Salem, Massachusetts March, 1692
Lazarus
He moved with vampiric speed, faster than thought, faster than fear. In the space between heartbeats, he crossed the room. One hand twisted into her silver hair. The strands slipped through his fingers like moonlight. His other hand clamped over her mouth with brutal precision. A creature who'd practiced this move across centuries of feeding. His fingers knew the exact pressure. Enough to silence, not enough to crush. Not yet.
He'd done this a thousand times. Ten thousand. The mechanics had become muscle memory, so deeply ingrained his body moved without conscious thought. It had never failed.
The pendant at her throat flared.
The light wasn't light in any physical sense. It was something that used light the way a blade uses steel. The substanc
