Standing from her crouched position, she wished she had a gun or something. She cursed herself for being too afraid to even hold one, let alone learn to fire one. If she could, she’d step into the roadway right now and shoot them. Just like in the movies.
Bam, bam, bam!
It was what she’d have done if she had the chance twenty-two years ago. She’d replayed it in her mind hundreds of times. Like a gunfighter, she’d stand unafraid in the middle of the road as the crowd of people scrambled to get away from her. They’d hide behind lampposts, cars. Duck into doorways and shops. She’d jerk the gun from her holster, boldly take aim and fire. Two quick shots that would echo off the buildings and change the course of her future. The shadowy men would crumple to the ground and her mother would be safe.
Instead, as the Jeep’s engine fired to life, she aimed her camera and snapped a few quick photos before switching it to video mode. Seeing things through that tiny screen made real life seem a little less real. She stepped out into the road to get a better view of the license plate and was so focused that she almost didn’t see the movement to her left.
She snapped her head up just in time to see another man emerge from the shadows.
Ten feet away.
The overhead streetlight illuminated bronze hair that reached to his chin, the top portion held back away from his face by a small ponytail. He was big—much bigger than the other two men. At well over six feet tall, he had linebacker shoulders underneath his leather coat and a formidable presence that seemed to suck the oxygen from the air.
His gaze burned into her before he made a noise that sounded like a growl. He covered the distance between them in two commanding steps.
She wanted to pinch her eyes shut, block out the nightmare, but for some reason, she didn’t. Up this close, she noticed that his hair was streaked with green and blue highlights. She was vaguely disturbed that she noticed this innocuous detail about him when the thing that should be first and foremost on her mind was that he’d stepped from the shadows.
Obsidian irises were ringed by an iridescent green color so captivating that if she had any breath left to gasp with, she would have. Her legs could no longer support her weight and she felt herself slip. An energy charge snapped in the air when he steadied her, snaking invisible fingers around her body. She caught the faint smell of alcohol on his breath and noted that his square jaw was peppered with stubble. A small scar interrupted the slash of his dark eyebrow, similar to one she had from hitting her chin on the windowsill as a child.
All very humanlike—yes—but she knew what she’d seen. He’d morphed from a shadow, just like those men in the Jeep and just like the men who took her mother.
She staggered backward and caught herself on the hood of a car, setting off a high-pitched alarm that cut through the night air.
She’d never been so thankful for that shrill sound.
Until he banged once on the hood and the siren quieted.
“Who the hell are you?” he said, staring at his hands before giving her a quick head to toe.
Who am I? My God, that’s a question I should be asking him.
She shook off that strange, electric sensation and pointed. “They … those two men took my cousin.”
He glanced at the Jeep. “Yes, they did, didn’t they. Get back, sweetheart, and try not to look.”
She blinked once, twice, zeroing in on the fangs that were hanging from his mouth like twin daggers.
This time she had no trouble screaming.
CHAPTER THREE
JACKSON LEFT THE WOMAN BEHIND him and sprinted down the street, cursing himself for sending Mitch back to the field office. He could’ve used the guy’s help. This was just supposed to be a routine task that he’d check off his to-do list. Hell, if he thought he’d run into more Darkbloods tonight …
And that woman … Shit. She’d seen him in his shadow form. And what was it with her energy signature, anyway? He’d never felt anything like it, not even from the woman earlier who’d been to Mexico. But maybe he didn’t want to know why things felt so different lately. He shoved her out of his mind as he narrowed his focus on what he had to do.
This weather wasn’t helping, either. With the fog, shadows weren’t as distinct, making it hard to blend in and shadow-move. The Jeep was pulling away with the young girl trapped inside. Damn. He wouldn’t make it. If that woman hadn’t drawn his attention, he’d have gotten there in time.
Unzipping his coat, he knew he’d have one opportunity to save her, then she’d be gone. Without slowing his stride, he grabbed a half-moon blade from the multitude of weapons strapped to his body. He threw it sidearm at the vehicle, flicking it as it left his fingers and giving it a good spin. The blade hissed like dragon’s breath as it flew through the air.
Pop.
It lodged in a back tire. The rig skidded to the left, slowed.
That was all Jackson needed.
He quickly covered the distance, yanked open the back door and climbed up on the running board.
“Goddamn Guardian pig.” With both hands on the wheel, the driver struggled to regain control.
Before the bastard in the passenger seat could level his gun, Jackson was slamming a fist into his jaw. The guy’s head jerked sideways and hit the dashboard with a loud crack. Just as Jackson reached for the driver, the Jeep screeched to a complete halt, knocking him slightly off balance. He reached for the guy, grabbing nothing but air, and the asshole jumped out.
Jackson hesitated. Go after him or see to the girl?
The guy in the passenger seat groaned.
Jackson couldn’t leave her here, he decided. If this one came to, he’d be weak. His willpower shot. Given that the girl was a sweetblood, there’d be nothing stopping him from attacking her in order to regain his strength. With that first taste, it’d all be over. That’s what it was like when a vampire tasted Sweet. Jackson had seen it happen enough times to know he wouldn’t be able to get the guy off her without potentially ripping out her throat. Most likely, he wouldn’t be able to stop the guy even if he wanted to.
“Out,” he ordered the girl. He’d take care of these two lowlifes in a minute, once he knew she was away from them.
She huddled in the far corner of the backseat, her eyes almost too big for her face. His stomach tightened. He still couldn’t get over how much she resembled Betsy. The shape of her face, her brown Shirley Temple curls, the way her bottom lip quivered as if she was on the verge of crying. Just like she had when he’d rescued her the first time.
In a disgusting display, Darkbloods were going to auction her off to the highest bidder with the winner draining her onstage for all to see. After the Agency’s medical staff checked her out and he wiped away the memory of her two-day ordeal, she was returned home. But now, here she was, at the mercy of Darkbloods again. That was the problem with sweetbloods, they attracted trouble like fresh meat to a zombie.
He reached over to help her out, but only when she shrank away from him did he realize his own fangs were fully extended. Rather than wasting precious minutes talking her down gently—this wasn’t a time for nice—he grabbed her by the scruff of her jacket and hauled her out.
“Go back to your mom,” he said as her feet hit the pavement. DB number one was running down the street. Thank the good Lord for the fog. At least it made shadow-moving hard for all of them.
The girl hesitated, clutched her hands around her middle as if she