He soared. With his height and the hawk’s vision he could see the things that slunk around the house. He counted eight—a small party then, and likely just watchers as Blair had said. Regardless, he took another circle to be sure it was a scouting expedition and not an attack force.
Widening the circle, he spotted the van at the end of the lane, just beyond the turnoff. Of course, he thought, they would need a way to get back and forth from the caves, wouldn’t they? But it was nervy, and a bit insulting come to that, for them to leave their machine so close to the house.
He circled again, considering the situation, then dived for the ground.
He remembered what Glenna had said about how the van worked, how a key was needed to spark the—what was it? Ignition. Wasn’t it a shame they hadn’t left it hanging in there, in the lock of the thing.
But he remembered, too, that she’d explained that the wheels it rolled on were filled with air. If the wheel was punctured, and the air got out, and then the wheel was called a flat. It was a pain in the ass, she’d said.
He thought it would be fruitful, and fun as well, to give the vampires a pain in the ass.
He changed to a unicorn, with a pale gold wash over its white hide. And lowering his head, plunged his keen-tipped horn into the tire. There was a satisfying little pop, then the hiss of escaping air. Wanting to be thorough, he pierced it a second time.
Pleased, Larkin trotted around the van, puncturing each tire until he saw the van sat on four flat wheels. Let’s see you try to get this machine to roll now, you bastards, he thought.
Then he rose up again on wings and flew south.
There was enough moonlight to guide him, and a cool wind to aid his speed. He could see the land below, the spread and roll of it. The rise of hills, the patchwork of fields.
Lights glimmered from the villages, and the larger towns.
He thought of the lively pubs, with the music playing, with the scents of beer and pretty women. The voices in conversation and the rise of laughter. One evening, when all this was done, he wanted to sit in a pub with his friends, those five who were so vital to him, and lift a pint with all those voices, all that music around them.
It was a good image to hold on to during a long flight to a nest of monsters.
Below, he saw the long, lovely sweep of river they called Shannon.
It was beautiful land, he thought, as green as home, and with the sea close. He could hear the rumble of it as he angled southwest.
The dragon would be faster, he knew, but it was the hawk he’d agreed to. He wished he could fly here again, in the dragon, with Blair on his back. She could tell him the names of what he saw below, the towns and the ruins, the rivers and lakes. Would she know the name of that waterfall he soared over, the one as high and powerful as his own Faerie Falls back home?
He remembered the feel of her legs locking around him as they rose up into the air. The way she’d laughed. He’d never known another like her, warrior and woman, with such strength and vulnerability. A ready fist and a tender heart.
He liked the way she talked, quick and confident. And the way her lips quirked up on one side, then the other when she smiled.
There was a longing in him for her, which he thought as natural as breath. But there was something tangled with it, something sharp that he didn’t recognize. It would be interesting to find out what it all meant.
He winged over the waterfall, and a dense forest that framed it. He skimmed over the quiet glimmer of lakes with starshine glinting on the water. And he aimed for the slicing beam of the lighthouse on the cliffs.
He flew down, silent as a shadow.
On the narrow strip of shale, he saw two figures. A woman, he realized, and a young boy. Alarm tightened his heart inside his chest. They would be captured wandering here near the caves in the dark. Imprisoned, then used, then killed. And he had no weapon to defend them.
He landed in the shadow of rock, and nearly changed into a man to do what he could. But the woman turned to laugh at the child, and the cold white moonlight struck her face.
He had seen her only once before, standing on the high cliffs. But he would never forget her face.
Lilith. The self-proclaimed queen of the undead.
“Please, Mama, please, I want to hunt.”
“Now, Davey, remember what I told you. We don’t hunt near our home. We’ve plenty of food inside, and since you’ve been so good…” She bent down to tap a finger to his nose, a gesture of amused affection. “You can have your pick.”
“But it’s no fun when they’re just there.”
“I know.” She sighed, ruffled his glossy gold hair. “It’s more like a chore than a thrill. But it won’t be much longer. When we move on to Geall, you can hunt every night.”
“When?”