"Ready to knock him dead? Or undead, whatever." Dieter asked lightly as we strolled up outside the bookstore. There was a line for the signing that filled the shop almost to the door. We'd already planned our escape route if things went sideways and scoped out as much of the movements through the area as possible before getting this close.

I smiled, showing just a hint of fangs for a moment. "You cannot fully comprehend the delight this will bring me."

Dieter chuckled. He'd dressed in a conservative, if expensive suit tailored to him like a second skin, including a modification of the cut to more easily hide his pistol. We were here to fluster Byron or potentially scare him off and part of that meant displaying wealth and power.

My dress matched his blood red tie with bare shoulders and a low neckline, preserving modesty with double-backed carpet tape to hold fabric in place. The dress stopped at my knees, fitted in all the right places while keeping enough flow of fabric that I could run if needed. My heels could be easily kicked off and the jacket I wore around my shoulders was kevlar. My pistol had stayed in the car, but I didn't feel the need for it. The odds of anything happening in front of so many people were quite low.

"Bit young, his type," Dieter observed quietly as he pulled open the door to the bookstore. "Most of these girls look like they're either just out of high school or still in it."

I glanced around. "Vibrant, full of life and strong emotions, little awareness of how dark the world can be, easily swayed by a handsome older man. Innocence adds a certain extra sweetness to terror, some of his type might say."

Dieter checked his watch, trying to pretend he wasn't frowning at the picture I'd painted. "Not age improves the vintage?"

"The young frequently lack the senses to fully appreciate such nuance—they have barely lived themselves and the Hunger makes them as emotionally intelligent as clams." I understood the desire, the instincts of a predator, the way certain members of our kind liked destroying them. A flower plucked in spring is all the sweeter. I had never felt the inclination, however. My Hunger craved the satisfaction that came after a struggle. I found more of a joy in the dangerous, the worldly, the hard-won.

Olivia was in far more danger from me than any of these were.

Dieter snorted at my comment, appreciating the bone-dry delivery. "I've never wanted to burn seafood to a crisp before."

I smiled faintly at him. "I assure you that there will be an opportunity at some point in the future. Just not quite now."

The crackle of excitement through the room was palpable, a symphony of hearts fluttering just at the sight of Byron's arrival. He swept through the back of the store, coming to sit behind a table piled high with copies of his novel, each emblazoned with Sirje's symbol. It angered me, the use of that pretty little mark as crass profiteering. The crowd I frankly cared little about. Why would a great white trouble itself with minnows?

Dieter no doubt felt more protective of them. He had a good heart in such matters and still had the care to expend on their behalf.

I focused on our quarry. Luke Byron was a tall, athletic man with a model's face and an air of charisma around him that his young women and girls found mesmerizing. Had they seen him feed, they might have had a decidedly different reaction. I folded my arms across my chest, leaning against a bookshelf to watch him drink in their fascination like a fine wine. He clearly enjoyed the attention and spread his honeyed words all around him, to trap the little flies.

Dieter stood beside me, his hands tucked into his pockets. "I really don't like his style, Malle," he muttered.

At that moment, my study of Byron seemed to jar him out of his flirting. He scribbled his signature in the teenage girl's book, then looked up abruptly. I saw his pupils dilate from across the room, the way he had to put his hands under the table as well-trimmed nails sharpened and hardened. He would have to work on his control more.

Meeting another of my kind always began with a sensation defying description. I knew enough to stay calm as hot poison flowed through my veins, to keep my fangs behind smiling lips as I measured the creature across from me. He would be physically stronger, just based on his size, but we were not beasts defined by simple musculature. Age and nutrition were far more indicative of power. We were both apex predators, accustomed to dominating anything we felt like.

My presence was a challenge he couldn't ignore. He would have to deal with me somehow.

"Excuse me, ladies," he said with a dazzling smile that carefully didn't show fangs. He rose from his seat and approached, no doubt conscious of every eye on us. He tucked his hands into his pockets, a sign that the claws hadn't faded quite yet. Perhaps he was afraid to relax, afraid of what I might do to him.

"Mr. Byron," I greeted, offering him a smile that was probably more amused than he liked, given the way he shifted almost menacingly before catching himself. "I have appreciated your correspondence, but I prefer to handle things more personally. A bit old-fashioned of me, I'm afraid."

"Of course, Ms. Hämarik," he said, holding out a hand. The claws had vanished, a sign he felt more confident. "I take it you or your friend liked the book?"

Dieter was the one holding the novel under one arm, as he pulled a round tin out of his blazer pocket and opened it. The smell of chewing tobacco filled the air, at least as far as our delicate senses were concerned. "Sure. It'd start a fire."

Byron frowned, nostrils flaring in irritation. I knew he probably wasn't used to humans mouthing off to him, at least not since Olivia's departure. "Truly a literature buff."

"Actually, yeah. Love a good book. That's my problem with it," Dieter said in a low voice, before tucking a wad of chewing tobacco between his cheek and gum. "Flat characters, contrived plot, stilted prose...all the bewitching literary charm of an internet personals ad written by a horny teen boy."

I almost burst out laughing, but managed to catch myself before it showed on my face. I gave Dieter's bicep a squeeze as Byron's jaw worked furiously. He was no doubt struggling with his own Hunger. I could appreciate why Dieter liked needling him, but that wasn't what this was about.

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While Byron glared and Dieter chewed away completely untroubled by the attention, I took the book and smoothed my hands over its covers. I could feel Sirje's symbol as a raised impression from the surface beneath my fingers. "You have an audience, Mr. Byron," I reminded the young vampire mildly. "Now, I am here because I find it rather tedious to pluck the thorns you have been throwing into my path. Whatever it is you think you want from me, or do not want from me, I would strongly recommend you set it aside and we can all part without another drop of blood."

His fury turned to smugness at that. "Afraid, are we?" he asked in a low voice.

I smiled. It was the Hämarik smile, or that was what Dieter and Charlie called it. Something polite, yet cold and vicious as a winter storm on the North Sea. My eyes dilated to the point where they seemed to lose all color except black. "Polite, actually. You will only ever get this out once, Mr. Byron. If you refuse it, I will burn everything you are to the ground."

He looked like he was about to laugh, but something about my gaze seemed to rob him of his humor. "I'm not afraid of you. Out with the old, in with the new."

"Sirje will be so very disappointed to hear that," I said mildly. "Do give her my love." I tapped my lips thoughtfully with a finger. "Unless, of course, you don't have her."

That seemed to reach him where even Dieter's slight hadn't. He lunged for me, a snarl for information about to pass his lips.

Dieter slugged him in the stomach hard enough to drop him to his knees even with vampiric toughness. It seemed Byron wasn't much of a fighter himself, at least not anywhere near as trained as I'd made certain Dieter was, for occasions just like this one. "Hitting women? Not exactly a gentleman's move." My friend's voice carried perfectly through the bookstore. "Respect, jackass, learn it."

I heard Byron's guards moving up behind us, ready to seize Dieter and myself to toss us out. I turned to face them. "That won't be necessary," I said, stalling their movement simply by raising my hand. "We can see ourselves out."

"I should have them kill you," Byron hissed as he got up, clutching his stomach.

Dieter grinned around the wad of chew in his mouth. "I think I'd like to see them try. How many chapters of paper do you figure I could shove down their throats before your prose makes 'em sick? From what I can tell, you putting your hands on some kids doesn't seem to bother them, so I think I might make it the whole book."

The bigger guard lumbered towards Dieter, so I popped him in the floating rib with the edge of the book. It hit hard enough to drop him. The other one sized me up and then backed the hell off.

Byron swung again, this time for Dieter, but he'd been off balance mentally enough to telegraph his punch. The blow met only air as my friend stepped back with the ease of an expert dancer. Had it connected, it probably would have shattered Dieter's jaw, but I'd taught him well. If your opponent was stronger and faster than you, situational awareness was everything.

Normally, Dieter stuck to body blows when he didn't have gloves or knuckles on. This time, he hit Byron with a nasty uppercut that sent him staggering. Before he could recover, Dieter had slipped his arm through mine. We stepped out the door while the bodyguard still on his feet went to check on Byron.

Dieter was dripping blood from his swelling knuckles, but grinning like a madman. "I haven't enjoyed punching someone so much in a long time, Malle," he confided. "Though it will take me a lot of handwashing to feel clean again."

I squeezed his bicep fondly. "My hero."

Once we were about a block away and around a corner, we picked up our pace into a jog, though it meant Dieter had to spit his tobacco into a garbage can. The car was still where we'd left it, undamaged. Dieter opened my door for me before going around and sitting in the driver's seat. "I think one of my knuckles is cracked," he admitted as he started the car.

"Catharsis has its price."

"Yeah, well, I figured it would be my only shot at it. He's going to be ready for me to throw hands next time."

I shook my head. "Next time, it will not be you." I pulled in a deep breath, letting my own irritation recede like the tide. "Clearly, parting amicably is out of the question. We will have to take this fight to him properly, as quickly as possible."

Dieter grinned a little. "Now you're talking my language!"

My lips curved into a smile at his enthusiasm. I knew why it was there: the girls he'd seen. There were certain things that truly bothered him, and some of it was left over from truly unpleasant parts of his past. "Technically, Dieter, your mother tongue is German. Mayhem is an acquired taste."

He laughed. "So back to the rest of the crew?"

"Well, we should stop and get some ice for your hand and return indirectly. This car is nondescript, but if we are being followed, we should lose the tail first." I rubbed my hands together thoughtfully, collecting my thoughts. Byron was a problem I could handle, I had dealt with rival vampires before, though usually those much older and more skillful.

Dealing with Olivia would be more problematic, particularly if we were going to pursue putting a permanent end to Byron.

Dieter's driving was as artful as ever. By the time we made it back to the rental, we'd left any possible following cars in the dust, confused as hell by our route. Dieter had a crushable icepack on his hand, wrapped in my handkerchief. I'd learned to carry an actual cloth one for whenever he hurt himself, as this was not out of the ordinary.

The little condo was quiet as we approached, with shades pulled down to prevent any outlines since the kitchen light was on. I heard laughter coming from the other side of the door.

"...beat you at your own game!" Olivia crowed.

"Yeah, no way you haven't played spades before." When our steps up the porch creaked, I heard Charlie get up to check the door, using a side window to look.

Dieter waved his bloody hand at him, releasing it momentarily from the ice pack.

The door opened almost immediately. "What the hell happened to you, Dieter?" Charles frowned with worry.

"You should see the other guy," Dieter said proudly. "Beautiful jaw shot, knocked him down. My only regret is that I didn't turn him into a raccoon."

"Some goon?"

"Byron, actually," I said as we stepped in.

Olivia stared at Dieter. "You punched Luke? Are you crazy?"

Dieter shook his head. "Crazy about him getting what he deserves. If he's going to prey on teen girls, he's going to have to learn to eat through a straw."

The jazz singer shook her head slightly, clearly in awe. "You're something else, Dieter."

"Please, compared to Malle, I'm a featherweight with brittle bone disease." He bumped my shoulder with his own. "This gorgeous specimen right here is a terminator and a half."

Charles chuckled. "I can't tell if you're trying to flirt with her or sell her on UFC."

"Neither, my man. Also, can I get something for my hand?"

Sometimes it was better to just ignore Dieter's antics and focus on helping him. "I will fetch the medkit."

Olivia followed me down the little hall into the bedroom where Dieter had slept. The better medkit was in his belongings, for obvious reasons. "What's the story with you two?" she asked curiously.

"That is Dieter's to tell, not mine." I located the medkit rapidly and brought the whole thing into the living room rather than fishing through it for a bottle of painkillers. It was all over the counter stuff, but he swore by the gel capsule ibuprofen anyway, when taken in a proper dose. I set everything down on the table next to the playing cards. "Spades?"

"Yeah. Turns out Olivia here is a regular old shark at it," Charles said, watching as I opened antiseptic wipes and approached Dieter's hand.

It was much easier than taking care of his wounds in his youth. He still fidgeted a little, but only with the hand I wasn't working on. I had it bandaged with expert care in just a minute or two. I looked it over briefly, checking for anything out of place. "If you really think you cracked something, keep icing it."

"Will do," Dieter said with a lazy offhand salute.

Charles chuckled before adding, "And until it heals, no punching anything with that hand."

"Gotcha, old man. Kickboxing it is."

I shook my head almost despairingly. Dieter was in rare form, probably in the best mood he'd been in since we finished the last job. I suspected he was rather fond of the fact that Byron was probably livid after being struck by a human without being able to land a blow himself.

It was a rather satisfying thought.