A mere week had passed before I was out on the battlefield again. Despite my initial reservations, I had decided that this was what I wanted. This time I would fight solo. My feud with Paul was not over, and I hadn't spoken to him since the incident, despite his constant phone calls. I stalked through the cemetery again—my father was right about it being a common feeding ground. I found my target leaning against the base of one of the many tall trees. He eyed me hungrily; a devious smirk painted across his pale face. His skin was rugged and dirty, and his build was tall and muscular.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he said casually, flipping a golden coin in his left hand.

I eyed him curiously. “Were you expecting me?”

“Word has been going around that there's a raven among these parts,” he replied smugly. “I just had to come and see what all the fuss was about. I never imagined it would be a little girl.”

Where could he possibly have caught word of that? My eyes didn't leave his. I had anticipated a scene similar to my prior visit to the graveyard, but instead it appeared that I was the victim. I reached for my crossbow, but he was much too quick. The coin flipped one last time, landing with a quiet clink against the top of a nearby gravestone. His cold hands were suddenly wrapped around my wrist, preventing me from grabbing my weapon.

“You will be the first raven I have tasted.” He grinned maliciously, leaning his face toward my throat.

“You won’t be tasting anything tonight I’m afraid,” I replied calmly. With my available arm, I punched him hard in the jaw. He fell back, stunned by my strength, but within seconds his laughter resumed.

“A feisty one, I see,” he remarked. “You are just making this more enjoyable for me. I haven't had a challenge in a long time, and despite what my dear mother always told me–I don’t mind playing with my food.”

“I’m glad you are having so much fun right before you die,” I replied fiercely. He sprung at me, but I rolled out of the way. My head slammed into a rock behind me. I was hardly aware of the damage at first. The man's nostrils flared as the scent of my blood reached his nose, and he licked his pale, thick lips hungrily. My fingers found the spot on the back of my head; I could feel moisture against my fingertips.

The distraction was enough for him to get the opportunity he had anticipated. I staggered to get up, but he lunged toward me with full force. The stone behind me crumbled beneath our combined weight. I could feel the rough rock stabbing into my back as I laid there helpless for a moment. His mouth opened wide, revealing his stained yellow fangs. I shuddered and tried to block out the memory of Salem, but it was impossible.

“You are truly making this too easy for me, raven! And here I thought I had a real fight on my hands for once,” he snarled, his lips nearing my throat once more.

“You got lucky.” I kneed him as hard as I could between the legs, sending him hurtling over my head and behind me. Grabbing my crossbow, I turned and pointed it toward his chest.

“Considering the rumors I have heard of your family's shooting skill, that’s not going to do you much good,” he barked with laughter.

“Unfortunately for you, I have better aim.” I pulled the trigger. The arrow whistled through the air, and the vampire, caught up in his own banter, was too slow to realize what was happening. I grimaced as he fell to the ground, a bloodcurdling scream emitting from his gaping mouth. My eyes were wide with horror as I watched the vampire's body contort in misery. Despite what he was, I couldn't control the pain I felt at watching him die.

Salem appeared at my side from some place unseen. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me away from the horrific scene. “I was afraid for a moment,” he whispered. “I almost intervened.”

“How does it not affect you like it does the rest of them?” I asked, “The blood; I mean.”

“There is a difference between human and animal blood,” he commented after checking my scalp—the damage wasn't severe. We walked away from the dying vampire. “Over time I have not only grown accustom to animal blood, but I enjoy it. Your blood actually smells—and probably tastes—quite revolting to me now.”

“Thanks,” I said sarcastically, not quite sure if that was a compliment or not.

“You were quite impressive out there.” He smiled, although it was obviously forced.

“Do I scare you?” I asked in wonder.

“You don't, but what you are capable of certainly does. I am very fortunate to know you will never turn against me like that.” He paused and looked at me. “You won't, will you?”

“Of course not!”

“Good.” This time his smile was sincere. “I was thinking tomorrow, perhaps we would go back to the creek.”

“That would be nice,” I said as we walked to my car. “Will you be eating innocent bunnies again?”

He glared at me momentarily, and then shrugged. “Possibly. I should, actually.”

“You don't eat as nearly as much as I would imagine,” I spoke quietly, opening my door and getting in.

When he was inside, he looked at me. “I don't enjoy it the same way they do. Let me try to put it in a perspective you might understand. Food is intended as fuel, but humans are weak and easily give in to temptation, ignoring that fact. They will eat and eat, no matter how full they might be, simply because they enjoy the taste. That's similar to how a vampire feeds...they will go beyond what is necessary to keep them going, because they thirst for more. I may have grown fond for the taste of animal blood, but I only drink what I need.”

As I thought this over, Mark's wretched voice came to mind “Once I smelled her blood, oh...it was hard to control my thirst for more! The hunger was far too powerful.” I felt sick to my stomach thinking about it, about Janet.

“That makes sense,” I said quietly as we drove to the old Victorian. “I’ve done some thinking, Salem...and I sort of want your opinion.”

“On what?” There was an edge to his voice.

“My house,” I replied simply. “Now, before you say anything—I'm not going to sell it.”

He smiled at that. “Good.”

“I want to rent it out. I was thinking I could offer it for cheap to Jason.” I noticed the unsettling look on Salem's face and placed my hand against his. “His parents are going through a divorce. It would be good for him, and I think it'd be good for me, too. I don't want to stay there anymore, especially when I could just stay at yours.”

There was a hint of a smile in the corners of his mouth. “Are you asking to move in with me?”

“I might as well have already, right?”

“Considering you spend every night there, yes.” The sound of his laughter was pleasing to my ears. “If that's what you want to do, I won't stop you. Giving it to Jason leaves you the opportunity to visit the house whenever. And you will still own it, of course.”

“Right.”

His expression changed suddenly when we pulled into the driveway. He climbed out of the vehicle, despite it still moving, and raced toward the front door. I noticed in horror that the stained-glass windows were shattered. Shards of green and blue sparkled under the porch light.

I deserted the car and followed Salem into the house. There was no evidence of theft, but someone had definitely broken in. I felt sick as I glanced around the living room, noting that the only things that had been touched were my belongings, which led me to one conclusion.

“I think I know who did this,” I said angrily.

“Paul,” Salem snarled furiously. “His scent is lingering in the air.”

“This is bad, Salem...this is bad...” I said as I realized what this meant.

“We should just be thankful we were away,” he said, calming down some. “But I don't doubt he will return. I will keep a vigilant watch for him, Alex...and if he tries anything, I cannot promise I won't hurt him.”

“I-I understand,” I stuttered, watching him gather a broom from the front closet and sweep up the mess of glass from the porch. “Do you want me to do that?” I offered as I ignored the haunting possibility of Salem killing my father, or vice versa.

“No, it's fine,” he answered with a forced smile. “But thank you.”

“What are you going to do about the windows?” I frowned. “They were so beautiful.”

“Do you really need to ask?” He laughed gently.

“Oh, right. Magic,” I replied. He dumped the shattered glass into the garbage and glanced at me curiously.

“Does it bother you?”

“No, but I want to try something. I want to make my own meal tonight.”

“Why? You don't like mine.” He put on a fake pout.

“Don't be silly,” I replied with a chuckle. “It’s just something I'd like to do, because I sort of miss it.”

“I understand,” he said. “Go ahead. But, I will provide the ingredients.”

“Deal.”

I told him each ingredient I wanted for my dinner. As I opened the mahogany cabinets, I watched in amazement as a box of rotini noodles appeared with a jar of meat-flavored pasta sauce directly next to it. I glanced back at him and grinned. “Thanks,” I said and began prepping my pasta. The water boiled slowly on the black stove top, and my stomach was not in the mood to be patient. I was beginning to rethink my request to not have my food magically prepared.

“I had forgotten how long this can take!” I said miserably as bubbles slowly began to rise in the pot.

“Someone is quite impatient,” Salem said playfully behind me. He was sitting at the dining room table, studying the empty holes on the front door.

“What's on your mind?” I asked as I dumped a small portion of noodles into the pot.

“Simply wondering what they should look like this time.”

“You don't want them to look the same as before?” I stirred the noodles slowly to prevent them from sticking.

He shook his head. “No. I have something else in mind.”

“Really? What?”

“I'm afraid you will have to wait and see.” He grinned at me.

“Okay, fine.” I laughed, eager to see what it was. A question suddenly popped into my head, and I stopped stirring abruptly. “How do you think Paul found this place?”

“He could have followed us at some point. That's the only logical explanation I can come up with.”

When my pasta was done, I sat across from him at the table and began eating. I no longer felt self-conscious when he watched me eat. Plus, his attention was apparently someplace else tonight as he gazed thoughtfully at the door. After eating, I spent the next two hours curled up in the nook chair reading through portions of the book he had made for me. Before I knew it, I had dozed off. The book slipped from my fingers and crashed noisily on the ground.

I jumped up and gasped at the sound, then sighed with relief when I acknowledged the cause. My vision was fuzzy at first, but once it adjusted I realized Salem was nowhere to be seen. I half-expected him to be on the sofa, or even at the dining table. I picked up the book and laid it on one of the shelves beside the chair. As I stumbled tiredly into the kitchen, my gaze was immediately drawn to the front door.

The windows had been replaced by slick new ones. The backdrop was made up of misshapen colorful stained glass varying in blues, greens, and purples. Against the left window was the image in the shape of an ebony bat. Beside the bat, on the opposite window, was the image of a raven painted in a mixture of black, blue and purple. I had to step back to realize the creature's wings were curved into the shape of the upper half of a heart, while their bottom halves were connected at the tail to form the end of the heart.

The scream that burst through my lips sounded powerful enough to shatter the new windows when Salem came up from behind and twisted his arms around my waist.

“You scared me!” I gasped, relaxing into his embrace.

“I noticed,” he said and chuckled lightly. “What do you think of it?”

“It's beautiful,” I said, admiring the windows still. “It does make me want to ask though...”

“No, vampires can't turn into bats, as I have told you already,” he spoke as though he had read my mind. “It was the only thing I could think of that made sense.”

“I like it,” I said happily. “A lot!”

“I'm glad.” He turned me around to face him. “You didn't sleep very long.”

“You're right.” I knew what was coming. I couldn't fight the exhaustion forever.

I kissed him gently once, and he took my hand, leading me upstairs. There was a light on in the hallway, illuminating the picture frames along the walls. I stopped abruptly behind Salem and gazed at the images. The first one to catch my eyes was the photograph of a little girl cradled in a woman's arms. They both had brilliant blonde hair that reminded me of spun gold. The woman was wearing a simple white gown with blue trim along the neckline and a wide happy smile across her lips. The child was bundled up in a wool blanket with her head nestled against the woman's bosom. I took my eyes off of the picture to look at Salem; his eyes were withdrawn and sorrowful.

“This is Hannah and your mother, isn't it?” I asked in a gentle, yet curious voice.

“Yes.” His answer was simple, and I could tell it hurt him to even look at the pictures, which made me wonder why he even had them.

“Did you ‘make’ these?” I asked, knowing it was impossible for such pictures to have existed back when his family was alive – not to mention they would have burned in the fire.

“Of course...my memories of their faces are so vivid; it's almost painful.” He frowned. I squeezed his hand gently.

“They were beautiful, Salem.” I smiled despite his sadness. “What was your mother's name?”

“Margaret,” he said fondly, “everyone called her Maggie, though. And my father's name was Arthur.” He directed my attention to a gold-framed picture slightly higher up on the wall. The image depicted a fine young man with similar features to Salem's, notably the black hair. Arthur's hair was short and slicked back, and he had a faint mustache above his upper lip. He wore thin spectacles that made him appear slightly older than he was, and behind them were hazel eyes.

“I was starting to wonder where you got your hair from,” I said as I looked up at him. “You definitely have Maggie's eyes, though.”

“Personally, I am grateful I didn't inherit her hair.” He smiled, and then pointed up at another picture, set in between the other two. It was of a beautiful boy—perhaps ten-years-old—sitting in a rocking chair holding a black kitten on his lap. I knew without a doubt who I was looking at.

“You were handsome even then,” I said in awe.

“Oh, you mean to say you weren't ogling at the cat?” He grinned as I playfully slapped him on the arm.

“No, I wasn’t, although he is cute, too.” I shook my head, smiling. “Did the cat have a name?”

“He didn't have a name for a long time, actually,” he mused. “We generally referred to him simply as 'Kitty', until Hannah was old enough to speak. They had an amazing bond.” He smiled sadly. “She named him Daniel.”

My brows furrowed. “That's a weird name for a cat.”

Salem shrugged. “When my mother inquired about the source of the name, she said it was the name of a man she met...but Hannah was obviously too young to know anyone, so my parents assumed she had created an imaginary friend and passed the name along to the cat.”

“Wow,” I whispered. “And what’s behind this other door?” I asked, indicating the mysterious door on the right wall, beside the picture frames.

“That's the guest bedroom.” He shrugged again. “It was empty before you arrived...I had intended for you to use it the first night you stayed, but considering you objected that offer...”

“How do you remember them so vividly, Salem?” I asked suddenly, remembering how he had once told me that his memory of his mortal life was vague.

“I suppose those were some of the memories I didn't repress.”

Before I had the chance to say anymore, Salem had me in his arms and was carrying me off to bed.