The alley smells like piss and old rain. I'm pressed against brick that's cold enough to bite through my shirt. Karl's got one hand flat on the wall beside my head, the other holding my wrist so tight I can feel my pulse pushing back.
"Stay still," he says.
I'm trying. My whole body's shaking anyway.
Footsteps at the mouth of the alley. Two sets. Heavy boots on wet pavement. Karl shifts closer and I stop breathing because his face is right there, close enough that I can see the red still webbed through the whites of his eyes.
"They're tracking the mark," he says. Voice low, barely a whisper. "It's fresh. Bleeds scent for the first seventy-two hours."
"You didn't mention that."
"Didn't think we'd run into hunters this fast."
The footsteps stop. Someone says something I can't make out. Karl's jaw tightens.
"How many?" I ask.
"Two. Maybe three if one's hanging back."
"What do they want?"
"You. Me. Depends who sent them."
He pulls back just enough to look at my shoulder. The mark's glowing through my shirt, faint but visible, like someone shoved a nightlight under my skin. He swears under his breath.
"That's not going to stop," I say.
"No."
"So what do we do?"
He doesn't answer right away. His hand's still on my wrist. I can feel the cold coming off him, the same unnatural chill I felt in the stockroom when he bit me. It's not like ice. It's deeper. Like standing too close to a freezer that's been open too long.
"There's a way to hide it," he says finally. "Temporarily."
"How?"
He lets go of my wrist and pulls his jacket open. "Skin contact. My blood signature covers yours. Makes the mark harder to track."
I stare at him. "You want me to what?"
"Press the mark against me. Chest or neck. Somewhere the scent transfer works."
"Are you serious?"
"You want them to find you?"
I don't. I really don't. But the idea of pressing myself against a guy who bit me six hours ago and still has my blood on his teeth makes my stomach flip.
"This isn't trust," he adds. "It's logistics."
"Great. That makes it so much better."
The footsteps start again. Closer now. Karl's eyes flick toward the alley entrance and something in his expression shifts. Less annoyed. More focused.
"Now," he says.
I don't think. I just move. Step in close, pull my collar down, press my shoulder against his chest. His hand comes up and holds me there, fingers spread across my back. The mark flares hot for a second, then goes quiet. The glow fades.
His heartbeat's slow. Slower than mine. I can feel it through his shirt.
"Don't move," he says.
I wasn't planning on it.
The hunters walk past the alley. I can see their shadows stretch across the wet pavement, long and distorted under the streetlight. One of them says something about the perimeter. The other laughs. It's not a friendly sound.
Karl's hand tightens on my back. Just a little. Just enough that I know he's listening hard.
They keep walking.
I wait until I can't hear the boots anymore. Then I wait another ten seconds. Then I pull back.
Karl lets me go.
"That'll hold for maybe twenty minutes," he says. "Less if they double back with a blood hound."
"A what?"
"Vampire who sold out to the hunters. They've got better noses than humans. A lot better."
I rub my shoulder. The mark's still there, still warm under my fingers, but it's not glowing anymore. "So what's the plan?"
"Get off the street. Find somewhere with enough human scent to muddy the trail."
"Like where?"
"Bar. Subway. Anywhere crowded."
I think about the convenience store. About Marcus and his stupid envelope full of cash. About the way he looked at me when he said *bait*.
"Marcus knew," I say. "He knew they'd come for me."
"Yeah."
"He set me up."
"Probably."
I want to punch something. I settle for kicking the wall. It hurts more than I thought it would.
"Why?" I ask. "Why would he do that?"
Karl shrugs. "Money. Orders. Maybe both. Hunters aren't a hive mind. Different factions want different things."
"What do they want with me?"
"You're marked. That makes you evidence. Or leverage. Depends who's asking."
"And you?"
He looks at me. Doesn't blink. "They want me dead. Or back in a cage. Same thing, really."
I remember the flash I saw when he fed—chains, dark water, the sound of something metal scraping stone. I don't know what that place was, but I know I don't want him going back there.
Which is stupid. I barely know this guy. He bit me. Marked me. Dragged me into a war I didn't ask for.
But I also remember the way he looked when he said *they can smell you*. Like he was scared. Not for himself. For me.
"Okay," I say. "Subway. Let's go."
We cut through two more alleys and come out on a side street I don't recognize. Everything looks the same at night—wet pavement, busted signs, the occasional car rolling past with its headlights too bright. Karl walks fast. I have to jog to keep up.
"Slow down," I say.
"Can't."
"Why not?"
"Because they're not the only ones looking."
That stops me. "What do you mean?"
He glances back. "The people I ran from. The ones who owned the pit. They've got hunters too. Private contracts. Better pay, worse methods."
"How many people are after you?"
"Enough."
Great. That's just great.
We make it another two blocks before I hear the sirens.
Karl stops. His head tilts, listening. Then he swears and grabs my arm.
"Run."
"What?"
"Run. Now."
I run.
We hit the subway entrance doing maybe fifteen miles an hour. I nearly eat it on the stairs but Karl catches me by the elbow and hauls me upright. Down into the tunnel, through the turnstile—he vaults it, I swipe my card, doesn't matter, we're both moving. The platform's half full. Late shift workers, kids coming back from somewhere loud, a guy asleep on a bench with a newspaper over his face.
Karl pulls me into the crowd. Puts his back to the tunnel wall, keeps his eyes on the stairs.
"Stay close," he says.
I'm about to ask why when I see them.
Two guys in dark coats. Not the same ones from the alley. These ones are bigger. One of them's got a scar running from his temple to his jaw. The other's wearing sunglasses even though it's night and we're underground.
They stop at the top of the stairs. Scan the platform.
Karl's hand finds mine. Squeezes once. I don't know if it's a warning or a comfort. Maybe both.
The train pulls in. Doors open. People push forward. Karl pulls me with them, into the car, into the press of bodies and noise and someone's perfume that smells like fake flowers. The doors close.
I look back through the window.
The two guys are still on the platform. The one with the scar is on his phone. The other one's staring right at me.
The train moves.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
Karl's still holding my hand. He lets go when he sees me looking.
"That was close," I say.
"Yeah."
"Are they going to follow?"
"Probably."
I lean back against the pole. My legs feel like jelly. My shoulder's throbbing again, the mark pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
"This is my life now," I say. "Just running."
"For thirty days," Karl says. "Then the bond sets and you won't care anymore."
I look at him. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"No."
At least he's honest.
The train rattles through the tunnel. I watch the lights flicker past, bright and then dark and then bright again. My reflection in the window looks pale. Tired. Scared.
Karl's watching me. I can see him in the glass.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing."
"You're staring."
"I'm thinking."
"About what?"
"How you're still standing."
I don't know what to say to that.
The train slows. Next stop. Karl shifts toward the door.
"We're getting off," he says.
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere they won't expect."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I've got."
The doors open. We step out onto another platform, this one almost empty. Just a janitor mopping near the far end and a woman in scrubs scrolling through her phone.
Karl heads for the exit. I follow.
We're halfway up the stairs when I hear it.
Sirens. Close. Too close.
Karl stops.
I almost run into him.
"What?" I ask.
He's staring at the street above. His jaw's tight again. That look he gets when he's doing math in his head and doesn't like the answer.
"They boxed us in," he says.
"How?"
"Doesn't matter. We need another way out."
He turns back toward the platform but the janitor's not a janitor anymore. He's standing at the bottom of the stairs, mop abandoned, and he's looking right at us.
No. Not at us.
At me.
Karl steps in front of me.
"Back up," he says. Quiet. Calm. The kind of calm that means things are about to get very loud.
The janitor smiles. His teeth are too white. Too sharp.
"She smells sweet," he says. "Fresh mark. What'd you pay for her, Caleb?"
I freeze.
Caleb.
Karl doesn't move.
"Wrong guy," he says.
The janitor laughs. "Sure you are."
The sirens get louder.
Karl looks at me. Just for a second. And in that second I see something I haven't seen before.
Fear.
Not for himself.
For me.
"Amy," he says.
I nod.
"Amy Jiaying Chen."
My middle name.
The one I never told him.
The one that's only on my birth certificate and my student loan papers and nowhere else.
"How do you know that?" I ask.
He doesn't answer.
The janitor steps closer.
The sirens hit the street above.
And Karl says, "Run."