“I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I’m definitely getting closer to something…something that’s going to make one helluva book,” she said aloud as she switched off the computer and watched the screen turn black.

Why in the world would anyone wear a vial of their own blood? And what, if anything, did it have to do with the girls who had vanished?

She walked to the window overlooking the campus.

Somewhere out there, was a predator, someone preying on students who took a particular combination of courses. “So who are you, you sick bastard?” she whispered. “Just who the hell are you?”

It was hours after midnight and Vlad felt an insatiable hunger, a craving he could no longer fight. The need to kill thundered through his brain as he drove ever closer to New Orleans, the tires of his van singing along the pavement, the traffic at this late hour thin and spotty.

All the better.

It was wrong to hunt tonight.

Dangerous.

He could easily make a mistake.

And then who could he blame?

Only himself.

This he knew. Yet Vlad could wait no longer. He knew there was a protocol, a reason to wait for the killing.

And yet, he found it impossible to tamp down his urge, and for that, he had the “lessers,” the women who would suffice physically if not intellectually.

And there were issues to deal with. A naysayer who had to be quieted, a guilty conscience that had to be silenced or all would be lost, and he couldn’t allow that.

His head began to throb.

He was empty. Hungry. Yearned for the thrill of the kill.

Could no longer hold back.

And he rationalized that this, tonight’s kill, would be a sacrifice to her, the one to whom he was forever linked, the one to whom he was fated.

And perhaps this unplanned killing of another lesser would throw the police off, send those who suspected on a wrong path in a different city.

Don’t do this. If you succumb to temptation, if you kill, you could be exposed, your mask stripped from your face.

His hand began to tremble as he considered turning around, resisting the urge that was a living breathing thing within him, a need so fierce he was its slave.

A willing slave.

He swallowed hard and felt the emptiness within. His hand steadied on the steering wheel as he saw the bright lights of New Orleans washing up against the night sky in the distance.

There was no turning back.

He knew the one he wanted…the perfect woman. Her skin was near translucent, her neck a long, welcoming arch, her body firm and ripe. His skin flushed, his own flesh heating at the thought of taking her.