Darkness Rises(85)

He was actually a bit surprised when that snapped them out of it.
Several bullets slammed into his back.
Bastards. Étienne spun around and swung a sword at the shooter. No, two shooters.
Are you leaving any alive? Richart asked dryly.
Ummm . . .
Richart laughed.
Ah, hell. Krysta has run out of darts and is leaping into the fray in the alley.
Go to her. I have this.
Another quick head count yielded few enough soldiers left here that Étienne felt comfortable leaving his brother to face them alone. Because of his gift, Richart tended to fare far better than other young immortals when facing large numbers.
Étienne raced into the alley.
Half a dozen soldiers fought there.
All four vampires remained in perpetual motion as they darted in and out and around the men, delivering cuts and gashes and fatal wounds.
Krysta hung back, a sword in the hand of her uninjured arm, waiting for an opportunity.
The vamps parted. She darted in and swung, slicing through an arm wielding a tranquilizer gun, then jumped back as one of the vamps circled around again.
Damned if it didn’t look like they were all working together. Krysta must be wondering if Hell had frozen over.
The last two soldiers gave up on following orders and trying to bring them down alive. Planting their backs to each other, they opened fire with their silencer-equipped automatic weapons. Once again, panic shot through Étienne.
Krysta.
The smaller of the two vamps he had left guarding her tackled her and took her to the ground, covering her body with his. The other three vamps and Étienne were hit with bullets as Étienne rushed forward and cleaved the soldiers’ heads from their bodies.
Both dropped to the ground.
Stark silence engulfed them, broken only by the harsh breaths of Étienne and the vampires.
Richart appeared beside him. The vampire covering Krysta clambered to his feet. Krysta rose and, staring at the vamp in utter disbelief, sidled over to the d’Alençons.
Four vampires—bleeding from multiple wounds, standing side by side, hands still clutching weapons—faced them.
The silence stretched as all waited for action.
“Thank you,” Krysta said to the one who had taken several bullets for her.
He nodded once, jaw clenching, hand not loosening its hold on his blade.
She glanced at Étienne. “Now what?”
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I’ve never gotten this far before.” Only Bastien had ever successfully recruited vampires.
Speaking of which . . .
He sheathed one of his weapons, drew out his phone again, and dialed.
“What?” Bastien answered.
“It’s Étienne. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I have a situation and could use your help.”
Bastien grunted. “I bet that hurt.”
“Where are you?” Étienne asked, refusing to take the bait.
“In Melanie’s office at the network.”
“Richart is on his way.”
He pocketed his phone and met his brother’s gaze. “He’s in Melanie’s office.”
Nodding, Richart vanished.
The vampires gasped.
“How does he do that?” the Tar Heel asked. According to his thoughts, his name was Jeremy. He seemed to be the most lucid of the group.
“Stick around and you’ll find out.” Étienne looked at the vamp on the far right, who was considering bolting. “Don’t run. You won’t get far and having to chase you will piss me off.”
The vampire swallowed.
“Now, all four of you did me a solid,” he went on, then looked to Krysta. “That’s a saying, right?”
Though her pretty face was pinched with pain, she smiled. “Yes.”
He returned his attention to the vamps. “All of you did me a solid, so you can relax and stop worrying about me attacking you.”
Jeremy’s shoulders loosened a bit. “What about Kenny?”
“The one felled by the tranquilizer dart?”
“Yes.”
“I’m good with him, too.” Satisfied that the vamps were in line, he carefully pulled Krysta into a hug. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, leaning into him. “Do you think Richart could take me home to Sean while you guys work out whatever it is you’re going to do?”
He swore. “I should have had him do that first.”
She shook her head. “I would have missed out on the hug.”
One of the vamps—Ben, according to his thoughts—leaned toward another and whispered, “Is it me or does this look like it’s about to turn into a chick flick?”
Krysta laughed, then grunted in pain.
Étienne put just enough distance between them to peel off her coat.
She growled at the agony it caused.
“I’m sorry. I want to make sure you aren’t losing too much blood.” The bullet that had struck her arm had thankfully missed her brachial artery. The wound in her shoulder still bled sluggishly, but didn’t look too bad.