“What would you name your winery?”

  Ante considered, then laughed. “Krv Vilenjaka.”

  “Which means?”

  “Blood of an elf.”

  “Ha! Perfect. It would have to be red wine.”

  “Of course.” Ante closed his eyes and then opened them. “Shall we go?”

  “Yeah.”

  This time Ante kissed him. And then he started the engine and rolled slowly down the narrow track.

  There was no sign of other cars when he reached the paved road, and he briefly allowed himself to hope that they had lost their pursuers. But just as he was about to say something to Peter, headlights appeared in the rearview mirror, approaching fast.

  “It’s them,” said Peter softly.

  “Hold on.”

  Ante hit the gas. But maybe the car had overtaxed itself already; Tauruses weren’t designed for evasive maneuvers. No matter how hard he pressed the pedal, the other car gained on them. And then, in a narrow spot where the trees pressed in close on both sides, the other car shot past him.

  Although Ante took his foot off the gas, it was too late. The other car skidded to a halt directly in front of him, blocking the road. Ante braked hard, but there was no space to go around. He gave the wheel a vicious turn, swung partway around—and smashed headfirst into a tree.

  Peter might have screamed, or perhaps that was the sound of tearing metal.

  Ante fought to free himself from shattered glass and the deflated airbag. He wasn’t injured, but Peter was so much more fragile than a vampire. “Peter!” he yelled.

  Dazed and bleeding from several small cuts, Peter blinked at him. “I’m okay,” he said weakly.

  No time to be relieved. “Stay here!” Ante roared before kicking his door open and leaping out of the car.

  They were upon him at once. Three of them, all fangs and fists and feet, and he didn’t have time to see if he knew them. He did what he had to—he fought back.

  He was outnumbered. And he was shaken by the crash and not completely recovered from burning.

  But Ante had started fighting when he was barely past toddlerhood—tussling and wrestling with his brothers, trading punches with them over slights or, sometimes, just for entertainment. He learned early on how to be fierce. Then he became a soldier, a fighter by profession. Fighting then meant survival, and he was good at it. Not good enough to survive a bayonet through his belly, but skilled nonetheless. He’d continued to fight after Helena turned him. His experience gave him skills.

  And there was more than that. With Peter in the wrecked car, Ante had something—someone—to fight for. That gave him strength.

  And these fools who’d attacked him? They’d apparently forgotten they were after one of their own kind, and they hadn’t even brought appropriate weapons. One of them latched on to Ante’s back and choked him while the others punched Ante’s face and stomach. But although his nose broke and his throat was blocked, he wasn’t hampered since he didn’t need to breathe. His kick drove one vampire backward, and when Ante ducked and rolled, he forced the one on his back to tumble off and into the third.

  Ante grabbed the nearest head and twisted until the vampire went limp. Ante tossed him aside without stopping to see if he’d killed him.

  The remaining two renewed their attack, one punching Ante hard enough to crush the bone around his left eye, making his vision blur. But the punch turned out to be a good thing. It meant the bullet that had no doubt been aimed at the back of Ante’s head tore into his shoulder instead. It hurt, but pain was nothing new and didn’t slow him down.

  Roaring, Ante grabbed the one in front of him, tightly pinned his arms to his sides, and tore at his throat like one of Dorothy’s lions ripping into a wildebeest. He ignored the second bullet when it slammed into his back.

  Ante was not thinking or planning. He was nothing more than a fierce, a terrible, a fiendish beast. He let go of one of the vampire’s arms and twisted his head hard. His opponent slumped to the ground.

  Just as Ante released his second victim, he felt the muzzle of a gun against his skull. A bullet was a clumsy weapon against a vampire, but even a clumsy weapon could destroy him if his brain was splattered through the forest. He took a deep breath.

  The scream that shook the trees was not his own.

  Ante whirled so quickly that he saw the silhouette of the third vampire right as he turned to dust. Peter stood on the other side, huge-eyed.

  “Holy shit,” he said.

  That was when Ante noticed a sturdy, sharp-tipped branch hanging from Peter’s hand.

  “Holy shit,” Peter said again, a bit dazedly.

  “You did this?”

  “He was—” Peter swallowed hard, then waved his arms. “It’s a whole forest full of things that kill vampires. I took advantage.”

  And so did Ante. He pulled the branch from Peter’s lax hand and stalked over to the injured attackers. They each stared up at him silently, unable to move or speak. He stabbed first one, then the other. And then he tossed the branch away.

  His fangs were still visible, his face and clothing coated in his own blood and the blood of his opponents. Ante turned slowly to face Peter.

  “Can you see me?” Ante asked. The headlights from their pursuers’ car cast glaring lights and angled shadows on the scene.

  “I see you.”

  “Then you see what I am.” Ante held his arms out and waited for Peter to turn away in disgust.

  Instead Peter rushed forward and enveloped him in a crushing embrace. “I see exactly what you are,” he whispered.

  Suddenly everything hurt. Perhaps Ante made a distressed sound, because Peter released him. Ante collapsed slowly to the ground and rolled onto all fours, shaking. Peter knelt beside him, smoothing Ante’s back and murmuring nonsense words of comfort.

  The shuddering finally ended, but Ante remained crouched on the soft soil, too weary and sore to move.

  “He shot you,” Peter finally said.

  “I have been shot before.”

  “Will you heal?”

  “Eventually. I will need to remove the bullets.”

  “Ew.” Peter stroked him a few more times. “Do you, uh, want me to do it?”

  Ante rolled onto his aching back and stared up at the branch-woven sky. He didn’t want to make Peter conduct such gruesome work. But it would be difficult for Ante to reach the wounds properly by himself, and if the holes closed with the bullets still inside, he’d face more pain later when the wounds had to be reopened.

  “Yes, please,” he whispered.

  Peter sat on his haunches for a moment, considering. “I’m guessing infection’s not something to worry about?”

  “No.”

  “So if I dig around with my grubby fingers…?”

  “You will not harm me.”

  Although he nodded, Peter still looked distressed. “But I’ll still hurt you.”

  “Any pain I receive from you is a gift.”

  Afterward they rested for several minutes. Then Peter glanced at the wreck of their Taurus. “It’s, um, getting toward dawn.”

  “I know.” His back was already beginning to itch. “We will take their car. Do you know how to get to the sanctuary?”

  “From here? Not a clue. But hang on….” Peter loped away, checked out something inside the car, then ran back. “GPS.”

  It hurt when Ante chuckled. “The wonders of modern technology.” With considerable effort, he sat up. But Peter had to help him stand, and even then Ante swayed on his feet until Peter propped him up.

  “Help me into the trunk, please,” Ante said.

  “But you’re injured! That’s gonna—”

  “I will survive. I will not survive if sunlight catches me, however.” He didn’t bother to mention that being visible in public in his current gory state was inadvisable.

  “Shit. Okay.”

  This car turned out to be an Impala with new-car smell and a large trunk. Ante was still a bit of a tight fit, curled on his side, but he’d been in less comfortable spots. He waited while Peter fetched their things from the wreck, and then Ante watched with a degree of amusement while Peter used spit and fast-food napkins to clean Ante’s blood from his hands. Then he changed his own shirt, leaving Ante in his filthy one for the time being.

  “Want me to clean your face?” Peter asked, holding a wad of paper.

  “Do not bother.” It was going to take more than a napkin to clean Ante up. He had a fond thought of Patricia’s Roman bath.

  “Okay.” Peter leaned in to kiss him. “I’ll take the road easy. You get some rest and—Jesus. We’ll find you some blood somewhere.”

  Ante grinned up at him. “My hero.”

  Peter blew him a kiss and shut the trunk.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ANTE tried to nap while Peter drove, but he couldn’t. The pain didn’t bother him as much as the turmoil in his mind. On the one hand, he was relieved and grateful that Peter had accepted him so readily despite his display of savagery. On the other hand, he was appalled that Peter had been forced to kill because of him.

  Fuck, it was always because of him.

  If he could go back in time, he would let Lee die of TB. Ante would have lost a few years of companionship—the only true intimacy he’d experienced until Peter. But so many lives would have been saved.

  Except… would they?

  If Lee had coughed up his lungs in a charity ward deep in the bowels of New York City, the Shadows would still exist. After all, Vegas was only one of their outposts. And another vampire would have led them instead. Eadburg, perhaps. Chances were that vampire would have been as ruthless as Lee. And when Peter showed up in town, ignorant of the Shadows’ existence or his own identity? The Shadows still would have come after him and probably snatched him up quickly.

  Without Lee, Ante would not necessarily have been in Vegas. He wouldn’t have met Peter. Wouldn’t have given him even dubious protection. Wouldn’t have known him.

  Jesus. His head hurt worse than the bites and bullet wounds.

  THE car stopped, and a moment later, Peter popped the trunk. “How are you doing?” he asked with a concerned look. He’d parked under tall evergreens that provided sunlight protection for Ante, as did the thick fog suffusing the air.

  “You drove smoothly.”

  “I’m always smooth.” Peter was trying for lighthearted, but his eyes were dark with worry. “We’re in Guerneville, so the sanctuary’s just a couple miles away.”

  “Why did you stop?”

  “Because I’m going to get us a room at this inn.”

  “But—”

  “It’s daytime, Ante. You look like an extra in a Quentin Tarantino flick. Plus you’ve got more holes than a colander, and you can barely stand upright.”

  All excellent points. But still. “The sanctuary—”

  “We’re going to get you cleaned up and settled in, and then I’m going to go scout the sanctuary. Uh-uh! No arguments! Believe it or not, I can manage without my guardian vampire now and then. If it really is a sanctuary, they should at least allow me to get a few words in before filleting me.” Crossing his arms, Peter managed to look adorable and immovable at the same time.

  “Fine,” Ante said resignedly.

  “You stay put while I check in. This place is a bunch of little cottages, so I’m hoping we can smuggle you in without anyone noticing. Do you think you can make it?”

  Ante nodded. He’d be uncomfortable in heavy fog, but he wouldn’t burn.

  “’Kay. Be right back.” Peter gently closed the trunk.

  Perhaps ten minutes passed before the trunk opened again. “We’re all set. It’s a cute little place. The lady said they do s’mores at a fire every night.”

  “I think I would prefer to avoid flames.” Taking Peter’s outstretched hand, Ante carefully unfolded himself from the trunk. He smelled water and trees, but because he kept his head down as Peter helped him through a gate, he had only vague impressions of gray and dark green. The gate led them to a courtyard with a small swimming pool, gardens, and several sitting areas with wooden chairs and tables. Little cottages surrounded the courtyard, all of them with sloped roofs and wooden siding painted mushroom colors. Theirs turned out to be close to the gate.

  “I told the lady my friend had mobility issues,” explained Peter as he unlocked the door. “She asked if you qualified for a senior citizen discount.”

  Ante laughed. “Well, I am certainly more than old enough. I am not a citizen, however.”

  “Wow, yeah, I never thought of that. You’re an illegal alien, huh?”

  “I snuck here aboard a ship over a century ago.”

  “Why did you come to America?”

  “Curiosity. Immigrating to America was all the rage at the time.” And he’d wanted to run away from old mistakes—but then he’d made new ones.

  The cottage contained a living room with a tiny kitchenette, a bedroom, and a spacious bathroom. Pulling gently, Peter led him right into the bathroom. “No tub, I’m afraid. Can you get through a shower?”

  “Yes,” said Ante, although he wasn’t sure.

  Peter must have been skeptical too, because after peeling off Ante’s clothing—another ruined outfit—he stripped off his own as well. He turned on the shower and stood under the warm water with Ante, gingerly wiping away the dried blood.

  “Bathing me is becoming your habit,” Ante observed.

  “It’s a habit I’m happy to pick up. I like touching you. I like taking care of you. I’ve never taken care of anything before—not even a houseplant or a goldfish.”

  “I am more complicated than a ficus.”

  Peter briefly pressed his lips to Ante’s nape. “You’re way better than a ficus.”

  When Ante was scrubbed to Peter’s satisfaction, Peter led him to the bedroom and tucked him in. The roof overhang and the heavy curtains over the small single window would protect Ante if the sun broke through the fog.

  Peter jogged out to the car to retrieve their things, then ran back, slightly breathless. “It just occurred to me that our stolen car is in plain view. Is that a problem?”

  “I do not think so. It is possible that the Shadows can track it, but the vampires cannot come here until night, and I doubt they would send humans.” Lee knew that humans would be no match for Ante—or even for Peter, once he had a chance to talk to them.

  “Okay. Downtown Guerneville’s about two miles away. I’m going to grab something to eat and then head to the sanctuary. I’ll find some blood somewhere too.” Like a doting parent, he leaned down to kiss Ante’s cheek and then headed for the door.

  Before Peter left, Ante called to him. “Peter? Be careful. Please.” I don’t want to lose you already.

  “I will. I promise.” The door latch snicked closed.

  ANTE was too worried and uncomfortable to sleep, so he watched TV instead. Well, he stared at the screen, but he didn’t process the flashing images or staccato sounds. He wished he was strong enough to pace, although the little cottage didn’t have much room for it anyway. He imagined this was a lovely location for a relaxing getaway, but as a hideout from predatory vampires, it was less than perfect.

  When at long last the cottage door opened and Peter’s familiar scent wafted toward him, Ante swore that his relief made his undead heart beat once or twice. “Peter?” he called.

  Peter sailed into the bedroom, arms laden with fabric shopping bags. “Here, in one piece, with refreshments and reasonably good news.”

  “Reasonably?”

  “Refreshments first.” He set the bags on the floor and then, with a flourish, produced three mismatched insulated cups. “Nice and fresh,” he said as he handed one to Ante. He put the others on the nightstand.

  Ante could smell the contents even before he flipped open the top: human blood, still warm from the vein. “Where did you get this?”

  “The sanctuary. Which has a name, by the way, and it’s a pretty cool name at that.”

  Opening the cup and taking a long, delicious draft, Ante tried to wait patiently for the important news. But he knew he’d end up listening to the story of the name first.

  “Iwapkuti,” Peter said, proving Ante right. “It’s a Yuki word, and it’s named for the sanctuary’s founder—which was a long time ago, it turns out. Iwapkuti wasn’t their actual name, though. It means two-spirit. The founder was waving the rainbow flag, I guess, long before there were rainbow flags. Anyway, this person was also an elf! And they created this little village as a safe space for anyone who was… weird.”

  Ante had to admit, that was interesting. Especially the bit about the elf. It sounded as if he’d been correct in his hypothesis that elves had long ago mixed with indigenous populations. Or maybe some elves had been indigenous to North America. He wondered how many remained. Did any remaining elves know what they were, and if so, did they have some way to camouflage themselves from the Shadows or others who might exploit them? Was Peter’s father still alive? All questions for future thought.

  “But how did you get the blood?” Ante pressed. He finished the first cup and reached for the second. His first sip told him the contents of this cup came from a different donor than the first, but both were good. He felt better already.

  “I told them about you. I told them about everything, Ante, and I didn’t use my mojo, but they listened. And they were—God, I don’t know what kinds of creatures they all are; it’s like the cantina scene in Star Wars—but they were goddamned cool. They didn’t freak out at all. I think maybe a lot of them have heard similar stories. Maybe lived them.”

  Peter grabbed a cardboard container from one of the bags and sat beside Ante on the mattress. When he opened the container, a spicy-sweet odor filled the room. “Kimchee kale pancakes,” he said happily, picking one up and taking a healthy bite. “Possibly one of the most California things I’ve ever eaten. So good. And just a few doors down from this place, I found a pie shop. I have a whole blueberry-pear-cardamom waiting for me.”