Hadn’t it?
“Please, Krysta. Just trust me on this. Go! Maintenant!”
As his strength waned, he shoved her hard and turned to face his attackers.
Still dizzy, Krysta stumbled and fell to her hands and knees behind the building. The weapons Étienne had thrust into her arms hit the ground a moment before gravel abraded her palms.
What the hell?
Cursing, she dusted off her stinging hands, grabbed the weapons, and spun around, ready to blister his ears.
Étienne staggered, as if he had lost his balance. Turning back to face the way they had come, he gave her his profile. His eyes flashed a brilliant amber.
Bullets slammed into his chest, the guns firing them barely making a sound. His body jerked again and again as blood sprayed from too many wounds to count.
Krysta stared in horror. “Étienne!”
The first wave ended.
He turned his head, met her gaze. “Run, damn you!” he growled. Blood poured from his mouth and down his chin. Drawing his swords, he roared and leapt forward, out of sight.
Krysta’s feet glued themselves to the ground. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
He had pushed her out of the way to save her. If Étienne hadn’t shoved her behind the building, she would have been shot to death beside him.
Her body began to shake uncontrollably.
He could have run. He could have left her there for whoever the hell it was to kill her.
Screams lit the night. The gunfire resumed.
Krysta transferred one of her swords to her left hand, drew out her cell phone, and dialed with shaking fingers.
“Yeah,” her brother answered on the first ring.
“I need you,” she hissed. “Now. Behind . . . Shit!” It took her a moment to get her bearings. “We’re in Research Park behind . . . or on the side of that Environmental Whatever Building. Just find me. Come quiet and stay low. Someone’s shooting at us.”
“What?”
“Just come now! Please! And hurry!”
Pocketing the phone, she drew in a deep breath (which wasn’t nearly as calming as she had hoped it would be), gripped her weapons, and headed for the edge of the building.
Crouching down, she peered around it.
Soldiers?
Men garbed in black camo and armed to the teeth with silencer-equipped automatic weapons were doing their damnedest to kill Étienne. Only they didn’t seem to actually want to kill him. They seemed to want to slow him down or weaken him with blood loss and whatever was in those darts.#p#分页标题#e#
And it was working.
Another dart hit Étienne in the throat even as he broke two soldiers’ necks.
He staggered, grabbed another soldier and sank his teeth into his throat.
Krysta’s mouth went dry.
She’d known all along he was a vampire, but seeing him drink blood . . .
The other soldiers evidently viewed their associate as expendable, because they continued to shoot.
Étienne used him as a shield while he drank and fired the man’s automatic weapon at the same time.
His victim sank to the ground, sightless eyes staring up at the sky.
Another dart struck Étienne in the arm.
He lurched sideways. Shook his head drunkenly.
Oh shit.
There were still three soldiers left.
Two moved in for the kill or to capture him or whatever the hell the plan was.
Krysta dropped her swords and drew two daggers. Without giving herself time to think, she stepped into the open and let them fly. One dagger struck a soldier in the throat. The second sank into another soldier’s heart. The third soldier turned his gun on her and fired. She ducked behind the building and hit the ground. Brick and mortar showered down on her as the high-caliber bullets passed right through the building.
A yelp split the night.
The bullets stopped.
“Krysta!”
Relief poured through her at the raspy call, bringing tears to her eyes. “Étienne!”
Scrambling to her feet, she peered around the corner of the building.
Every soldier was down.
Étienne still stood. Barely. Blood saturated his clothing. Dozens of holes perforated his shirt and coat and pants.
He stumbled forward a step and dropped to his knees.
As Krysta limped toward him, she looked around, praying no more soldiers would leap out of the darkness and start shooting.
“C-call your brother,” he wheezed. Fumbling in his pocket, he muttered something in French.
Just as she reached him, he collapsed backward onto the pavement.
Something clunked to the ground by his hip. A cell phone.
“He’s on his way,” she said, kneeling beside him. “Can I call someone for you?”
She picked up his phone and heard the telltale squeak of their car’s brakes, though her brother approached as quietly as he could.
Étienne closed his eyes and mumbled something else in French.