Tempted

but he didn’t speak.
    “Well, it was totally horrible. That wing hurts worse than a regular broken arm or leg, doesn’t it?”
    She was talking because she was nervous, and Stevie Rae didn’t expect him to answer, so she was surprised when he said, “It does.”
    “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she continued, as if they were two normal people having an ordinary conversation. His voice was still weak, but it seemed easier for him to speak and she guessed immobilizing his wing had really helped his pain level.
    “I need more water,” he said.
    “Oh, sure.” She grabbed the dipper, glad her hands had stopped shaking. This time he was able to hold himself up and tip back his own head. She only had to pour the water into his mouth, or beak, or whatever the correct word for it was.
    Since she was already up, Stevie Rae decided she might as well gather up the bloody pieces of towel, thinking that she should get them away from the shed. The red fledglings’ sense of smell wasn’t as good as hers, but it also wasn’t as undeveloped as regular fledglings. She didn’t want to chance any of them having a reason to sniff around there. A quick search of the shed and she discovered extra-big lawn and garden trash bags, into which she stuffed the rags. There were three towels she hadn’t used, and without really giving it much thought, she unfolded them and spread them out, covering as much of the Raven Mocker as was possible.
    “Are you the Red One?”
    His voice made her jump. His eyes had been closed and he’d been so quiet while she was cleaning up that she had assumed he was asleep, or maybe passed out. Now those human eyes were open again and trained on her.
    “I don’t know how to answer that. I am a red vampyre, if that’s what you mean. The first red vampyre.” She thought briefly aboutStark and his completed red tattoos, which made him the second red vampyre, and wondered where he was going to fit in their world, but no way was she going to mention him to the Raven Mocker.
    “You are the Red One.”
    “Well, okay, I guess I am.”
    “My father said the Red One was powerful.”
    “I am powerful,” Stevie Rae said with no hesitation. Then she held his gaze and continued, “Your father? You mean Kalona?”
    “Yes.”
    “He’s gone, ya know.”
    “I know.” He looked away from her then. “I should be with him.”
    “No offense, but from what I know of your daddy, I think it’s best that you’re here and he’s not. He isn’t exactly a nice guy. Not to mention Neferet has gone completely batshit crazy, and the two of them are like peas in a nasty pod.”
    “You talk a lot,” he said and then grimaced painfully.
    “Yeah, it’s a habit.”
A nervous habit
, but she didn’t add that. “Look, you need to rest. I’m gonna go. Plus, the sun started to come up five minutes ago, and that means I need to be inside. The only reason I can walk around at all out there is because the sky’s so full of clouds.” She tied the trash bag closed and scooted the water bucket and dipper within his reach—
if
he was able to do any reaching. “So, bye. I’ll, um, see ya later.” She started to hurry away, but his voice stopped her.
    “What will you do with me?”
    “I haven’t figured that part out yet.” She sighed and fidgeted, picking nervously at her fingernails. “Look, I think you’re safe here for at least one day. The storm isn’t letting up and the nuns aren’t going to be messin’ around out here. All of the fledglings will probably stay inside until sunset. By that time I should know what to do with you.”
    “I still do not understand why you don’t tell the others about me.”
    “Yeah. Well, that makes two of us. Try to rest. I’ll be back.”
    Her hand was on the door latch when he spoke again. “My name is Rephaim.”
    Stevie Rae smiled over her shoulder at him. “Hi. I’m Stevie Rae. Nice to meet ya, Rephaim.”

    Rephaim watched the Red One leave the building. He counted one hundred breaths after the door clicked closed, and then he began shifting his body until he’d forced himself into a sitting position. Now that he was fully conscious he wanted to take inventory of his injuries.
    His ankle was not broken. It pained him, but he could move it. His ribs were bruised but, again, he didn’t think any of them were broken. The bullet wound in his chest was serious, but the Red One had cleaned it and packed it with moss. If it didn’t fester and putrefy, he would