hand.

CHAPTER EIGHT

ZADIE

The red rings of demon power flare so brightly the rich brown of his irises is nearly swallowed up by the color. His expression twists with confusion and anger.

“What are you doing?” he demands. There’s a low growl to his words that reminds me just how dangerous he is.

What would I have found in that journal if I’d read further?The question buzzes at the back of my thoughts.

I thrust my arm out in a wide arc. It’s the opposite of what I’ve been taught to do—it gives your opponent time to see your intent and avoid it. He frightened me, but my head is clear enough to recognize that he caught me going through his things and anyone would be angry—but he didn’t attack me. Not yet.

Thomas leans away and takes half a step back, effortlessly avoiding the blade’s edge. I swing again and again. Each time he manages to block or dodge my attacks.

“Was this all some elaborate ruse to steal a weapon?” he continues to question me as we move through the room in a deadly dance.

I swipe the blade through the air. Spin and slice downward.

He side steps— “Will you stop this?” —blocks me with an open palm to my forearm— “If that’s what you want, then take it.” —grabs my other arm and spins me away, then retreats several steps. “Just stand still and talk to me for a moment!”

I feign to the left, then the right. Then strike. The blade cuts diagonally across his shoulder. He lets out a hiss of pain through his teeth and presses a hand to the cut.

Thomas slowly looks up, eyes flashing a luminous crimson with his power.

Before I can think or react, strong arms catch me about the waist, pinning my arms to my sides. His chest rises and falls against my back as if fighting me is no more strenuous than waving away a fly, while I pant from my efforts. I struggle against him, but his hold is like iron and won’t budge.

“Let me go!” I try to sound furious, but my voice sounds hollow and small, like a scared child.

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