Fuck.
He didn’t dare look long. Even dawn’s early, filtered wash of light was like acid pouring over his retinas. Lucan was feeling the effects too. He took a hit in the thigh, the remaining Minion’s shot driving him down to the floor. As a Gen One vampire, he could absorb more damage than others of their race, and he had, his body expelling the rounds he hadn’t been able to dodge, the wounds bleeding but already beginning to heal over.
But he was under the open ceiling now, and thin tendrils of smoke began to rise up off his exposed skin. He bellowed, transforming in his rage. His lips peeled back as his fangs ripped out of his gums and his eyes went bright amber.
The Minion started to retreat now, realizing what he was up against. Lucan rolled out of the light and pulled the trigger of his 9mm. A single shot rang out. The Minion dropped, but he wasn’t dead yet. Lucan squeezed off another round, finishing the bastard.
Then, silence.
The hollow click of an empty cartridge.
At the same time, Tegan’s own Gen One abilities were slowly coming back to life. But he couldn’t yet physically break the bonds that held him. He wasn’t at all sure he should. The Crimson he’d been made to ingest was thrumming through every cell in his body, corrupting him like the poison it was.
He felt his Bloodlust rising, compelling him to feed the thirst that wanted to rule him.
He snarled as Elise came over to him and tried to work one of his manacles free. “Get away, damn it! I don’t want you here. Get out of here while you still can.”
She kept tugging on the cuff, ignoring him completely. “There’s got to be a way to get these off you.”
He saw her eyes sweep the room, searching for a tool. “Elise, goddamn it!”
She scurried over to one of the dead Minions and pulled the semiauto out from under the heavy bulk of the body. “Take this,” she ordered him, slapping the weapon into his free hand. “Shoot the chains, Tegan. Do it now!”
He hesitated, and she made a hasty grab for the gun.
“Damn it, if you don’t, I will!”
She didn’t have the chance. The gun clattered to the floor, and, in a blur of movement, Elise was yanked off her feet by invisible hands and thrown several yards away. She crashed down, landing hard in the litter of broken glass. The scent of heather and roses swamped the room.
Marek stood in the open doorway, a sword in one hand, his other raised and pointed in Elise’s direction, holding her there with the power of his mind. His mental grasp closed around her throat, cutting off precious air. She choked and clawed at the tight band of energy that was strangling her.
“She bleeds, warrior,” he taunted Tegan. “And how your Rogue eyes thirst for it.”
Lucan drew a blade from his hip and sent it flying. In that instant, Marek’s focus switched, flicking to the airborne dagger and deflecting it with a thought. Undaunted, Marek strode forward, chuckling as he came up on Lucan’s bloodied, UV-scorched face. “Ah, my brother. Your death will be particularly sweet after all these years of waiting. I only wish you could live to see my rule come to pass before we say good-bye.”
Marek raised his sword and swung it hard. Lucan rolled at the last second, leaving only hard wood planks in the way of his brother’s weapon. The blade bit deep into the floor, momentarily frozen there.
In a flash of movement, Lucan was up on his feet. He grabbed the nearest thing he could find—his hands closing on a length of copper utility pipe that ran up the wall. He wrenched it loose. Water spurted from the severed connection like a small fountain.
“Lucan!” Tegan called out as Marek yanked his sword free and spun to bring it down on his brother.
Lucan met the blow, blocking the downward arc with the long tube of copper. It bent under the strain, but Lucan held fast, fury blazing in his amber eyes. Marek’s dark glasses were knocked askew in the scuffle, revealing still more amber as brother met brother in a murderous bid for control. Marek tried to drive the sword harder, leaning into the blade with all the considerable strength of his right arm. Lucan didn’t give an inch. The two Gen One warriors grunted as they held each other at an impasse.
Above them, the sky was growing brighter, hotter, singeing both where the light touched open skin.
Released of Marek’s hold, Elise coughed and gasped, struggling to breathe. Her pain lanced across Tegan like a physical blow. And the sight of her bleeding—the bright red lacerations on her hands, on her face—sent a jolt of adrenaline arrowing through Tegan’s veins. He ripped his other arm loose of its bonds, roaring up into the rafters.
And across the space from him, Marek and Lucan’s stalemate was taking a treacherous turn. It happened in an instant, Marek’s hissed oath was vicious, the only hint of what was to come. Bearing down on Lucan with his right arm, he reached into his shirt with his free hand and withdrew a small vial of red powder.