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eventually.
    Ethan would be waiting.

    Son of a bitch.
    Ethan clamped his jaw tight and took a cursory glance at the bakery’s interior. Excepting the window the vampires had broken to enter the building, nothing had been disturbed.
    The faint scent of vampire blood clung to the three symbols carved on the sill with splintered glass. The protective shield had fallen when they’d left, but Ethan dug the tip of his dagger through the shapes. The Seattle police might tie the vandalism here to the destruction of Cole’s gate two blocks distant—vampires still had fingerprints and DNA, after all—but Ethan wouldn’t leave evidence of the spell for them to find. They likely wouldn’t suppose it was something otherworldly, in any case.
    Peculiar, that Charlie did. In those rare instances humans spied a vampire’s teeth or a Guardian’s wings, they assumed it was a person dressed up in a costume. The feather she’d found hadn’t been reason enough for the fear and certainty lurking in her psychic scent when she’d passed off truth as exaggeration.
    The Lone Ranger. A white hat would never sit easily on him; she’d be a fool to think otherwise. But a reluctant smile tugged at his mouth as he crouched and cast around for the vampires’ trail.
    The light rain enhanced scent—as did the concrete, slightly warmer than the surrounding air. One vampire had leaned or brushed against the corner of the coffee shop at the end of the block. The odor was mostly human, with an undertone of metallic blood and wet leather. Not a revolting smell, but Ethan preferred green apple and cocoa butter.
    He’d taken quite a liking to the combination: sharp and sweet, warm and mellow. It’d be a damn shame if it changed.
    And it was strange that it hadn’t. Of the nine scientists Legion Laboratories had recruited in the past year—three geneticists, four experts in blood diseases, and two researchers who specialized in artificial blood—only Jane Newcomb hadn’t had a close relative transformed into a vampire.
    Ethan figured it was pure luck that had delivered Dr. Milliken and her husband to him two months before, and that had let the husband escape the vampires who had attacked and transformed him. Ethan had taken both back to San Francisco, to Special Investigations and the vampire community there—but whatever purpose had been behind the transformation, Dr. Milliken hadn’t learned.
    If he had to guess, Ethan thought that, given another day or two, the demons who owned Legion Laboratories would have offered her an ultimatum. It hadn’t taken long to discover the pattern in the other scientists’ families—but after two failed attempts to approach them and offer help, Ethan had backed away.
    Something—or someone—had scared the piss out of each of them. Each had been convinced talking with Ethan meant death…though he didn’t think they were concerned about their own lives. After all, demons couldn’t kill humans—but they could kill vampires.
    And Ethan didn’t know if the vampires who’d gone after Charlie were the same who’d transformed Milliken, but he’d have wagered a trainload of money they were.
    Ethan lost their trail a block further on. They’d doubled back toward Cole’s, then crossed the street toward a parking garage, where they must have left an automobile. He stood on the darkened ground floor, took stock. A security camera near the exit had been demolished, the cable ripped from its moorings. There’d likely be nothing on the tapes, but he’d make a point to collect them the next afternoon. His Special Investigations badge ought to be good for something; and if it wasn’t, he could steal them easily enough.
    He turned to go, then halted, his muscles tensing in anticipation of an attack. Instantly, his crossbow and sword appeared in his hands.
    The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and a dark psychic presence slithered across his mind.
    Demon. An almighty powerful one, too. Unless Ethan was