Malcolm crouched behind a cinder-block pillar of a wrought iron fence, counting the seconds after the last footfalls faded.

Slowly, as the danger passed, his heartbeats settled to a steady rhythm. He drew a deep breath. They’d come close to catching him this time.

He’d been spotted in a known blood bar just outside The French Quarter, a lone rogue vampire among the elite Born trolling for meals with their enslaved, made minions in tow.

If he hadn’t paused to watch one in particular, he might not be in his present predicament.

She’d been playing with her food, ruffling the young man’s hair as she’d whispered in his ear—and then pinned Malcolm with her pale silver gaze.

The challenge in her eyes, along with her feline grace and her strong resemblance to the woman who’d turned him, had caught his interest. The pale hand that smoothed slowly down the chest and stomach of her prey had kept Malcolm ensnared, wanting to see how far she’d take her little game.

She had no interest in the man she teased. When her palm slid down to cup his burgeoning sex, Malcolm had felt the squeeze she delivered all the way to his toes. That same embrace had rendered her playmate pliant, rutting into her hand, and ready for whatever she chose to do next.

A quick flick of her slender fingers, and she’d delved inside his trousers.

Malcolm had slipped off his stool then, his dick slowly filling as she’d slid her lush lips along the young man’s cheek and nibbled on his ear. While the man had pulsed his hips, Malcolm had tightened, wanting to rake his cock forward and back.

Her lips had curved, her eyes narrowed—and Malcolm had grown furious with the vampire’s teasing. If she wanted to arouse him, she’d succeeded. If she’d wanted more than a puling human boy, then she’d played the wrong hand.

Malcolm had forced his gaze away in time to notice she hadn’t been the only one staring at him.

The privileged ones’ gazes had met over the heads of their blood hosts, almost imperceptible nods had been shared, and slowly, the Born had gracefully faded from the sides of their hosts.

He’d been made. How, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps one of them had recognized him from one of the “mixed” bars, where free rogues and the Born intermingled on neutral ground. However, the how wasn’t important. Escaping was a matter of life or death.

Quickly, without a backward glance at the bitch who’d tried to trap him, he’d slipped out a side door and run like hell.

Malcolm knew better than to tweak the tails of vipers, but once in while in his long, solitary existence he enjoyed reminding them he was there—untethered from their shackles, free to choose his own path just as they did.

He’d been created free, as a human. He’d rejected the tender leash his mistress had offered when she’d turned him. “Serve me,” she’d pleaded. Although sorely tempted by her beauty and sweetness, he’d refused, knowing the risk, resisting her allure with iron determination. Even knowing he’d be forever hunted.

A crisp footstep sounded behind him, and he whirled, straightening to face this hunter.

Before him stood the Born vampire who’d teased him almost to extinction. Now, a long, wooden stake dangled from her fingers.