“I am Enrique Fernandez del Solar.”
“And how do you know my name, Mr. del Solar?”
“I know a great many things, some of which you will learn over time.”
Vincent jumped to his feet, abruptly aware that he could do so. He didn’t simply feel better, he was completely healed. How long had he been out? He rubbed a hand over his chest, shoving aside the bloody remains of his shirt, and found nothing but the shiny, pale skin of a fading scar. It was as if he’d been shot months ago, rather than . . . He abruptly recalled getting shot, the piercing pain when the bullet hit his chest. Hell, he should be dead, not wondering how he’d healed so quickly. He shouldn’t have healed at all!
Fear seized him, not for himself, but for John. He searched the campsite, staring into the darkness beyond the fire, discovering that he was able to see far more than he should have.
“Where’s my brother?” he demanded. “What have you done to us?”
“Ah. As to what I’ve done to you, I’ve changed you forever. Made you better.”
Vincent spun around and strode across the campsite to face down Enrique. “What does that mean?” he growled.
“I’ve made you Vampire,” Enrique said, seeming unperturbed by Vincent’s threatening demeanor, even though Vincent was both taller and more muscular than he was.
“Vampire?” Vincent scoffed. “Are you mad? Vampires only exist in stories made up to scare misbehaving children.”
Enrique smiled placidly. “We’re quite real, boy. And you’re one of us now.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“No? Try this.”
Without warning, Enrique slashed out with a knife, faster than Vincent could follow, faster than he would have thought possible, slicing deeply into Vincent’s bicep through his shirtsleeve. It bled instantly and profusely, soaking through the torn fabric, but then it simply . . . stopped. Muscle and skin were shifting beneath his disbelieving eyes, knitting themselves together with a searing heat that was not altogether unpleasant. He ripped the shreds of cloth away and rubbed a hand over the nearly-healed wound. It was sore, but no more than that.
Vincent swallowed hard, his heart pounding as he raised his eyes to stare at Enrique . . . at the vampire. Just thinking such a word made him feel foolish, but it also frightened him like nothing ever had before. He’d been made into a monster, an unnatural creature who killed other humans and drank their blood to survive.
“Oh, don’t be foolish,” Enrique chided him, as if reading his thoughts. “You don’t need to kill the humans you feed from. In fact, I will teach you the ways to make it quite pleasurable. For both of you.”
“Both of us? You mean my brother? Where is he?”
“Ah. I’m afraid . . . the transference is a taxing thing. Very hard on a body. And your brother was grievously wounded.”
“Where is he?” Vincent asked again as a sick knowledge rolled through his gut.
“He didn’t make it, Vincent. I’m sorry. He’s dead.”
Vincent didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. He spun away and walked into the darkness beyond the campfire. He needed to be alone with his grief, and his guilt. His brother was dead and it was his fault. He’d been the one who insisted they join the cattle drive. John hadn’t wanted to go, but he hadn’t want Vincent to go alone. And now he was dead. He’d never go back and become an animal doctor for their father. And their mother . . . ¡Dios mio! Their mother! How could he tell his mother that her youngest son was dead? She would die of grief. And she would never forgive him.
He groaned out loud, his legs giving way beneath him as he collapsed on the cold desert ground. Tears spilled in a flood down his cheeks and he buried his face in his arms. Better to die than to face his parents with this terrible loss, with his failure. The grief built up in him until he thought it would tear open his chest, until the pressure was so great that he threw his head back and howled.
“I am sorry, Vincent,” Enrique said from behind him.
Vincent leapt to his feet, spinning to face the stranger, the man who claimed not to be a man at all. “Let me die,” he demanded. “I want to die with my brother.”
The man gave him a pitying look. “Don’t be foolish, boy. You’re grieving now, but you’ll soon see this for the gift it is.”
“I didn’t ask for your gift,” he hissed back at him.
“It was the only way to save your life.”
“You should have let me die with my brother.”
Enrique tsked impatiently. “Enough of this foolishness. You’ll thank me someday, but for now, you must simply survive. And that means finding a place to rest before daylight. Come.”
“Where’s my brother’s body? I want to bury him.”