"Another fine Indian summer evening," he said. "Could I help you folks with something?" "The lady would like to try some of your chocolates," Andreas said. "Of course. Which ones are you interested in, my dear?" Claire glanced up and met the kindly gaze of the shopkeeper. "May I try the little chocolate square?" He nodded and reached into the case to retrieve one for her. "An excellent choice. It's our signature piece." Claire took a small bite and savored the sweet-tart taste of dark, high-percentage cocoa. It melted like butter on her tongue. "Oh, my God," she murmured around the bliss exploding in her mouth. "It's wonderful." The shopkeeper smiled at her, his eyes seeming to linger on her face for a long moment before he glanced to Andreas. "For you, sir?" "No, thank you. But please give her whatever she likes." The man chuckled.

"A wise philosophy." Claire pointed to the puffy chocolate painted with dark red stripes. "What's this one?" "Dark chocolate with raspberry puree. Would you like one?" There was that studying glance again. And as Claire looked at him now, she felt the tiniest flicker of recognition. "I'm sorry," he said, frowning. "Have we met?" "No, I don't think so." He chuckled, scratching his grizzled chin. "You just look like someone I knew a long time ago. The spitting image, in fact." "Is that right?" Claire asked, her attention drifting down to the brass-plated name tag that bore the store's logo and the shopkeeper's name: Robert Vincent. "I don't believe I know you." "It's the darnedest thing. You look exactly like a classmate of mine from high school. Does the name Claire Samuels mean anything to you?" Beside her now, Andreas had gone stock still and deadly silent. Claire blinked, startled to hear her maiden name come out of the man's mouth. Of course she could have been classmates with him. She'd left the States to study abroad when she was twenty. If not for Wilhelm Roth's blood and the unusual chemical makeup of her own body, she would show similar outward signs of middle age. Instead, she looked essentially the same as she had thirty years ago. "M-my mother," she stammered. "You must be thinking of my mother." "Ah!" His smile went even wider now. "Your mother, of course. Good Lord, you could be her twin." Claire smiled.

"I hear that from time to time." "We should be on our way," Andreas interjected, a dark tone in his voice. "How is your mother?" the shopkeeper asked. "Good," Claire replied. "She's been living overseas for many years." "I used to have such a thing for her back in school. She was the prettiest girl in our class--one of the kindest, too. And brother, did she know how to play the piano. That's where I first met her, you see.

I was the conductor's assistant in our high school symphony." "Buddy Vincent," Claire blurted, remembering the endearing but awkward boy as she stared into the time-worn face of an aging, mortal man. "She's mentioned me to you, then?" He beamed. Andreas cleared his throat impatiently, but Claire ignored it. "You were always very sweet," she told Buddy, recalling how he'd often tried to make her feel welcome and special at a time when being different wasn't always the easiest thing. "It meant a lot to her that you were her friend." "Well," he said, his thin chest puffing out a bit now. He walked over to pick up one of the small gift boxes and began filling it with several pieces of the two chocolates that had caught Claire's eye. "It was never a chore being nice to a beautiful young lady. When you speak to her next, please tell your mother I send my best." "I will," Claire said. He came back and handed her the filled box. "Enjoy these, with my compliments." "Are you sure?" "We'll pay for them," Andreas said at the same time. "How much are they?" Buddy only shook his head. "I wouldn't dream of taking your money. Please. They're a gift." Claire reached out and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Thank you, Buddy. It was a pleasure seeing you."

"You take care now. You and your beautiful mother both." Claire said a polite good-bye to her former classmate, and Andreas ushered her outside in an oddly brooding silence. More than that, he seemed downright irritated about something. "Are you...jealous?" He snorted. "Please." "You are!" Claire threw her head back and laughed. "Oh, I don't believe this. You walk through a crowd and every head turns, female and male alike. I happen to catch the eye of a harmless old man--" "No man is harmless, Claire." "Buddy Vincent is easily fifty years old and as sweet as a kitten," she pointed out, still smiling and thoroughly amused. "He's still male," Andreas all but growled. "And he is still watching us." "Yeah?" Claire grabbed the front of his shirt to get his attention. "Then why don't you stop looking at him and kiss me instead." With a dark gaze that promised more than kisses, Andreas did exactly what she asked.

Chapter Seventeen

Kade caught the scent of freshly spilled human blood only a couple hours into the night's patrol. "Down that alley" he said to Brock and Chase, who both nodded their agreement in silence. The three warriors headed off together, stealthy, weapons drawn and ready to fire, as they started down the lightless stretch of asphalt that separated two old brick buildings in the seedier part of town. The narrow strip of pavement was foul with the stench of human waste and rotting garbage. But none of that could disguise the coppery tang that emanated from the other side of a dilapidated Dumpster. Kade reached the dead human first. It was a young female this time, savaged just as brutally as the male he and Brock had found last night. Unfortunately for her, the vampire who'd butchered her throat had also had a taste for something else. Her short skirt was shredded down the front and gory with blood. Her bright pink painted fingernails were broken, her knees scraped, as if she had tried unsuccessfully to get away from her killer. "Jesus," Brock muttered under his breath.

"This girl is somebody's daughter. Maybe somebody's sister. What kind of fucking animal would do--" Chase's fist went up in a signal to cut the chatter. He pointed to the rooftops above their heads. Someone was up there. The crunch of a footstep traveled down to the alley on the quiet of the clear autumn night. Was it Hunter? This new corpse sure seemed to fit his apparent pastime. "I'm going up," Chase mouthed. "Not without backup," Kade replied, but the ex-agent was already in motion. He holstered his weapon and leapt up onto the Dumpster in silence before jumping from there to grab the bottom of a black fire escape on the building. With hardly a sound, he scaled the rickety iron steps, then vaulted up and onto the roof. Gunfire erupted the instant Chase disappeared from view. "Ah, shit," Brock hissed. "That crazy motherfucker. You take the stairwell inside; I'm going up the escape after him." They took off via separate routes to the roof, both of them arriving within seconds to find Chase lying in a pool of his own blood, bleeding from a ferocious chest wound. He was badly hit, but breathing. "Son of a bitch," Kade said as he raced to the fallen warrior's side. "Not... him," Chase groaned, grimacing with the effort. "Wasn't Hunter..."

"What do you mean, it's not Hunter?" Kade said. "Then who the hell--" Another hail of incoming rounds ripped through the darkness from a point unseen. Metal pinged. Aged brick shattered. Kade and Brock returned fire, shooting toward the source of the assault but seeing nothing solid to aim for. More bullets flew at them. Brock shouted in sudden pain. "Fuck! I'm hit." "Goddamn it," Kade snarled, glancing over in time to see that the big black warrior had taken a bullet to the upper biceps. It was an impairing wound, but nothing fatal. Chase, on the other hand... shit, the guy was in real bad shape. Fury over his wounded brethren roared through Kade's veins as he squeezed off a hellish volley of rounds. He caught a flash of movement--dark against the darkness--and saw their assailant leap to the rooftop of the adjacent building. "Fucker's on the move. I'm going after him." He left Brock to cover Chase and hauled ass after the huge vampire who was jumping from building to building like a cat. Not being Gen One, as his quarry obviously was, Kade didn't have that kind of speed, but he had determination. He kept up, navigating the assorted clutter of ventilation systems, access doors, loose pipes and tools, and other items that had somehow found their way up to the rooftops above Boston. Just as he was gaining ground on the son of a bitch, he got a glimpse of more trouble heading his way. On a distant rooftop, another Gen One dressed in black emerged. This one had an automatic weapon, too.

If both of the vampires came after him with guns blazing, he was more than screwed. But the second Gen One didn't open fire on him. He opened fire on Kade's fleeing quarry. There was an awful racket as both guns lit up the night. Kade stood on the nearest rooftop and watched in amazement as the fight across the way turned from firearms to hand to hand. The struggle was savage. Bones were cracked, flesh was torn, and sounds that were nothing close to human split the air as the battle intensified. Kade held his own weapon aimed and prepared to open fire, but amid the scuffle he couldn't be sure which of the vampires to take out. Finally one gained control over the other. He slammed his opponent's head down into the concrete of the roof, then grabbed what looked to be a length of pipe and raised it high over his head. The Gen One who held it let out a furious roar, then brought the pipe crashing down like hell's own hammer. A sharp, metallic clank sounded in the instant before a blinding flash of pure white light shot out against the darkness. Kade hit the deck. Instinct took him down on his belly and kept him there until the piercing ray went out a moment later.

When it was dark again, he sat up on his haunches. On the other rooftop, the victorious Gen One was also starting to get up. Despite most of his muscles and nearly all of his good sense telling him to keep his ass planted, Kade grabbed his weapon and leapt across the distance to confront him. He cautiously approached, finger poised to load the bastard with a lot of lead. As he moved closer, he got a look at the dead Gen One. His head was separated from his body, burns still sizzling in a perfect circle around his neck and those familiar dermaglyphs Kade had spotted on the vampire he'd run into last night. On the ground next to the smoking corpse lay a black, dented collar rigged with some kind of electronic device. A small LED was blinking red, then faded out. Kade peered down at the face of the dead vampire and cursed under his breath. Chase was right. It wasn't Hunter. It looked close enough to be blood related--brothers, even--but it wasn't the Gen One assassin who'd come on board with the Order a few weeks ago. No, Hunter stood and walked up beside Kade now. He cast a dispassionate eye on the grisly death he'd just dealt to someone obviously very close to him genetically. He moved forward, then bent to retrieve the strange collar from its nest of gore.

"The last time I saw Dragos, he said there were others like me," Hunter said flatly. "I've been tracking this one in the city for the past three nights. He is not alone. And more will be coming. Soon." Kade raked a hand over his scalp. "Well, aren't you just a lovely ray of sunshine." Hunter pivoted his head and stared at him without replying. "Come on," Kade said. "Let's go take care of the others and report back to the compound."

He didn't want their evening together to end. The stroll around Newport had been pleasant enough, if only for watching the way Claire lit up as she showed him all the places she recalled as a young woman, the places that still seemed to matter to her. This was her home, not Germany. She belonged here, with the salty breezes and the crisp New England autumn flushing her cheeks a deep, ruddy red. Reichen couldn't see her returning to Germany. He didn't know what was to transpire in the coming days or weeks, however long it took him to find Wilhelm Roth and remove him from existence. He didn't even know if he himself would be alive once all of the smoke cleared. But he knew this: The time he had with Claire, right now, this unlikely--and far too brief--reunion they were experiencing would prove to be the most precious hours of his life.

In truth, if he did not survive his confrontation with Roth, his death would be worth it, just to have known Claire again like this and to have the certainty that Roth could never do anything to harm her. "It's really too bad you can't share any of this chocolate with me," she said, biting into a piece as she sailed past him into the house. Closing the door behind them, he flicked on the lights for her and watched the fluid sway of her hips in the form-hugging black skirt. That view had been tempting him most of the night. "You sure I can't convince you to try even just a little taste?" He closed the space between them in about the time it took for her to blink. He kissed her, sweeping his tongue past her soft lips and into the delectable warmth of her mouth. The chocolate was bittersweet on her tongue, but nowhere near as tempting as the feel of her in his arms. "Delicious," he murmured against her mouth. "I think I might just have to eat you." She laughed and gave him a teasing push, but her eyes were bright with interest as she looked up at him.

"Let's go take a short walk along the shore." He shook his head. "I have a better idea." "Oh, yeah, I'll just bet you do." He smiled, gave her flushed cheek a gentle stroke. "Will you do something for me instead?" At her quizzical look, he took her hand and walked her over to the grand piano that was shrouded with a drape of fabric. "Play for me, Claire." "Oh, I don't know..." she hedged, frowning as he removed the large square of cloth and unveiled the gleaming black Steinway. "It's been so long since I've played anything. I'm sure I'll be terrible. Besides, it's probably been years since this piano has been tuned." "Please," he said, refusing to be deterred. They would be leaving Newport in a matter of a couple of hours--as soon as he broke the news to her and called the Order to send a car--and he didn't know if this might be one of their last times together. Selfish or not, he wanted to wring out every last moment of this special night together. "Play whatever you wish. I'm not interested in perfection. I just want to hear your music again. For me." "For you," she replied, giving him a slow smile as she pulled out the little bench and sat down. "All right, but don't blame me when your ears start to bleed." He chuckled.