“How do you have this?” she mumbled.
Pulling his hand from her grip, he raised it to examine the ring. “As I’ve already said, I can’t remember.”
The ring had to have some larger significance.
“I had this ring years ago, and it went missing.”
He tipped his head up as though he’d consult the sky on the matter, but instead of arguing or explaining, he cocked his head like an animal listening for predators—or prey.
“Journalist,” he said, grabbing her arms and turning her toward the trail. “Hurry home.”
“What? What’s going on?” she asked, giving him points for not calling her girl.
“Go,” he yelled.
Then she saw a trio of figures threading their way through the trees. They were dressed in black and carried sickle-shaped blades like modern-day grim reapers. They moved fast, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to get past them quickly enough. Her heart pounded when she saw their faces, which were pulled into rictus smiles, exposing fangs. They were definitely ventala.
She pumped her legs back and forth, skiing as fast as she could. Would she reach her house before the ventala caught them? It didn’t seem likely, but she had to try, and if she could just get out of the woods, the ventala would be disadvantaged by the morning light.
A shout of pain made her slow and look back. Bronze had not fled with her. From where he stood now, he must have rushed into the trees to face them.
One of the ventala was down. She was relieved to see that Bronze looked unhurt—so far. They swung their blades, and all of them moved in a blur of speed. He knocked another down and grabbed his dagger. Slicing in stunning arcs, Bronze tested the blade on them with devastating results. Then, with a few swift downward thrusts behind their left collarbones, he killed them one by one.
Bronze lowered himself to a knee, shoved the dagger into the snowy ground, and hung his head, whispering. Perched on her skis, she remained frozen, staring at him while he rose, reclaimed the dagger, and returned to the trail. Blood and melted snow dripped from the dagger tip like a deadly faucet.
“You waited,” he said.
It took her a moment to find her voice. All she managed was, “I did.”
He shook his head, walking briskly. “You should not have stopped when I told you to go on.”
She shrugged. “I’m one of those people who always has to know how things turn out.”
He quirked a brow but didn’t pursue the discussion, which left her feeling vaguely dissatisfied. She wanted him to be interested in her life and her work. In some of the dreams, there’d been a profound connection between them. At the moment, he didn’t even seem attracted to her, which was irritating because the mountain-ridge dream had always been so vivid and . . . satisfying. Her ni**les tingled, and she glanced away to hide her flush.
His current indifference was more like his attitude in the nightmares. She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to focus her concentration away from anything erotic.
“So,” he said, wiping the blade on his pant leg. “I don’t know who I am, but I think I know what I am. I must be a soldier.”
“I think you’re more than a soldier. Pull your lips back. Show me your teeth.”
“Why?”
“I want to see if you’re a ventala.”
“Ventala,” he said. “What’s that?”
She blinked. “Ventala. Part human. Part vampire.” When he didn’t respond, she added, “You know, vampires bred with humans to try to save themselves from extermination.”
He stared at her blankly.
“After the mutation. The bat plague? The Vampire Rising?”
“Before my time, I suppose,” he said.
“It’s before a lot of people’s times. It happened in the 1950s. But everyone knows about it. Everyone. All over the world. Surely, you must remember something! Even people with amnesia know some basic things about the planet.”
He shrugged. “Apparently, not always.”