David McAfee - 61 A.D.

“You remember me,” Ramah said, pleased.

Taras didn’t respond, but Ramah could see the man’s mind working behind his eyes, probably looking for an escape.

“Don’t bother,” Ramah said. “In your condition, you would not get far, and there is no city full of Jews to cover your escape this time.”

Taras’s face fell. He must know, just as Ramah did, that he had no hope of escaping. Last time he’d been lucky. Ramah had been occupied fighting off a large group of humans in Jerusalem, which allowed Taras time to get away.

Not this time.

“Where is Theron?” Ramah asked.

“I don’t know,” Taras replied, his voice faint.

“You freed him?”

“Never,” Taras spat. “I freed myself. After I escaped I went to kill him and someone attacked me from behind.”

“The Lost One?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was the room cold?” Ramah asked.

“It is cold everywhere I go,” Taras growled, his voice gaining strength. “I haven’t been warm since your lackey-”

Ramah cracked the other’s head on the stone floor, eliciting a yelp of pain. “Don’t press your luck, Roman. The moment you cease to be useful I will kill you.”

“No,” Taras blurted. “The room wasn’t cold.”

“That’s better.” Ramah paused. It couldn’t have been the Lost One, then. Could it have been Lannis who attacked Taras from behind? But why? If she had set all this in motion, turning the fresh vampires against Ramah and making a deal with Taras, why would she attack him once Theron was captured? Did she want to be the one to bring him in? If so, why? Lannis had never shown any interest in hunting down fugitives before. She enjoyed punishing them when Ramah or an Enforcer brought them in, but actually hunting for them was another matter. She preferred to sit, safe and snug, in her plush chambers while others did all the work.

Something wasn’t right.

“You mentioned a deal with Lannis,” Ramah said. “Tell me what she offered you.”

To his surprise, Taras shook his head and barked a weak, wet laugh. “The woman said I would be free if I helped her capture Theron. She told me I could stop running and live in peace.”

“And you believed her,” Ramah replied, a smile on the corner of his lips.

Taras nodded. “I did.”

“Lannis is not known for keeping her word.”

“Theron said the same thing. He also called me a fool.”

“He was right,” Ramah said. “You were a fool.”

“It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

“Of course not,” Ramah said. “Lannis cannot make deals for the Council. Only Headcouncil Herris can grant immunity.”

“No,” Taras said. “It doesn’t matter because it wasn’t Lannis who made the offer. It was someone else.”

“How do you know?” Ramah had figured as much, but he wanted confirmation.

“Theron saw her, too. He said the woman’s name was Baella.”

Ramah stopped, unsure he’d heard correctly. “Did you say Baella?”

“I did,” Taras said.

If Ramah’s lungs still worked, his breath would have caught in his throat. Baella! Finally! Here was the opportunity to capture the single most wanted renegade in the history of his race, and she had all but fallen into his lap. He had no idea what she would want with Theron, but he didn’t intend to let her have him.

“How long ago did they leave?” Ramah asked.

“I don’t know,” Taras replied. “I was unconscious.”

Ramah grabbed one of the sharp metal rods from the wall and drove it through Taras’s chest and into the stone underneath, pinning the renegade to the floor. While Taras screamed and writhed, Ramah noted that he’d missed the heart, but not by much. Damn. He turned his back on Taras and walked up the stairs, nearly tripping on the top step in his haste to catch up to Baella and Theron.

“Don’t worry,” he called over his shoulder, “I’ll finish the job when I get back.”

Theron needed blood. Badly. He stumbled along behind Baella, trying to keep up, and found his face in the dirt far too often for his liking.

“Ramah will be coming for us,” Baella hissed. “Can’t you go any faster?”

“Need…blood…” Theron said. “My insides are turning to dust.”

Baella looked him up and down. “Blood? Why didn’t you say so?” She turned away from him and looked up the street. After a moment, she started walking.

“Stay here,” she said. Theron, still weak, nodded. It wasn’t like he had much choice, anyway. He sat with his back to a building, marveling at this strange new turn.

Baella. Here. In Londinium.

That certainly explained what happened to the Lost One. In the entire history of his race, only one Bachiyr had been able to destroy a Lost One without the aid of the Council. Baella. No one knew how she did it, or why, but she seemed to kill every Lost One she ran across, leaving nothing but a pile of ash in their place. She was rumored to have many other abilities not seen in other Bachiyr. The list of her supposed powers ran the gamut from being able to fly to turning people to stone. Ridiculous, of course. But she’d done something to him earlier that left him in a very weakened state-a state magnified by a night of Ramah’s attention-and damned if he could figure out what it was or how she did it.

Very few had ever even seen Baella. Theron and Ephraim had tracked her down in the Library of Alexandria many years before, back when they both worked as Enforcers for The Council. That night, Theron had caught his first glimpse of the penultimate renegade vampire. Theron had set fire to the Library while Ephraim and Baella battled inside, but she still managed to escape. Ephraim had emerged from the burning wreckage with only minor injuries, very upset with Theron for nearly killing him. He’d never been the same afterward, and eventually had betrayed his people for a human rabbi in Jerusalem.

Theron winced. The memory of his failure in Judea still stung.

He put it out of his mind and focused on his current situation, which was dire enough to require his full attention. He was a prisoner of the most hunted vampire of all. True, she’d freed him from the stocks, and she could have killed him easily if she’d wanted, which meant she needed him alive for something. But that didn’t mean much. She might simply be toying with him, ready to kill him as soon as she got bored. Weak as he was, he would not be able to do much to stop her.

Additionally, somewhere behind him Ramah would soon discover his escape. Baella had left Taras alive in the hope that he would keep Ramah busy for a while. If it worked, they might have a chance to get out of the city alive. But if the Roman told Ramah about Baella, no doubt the Councilor would come running, pausing only long enough to kill Taras before speeding out the door in pursuit.

Thinking of Taras brought the image of his unnaturally thin wrists and hands to Theron’s mind. How had he managed to alter them like that? That would be a useful thing to know. If Theron escaped Londinium alive, he vowed to learn that trick.

Movement up the street caught his eye. Baella. She had found a woman and was leading her back to him. The woman shuffled along behind, her arms at her sides and her expression blank. As they approached, Theron noted her attire. Bright colors, designed to attract the eye. The sparse outfit revealed a great deal more flesh than was generally considered appropriate. Probably a prostitute. Along with beggars, they were usually the easiest prey to find in the city, and most of the time no one missed them. This one had apparently decided the risk to the city was not worth her loss of income, although there was little enough in the way of potential customers left in the deserted city.