5

Esther dreamt she was in a huge furnished igloo. No, not an igloo because it wasn't made of snow and the temperature was too warm. Dream logic. Dream igloo: an ice-white dome with a roaring fire, a polar bear hearth rug and candleflames like a pattern of amber petals. Nothing made sense.

She was kneeling on the rug, hands roped behind her back, her dark hair woven in a thick plait. She wore only a pair of undershorts. She had no idea how she'd ended up in this state of undress. Billy stood a few feet away, scowling down at her. Presumably it had something to do with him.

'You make me weaken,' he said in a steely whisper. 'Not your fault but you make me weaken.'

Esther had no reply. She was too scared to speak. This man ruled the room. This was his domain, and she appeared to be his captive. He stood stock-still, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his camouflages, a tense stance masquerading as casual. Constrained anger. Green camouflage for jungles, not beige for sand. Snug white T-shirt over a broad muscular torso. The man who'd rescued Doug. Another crazy dream. Esther had had so many on the ice.

'I could hurt you,' he said. 'Really hurt you.'

Esther felt so exposed. Her breasts were bared and her bound wrists made them defenceless and tender. She wanted him to hurt her, to twist her nipples or kiss her like the man in recent dreams, remorseless, hard and greedy. And yet she didn't want that at all. She would die of shame. But something made her give a defiant toss of her head and say, 'Do it then. Hurt me.'

Billy laughed scornfully. 'You don't know what it means.'

'Try me,' said Esther, chin in a bold jut. Esther was tall, strong and fit, and had spent months in training. Her arms and thighs were honed for pulling, her mind was focused and she had the stamina of an ox. There were plenty of men she could wipe the floor with but Billy wasn't one of them. Bravado, however, was useful. 'Try me,' she repeated. 'Because I could probably hurt you just as much.'

How stupid that sounded when she was on her knees, hands tethered, and one garment away from naked.

Billy folded his arms and gave her a small condescending smile. He was brawny and fierce, a immense statue full of rippling potential. His hips looked stern, his biceps bulged and his combat boots were scruffy and worn.

Esther dipped her head, focusing on the boots. Shabby laces criss-crossed loosely over the leather tongues, and their toes were rounded as if capped with steel. She wondered how long she could keep staring at them. It was dangerous to meet the man's eyes and yet they pulled like magnetic north. Looking away was an effort. Looking up would cost her dearly. But, oh, how she wanted to.

Esther could feel herself unravelling. Those green eyes made her someone else, someone sumptuous, dirty and lavish. She liked being someone else, and she wanted the freedom to spread her legs wide and draw his mouth to her sex, to hook her thighs on his beefy shoulders and grind herself against his lips. She wanted to caress his bald head and stroke the band of his mohawk, moaning as his tongue twirled, making her hot, wet and orgasmic. The thought was enough to make her hips tilt with horniness.

She glanced up from the boots.

'That's better,' said Billy. 'Look at the boots again and I'll make you kiss them.'

It disturbed Esther that his threat made her groin loosen. She averted her eyes, gazing sidelong at the fire which danced with light gaseous flames.

'What do you want?' she asked.

'Really?' said Billy. 'You want to know?'

'Yes.'

'I want to destroy you.'

Esther's insides lurched, heart, stomach and head. 'Please,' she said, her voice catching on a sob. 'Please don't hurt me. Please.'

'But I love you,' he declared, his tone still coldly aggressive.

Esther shook her head. She was too confused. Billy was mad and terrifying, and his crotch was seriously swollen. He was hot, hung and powerful, and Esther fancied he'd twist her like a pretzel if they ended up in bed together. They seemed to be locked in a scary limbo of lust and resistance. Esther didn't know her future, didn't know what he had in store for her. She wondered if this wild talk of love was an attempt to reduce her by messing with her mind. Either that, or he was delusional.

'Then you shouldn't destroy me,' she replied, hoping to humour him. 'That's not love.'

'It is in my world,' said Billy. 'I'm a monster. I want what I love. I want all of it. I want to destroy the thing so I can have it.'

'Possessive,' said Esther. 'I've met your sort before.'

'No, monstrous,' said Billy. He began to circle Esther, stalking slowly. She kept her eyes fixed on the fire. 'If I don't destroy it, it torments me until I'm mad with wanting. I destroy it, and I'm mad with regret. Because I lose it, don't I? In having it, I lose it. So I'm still wanting.'

Esther began to feel sick. 'What are you going to do with me?' she asked.

'I don't know,' said Billy. 'I can't win. Either way, I can't win.'

Esther drew deep breaths and stared at the wall several feet away. It looked to be made of curved breeze block, and light glinted on a repair job of silver duct tape.

'I think that's desire,' she said. 'You can't top it, Billy. It's always going to win so maybe try accepting it. Give up trying to be the boss. You'll drive yourself insane. You have to want, Billy. Everyone does. It's inevitable. You have to want and resist and suffer, Billy. The day you stop wanting is the day you die.'

Billy, thought Esther. I have to keep using his name like cops do in movies when they're trying to talk down a madman.

Billy stood in front of her. The toes of his black boots were scratched and dulled. Esther looked up, wanting to see him. She caught a flash of green eyes as he pulled his T-shirt over his head, his body stretching to expose patches of underarm hair, paler flesh and the rack of his ribs. Esther turned to liquid.

Billy threw his T-shirt to the ground. He was beautifully broad, muscular but without the vanity of high definition. His abs were flat, his pecs taut, his lightly tanned skin flecked with golden hair. Around his neck, hanging from a leather thong, was a chunky pendant in dark oriental silver, a curved dagger like a weapon from Sinbad the Sailor. But what struck Esther most was the seam of a scar slashing his torso on the diagonal. She flinched to see it, and at the same time she felt certain she'd seen it before. It belonged in a memory or another dream.

Billy unzipped. 'You talk too much,' he said. 'Suck it.'

His cock sprang out, magnificent and thick, and Esther sucked in great willing gulps. After all, she'd rather give head than try to fix a man's feelings. It was less debasing, easier to understand and the rewards were quicker. If Billy's soft grunts were anything to go by, he preferred it too. As Esther bobbed on his length, Billy said, 'You wanted me before. I saw it. You were hot for me, begging with your eyes like a greedy little whore.'

Esther recalled the look of dark promise he'd cast her before storming out of the cabin, Simeon over his shoulder. Had he seen it then? But that was a dream, wasn't it? Could he see into her dreams?

Billy grabbed clumps of hair either side of her head and withdrew from her mouth. He held her steady, his big red cock bobbing inches from her lips.

'Suck it,' he said.

Esther reached for him, mouth open, but he wouldn't let her near.

'Come on, girly, try harder,' he sneered.

Esther strained for him but he held her firm, his grip pinching her scalp. He teased her, rolling his hips so his tip skimmed her lips, its little slit seeming to leer and mock. Esther, now she couldn't have him, wanted him all the more.

'Please,' she said.

Billy released her hair and took a step back, clasping his cock. 'Come on, then.'

Esther cursed and shuffled after him, knees rubbing on the silky bearskin, mouth gaping. She felt weird, as if her dreams were overlapping.

'Come on,' breathed Billy, jacking his cock. 'Reach for it.'

Esther had a moment's déjà vu, a glimpse of a pink fountain, of ornate blue tiles. And then a word came from somewhere, one she didn't understand, and yet she heard herself speak it: 'Efendim.'

Billy groaned and fell to his knees. 'Oh, God,' he whispered. 'I'm sorry.' His fingers fumbled over her face and he scanned her features as if he were seeing her anew, his gaze intense and pained.

'Don't look at me, turn away,' he said but it was impossible. Meeting his eyes, Esther felt she was falling into the Arctic, into phosphorescent nights and peppermint-green seas.

'I like looking,' she said, staring at him. 'It feels good. I like it.'

Billy's lips lifted in a quick smile, then he clasped her plait and kissed her so forcefully she could barely breathe. His hard torso squashed her breasts and her skin grew damp from his sweat. How could he sweat in subzero temperatures? Why weren't they freezing? Why did it feel so good when he made her feel small?

Esther was soft and wet, and when Billy eased up on his kisses, she began kissing him back, lusting after his force. He responded with a nip, taking her lower lip between his teeth and clamping on the tender flesh.

'Ouch,' said Esther as Billy pulled away.

Billy gazed at her, a smear of red on his lips, and Esther stared back, sucking blood into her mouth. His shoulders rose and fell, and Esther saw the tremor in his scarred chest as he fought to control his quickening breath. He liked this a lot. Esther thought she did as well but wasn't sure. Fear kept flickering, warning her to back off, play it cool. But she wasn't doing, was she? Didn't want to play it cool. Didn't want to be the responsible good girl. She wanted this man to toy with her. She wanted him like this, dangerous, cruel and as horny as a dozen men.

Esther gave him a steady look. 'Hurt me,' she said.

Billy smiled tenderly and stroked the line of her jaw. 'I am,' he whispered. He trailed his hand down her neck, drew swirls over her breasts and teased her nipples.

'What happened to you?' she asked, indicating his scar.

He ran his thumb beneath the swell of one breast, tracing around and up to her shoulder. 'I lived in another country,' he said. 'A long time ago. The people there, some of them, they thought you could kill a vampire by slitting him from his heart to his gut.'

Esther nodded, understanding. 'And you can't.'

Billy shook his head. 'No,' he breathed. 'Unfortunately not.'

Esther gazed at the silvery line. It slanted below one nipple, got jagged by his stomach and sliced across his belly. The skin was shiny, the tissue pinkish and puckered where the injury had obviously been messy.

'It was a deep wound,' said Billy. 'Usually they heal to nothing.'

'They nearly cut you in half,' said Esther.

'Nearly,' said Billy. 'But I deserved it.'

Esther didn't want to believe him but she knew it was true and she accepted it, just as she accepted he was a vampire. She wondered muzzily if being alone with him meant death, and she imagined it did. Yet she had a peculiar sense this man could threaten and protect her at one and the same time.

'Lick my scar,' ordered Billy.

Esther smiled. Her lip stung where he'd bitten her. 'Make me.'

Billy smiled back and fiddled with the pendant around his neck, watching her carefully. The miniature dagger was about two inches long and the blade looked sharp enough to cut, firelight winking on its razor-fine edge. Esther grew nervous again. She'd wanted him maybe to pull her hair, force her head to his chest and say something strict. His cool macho aggression excited her but knives were different.

Billy gave a tug on the pendant, releasing it from its leather cord. Esther's heart bumped fast, faster still when Billy lunged for her. She screamed as she fell, slamming sideways onto her thighs. Billy grabbed her bound hands, tipping her forwards as he raised her arms behind her back.

'Please don't hurt me,' sobbed Esther. Her shoulders throbbed and her face was pressed into the fur rug, fibres sticking to her bloodied lip. 'Please!' Then she realised he was sawing at the ropes and seconds later she was free, woozy with relief.

'Sit up,' said Billy, kneeling opposite her again.

Esther did, giving her arms a little shake, glad of her freedom and less fearful of the knife. She dabbed her lip but the blood had stopped. Just a tiny nip. He wouldn't harm her, would he? Especially not now he'd just released her. She thought they were heading for safe ground but she had to rethink when he seized the waist of her undershorts. He nicked the elastic and ran a slit down the fabric, first one side then the other, before tossing the scraps aside.

Esther was naked.

'Put your hands behind your head,' ordered Billy.

He clipped the little knife back around his neck; a sign, thought Esther, that no, he didn't intend her harm. And so she obeyed, linking her fingers behind her head, shy and self-conscious, horribly aware of how the posture exhibited her. Billy flicked her nipples a few times with thumb and forefinger. 'Lick the scar,' he said. 'From top to bottom.'

His order made Esther flush with a dark sultry heat. Her sex was bloated and wet, and she felt empty inside, so hungry for cock. 'Make me,' she said again, starting to feel seductive and bold.

Billy arched his brows. 'If you don't,' he said, 'I'll stand up and I'll walk away.'

Esther bristled, cursing silently. His threat pulled tighter than any bondage, the force of her lust outweighing the force of his muscle. She blushed for shame, knowing she couldn't refuse him.

'Fold your arms behind your back,' said Billy. 'And lick it.'

Trying not to resent his victory, Esther did as she was told, tipping forwards to touch the tip of her tongue to the tip of his scar. His fuzz of chest hair tickled lightly but beneath it the track of his scar was silky smooth. She traced it easily, moving from a flat dusky nipple to the confused patch of tissue below his sternum. Lingering there, she painted saliva swirls, unable to avoid thinking of the injury, of the viscera and bone right there under the skin she tongued.

She wondered how he felt about his mark. His body was beautiful and he clearly worked out to acheive that muscle but the mark was someone else's. To be licking it felt deeply intimate, especially since she didn't know how the scar had been acquired. Or, worse, how he'd come to deserve it. She felt she was tonguing his history.

She continued licking downwards, trailing wetly across his hard flat belly to his hip. He was trusting her with some fragility, asking her to accept and not judge. The scar ended and Esther's instinct was to suck his cock where it twitched from his open fly, but she resisted, not knowing whether that was allowed.

'Kneel up,' said Billy.

No, it clearly wasn't.

'Up!' corrected Billy when she sat back on her heels. 'Hands behind your head again.'

The severity of his voice turned Esther on and she knelt in the position he demanded. Kneeling inches away, his cock angled high, Billy grinned faintly and reached between her legs. Esther caught her breath, holding still as he massaged an inner thigh, his sure, steady fingers squeezing her flesh. He studied her face, his smile tilting higher when he ran a finger over her folds and made her moan.

'Nice?' he asked.

His touch was maddeningly light, teasing the wisps of her hair and making her crave firmness. Esther opened her legs wider. Billy obliged her by separating her lips and sawing along the wet groove of her sex, nudging her clit and teasing her hole.

'Please,' she whispered. 'Give me more. Inside me. This ... it's not enough.'

Billy gave a harsh, knowing scoff. 'Not enough?' he said. 'Story of my life.' And he slipped a single finger inside her. He curled it forwards, making little taps there, and Esther was soon whimpering, her legs turning wobbly. 'Please,' she said again, struggling to keep her hands behind her head. She wanted to fall forwards, to lean on his big shoulders and suck his salty skin.

His eyes never left hers and he ignored her requests, smiling smugly at the way she pleaded. For too long, he teased with a tiny touch until he inserted two fingers and pressed his thumb to her clit, pinching her sex. He worked her like that, pulling and rubbing. Her juices clicked with his rhythm, running freely onto his fingers as her pleasure coiled tighter. And all the while he watched her, his lips parted, his eyes droopy. Esther was torn, wanting to escape his scrutiny as much as she wanted to bask in his attention.

'Good?' he murmured. Esther nodded, her mind too dumb for words, her throat too thick with breath.

Billy upped his tempo, his own breath rising, and soon Esther was gasping fast. 'I'm coming,' she panted, right on the edge. 'Coming!'

Billy snatched his fingers away.

'No!' cried Esther.

Billy caught her hands as she rushed to touch herself. 'I'm not ready,' he snarled, teeth clenched as she wriggled in his clutches.

'But I am!'

Billy glared, shoulders lifting, nostrils flaring. 'Turn around. Bend over,' he snapped, and he flung her around so she was on all fours.

'Please!' cried Esther. She tipped onto her elbows, pressing her buttocks back. 'Fuck me. Make me come!'

Billy grasped her hips, yanking her closer. His cock nudged at her hole, his end feeling stout and heavy, and Esther tightened for him. 'Oh please, please,' she said.

'Have it then,' hissed Billy and he crammed himself into her with a big savage jab. His fingers gripped her flesh and he began ramming her with wild angry energy.

Esther was lost, his impact shuddering through her body, his fuck thumping right at her core. She touched herself, just a few tiny nudges, and she was there again, her orgasm ready to break.

'Yes, now,' she cried. 'I'm coming.'

'Go on,' growled Billy. 'Come.' And he grabbed the rope of her plait, using it to pull her head higher. Esther arched her spine, fingers on her clit until she came, bleating and shuddering. As she peaked, Billy scooped her up backwards, a hand on her breast, another around her waist, and Esther howled as her neck exploded in dark brilliant pain.

Colours burst behind her eyeballs, flares of crimson, black and purple. And then the pain vanished and instead her neck began dissolving into Billy's mouth, his suck so beautiful that Esther was coming again, a second climax chasing her first, his cock still buried inside her.

The sensation was like nothing on earth. The wound on her neck was as soft and pulpy as her cunt, the tenderness of it sliding into Billy's violent, draining kiss. Esther was coming so hard she felt faint, the dark colours bursting in her mind until a new delirium took hold: snow and ice, a blur of tiny stars, a blast of wind, an enormous sky with the colours of a bruise seeping across it.

And then she woke with a sob, gulping for breath. 'Billy,' she gasped. 'Billy!'

She was in her sleeping bag in the dark cabin. There was no Billy. He was a dream.

Oh, God, Billy, come back.

A stab of longing made Esther's eyes prick with tears. Her thighs were slippery and wet. A dream. But how could he not exist? It had been so vivid, so sexy, so warm.

The cabin swam, its shadowy gloom quivering behind a watery veil. She ached for him, ached for a stupid dream vampire, for the man who'd saved Doug and now a phantom of her overwrought mind. It was too cruel.

Esther blinked and dashed away a couple of tears. Come on, Essie, she urged. Only a dream. Nothing to get upset about.

She wriggled up from the cocoon of her sleeping bag, her eyes adjusting to the dark. All the opposite bunks were empty, sleeping bags limp and twisted. She checked her watch. Mid-morning. Something was wrong. They wouldn't all leave like that. Why was she still in bed? Esther's heartbeat quickened.

'Hello?' she called, but she knew with a dread certainty no one would answer. It was too silent, the room too cold and empty. They'd left, and in a hurry by the looks of it. She peered over the edge of her bed to the bunk below, expecting to see Margret's abandoned sleeping bag.

Instead, she saw Margret, eyes bulging in shock, her skin a ghastly dough-grey, her neck ripped apart in a raw red gash. Her sleeping bag was soaked and on the floor was a neat puddle of blood.

Esther screamed, kicking her legs, running at nothing. Then she drew breath and screamed again, over and over, her throat muscles pulling in pain. And, even while she was screaming, she knew there was no point. There was no one around for miles.

Billy was in agony, steel blades lacerating him inside. He was asleep, dreaming of a memory, of the Turks who'd tried to avenge Selin's death.

A servant had witnessed it from a window overlooking Nadir's yali. Billy was a marked man. It had happened so fast. Night time, wandering alone in the columned courtyard of the Suleyman mosque, insects chirruping. And then suddenly they were upon him, their approach as quiet as death. The cutlass flashed in the moonlight before it slashed Billy's body, and then they'd left him to die.

Billy was a vampire; his flesh mended fast. But that was one wound which had never fully healed. Like Nadir, he'd been left with a scar. Perhaps there was some truth in the rumour this was the way to despatch a vampire. Billy had lain on the ground, clutching his belly, trying to hold himself together in the shadows of an arched walkway. Blood poured through his fingers, and he squinted at a minaret spiking the starry night, willing himself not to lose consciousness. Perhaps this was the end, easier than he'd thought.

His thoughts swirled, and he wondered if he might join Selin in death. But no, it was impossible. She would be in heaven and he would be in hell. Maybe there was still time. 'Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I have ... I have ...'

Billy woke with a jolt.

'Selin!'

He was on the polar-bear hearth rug, the fire dancing with pale flames. His forehead was damp with sweat. Jeez, how many times had he had that dream lately?

He lay on his back and rubbed a hand over his face. Hell, he really was starting to crack. Esther was too close, much too close. Billy ran his tongue around his gums. He felt groggy, his mouth dry and sticky.

Damn, this was no good. He'd kept it together for years but this was testing him to the limits. All he ever thought about was her. Sometimes he woke barely able to breathe, the weight of her sodden body on his chest. And right now, she seemed so alive to him she might be there on the bearskin rug. He could almost taste her blood on his lips.

He needed to get the hell out of this place before he did something he might regret. Thousands and thousands of miles away. He would leave soon, very soon.

Any day now, the sun would rise for the first time that year. Suzanne and Simeon were up to something. Billy guessed they were planning to quit the ice, leaving him here to stew. That might have suited him a few days ago but not now. He was done. His time here was up. He would travel with them and then do his best to erase all memories of Esther.

She deserved a full life of love and happiness. If Billy stayed much longer, her second life would end the same way as her first, her dying heartbeat pumping down his throat.

Yes, she deserved better. She deserved to grow old and be withered by age, to feel her body decay and to treasure life because she feared death. God, how Billy envied her.

He would pack. He would leave. He would forget she even existed.

Suzanne had chosen a sky-blue dress with short cowboy boots for killing. The dress was printed with daisies, the flowers' yellow centres like little suns. It was pretty but it was even prettier now it was soaked in blood.

She sat cross-legged on the ice, making a snowcastle on her knee. 'Sim, I'm bored,' she said. 'Can't we leave now?'

Simeon lay propped on an elbow, his clothes and hair jet black against the whiteness of snow. Earlier, he'd been wearing his favourite black lipstick but that had long since rubbed off. 'Be patient,' he said. 'She'll be along any moment, I guarantee it.'

'You're so cruel, you know that?'

'Oh really?' said Simeon. 'Shit, and I was trying to be nice. I thought it might impress you.'

Suzanne laughed. 'Ah, you're right. This is going to be a riot. Me, you and Billy's bitch. Hey, look at me! I'm not bored any more. It's cool.' Suzanne began piling snow on her other knee, patting it into a pyramid. 'I vote we torment her for ages before the kill. You know what I love best? It's when they beg for their lives. It's so funny, especially when they can't even get the words out.'

'Oh, man,' said Simeon. 'I love that too. Pluh ... pluh ..,'

'Pluh ... eese!' added Suzanne, laughing hard.

'Dude, I am so psyched for this,' said Simeon. 'That woman has dogged me for centuries.'

'Aw, dogging you how, babes? She's been mainly dead.'

'Oh, you know.' Simeon gave a dismissive flap of his hand. 'Billy's totally obsessed. I'm not kidding, Suze, it's no fun when your love rival's six foot under. They're always going to be perfect, aren't they? I never stood a fucking chance.'

'Hey, Billy loves you,' said Suzanne. 'Course he does.'

'Oh, sure. I know that. But I've always been second best. And now she's back on earth, I'm just some ... some piece of dirt on his boots.'

'Yeah, but high-quality dirt.'

Simeon shrugged and sniffed. 'Plus, he ate Renfield.'

'Don't get upset, babes.'

Simeon flicked his hair. 'I'm not upset.'

Suzanne pouted. 'I think you are.'

'Oh, OK then I am. But he made me a vampire, Suze. We'd spent weeks together in London, so hot for each other, fucking at Miss Tilly's, fucking in his lodging house. I was so happy then. And, even when he made me a vampire, I was still happy. It was like this whole new level of him I was getting to understand. And I've never resented him for it. Never.'

'I think I see her.' Suzanne indicated a dot of a figure in the south.

'Oh, cool,' said Simeon, glancing.

'Hungry?' asked Suzanne.

'Ravenous.' Simeon rolled onto his back, knees pointing upwards and flung out an arm. 'Give her a while longer, yeah? We'll lie low. She won't spot us for ages.'

Suzanne touched her fingertips to Simeon's. 'I'm thrilled we left her till last.'

'Yeah, me too.' Simeon smiled, slow and malevolent. 'The dessert course, and she's mine, all mine!'

'Hey, and mine.'

'Yeah, OK. What's mine is yours.'

Simeon sighed happily, looking up at the star-speckled, blue and purple sky. He closed his eyes. In a few days, they'd be in New York with a bunch of old friends. Simeon was so ready to kick back. Life got intense when it was just him and Billy. If Billy wanted to join them, fine, he could. But Simeon wasn't about to start begging for his commitment.

Nearly 300 years ago, with Simeon's blood spilling from his lips, Billy had said, 'You belong to me. I belong to you.' It was Covent Garden, a narrow rickety street. The place was full of brothels and taverns back then. Dark and seedy. Simeon's kind of place.

And though they'd since been apart for decades at a time, Simeon had always felt the connection of that belonging. Probably always would, whatever happened.

Suzanne stood. 'Come on, I'm ready,' she said. She brushed snow off her skirt, and reached for Simeon's hand, pulling him up. They smiled broadly at each other, eyes glittering.

'Fast?' asked Suzanne. She looked radiant, her cheeks flushed from their earlier feed.

Simeon began to tremble with excitement. He'd been wanting to do this for longer than he could remember. He drew a deep breath. 'Fast,' he agreed. 'Faster than the fucking wind.'

Esther's snowmobile stuttered to a halt. She'd been expecting it.

She clambered out, removed her helmet, donned her fur cap and slung her pack over her shoulder. She'd brought her sleeping bag, the satphone, a flare gun, some survival essentials, plus passport, doorkeys, some Danish krone and her credit card. But, when you ran out of fuel on the ice, a credit card seemed like a sick joke.

She set herself south east and trudged toward the horizon's pre-dawn glow, leaving the skidoo sitting there like a hi-tech dodgem car. The blizzard had gone, thank God, and the morning was calm.

Margret's face kept jumping into Esther's mind. Each time it did, she had to stifle a sob. Crying cost energy. Esther would never make it if she cried. And yet she couldn't help it. She kept crying. She'd cried as soon as the skidoo had set off, weeping behind the visor as snow sprayed from the machine's runners, misting her vision. In the cabin, she hadn't shed a tear. She'd screamed and shook, gathering possessions in a whirl of terror while Margret lay on the bunk, waxy and bug-eyed. Before leaving, Esther had draped a jumper over the woman's face, wishing she could offer more dignity.

In the snowcat, Esther surged across the ice, praying she would find the others. Doug worried her the most. He'd been suffering ever since the skiers had found him wandering miles from the cabin, delirious and with no memory of how he'd got there. Bird had put him on a course of antibiotics and was threatening to do likewise to Esther. Like Doug, she had weird lesions on her neck, and was less than fit. She'd invented details about the two skiers because most of it was a blank. No way was she going to reveal she'd fainted or fess up about her strange dreams. She didn't want to be seen as a weak link in the team.

Five minutes into her skidoo journey and Esther began to fear she was the only link. The first body she found was Doug's. His great bulk lay crumpled on the ice, dressed in thermal long Johns, bunny boots and parka. Esther had pulled over, not knowing what condition he was in. He was such a weight but she managed to heave him onto his back. His eyes were glassy, his beard lumped with ice, and blood gurgled briefly from the wound in his neck.

Esther had fled from him, urging the snowcat on and fighting her rising hysteria. She hadn't stopped for Adrian or Bird, recognising them only from the colours of their jackets. If Bird was dead, Johannes probably was too. And, if he weren't, he would surely want to be if he'd witnessed his beloved Margret's slaughter.

All Esther could do was get far, far away. God, what the hell was it? What was hunting them and what ground could it cover? And how come she'd slept through the attack?

But this was no time to dwell on what had happened. She needed to keep her wits about her and focus on the here and now. If she could make it to an Inuit village on the east coast, she'd be safe.

But the fuel gauge was low and, when the skidoo had stopped with a whine and a cough, Esther began to doubt her chances. She walked on, knowing it was her only option. Staying still meant death. And she would not die here, alone in this sterile desert. She would not.

Having driven for miles, she clung to the hope she was out of immediate danger. The trek ahead might be her biggest threat. She had food, a stove, a sleeping bag. She could build a snow cave for shelter. If the weather and terrain were good, she could make it. Yes, she would make it.

'I will not die,' she panted, her breath puffing out. 'I will not die.'

All she needed to do was take one more step. And another. And another. Skis would have been easier but it didn't do to think that. She'd grabbed what she could. No use having regrets.

Again, the image of Margret loomed large. What monster had done that?

No. Stop thinking. One more step. Just one more step.

Before long, Esther had settled into a rhythm, the twilit blanket of snow numbing her senses. For almost twenty minutes, she was the only thing moving on the expanse of ice. And then, turning, she spotted a black speck to the north. Her heart pumped in fear. It could be good news, it could be bad, but she wouldn't know until it was too late. There were no snow banks to burrow in and her skidoo was less than a mile away, stuck there like a sign saying 'This way, please'.

The speck grew larger then separated into two specks, moving at quite a rate. Animals? People in skidoos? Esther extended the aerial of her satphone and tried for what felt like the hundredth time. Nothing. Dead. Her flare gun was clipped to her parka. Apart from a Swiss army knife, it was her only weapon.

The two blobs were getting bigger and bigger, their speed disturbing, unnatural even. Esther began to run, as fat as an astronaut in her snow gear. Then she screamed, realising these were people and they were advancing with the speed of a cheetah. And then she screamed again because they couldn't possibly be people, couldn't be.

Hand in hand, the two things slowed and pranced towards her, a woman in a stained floral dress and a lanky man in black, the skier with the purple eyes. Simeon.

'Oh, shit,' gasped Esther, arms pumping, blood pounding in her ears.

Laughing and leaping, the creatures released each other's hand, frolicking this way and that as Esther stumbled on, boots sinking into the snow, heavy as lead.

'Hey, we meet again,' said Simeon. 'How's tricks? This is my friend, Suzanne.'

'Hi there!' said Suzanne, waving.

'Billy! Help!' cried Esther, hardly knowing what she was saying.

Simeon laughed. 'Billy, help,' he mimicked. His black hair flew behind him, his teeth flashed in a grin, and his eyes burnt like violet fire. Esther knew she mustn't look into them. Mustn't get caught.

A few feet ahead, Suzanne laughed, dancing in side steps, her blonde hair streaming, cowboy boots flicking up snow. Esther tugged off a glove and grabbed her flare gun. It was made of lurid-green plastic and she aimed it shakily at Simeon who gambolled alongside her like a tall jerky imp.

'Hey, Suze,' he called. 'She's got a water pistol!'

'Cool! Is it loaded?'

Esther turned to Suzanne, pointing the gun at her. The gun had only one shot and, while it wasn't deadly, at close range it could injure. When Suzanne skipped closer, Esther pulled the trigger. A red light flashed, a bang followed and Suzanne yelped, doubling over and clutching her stomach.

Esther swung her pack from her shoulder and hurled it at Simeon with all her might. He caught it deftly and cast it to the ground with brisk contempt. Suzanne, still bent double, took a couple of steps backwards then raised her head. She glared at Esther through a tangle of hair, her eyes a dazzling sapphire blue.

'You bitch,' she snarled, spittle flying from her lips. 'Get her, Sim.'

Simeon launched himself, knocking Esther to the ground before she could even call out. He straddled her and tore at her parka, fibres spilling. Esther screamed, thrashing beneath him, snow flurries whipping up around them. Simeon grabbed her clothes and ripped the layers. One, two, three, and she was exposed, flesh bared to her bra. He grinned down at her.

'Please,' gasped Esther, skin scorched by the cold air. 'Please, no.'

Simeon fell on her, driving his teeth straight into her throat. Esther howled in pain. She tried to fight back, fists flailing but he was strong and solid on top of her.

'Stop! Let me go!'

The suction on her neck was furious, pulling on sinew and muscle, hoovering up blood. A hand slammed between her thighs and squeezed her hard, but it meant nothing to her. Her body seemed to be drifting into another realm. The pain subsided, and Esther felt her energy fading fast. Her struggles weakened and she stopped thumping him, fists too slack, arms too heavy.

'Stop,' she whimpered, dizzy and light-headed. 'Plea–'

The blood poured out of her veins, draining her mind and limbs. Her hands and feet grew numb and tingly. The world seemed muffled, time elongating.

I will not die, she thought. I will not die.

But she was slipping, losing the will to fight. Her vision grew dim. She saw snow through a filter of black hair then the snow receded, shrinking gently to nothing. A new blackness moved in her mind, wavering with peppered stars and with slow explosions of purple and blue, languid fireworks smudging her consciousness.

'Billy' she wanted to say but the word wouldn't form in her mouth and she didn't know what it meant anyway.

She tried to pull back, to reach the whiteness of snow again and understand the word. For a moment it was there, a brighter light, and a man who was both weak and powerful. Then she retreated, the blackness swarming and shimmering, and it might have been peaceful there, sinking into sleepy death, except her head was suddenly full of screaming, her teeth were chattering and the earth was splintering like shattered glass.

The weight lifted from her body.

Shrieks and voices stormed her mind.

'I'm on fire!'

'The sun!' screeched the woman. 'I'm blistering!'

'I can't see!'

'The sunrise!'

'Acid attack! I'm blind! My eyes are melting.'

'Run!'

'But I want her, Suze. I –'

'Sim, run! Here, take my hand.'

'But –'

'Sim, forget her! Come on. Run. The bitch is practically dead anyway.'

Billy was in the gym doing pull-ups, grunting through gritted teeth.

He was still in agony, his insides shredded with pain. Ever since waking, he'd felt as if he were being ripped internally from heart to gut. He guessed the dream in which he lay dying was somehow to blame. The pain was under his scar as if his old wound were opening up, threatening to burst him apart from within.

He pushed past it, heaving his chin above the bar then lowering himself to a dead hang. Normally, he'd do the exercise with weights on his legs but, Christ, not today. He'd kept his boots on and that was tough enough. The pain was worsening minute by minute and when a new shard sliced into his neck, Billy dropped from the bar, cursing. He tumbled to his knees on the mat, clutching his neck. Fuck, that hurt. Must've pulled a muscle.

He knelt for a while, filling his lungs with slow breath, squeezing his fists when the pain soared. Several minutes later, he heard the noise of a skidoo echoing within the dome. Someone was pulling on the starter cord.

Billy was on his feet in an instant.

Those two. Simeon and Suzanne. Of course. The evil fuckers, they were leaving, fleeing the scene of the crime, no doubt.

Because the pain wasn't just Billy's. It was Esther's as well. It shamed him that he hadn't recognised it. He was a fool, a useless fucking fool, so caught up with himself he could barely see beyond his own head. Esther was dying.

He strode for the exit, hearing the skidoo whinny and splutter. In a storage room off the tunnelled white corridor, Suzanne was pulling desperately on the starter rope while Simeon piled a sledge with possessions, his limbs angular and frantic.

'This fucking place,' he wailed. 'We're out of here! At least in New York you know when it's dawn!'

They were covered in blood, hair wild, faces scorched. Billy had no time for them. He grabbed his sunglasses then he was out on the icecap, nostrils twitching for the scent of Esther. The sun had just set, leaving a line of volcanic red bleeding into the dusk. It tinted the distance, the ice shimmering like a glacial poppy field, serene and unsettling. The first day of the year, and it was over almost as soon as it had begun.

Billy followed his senses, pain still gripping. He ignored it, running as fast as he could, fearing it might not be fast enough. Strength was leaking from him just as life was leaking from Esther. Minutes later, he saw her, a hump on the ice, and he ran harder still, muscles on fire.

When he reached her, he flung off his shades and fell on all fours, limbs quivering, gasping for breath. Esther lay on a stain of crystallized pink, her blood seeping down into the snow. Her dark hair was mussed and matted, and her neck was twisted at a grotesque, broken angle.

'SelinI'

Carefully, Billy tipped her to face him. She was as pale as a corpse, her eyes blank, her mouth slack.

'No!' roared Billy. 'No. Come back!'

There was no response. It couldn't happen again, it couldn't. To see a loved one die twice was beyond any hell.

'Stay with me. Selin! Esther! Stay!'

She gazed up at him with an expression he'd seen before, empty eyes looking right past him. Her dark lashes were tipped with frost and the snow was sludgy with the warmth of her spilt blood. Billy shuffled closer, rose-pink snow slushing around his knees. Oh, if he could be her, dying on the ice, and if she could have life, he'd swap in a heartbeat.

'Essie, please.'

It was hopeless. She was at her end now and so was he. He couldn't go on after this, no way. He would beg another vampire to stake his heart and bury it high in the Arctic where it would freeze for all eternity. If Simeon loved him, he would do it. He would put Billy out of his misery.

Esther's eyelids flickered. She seemed for a moment to focus on him then she was lost again.

'Oh, God.' Billy fell on her neck, putting his mouth to her gaping throat. He didn't drink but he felt the tremor of a faint pulse. She was alive, just.

Billy had no choice. He tugged the dagger pendant from his neck and sliced it across his wrist. Blood gushed. Cupping Esther's head, he pressed his wound to her lips.

'Drink!' he commanded.

His blood flowed over her face, dribbling into her ears and hair. Esther's lips didn't move. Billy might have been back in that courtyard, a dead woman in his arms, Nadir admiring the pink fountain.

'Drink!' cried Billy, and his voice cracked into a sob. 'Please! Please drink!'

Moments later, Billy felt her lips stir against his wrist. He hardly dared breathe. And then he felt what he'd so often dreamt of in re-imagining her death: the first blissful pull of her taking his blood.

'Selin,' he breathed.

His hopes began to rise as the pull strengthened, her lips fastening tighter on his wrist. Eternal life might be a curse but it had to beat eternal death. Her suck grew firmer, Billy's vampire blood pumping into hers, a poison to nourish her. Esther's eyes sharpened and she watched him with soft confusion before lowering her lids, drinking contentedly.

All Billy could hope was that she wouldn't hate him for this. He would help her through the transition, and if she loved him as he loved her, it would be a merry, hellish joy to tackle eternity together.

Billy dipped his mouth to her neck, taking a sip of her blood. He took a little more until he was slurping gently. He could feel what he wanted to feel: the weakening pulse of her human heart and the tinge of his own sweet poison. For several dying beats, it felt like he too had a pulse and a life. Then the moment was gone. Their hearts were still.

Billy raised his head, blood dripping from his smile, teeth stained pink. He wiped strands of sticky hair from her forehead.

'You belong to me, Esther,' he said. 'And I belong to you.'

Esther gazed up at him, eyes glowing with a new energy, bright and fierce. She smiled back, her teeth as pink as his.

'I know,' she breathed. 'And I always did.'