The man slowed when he spotted the vampires under the tree. He studied them, his face masked by the shadows cast by his cloak. Then he came forward. When he was at the edge of the tree’s reach, he let his cloak drop.

“By the black blood of Harnon Oan!” Wester roared, leaping to his feet, gaping at the stranger with disbelief.

The newcomer was no human, but he wasn’t a vampire either. He had light red hair and fingernails and a pair of burning red eyes, and his skin was a purplish shade.

“I am Randel Chayne of the vampaneze,” he said as the rest of the Cubs leapt up like the shocked Wester. “I come to seek a challenge.” Nobody spoke. They were astonished. Challenges between the two tribes of the night were nothing new, but Cubs were normally ignored in favor of Generals.

This was the first time most of them had seen one of their estranged blood-cousins.

Randel studied the dumbstruck vampires, his eyebrows arching. “If this is how vampires react in the face of a chalenge, perhaps you are not worth fighting.”

“We’ll teach you about worth, you scum!” Wester screamed, lunging at the vampaneze, hands twisted into claws, hatred darkening his features.

Larten grabbed his friend and held him back. “No,” he snapped. “You’re not ready for this. He’ll kill you.”

“Let me go,” Wester snarled as Randel laughed cruelly. “You have no right to get in my way. I’ll rip his throat open, and if you try to stop me, I’ll —”

“He’ll break your neck before you can lay a hand on him,” Larten said coldly. “He’s not an assistant, you can tel by the dark color of his skin. He’s a full vampaneze. He must be a vampire-hater or he wouldn’t have bothered with Cubs like us. He’s not looking for a challenge — he just wants to rack up an easy kill.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Larten shouted at the vampaneze. “You don’t dare face one of our Generals, so you hunt among the inexperienced Cubs. You’re a coward.”