17
It was getting dark, the pale half-light of the advancing evening darkening to full night. Perched high in the branches of a tree, Antonia was nothing but a shadow among myriad others as she looked down on the small cabin.
The wolves had led her a merry chase, first through the unknown tunnel and then through the woodlands beyond. She had their scent, though, and there was nothing more tenacious than a vampire tracking its prey.
They’d been clever, or thought they were, by passing through running water. Since the scent she tracked was less about a smell and more about a psychic impression, they’d just gotten wet for no reason. Unless, of course, they were just trying to turn her stomach with the smell of wet dog. So far, it was working.
She was motionless, unless the movement of the
