She cried out, the last comfortable breath she could take as blood began to fill her lung.
She turned to the muscled vampire.
His eyes glowed with triumph as he raised a long dagger above his head.
Dodging his downswing, Lisette drove her shoto sword up into his stomach, severing his abdominal aorta.
He froze, eyes widening, then stumbled backward, the movement removing his flesh from her blade.
Hunched over, Lisette watched his shirt turn crimson, watched him sink to the ground, and didn’t turn away until he breathed his last breath and began to shrivel up.
A quick look around told her Krysta and Étienne would soon defeat the last of the vampires.
Gritting her teeth, Lisette reached under her arm, gripped the handle of the weapon still imbedded in her body, and drew it out. “Ahhhhh!”
“Lisette!” Étienne cried.
She stared in disbelief at the weapon in her trembling hand and turned to face her brother as he decapitated the last vampire standing and rushed to her side. “Bastard stabbed me . . . with my own . . . weapon,” she wheezed, then spat a mouthful of blood on the grass.
Krysta darted over to her side and wrapped a supportive arm around her. “Are you okay? What can I do? Do you need blood? Étienne always brings some with us in a cooler now because he hates it when I’m injured.”
As far as Lisette could tell, all of the blood that painted Krysta was vampire. She barely had a scratch on her. “Blood would . . . be good . . . thanks.”
Nodding, Krysta dashed away so fast she blurred.
“Damn it, Krysta!” Étienne shouted. “There could be . . . more,” he finished with a sigh.
Lisette sure as hell hoped there weren’t more vampires. Not unless they were of the typical easier-to-defeat variety.
Richart appeared, holding Jenna’s hand as she leaned into his side. Blood speckled their faces and necks and saturated their clothing.
“Really?” Lisette hissed. Damn, it was hard to breathe. “You show up . . . now?”
“Where have I heard that before?” Richart muttered. His eyes widened as he took in her battered condition. “Merde!”
Étienne didn’t look much better.
Jenna hurried to Lisette’s side and carefully touched her back. “Are you okay? Can we do anything?”
Lisette shook her head, unable to speak and lacking the energy to think a response.
“I’m fine, by the way,” Étienne drawled.
Richart snorted and said something derogatory.
Krysta reappeared with a couple of bags of blood in her hand. “I’m sorry. This is all we brought with us.”
Lisette took one bag and motioned for Krysta to give the other to Étienne, who was stooped over a bit himself and held one side.
Étienne tried to refuse and insist that Lisette take it.
Lisette gave him the finger.
Immortal males tended to treat her as one of the guys until she was wounded and then—holy crap—the fuss they made over her! And her brothers were the worst. Étienne could be missing a limb and would still try to insist she take all of the blood herself.
Lisette sank her fangs into the lone bag she accepted. Sighing, she let them siphon the blood into her veins, replenishing some of that she had lost. It was enough to stop the bleeding of her wounds, but she would need more to heal them all. Her shallow, rapid breath evened out as her lung reinflated.
Étienne straightened as blood filled his veins. He lowered the bag and nodded at Lisette. “Did you read their thoughts?”
“Just the one I fought. I found nothing there.”
“No plans? No image of the one who recruited or trained him? Nothing unusual?”
She shook her head. “Not a thing. Just anger and pain and a determination to kick my ass.”
He frowned.
Richart approached her. “Let me take you home.”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.”
“You aren’t fine. You look like shit.”
“Well, I don’t feel like it,” she snapped. “And I don’t want to leave my Busa behind.”
“I’ll come back for your damned motorcycle,” he said.
“As rarely as you ride? I wouldn’t trust you to get it to me in one piece.”
“I can teleport it.”
“And collapse afterward because it took so much energy? Forget it.”
“I’ll do it,” Étienne spoke up. “Let Richart teleport you home so you can get more blood in you. I’ll ride your bike to your place while you heal.”
And have him run into Zach? Hell no. “You need to see to your own wounds.”
Krysta looked at Jenna. “I don’t know how to ride a motorcycle. Do you?”
“No.”
“I could fetch Roland to heal you,” Richart suggested.