Page 69 of Taken

I heaved a breath and followed. As we crested a hill, a movement out the corner of my eye made me whip around.

A scrawny, ponytailed vampire crouched on top of a tomb.

Crap. The sun had set without my realizing it. And I was out here without my brown wig and dhampir-with-a-bad-attitude disguise.

The vampire eyed Zaq like he was an ice cream cone on a hot summer day. He licked his dark red lips. His fangs extended.

I drew a glamour over myself, including a hairstyle that approximated the wig, and stalked forward, switchblade out. “He’s mine, asshat.”

The vampire’s blue-rimmed eyes moved up and down my body. Sizing me up.

My own fangs extended without my willing it. Thanks to de Froulay, my vampire magic was powerful, although I didn’t call on it unless absolutely necessary. And this man was low in the cemetery’s pecking order

I glanced over my shoulder. Zaq had halted. He looked from me to the vampire.

“Go,” I hissed. “Back to the bolt-hole.”

Of course, he didn’t obey. No, he grunted and started in my direction.

I faced the hungry vampire, let my power surge. My senses sharpened. The blue expanded in my eyes, bringing the scrawny male into intense focus. I could see the individual black bristles on his unshaven jaw, the yellow striations in his brown eyes, the knife-like points of his fangs. His scent was musty from whatever broken-down tomb he called home, and his heartbeat was slow, weak.

The vampire’s eyelids fluttered. He took a shocked breath. He hadn’t expected me to be so strong.

“Allez.” I motioned with my blade. “Maintenant!” Go. Now!

He backed up without taking his gaze from me. When he couldn’t go any further, he leapt off the tomb and scuttled away like a frightened rat.

I turned back to Zaq. “I had things handled.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “I know—you’re a badass. But even a badass can use backup. Thanks, by the way.”

I shifted from one foot to the other, not sure what to make of either his badass comment or his thanks. I settled for a gruff, “You’re welcome.”

He held out a hand. “Walk with me.”

I looked at his hand, then back to his face. What was the catch? “You want to hold hands?”

He made an impatient sound. “We’re supposed to be lovers, right? Now take it already so you won’t have to keep chasing off asshole vampires.”

My cheeks heated. He was right; I should’ve thought of it myself.

I put my hand in his. His fingers were long and strong. The hand of a musician, or maybe a healer. They wrapped firmly around mine.

A zing went up my arm and he slanted me a knowing smile, even though I didn’t flinch or pull away. Neither of us said anything.

We ended up at Jim Morrison’s grave. Zaq opened a gate in the low metal fence that surrounded that section of graves and we went inside. I hadn’t known much about Morrison before I’d started visiting Lachaise—just that he was a sixties rock star who’d died young, but his grave was one of the cemetery’s most visited sites. His fans kept it decorated with fresh flowers and photos of the singer.

It was completely dark now, the sky above us a dusky blue. Someone had lit a candle and placed it on the stone above Morrison’s grave. A noise behind us made me whip around. A cat’s eyes glowed in the branches of a nearby tree.

“We should go back,” I said. “It’s not safe out here. You’re still healing. If that vampire gets some friends and comes back, I might not be able to fight them off.”

He blew out a breath and pulled his hand from mine. “You’re fucked up, you know that? You’re so worried about keeping me alive. But if I mess this up, you think I don’t know you’ll stake me?”

My throat worked. His gaze flicked to the small, telling movement, then back to my face.

“What if I swear that I won’t?” The words pushed themselves passed the thickness in my throat, surprising us both.

He stepped closer. Searching my face. I hadn’t dropped the glamour but I had a feeling he still could see me. The real me.

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