“Still defiant,” observed the younger-looking man with a mechanical nod. “Good for you.” He turned back to the television now that Gomer and his sergeant had segued into an armed forces recruitment ad. The Blue Angels arched across the sky in formation, leaving puffy jet trails in their wake and Danner mesmerized by their mere existence. “Amazing. So many things have changed.” He patted the top of the TV. “This could get to be a habit. I hope it doesn’t interfere with my hunting time.” He leaned closer. “Or I could just ‘order out’, eh?” He sang the “Domino’s Pizza Delivers” jingle and chuckled to himself. Stiles was silent—hearing the song in that dead man’s voice made his skin crawl. “Come now. Where’s your sense of humor? Oh,” he snapped his fingers, “that reminds me. I’ve been saving something just for you.” He shed the ragged remnants of his coat and vest and pulled off his shirt to bare the pale flesh of his chest. There, just to the right of his sternum, was a dent the shape of Stiles’s foot, nearly a quarter-inch deep. “You kick like a mule, friend,” Danner said, “but it doesn’t mean much.” He closed his eyes and pursed his lips, concentrated, and the dimpled flesh suddenly popped back into place like a child’s plastic ball. The vampire grinned boastfully as he stole a sweatshirt from among Stiles’s things. But then he saw the soldier shrug with indifference. “Oh? You’ve seen such a thing before?”

Stiles continued to hide his shock. He just shrugged again.

The vampire gritted his pointed teeth. “I’m afraid the years have thinned my patience,” he said as he rose from the chair. He reached out and weaved the ring finger of Stiles’s right hand between his own and, with no more warning, snapped it like a pencil. Stiles went rigid but would not allow himself to cry out. The tears rolled down his bloodstained cheeks. “Oh, go ahead,” the creature urged him. “Cry out. Yell your hardest. No one will hear you.”

Stiles gasped for breath, fought to focus his senses again and will the pain away with the rest. “Ass . . . hole. The deputy’ll be back . . . to check. Probably bring the marshal.”