Jogging is great exercise. Running for your life—even better. At least that’s what I tried to tell myself. It was the new jogging suit that did it. I felt allJ. Lo in my fuchsia velour (admittedly a little outdated, but happily purchased for half price) out for a quick, late-afternoon jog. Feeling good in the cold but fresh February air with my newest pair of very dark sunglasses firmly in place. I guess I shouldn’t have smiled at the cute young guy by the hot dog cart outside of my apartment building. Firstly, because, hello? I’mtaken , thank you very much. Secondly, because of the whole “fang” situation. Fangs never seem to go over very well with vampire hunters.

Next thing I know, instead of getting a modest workout—surprisingly enough, a diet of diluted blood is not calorie-free—I was hightailing it through a nearly deserted park with a hunter on my Reebok-clad heels.

I shot a look over my shoulder. “Leave me alone!”

“Stop running, vampire!” he hollered.

I eyed the wooden stake he had in his right hand, and then picked up my pace, darting past a couple of speed walkers who didn’t bother to give us a second glance. Almost an entire month had gone by without seeing a single hunter. Avery good month. Enough for me to let down my guard way too much. Not good.

“I’ll catch you!” the hunter shouted from a few steps behind me. “So why don’t you stop running and save me some time?”

I jumped up as we passed an overhang of evergreens and grabbed at the nearest icicle. Then I stopped abruptly and spun around to face him with the sharp piece of ice clenched in my hand.

He skidded to a halt, almost slamming right into me, and looked at me with confusion. “You stopped.”

“I’m trying to be more proactive these days. Come near me and this—” I indicated my drippy weapon

“—is going through your eyeball.”

My heart was beating so hard and fast I thought it might burst out of my chest like the slimy creature in