Prologue
Ben woke in pitch darkness.
He smelled vinyl and leather.
Pine and the scent of fresh water nearby.
Fresh blood.
He touched his head, but the blow at the base of his skull had already healed itself. Scattered memories of jostling in a vehicle and heavy, unfamiliar accents. Flashing lights and the sound of truck engines revving.
He stretched out, searching for anything familiar. On his right was a ledge of some kind. He reached over. He was on a bed and there was a wall next to him, but it felt hollow. False. He slapped the wall and felt the edge of a familiar plastic fixture. It was the flat paddle of a light switch.
He pushed it and a small lamp turned on next to him, nearly blinding him with its low light.
In the newly lit compartment, Ben looked around.
Bed.
Small kitchen.
Square cupboards and plastic-covered bookshelves lined the walls. Was he on a plane? No, it was silent. He stood motionless and allowed the fear and panic to rise up so he could examine them clearly.
He took a deep breath and put his hands on the wall again.
Space. Some kind of insulation was packed behind the surface, but beyond that there was vast openness just on the other side. He reached up and felt the low ceiling. He felt the other wall and sensed the same.
In every direction, he was surrounded by air.
His panic began to calm. Just beyond these thin walls, his element waited for him. He could escape anytime.
A simple door stood at the end of the compartment, and as he walked toward it, he felt the floor swaying beneath him. It creaked and bounced.
What was this place? A mobile home? It was too small. A parked bus? Ben cracked the door slowly, reaching his amnis outward to sense any threats, but he was met by one single familiar energy signature a short distance away.
He pushed the door open and saw Radu standing alone on a hill under the swiftly darkening sky. The sun had set in the distance, and a lone Romani wagon was next to him, parked at the end of a cracked asphalt road where Ben realized his caravan had come to rest. That was the compartment where he’d woken, not a mobile home but a travel bus.
Radu turned and smiled ruefully. “I apologize, Ben Vecchio. This was not how I wanted to introduce you to the Dawn Caravan, but you left me no other options.”
1
Kashgar
Four weeks earlier
A wood fire burned in the center of the courtyard, lighting the old stone house and the cobblestones that surrounded it, casting shadows on the brightly painted walls and throwing sparks into the cold night air. From the recessed loggia surrounding the central courtyard, vampires and humans lounged in the shadows. Some were feeding. Some were playing games of chance or discussing business matters.
Kashgar lived in the no-man’s-land between the iron rule of the Eight Immortals of Penglai Island in the east and the authority of Arosh the Fire King in the west. It attracted those who wanted to remain anonymous and those looking to escape immortal authority.
Ben Vecchio was both.
That night he wasn’t paying attention to the fire or the vampires around it. From his corner in the old house in Kashgar, he watched the woman on the far side of the courtyard.
Watched her as she watched him.
She could have been European or Central Asian. Her looks were ambiguous. Her eyes were large and dark. A crown of wild black curls surrounded a typically pale vampire face.
She clearly had some kind of status because behind her stood a guard who watched the courtyard with restless eyes. His hair was light brown and clipped short. He wore a plain black shirt and black pants. His height was average. His looks were average. Nothing about him stood out, but Ben’s sharp gaze noticed every detail.
“Your tea, sir.” A server set a pot in front of him, a glass vessel resting over a single flame. Saffron floated on the surface, its red petals bleeding gold into the simmering water.
The woman’s lips were full and red, and she watched him from afar with unveiled interest. Ben suspected she’d fed recently based on the flush in her pale cheeks and her lip color.
Thinking about the woman feeding made his empty stomach twinge. He poured a glass of tea and concentrated on pushing the feeling down. He was two years immortal, and blood-hunger pangs could still drive him to distraction. It was his greatest weakness and his greatest challenge. Vampire hunger wasn’t comparable to human hunger—or at least no hunger he’d known as a mortal. It was urgent and all consuming.
Ben hadn’t fed in three nights, and he was starting to feel it. He’d been pushing himself, trying to stretch his control.
“Do not become slave to your physical needs.” It was a constant refrain from his sire. “If you are slave to your physical needs, others will be master of you.”
Of course, Ben also remembered the simple advice his sire’s most loyal servant had given him. “Don’t push your luck,” Tai had said. “Vampire mistakes are messy.”
That night he felt Tai’s wisdom in his bones, but the woman wouldn’t take her eyes off him. It was hard to think about leaving the protected walls of the vampire safe house in the old city to hunt when he wasn’t sure if he would be followed.
“Sir, would you like anything else to drink tonight?” The servant would have been near silent to human ears, but Ben wasn’t human anymore.
Anything to drink? Ben scanned the compound. Several humans roamed around, the blood-red collar they wore a testament to their willingness to feed vampire guests. He wouldn’t need to leave the compound to feed unless he wanted to, not with so many donors present.
It wasn’t a hardship. There were women and men willing to offer their necks, especially when they were paid well. Many humans enjoyed the sensation of a vampire bite, which could range from excruciating to intoxicating.
Ben had spent the previous year learning how to feed with the least emotional transfer possible. He didn’t want his reactions leaking into random humans who fed him; it wouldn’t be fair to subject unsuspecting humans to his roller coaster of feelings. He might have gained control over his bloodlust, but his emotional highs and lows were enough to give even the steadiest human whiplash.
Most nights Ben felt like he existed in the world akin to an exposed nerve. He careened from ecstatic to angry to sullen in the space of an hour. Flying made him happy. Missing the sun made him angry. Silence gave him peace.
His stomach twisted, the server waited, and the mysterious vampire was still staring.
Saffron tea wasn’t going to sate him.
Ben pointed his chin in the direction of a woman on the far side of the courtyard. “Her.”
“Very well. I’ll send Mer—”
“Don’t need to know her name.” He glanced at the server. “Just send her over.”
“Yes, sir.”
Yes, sir.
No, sir.
It will only be a moment, sir.
Right away, sir.
My greatest apologies, sir.
Ben supposed there were immortals who reveled in the deference, but it made his skin crawl.
I was just like you. He felt like shouting it. I’m a nobody. A poor bastard who fell into the immortal world, constantly in debt to beings greater than myself.
In debt to his adoptive uncle, Giovanni Vecchio, an immortal who plucked him off the street when Ben was twelve and gave him an education and a future. In debt to his Aunt Beatrice, a vampire who made sure he felt as loved as any natural child.