“Why’d you let that fucker get away, huh?” Del wanted to know. “What was so important about getting into the house?”

Stiles knew better than to try explaining. “Nothing. Just being careful.”

“I coulda told you there weren’t any other vampires in there. At least we didn’t see any. Just that one. Hell, you shouldn’t’a even bothered with the house. You should’ve just nailed that sonuvabitch when you had the chance.”

Stiles almost snapped at the boy—he didn’t need reminding of his own impatience—but he caught himself. Del was just letting his fear talk; it was either that or give in to the tears that he was barely holding back. “You’re right, kid,” Stiles admitted, though his casualness, his lack of alarm seemed to calm the boy somewhat. “I should have destroyed him when I had the chance. But I did tear him up pretty good, and that’s the next best thing. I don’t think he’ll be bothering anyone again.”

Del was still apprehensive. “How can you be so sure?”

“Trust me,” Stiles said and managed a slight smile. “I’ve been in this situation before. Now, what’s your name?”

“I’m Del,” the boy told him, “and that’s Bart.”

“Nice to meet you,” Stiles said. Then he turned his attention to the red-haired teen, who was not only conscious but had finally managed to sit up straight. Bart’s jaw was already dark and starting to swell where he’d been struck, and he kept a hand clamped over his throat. “How’re you doing?” the soldier asked him.

“I’ve been bit, that’s how I’m doing,” Bart snapped irritably. His voice was anxious, almost panicked. “Jeez, what’s gonna happen to me now, huh? I mean, how bad is it, or—”

“Just calm down,” said the soldier, prying the boy’s hand away from his throat to reveal the bite mark. Bart tensed; he expected a gasp of horror, maybe a sigh of futility. “Like I said before,” Stiles shrugged. “It’s not too deep, and he missed the artery. You’ll be fine.”

“But what about aftereffects? Dammit, what’s gonna happen to me!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “Take my word for it, you’re gonna be okay. Right now, let’s concentrate on getting you two out of here.” He pulled the young man to his feet. “You think you can walk?”

Bart forced a weak grin. “Don’t worry about me, Rambo. I can run if I have to.”

“Good. My van’s parked not far from here, about a mile past the front gate, around the bend in the road. You two stay close to me and—”

“You mean through the woods?” Del interrupted. His eyes were wide and incredulous. “But . . . but that’s where the thing went. It crawled into the woods.”