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this evening?
    I shook my head. I needed to keep my wits about me. I couldn’t let my mind wander into the unknowns when there was something lurking in the darkness ahead that was far more dangerous than the thought of meeting a vampire or betraying the IMI.
    I ducked down low to the ground when I heard the snapping of snouts and low feral snarls erupting from behind the next container. If nothing else tonight, I wanted to prove to myself that I could defend and protect just as well as the others, despite my lack of magical skills.
    I sucked in a breath, the scent of blood now heavy and thick in my nostrils. I could almost taste the saltiness in the air and the sharp after taste of metal as each breath danced across my tongue. I could feel my veins constricting in response, the desire to feed was building in a pit deep down inside of me, which was ridiculous considering I still loved to eat regular food. Perhaps that was the problem with being a born Vampire and not a turned one—you always wanted blood even though you didn’t technically need it in order to survive. Despite all born vampires being human for the first eighteen years of life, there was always the underlying desire to taste blood, even if the actual turning did not occur until the stroke of midnight on their eighteenth birthday . It was a total Cinderella cliché, but nevertheless entirely true.
    I shook it off and glanced at the containers of rusting metal that loomed impressively above me, closing the darkness in over my head and hiding my figure in the shadows.
    Unfortunately, I was close enough to them now that they would be able to catch my scent and quite probably hear my racing heartbeat. So there was definitely no going back.
    I wrapped my hand around the hilt of the knife and pulled it slowly from the enclosure on the side of my leg. My fingers found their usual position on the handle as I lifted the blade in front of me, moonlight bouncing off the silver surface and dissipating into the darkness beyond. I held the blade in front of me and edged my way quietly to the corner of the container.
    Rather than duck my head around the corner and risk being seen, I tilted the blade on an angle that allowed me to use it like a mirror so that I could see around the other side. In the reflection I could easily see the two vân â tors that we were hunting tonight. ‘Vân â tor’ was the Romanian word for ‘hunter’, a name adopted by the early descendants of The Protectors over three hundred years ago when the Vân â tors were first created by the Vampires.
    It was a big mistake in hindsight.
    The Vampires had never expected that their guard dogs would eventually turn on them. The main problem with the Vân â tors was that not only did they enjoy the taste of human flesh and blood, they also enjoyed that of the Vampire, and they replicated faster than a warren of horny rabbits. Not to mention the fact that they were remorseless and took on the human figures of anyone they had ever tasted.
    The Vân â tor’s creation had been one of the first stories that George had ever told me when they had finally decided to explain the parts about me that could no longer be explained away. It was hard for a twelve year old not to question her surroundings when she never seemed to get sick or injured and her older, adoptive brother could somehow shoot fireballs from his hands. The story of how the Vân â tors were created was what led to the formation of The Protectors and the creation of the IMI, and also to the story that unfolded my true origins.
    I was born a vampire. Interestingly enough, vampires apparently dated back longer than anyone can remember, but, as I had never met one myself, it wasn’t like I could ask one to flip out his ID and prove he was older than Father Time. On the other hand, The Institute of Magical Intervention was only created in 1923, consolidating every member of The Protector clans around the world. At last count, these amounted to