her, but as she scrolled through the rest of the cave photographs on her computer, she was only half-listening at best. In her frantic pan of the place, she'd gotten one decent shot of the stone crypt and a couple of the elaborate wall art. The designs were even more impressive now that she had a chance to really study them.
Interlocking arcs and graceful, swirling lines ran the entire length of the cavern wall, rendered in a dark russet-brown ink. It looked semi-tribal yet oddly futuristic - unlike anything she'd ever seen before. Still more symbols and intertwining lines decorated the side of the crypt...one in particular that made the fine hairs at the back of Dylan's neck tingle.
She zoomed in on the strange design.
What the hell?
The teardrop-and-crescent-moon symbol was unmistakable, nestled within a series of curving lines and geometric patterns. Dylan stared at it in astonishment, and not a little confusion. This one mark was not unfamiliar to her at all. She'd seen it before, countless times. Not in a photograph, but on her own body.
How on earth could that be?
Dylan brought her hand up to the nape of her neck, bewildered by what she was seeing. Her fingers ran over the smooth skin at the top of her spine, where she knew she bore a tiny crimson birthmark...exactly like the one she was looking at on the screen.
With a steady, cold gaze fixed on the mouth of the cave, Rio jabbed the button on the C-4 detonator. There was a quiet beep as the remote device engaged, barely a half-second pause before the plastic explosives packed into the rock went off. The blast was loud and deep, a tremor that rumbled like thunder in the surrounding night-dark forest. Thick yellow dust and pulverized sandstone shot out of the passageway, tapering off as the walls of the cave's entry closed in, sealing the chamber and its secrets tight within.
Rio watched from the ground below, knowing that he should have been inside - would have been, if not for his own weakness and the intrusion by the female earlier that day.
It had taken a great deal of his strength to climb down from the mountain as dusk fell. Determination had carried him most of the way; self-directed rage had kept him focused and clearheaded as he took up his position below the cave and triggered the detonator.
As the smoke and debris dissipated on the breeze, Rio cocked his head. His acute hearing picked up movement in the woods. Not animal, but human - the brisk, two-legged stride of a hiker straggling alone past dark.
Rio's fangs stretched at the thought of easy prey. His vision sharpened on instinct, his pupils narrowing as he pivoted his head to pan the area.
There - coming down a ridge just south of him. A lean human male with a camper's pack slung onto his back tromped through the thicket, his short blond hair glowing like a beacon against the darkness. Rio watched the hiker casually skid and jog down a leafy incline to the trimmed path below. In another few minutes, he would be walking right past the very spot where Rio stood.
He was too depleted to hunt, but everything Breed in him was on full alert, ready and waiting for the chance to spring.
To feed, as he so desperately needed to do.
The human strode nearer, unaware of the predator watching him from the cover of the trees. He didn't see the strike coming, not until Rio launched himself out of hiding in one great leap. The human screamed then - a sound of sheer terror. He flailed and struggled, all for nothing.
Rio worked quickly, throwing the young man to the ground and pinning him prone under the bulk of his large backpack. He bit down on the bared column of the human's neck, and filled his mouth with the sudden, hot spill of fresh blood. The nourishment was immediate, sending renewed strength into muscle and bone and mind.
Rio drank what he needed from his Host and no more. A sweep of his tongue sealed the wound; a sweep of his hand over the human's sweat-soaked brow erased all memory of the attack.
"Go," he told him.
The man got up, and soon the flaxen head and bulky pack disappeared into the night.
Rio glanced up at the crescent moon overhead, feeling the hard pound of his pulse as his body absorbed the gift of the human's blood.
He needed this strength, because his night's hunting had only just