Del groaned his disapproval but there wasn’t any arguing about it. There couldn’t be, not if he wanted to live. He climbed over the rail and stood on the bare ledge. “Catch me if I fall, okay?”

“Delbert—”

“Okay, okay.” He closed his eyes and stuck one foot into space. C’mon, putz, you can do this, nothing to it, just drop for Chri’sake. His hand left the rail. “Here goes nothing.”

The doors made a calamitous sound as they shattered, filling the air with splinters of wood and the Christmasy jingle of broken glass. Del almost toppled from his perch from the shock. He made a desperate grab for the rail and held up the stake in futile defense against an attack that would overtake him in a split second.

Except . . .

It didn’t.

He opened one eye and peered beneath his upraised arm. The balcony doors were intact and undamaged. For that matter so was the bedroom door. It was still closed. The room was empty.

Then what . . .

He looked down. What was left of the French doors that led to the garden now littered the porching below. The remaining panes of glass had shattered as well, littering the limestone with crystal fragments of reflected moonlight. There was no sign of his brother.

“Bart?” he whispered. There was nothing at first. “Bart?”

A grunt then, from nearby. A gasp.

Two figures sprawled from under the balcony and into the moonlight, struggling, growling. The taller, gaunter of the two was on the attack and forcing the other to his knees. One fractured forearm was pressed atop the youth’s shoulder, holding him down, while the other had tangled in his red hair and pulled it mercilessly aside to bare his wildly pulsing throat. The teenager was fighting like a madman, pummeling that hideous countenance that loomed over him, but his blows had little effect. He couldn’t keep that face from descending, or that cold mouth from fastening to his throat. All he could do was scream.

Del jumped without hesitation, aiming for the figures below, and he swung the wooden stake with all he could muster. The point struck home between jutting shoulder blades and sank deep, forcing a gust of abscessed air from the vampire’s lungs and freeing Bart from its grasp. It staggered and fell to the porch, mouthing silent curses as it groped for the shaft that transfixed its back.

Del scrambled to his brother’s side, found Bart wide-eyed and clutching his throat. “It bit me,” he stammered, over and over. “It bit me, it—”

“Get up, dammit!” Delbert cursed, pulling him toward the garden steps. “We’ve gotta move now, while it’s down, we’ve gotta—” Then he saw Bart’s eyes grow wider still, staring past his shoulder. Oh, Jesus . . . He swallowed hard, forced himself to turn and look.