Saxson Olaru had traveled about ten and a half blocks from the lower-downtown bar when he felt a sudden surge of electricity course through his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled; his skin began to tingle; and his field of vision narrowed, which only meant one thing—his pupils had just constricted.

Being over seven hundred years old, he recognized the physiological changes for what they were: manifestations of a primal instinct, his feral nature rising, something happening to his body on a purely primordial level.

Something ancient.

Something primitive.

Something that called to his inner nocturnal beast.

He slowed his pace, tilted his head to the side, and tuned in acutely with all five senses: He could hear songs streaming through various headsets; music playing on apartment stereos; lovers in their lofts, whispering sweet nothings, enticing one another to bed. He could smell perfume and cologne, shampoo and body wash, all intertwined with the stench of carbon being emitted from various tailpipes. There was a hot-dog stand ten blocks away, and a small coffee spill on the corner. Someone was firing calzones in an old-fashioned brick oven, and someone…needed stronger deodorant.

He could sense moisture in the upper atmosphere, a bitter cold-front developing rapidly, but it was moving quickly east—it would likely arrive as a winter storm in Kansas no later than Tuesday morning. Yet and still, as he tuned in to all the various stimuli, there was nothing he heard, smelled, or felt that explained his rising tension, the feral heat igniting his blood.

And then he glanced at the sky.

Great celestial gods of his ancestors, the moon was shining crimson: cerise, saturated, and luminous. Like the lens of a camera slowly zooming out to capture a much wider picture, he broadened his focus to the sky as a whole and gawked at the brilliant black canvas: The celestial constellation Cetus the sea monster was illuminated above him, blazing like a heavenly bonfire.

Saxson Olaru was staring at his own Blood Moon.

His fangs began to throb in his gums; his naturally manicured nails lengthened; and his vampiric nature took over. A low, feral growl rose in his throat as he spun around lithely and stalked back in the direction he’d come from.

* * *

Kiera Sparrow screamed as the back door to the restroom flew open, and two terrifying men rushed in from the dark, narrow alley: The first of the two was tall, dark, and masked; the second was short, stocky, and covered in tattoos. She dropped her purse, reached instinctively for her sister, and drew back in sudden alarm—Kyla shook loose from Kiera’s grasp, shoved her toward the men, and shuffled out of the way…with indifference.

“Kyla!” Kiera gasped, trying frantically to read the situation. “What the hell is—”

“Shut up!” the tall, masked stranger barked, placing his palm over her mouth from behind.

“I’ll get her arms!” the second man shouted, swiveling around to face her.

“Hurry,” Kyla chimed in. “Do you know how fast a vampire can travel?”

Kiera froze for the breadth of two heartbeats, totally stunned by the sudden invasion, as well as her sister’s odd statement.

Do you know how fast a vampire can travel?

What the hell was happening?

And then her survival instincts kicked in, and she began to twist wildly, trying to break free from the masked man behind her, even as the tattooed intruder restrained her by both biceps.

Everything happened so fast.

Kyla reopened the door, the one that led to the alley, and the man behind Kiera, his hand still over her mouth, began to drag her backward, into the cool night air. The temperature was frigid. The alley was putrid. And the dark, haunting sky loomed like a red-mooned nightmare above them as the masked stranger hauled Kiera, kicking and grunting, into a nearby van.

She tried desperately to scream.

She tried to bite his hand.

But his grip was too hard, too firm—too unyielding—and his buddy was helping him out.

And Kyla—where the devil was Kyla!—why wasn’t she helping Kiera escape?

Kiera’s gaze shot wildly around the vehicle as she tried to locate her sister.

Kyla was perched on her knees in the back of the van, leaning over a box full of tools. She was rolling up her sleeve and exposing her wrist…cleansing it with some sort of antiseptic.

To hell with this shit!

Were they about to shoot drugs?

Kiera didn’t care to find out.

She summoned her courage, gave full vent to her rage, and began to struggle in earnest.

She would fight to the death if she had to!

And that’s when the van started to sway. Kiera was assaulted by nausea, and a wave of dizziness engulfed her.

A terrible realization set in…

The guy behind her, the one in the mask, had something soft—and wet—in his hand.

Why hadn’t she noticed this before?

As the chloroform kicked in, he tightened the seal over Kiera’s mouth, and she fixed her panicked gaze on Kyla. “Why?” She tried to groan the words, but they came out muffled and ragged in the masked man’s hand. “Kyla…sister…why?”