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Ezekiel held the mugger up against the wall by his neck. He had noticed this degenerate following the young woman just as he left the university’s art gallery. Being a predator himself, Ezekiel recognized when someone was stalking a potential victim.

“You!” the woman exclaimed.

Ezekiel looked over his shoulder, and his eyes locked onto the woman’s face. She scraped her cheek when the mugger shoved her against the column, and flecks of blood seeped from the abrasions.

Ezekiel’s attention diverted to the intoxicating aroma of her blood, and he forgot about his captive’s gun until he felt the barrel against his abdomen. The weapon fired, knocking him back a step. He let out a leonine roar and flashed his fangs at the mugger, who screamed in horror. Ezekiel flung him out over the tracks and onto the third rail, the force of his fall breaking the protective covering. Electricity shot through the mugger’s body, killing him instantly.

Ezekiel took several steps back, putting some distance between himself and the smell of the young woman’s blood. He emptied his lungs, exhaling as much of the scent as he could to quell his bloodlust. He held his breath and calmed himself to correct his distorted facial features. Color returned to his skin, and his red eyes shifted back to their tranquil blue.

He touched his side, checking the spot where he’d been shot. A few drops of blood had pooled by his foot. The entry wound was already healing, but the bullet had struck one of Ezekiel’s lower ribs and failed to exit through his back. He would have to extract it later, a prospect he did not look forward to. Vampires could heal quickly, but they still felt pain, and clawing the bullet out was going to hurt far more than getting shot. Stand fast, old boy.

The young woman sat shaking by the column, averting her eyes from the man lying dead on the subway tracks. Ezekiel took a few steps toward her, and she flinched at the sound of his footfalls. “Are you all right?” Ezekiel asked.

She looked up at Ezekiel but didn’t answer. Her long hair was a deep copper red, bangs covering her forehead, her complexion a pale apricot, and her brown eyes were so dark they looked almost black, an unfathomable ebony into which one could lose themself.

Baldur’s voice trickled through Ezekiel’s memories. “The unanointed can never know of us. You must kill any mortal who learns of our existence.”

“Could I not just mesmerize them and make them forget?”

“No! There’s no guarantee that their memories would not resurface. Every human we taste must perish. Every unanointed one who sees your true face must die!”

Ezekiel shuddered at the thought. He understood some individuals were resistant to mind control, but he abhorred the idea of murdering the innocent. So Ezekiel would ignore Baldur’s words tonight and make this young woman forget—let her live. He took a step closer and extended his hand. “Let me help you up.”

The woman recoiled. “Get away!” she screamed.

Ezekiel felt a gust of hot air against his face and jumped back just in the nick of time. A ring of fire erupted around the frightened woman, the flames reaching halfway up to the arched ceiling. She huddled inside the fiery circle, covering her head with her arms and crying out in terror. The fire was going to immolate her.

Ezekiel lifted his palm toward the blaze and concentrated. The flames were almost licking the woman’s upraised arms. Power radiated from Ezekiel’s heart—his gate—traveled the length of his arm, then surged from his outstretched hand. A layer of ice formed along the floor at Ezekiel’s thaumaturgic gesture, extinguishing the flames.

The woman lowered her arms and looked in shock at the ice coating the ground around her. “Wha … what?”

“I don’t mean you any harm!” Ezekiel insisted.

The woman was no longer trembling. She seemed calm, but Ezekiel suspected she was actually in shock, and her fear would soon return. She conjured fire, he thought. If she’s preternatural like me, would mind control even work on her? Would she retaliate if I tried to alter her memories? She knows my true nature. What do I do?

Baldur’s words again flittered through his mind. “The unanointed can never know of us.”

“But she’s magical,” Ezekiel imagined he would argue if they were having this conversation now. “She’s probably living in secret, just as we are. Exposing us would surely expose her kind as well.”

“You must kill any mortal who learns of our existence.”

“I don’t think she would jeopardize our anonymity.”

“Every unanointed one who sees your true face must die!”

“I don’t follow his orders anymore,” Ezekiel whispered. He squared his shoulders and addressed the woman. “Do you have a phone?”

The woman gave Ezekiel a blank look. “What?”

“A phone. You need to call someone. You’re hurt.” Ezekiel pointed to her cheek.

The woman touched her face and winced. She drew her hand away, blood on her fingertips. She fumbled with her bookbag and removed her cellphone from one of its pockets.

“Call someone,” Ezekiel urged.

She dialed three digits, her hands trembling again. She held the phone to her ear, and with his heightened senses, Ezekiel heard a woman’s voice answer on the other end. “911, what’s your emergency?”

Ezekiel backed away, favoring his side. “Please don’t tell anyone I was here.” Before the woman could respond, Ezekiel turned and ran, his coat billowing behind him.

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