Doe's face contorted. "I should have killed you all when I found you the first time. Made it easy."
"Yes," Joseph said. "You should have."
He put the gun against Doe's forehead and pulled the trigger.
Joseph left Doe's body. He did not watch the man's soul leave. He ran back to help Six. There were four piles of ash on the ground. No doubt all of them had died with their heads ripped off. Vampire strength was obviously doing her some good.
The last vampire alive was the terror cell planner. Six had him pinned face down on the ground. She had somehow found time to locate a mini-recorder, which she held up to Joseph.
"How do you do that?" he asked admiringly, taking the device. Six smiled.
Joseph turned on the recorder and held it by the vampire's face. He watched as Six questioned him on tape, methodically breaking his fingers every time he refused to answer. And when he still refused, she commenced ripping those fingers off his hand, one by one. The dismembered digits turned to ash.
By the time she reached his pinky, the man had begun blabbering like an idiot. Helped along, of course, by Joseph's own coercion. He did not feel like wasting any more of their time. When Six was satisfied, he turned off the recorder and slipped it into his pocket. He did not want to preserve, for posterity, the sound of Six tearing off a man's head with her bare hands.
Which she did, quite easily. The vampire turned to ash "So," Joseph said. "That was… interesting."
"Very." Six wiped her hands together.
"I hope this doesn't mean we're breaking up," he said. "Now that the danger is over."
"There is always danger," Six said. "And no, I am not going anywhere. Not without you."
"Good," Joseph said, the adrenaline finally seeping away making him shaky. He wrapped his arm around Six's shoulders and pulled her near.
"Happy New Year," he muttered, and kissed her hard.
* * *
Epilogue
Three weeks later, Six found herself in Mongolia. It was a nice country. She could admit to herself that she loved it.
It was a beautiful day, cold and crisp. Furs lined her throat. Her leather jacket was heavy and warm. A gun pressed against her ribs, slung tight in a new shoulder holster.
Joseph sat beside her on a motorcycle. It was a Russian model, lightweight, but sturdy enough for two. Good for cross-country riding, unless they decided to buy horses. Unlikely. The animals did not seem to like Six. She blamed the poison still in her blood.
"Life is good," Joseph said.
"Yes," Six said. "Do you think Ying has been able to use the information that was on the recording?"
"I would think so." He hesitated. "Regrets about leaving your old life?"
"Not really," she said. "I am making a new one."
"In a spectacular way, I might add."
"For a vampire."
Joseph shrugged, but she could feel concern on the edge of his thoughts. "You're only part of those creatures."
"Enough, I think."
"Perfect, just the way you are." Joseph held out his hand. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again. What a team we make, Six."
"Yes." Six trailed her fingers down his chest. "And what will we do next, as a team? I am a wanted woman. You are a wanted man. We cannot ever go back."
"China is a big country, but it's not as big as the world. We'll manage." He patted the back of his motorcycle. "Ready?"
Six hesitated for a moment, gazing down at the valley below her. The land could swallow the sky with its vastness: green and brown and full of lush curves that idled like the clouds.
No walls, anywhere in sight.
Six turned around. Joseph was watching her, a question in his eyes. She kissed him, long and slow, and slid behind him on the motorcycle.
"I want one of these," she said. "I want to fly on this land."
"We'll fly together," he said.
And they did.
* * *
MARJORIE M . LIU is an attorney who has lived and worked throughout Asia. She hails from both coasts, but currently resides in the Midwest, where she writes full time. Her books include the New York Times bestselling Dirk & Steele series of paranormal romances for Leisure, and her forthcoming Hunter Kiss urban fantasies from Ace Books.
For more information, please visit her website at: www.marjoriemliu.com.
* * *
* * *
The Harvest
Vicki Pettersson
For my mother—Joanne Johnson.
Happy Thanksgiving; Happy Birthday.
* * *
Chapter 1
Zoe Archer had hated hospitals even before she became mortal, and absolutely loathed them now that she was subject to the same capricious whims of the universe as those she used to protect. The sharp smell of disinfectant, and the even sharper underlying emotions, was a bitter reminder that she, too, was suddenly vulnerable to gun-toting criminals and shifty-eyed rapists.