Anne Brontë Nightwalker

Chapter 42

The forest flies by me as I drive toward the Black Mountains, where the trees grow thick and wild with life. The bend of a curve looms up reminding me of the "wolf attack" back toward the Smokies. Now I know that Emily was responsible, and that incident had nothing to do with the murdered girls. I wonder if Santos suspects the kills are unrelated. Why did Emily attack two grown men? Two armed men. It's incredibly bold. How much blood can one woman drink? A human can sustain a Night Walker for weeks or months, depending on the vibrancy of the blood. It's a waste to take more than that.

Beside me on the seat lies the saber Vander lent me. I don't know what I plan to do with it, but since our practice session last night I feel vulnerable heading out in the wild completely bare of arms. Plus, after my walk I'm going to the Biltmore. My hand tingles in anticipation with an itch to hold the weapon again. How natural it felt in my palm. And how glorious to move in perfect harmony with William, as if we were one, connected by an invisible thread. Fencing with him feels like finally dancing at a ball to which I was never invited and could only ever dream of instead.

In consternation, I press my lips together. This is the problem with weapons. Once you take satisfaction in them, you feel exposed and vulnerable when they're gone. I've managed for years without them. Why do I suddenly need forged steel to survive?

Because an Alpha is killing our girls. My stomach tightens. It's risky being out here alone, but I must eat. I cannot rely on Vander for food, and so far, the Alpha has struck before sundown, although his last kill was toward twilight, which suggests his sun-strength may be fading and his desperation growing. However, it's not his pattern to hunt at night and I am not the type of girl he is looking for anyway.

I'm east of Asheville when my phone rings. It's Dana, thank God. I've left multiple messages to a silence so sharp it resembles a slap in the face.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"Never better," she purrs.

"We were worried. Santos has been looking for you. He's concerned."

"He's a psycho stalker. Tell him to get a life. Hey, I know you're off tonight. I thought you might want to grab a beer. Where are you?"

I am flabbergasted. Grab a beer? "I'm near Black Mountain. Just taking a drive."

"Perfect. I'm not far. Let's meet at Lookout Point. I'll bring the beer."

"Are you sure, Dana? It's freezing. I'm not sure you should be outside. What's going on?"

"There's something I want to show you, Anne. Believe me, you are going to want to see this."

I gnaw my lip, hit the turbo and fly across the mountain. Within minutes I zoom past downtown Black Mountain, three quaint blocks of galleries and tea shops, all closed. A few bars are open, and as I pass the White Horse jazz seeps through my window. I've always liked this little town with its hippies and hikers, artists and Christians, all living peacefully together. The energy here feels different. Soothing. Although tonight I'm not feeling it. I zip beneath the great stone arch to Montreat College and turn on Lookout Road. The road constricts and I force myself to slow, gliding into the trailhead parking lot as I text Santos: I've found her. Lookout Point. Heading there now.

I turn off the engine and am greeted by a violent stillness. Where are the night sounds? The rustlings and ramblings of my nocturnal kin? The trees look lean and grim as if they are starving in the snow. Dana's new Camaro is there, silent but steaming in the cold. It's empty. An eerie feeling comes over me. All of this is so unlike her. She has never shown the slightest interest in seeing me outside of work. In fact, I've always had the distinct impression I bore her to tears.