Ethan’s acute hearing picked up the vampires vying to see who could brag the loudest about the atrocities they had committed as they had drained their victims of blood.
Reaching into the car, Ethan retrieved his sais from the passenger seat and closed the door. Long strides carried him swiftly across the street and into the trees beyond.
The night sky would soon begin to lighten with daybreak. Ethan wanted to be comfortably ensconced in David’s place before then, so, putting on a burst of preternatural speed, he raced after the vampires.
He made no effort to conceal his approach, just tore through the forest. Let the vamps wonder what the hell was coming. Let them fear the predator who hunted them as their victims had feared the vampires.
Ethan slowed when he saw them.
Seven. Hell. He hadn’t expected that many.
Seven would be a challenge.
Seven could be a problem.
“Immortal Guardian,” one managed to snarl a second before Ethan struck.
Having only been transformed a hundred years ago, give or take, Ethan was only slightly faster and stronger than the vampires. But his thoughts remained clear, unclouded by the insanity that plagued the latter, and he had been trained by a master swordswoman. Most vampires, on the other hand, were former college students who had been turned after getting drunk or high at a party and becoming easy prey. So most had spent their free time in sedentary pursuits, screwing around on the Internet and playing video games, before they had been transformed.
Their lack of combat training evened the playing field a bit. For every wound the vampires inflicted, Ethan inflicted four. His sais swept their flashy Bowie knives aside, tore clothing, and parted flesh. Cries of pain, coupled with roars of fury, abounded as they crashed through the underbrush. One vampire sank to his knees, but stumbled back up again.
Ethan swore. Remaining in constant motion, he drew blood from every opponent.
Light glimmered through the trees up ahead as he swept a weapon from a vampire’s bloody hand and pressed forward.
Now what? he wondered as it grew brighter.
Heather glanced at her watch. 5:43. About this time in the dream, vampires would burst into the clearing and freak her the hell out. As usual, she’d give it a few more minutes, then pack everything up and—
A faint rustling sound intruded upon the night.
Her heart gave a little leap.
“It’s just a squirrel,” she murmured. But . . . it was 5:43. In the dream, she always heard a rustling sound at 5:43.
She eyed the trees to the west with trepidation.
A breeze ruffled her bangs and scattered the fog at her feet as the first voice reached her.
Her heart began to ram against her rib cage as a faint shout followed. Then another. And another. Words indiscernible.
Heather’s hands began to shake as she shoved her tablet into her backpack and drew out her Walther PPQ 9mm.
Branches and twigs snapped and crackled as something plowed through the trees toward her.
Oh shit. This wasn’t really going to happen, was it?
Thuds, curses, and grunts increased in volume. Foliage rustled.
Rising, Heather backed away, raised her 9mm, and aimed it at the shadowed evergreens. Chest level. Her finger near the trigger. Ready to squeeze it at a moment’s notice.
Dark figures burst from the trees.
As in the dream, she could see little more than a blurry tornado of motion, spinning across the meadow, knocking over a couple of her lawn lights.
Fear consumed her. Adrenaline surged through her veins. Her breath shortened as she eased back another step.
The tempest’s movement slowed. Seven men swam into focus with blood-soaked clothing, glinting fangs, and eyes that glowed blue or green or silver. Seven men who bore the exact same features as the vampires in her dream. Seven men with fingers curled around the hilts of big-ass knives with which they seemed intent upon slaying the eighth.
And the eighth . . .
Garbed all in black, he stood nearly a head taller than the rest. His short, black hair was mussed. His face and clothing, like theirs, bore streaks of blood. His chest rose and fell with rapid breaths that emerged from lips parted to reveal fangs as he swung deadly sais at his opponents.
One of the blue-eyed vampires took a step toward Heather, drawing her wide-eyed gaze. A sneering smile that chilled her blood stretched his thin lips.
Two of his companions fell to the ground behind him.
The man in black looked her way. Glowing amber eyes locked with hers. “What the hell are you waiting for?” he growled. “Shoot them!”
He sprang back into motion, attacking two more.
Ignoring his fallen comrades, the sneering vampire took a step toward Heather. Then another. Then blurred as he shot forward.
Heather stumbled backward and fired her weapon.
Brah! Brah! Brah! Brah!
The vampire stumbled to a halt, four holes now decorating his torso, but he didn’t go down. Fury and pain contorted his sneering features.
“The arteries!” the handsome, amber-eyed warrior shouted. “Hit the major arteries!”
Too terrified to ignore him, she fired again, hitting the sneering vampire in the carotid and femoral arteries. When another vampire raced toward her, she shot his blurry form several times in the chest until he slowed and she could see him better, then sent a bullet through his carotid artery.
Both vampires fell to the ground as a third vampire sped toward her.
Heather fired her Walther again.
Brah! Brah! Brah! Brah! Click. Click. Click.
Shit! She was out of bullets.
The vampire was but a breath away when something swept between them and knocked her down.
Heather hit the ground hard. Dirt and weeds abraded her hands and elbows. A flurry of motion erupted a few feet from her face.
Grabbing the 9mm she had dropped, she scrabbled away and dove for her backpack.
More grunts and thuds and hisses sounded behind her as she upended the pack and rifled through the contents in search of her spare magazine.
There!
Grabbing it, she ejected the empty magazine and shoved the full one home.
“It’s okay,” a deep voice spoke behind her.
Advancing the first bullet into the chamber, she spun around, sat on her butt, and aimed the weapon up at . . . the vampire clad in black.
Bending over, he braced hands that still clasped sais on his knees and nodded toward the corpses on the ground at his feet. Beneath her horrified gaze, the bodies began to shrivel up like mummies. “It’s okay,” he repeated. “It’s over.” Crimson liquid speckled his handsome face. His clothing glistened with damp patches.
Heather adjusted her aim, sighting his carotid artery down the barrel. But her hands shook so violently now that she doubted she could even hit the trees behind him.
He started to straighten, but halted mid-motion and emitted a grunt of pain. Sheathing one of his sais, he reached behind him to feel his back, then swore. His nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath and clenched his befanged teeth together. He made an odd, jerky movement with his hidden arm, then brought his hand back into view, now clutching a short knife.
Heather stared. Had he just pulled that thing out of his back?
He slung it at one of the deteriorating vampires. “Asshole.” Sheathing his other sai, he pressed a hand to his side and limped toward her. “I’m sorry I knocked you down. Are you okay?”
“Stop!” she blurted. “Don’t come any closer.”
His steps halted. He squinted down at her. Frowning, he reached into his coat.
Heather touched her finger to the trigger. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”
He froze. In slow, incremental movements, he raised the hand he had pressed to his side and held it bloody-palm-out toward her. “Easy,” he crooned. When he withdrew his other hand from his coat, he held up a white handkerchief. “I just need to wipe my eyes. Blood keeps dripping into them and blurring my vision.”
When he seemed to wait for a response, she gave a jerky nod. “Go ahead.”
Heather scrambled to her feet while he wiped his eyes, turning the pristine cloth red. She hadn’t realized until then that a deep gash marred his forehead. Blood did indeed trail down over his dark eyebrows into his eyes.
As soon as he cleared his vision, the dark warrior from her dreams narrowed glowing amber eyes at her.
“Forgive me,” Ethan said, realizing he had made a mistake. “I thought you were Nichole.”
The woman before him appeared to be in her midtwenties and bore the same height—about five foot five or six—and slender build of Sean’s Second, Nichole. The woman’s hair was about the right length—halfway down her back. She was garbed all in black. Although, now that he could see her better, he noted that she wore a slim-fitting jogging suit rather than the black T-shirt and cargo pants Seconds tended to prefer. Instead of black combat boots, colorful sneakers encased her small feet.
“You can lower your weapon,” he told her. Was he so coated in blood that she couldn’t identify him? “I’m Ethan. I’m immortal, not vampire. Are you . . . ?” He tried to think of any Seconds in the area whom he hadn’t met. “Are you Aidan’s Second? Or Alleck’s?” He couldn’t remember if their Seconds were male or female.
The woman didn’t respond, just stared back at him with wide, brown eyes so light they almost appeared golden. She was pretty. Fresh-faced and makeup-free like the girls of his youth. Pale skin lightly dusted with freckles, a pert nose, and lovely lips.