Jaenor stood in the middle of the highway with four vampire corpses around him, his borrowed shirt torn and splattered with blood that wasn't his, his dark eyes sweeping across the assembled predators with calm assessment.
One figure stepped forward from the pack.
Taller than the others, moving with authority that suggested leadership. He wore better clothing—black but tailored, expensive. His face was fully visible now, no longer hidden in shadow. Handsome in a severe way, with sharp features and eyes that held centuries of experience.
He looked at Jaenor.
Then at the bodies.
Then back at Jaenor.
"Interesting," it said. His voice was cultured and educated, carrying an accent that Martha couldn't place.
He pulled a phone from his jacket and dialed a number on his phone and then put it to his ear.
"We have a complication," he said into the phone.
"Yes, on Highway Seven. He seems—"
Jaenor moved.
