Heath leaned against the cinder block wall as the cold winter winds whipped by him through the darkness. The human world had turned from a long-lost dream into a nightmare for him. For most of his thirty years, he longed for the outside world, fresh air, warm sun, and human contact. Through the beatings he had sustained at the hands of his Mentor, he would close his eyes and imagine running with some of his human children brethren, laughing, playing, and doing whatever humans did. Sometimes he would purposefully slack in his duties to the Master just to get thrown into a Daycell so he could see the sun. For him, it was not punishment. It was a reward to smell the fresh air and he could see the sun's glimmer through the thin slit in the cell. Those hours spent in the cell were the most peaceful he had experienced while in the Shtriga city of Maramures.

Now, he pushed onward every night, unaware even which direction he went, just knowing he had to run further and faster than his sister and his half-brother, who were sure to be well on the hunt for him. Heath was not yet of the age where Dhampir was trained to blend into the human world, but Karen had lived in the same for extended durations before. She would have surely found the mess he was leaving through his effort for him to survive. That is what it came down to now, his survival. And when she finally caught him, she had the experience, but he had youth and speed. He might yet survive the encounter to run away. He knew he would never win a contest of arms against Karen, but then, all he had to do was be good enough to hurt her to retreat.

By his estimation, he only had a few more hours until morning. Then he could sleep safely without fear of being tracked. She most likely traveled with Joshua because his half-brother's honor demanded it. They would need to stop and rest too, so somewhere in this wretched wreck of a town he had stumbled across had to be an abandoned home he could lay low in. Heath eased through the streets, house to house, looking for anywhere that would afford him some shelter from the elements. He would kill again if necessary. After all, none of these people were worth his life, but any death would leave more questions for the locals to answer. Those questions would lead her to him.

The silent alarm in the backside of his brain went off. Every Dhampir had it. That sense allowed them to know when their Master was in danger. He froze and slowly pivoted his head, letting his keen hearing and dark sight search the surrounding shadows for what had triggered the warning. A boot scraping across a shingle came from above, and reflex kicked in as he dove to the side. Karen's curse followed as he felt his coat pull loose from her grasping hands. Another fast-moving shadow raced at him from the side. It would have been barely able to be perceived to a human, a distortion of the air and nothing more.

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Heath fumbled into his boot, pulling a stake out as he was knocked backward, the weight of Joshua crashing down on top of him. Heath felt the stake hit something solid, and then his half-brother's warm body hit his hand. Joshua went stiff, crying out momentarily, and Karen gasped in horror. Heath did not hesitate. He used all his strength to throw his limp brother at his Mentor and then sped off down the opposite alley. Karen caught Joshua and was calling out Heath's name in anger as her voice receded into the distance.

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Candice's eyes opened slowly, fluttering gently. The fatigue broiled over her insistently, but she fought to the surface and broke free of sleep. Her neck hurt. Her head hurt. In fact, there was not much that did not hurt currently. The light from the windows seemed to cut right through her head. She squinted her eyes against the brightness and her throat; she reached to grasp it. It had never been so dry. She tried to remember what had left her in this wretched state, and it was there but just was not clear. She looked around her office, and everything seemed in place. It would not be the first time that she had fallen asleep in that chair, but she had never woke up feeling like this. Well, it was nothing that a bath, food, and bed would not cure.

She reached into the desk and grabbed her keys and gun. There was a burning sensation in the palm of her hand when she grabbed the keys, and she dropped them with a gasp of surprise. She looked at her palm. There in the middle, burned perfectly, was an outline of the metal name tag that name, a person who was just at the edge of her memory, had gotten her this last Christmas. The cursive was perfect. She stared at it dumbfounded. Why had it burned her? She reached down with just the tip of her finger and gave it a little shove and searing pain jolted through her. She picked up her keys, careful not to touch the name tag.

Keys in hand, she turned to the door. The outreached hand hit the shaft of sunlight, scorching the exposed flesh as though gasoline had just been lit on her outstretched arm. She pulled back her hand and looked at the smoldering appendage in shock, the smoke rolling off the upheld, blackened fingers.