The Last True Vampire(80)
Claire’s presence fluttered across his senses, almost too faint to be real. Mikhail turned, his pace brisk as he rushed down the sidewalk toward a run-down diner tucked between an abandoned building and a pawnshop. A breeze kicked up dust and debris and her scent slammed into him, nearly bringing him to his knees.
Through the large picture window of the storefront he spied her and a wave of intense need seized him. A sign on the entrance indicated that the diner wasn’t yet open for the day as she busied herself with brewing coffee and setting pastries out on a large serving platter that she covered with a clear plastic dome. Dark shadows formed half-moons beneath her eyes and the hollows of her cheeks sank slightly into her face. The bright spark was absent from her golden eyes, and in its place was a bone-deep exhaustion that permeated Mikhail’s pores and drew on his already-weakened stores of energy.
Was she ill? Hurt? Dying?
Panic surged in his chest as he recalled the memory of the human woman as she died from her lover’s bite. Though Mikhail hadn’t fed Claire from his vein, he hadn’t considered the possibility that by taking so much of her blood he could have done irreparable damage to her.
He rushed toward the door, determined to get her to safety. He’d pore over the pages of the blood codex, send Ronan to the far ends of the earth in search of a cure for whatever ailed her. Anything to ensure that she could remain by his side, healthy and thriving—
The scent of blood reached his nostrils and Mikhail stopped dead in his tracks. A creature dressed from head to toe in black approached slowly, a steady ribbon of crimson trickling from his outstretched fist.
“We assumed you’d crawl out of your hole again.”
Icy rage slid down Mikhail’s spine. The slayer’s voice was as dark and cold as a tomb. Mikhail cast a furtive glance toward the diner, desperate to pull the slayer’s focus from where Claire stood, completely defenseless.
The assassin followed Mikhail’s gaze, a sinister smirk pulling at his lips. “Don’t worry; we’ll deal with her soon enough.”#p#分页标题#e#
Mikhail flew into action. He rounded on the slayer, fangs bared. The Sortiari must have learned their lesson from their last attempt to kill him because the assassin standing before him now was a mountain of a creature, bulging with muscle and armed for battle.
He flashed a wide grin that showcased his elongated incisors. Inky black swallowed the whites of his eyes and he moved with the fluidity of a seasoned warrior. From a sheath at his back he produced a long dagger. Blue steel winked under the streetlight and he struck out with the speed of a cobra, catching Mikhail’s right biceps with the blade. The physical pain was nothing compared to the sharp jab to his ego. Without Claire’s blood to sustain him, he was weaker, slower, his mind less sharp than it should have been.
Alone on the streets without additional defense, he’d left Jenner to watch over Ronan. Mikhail was one weakened vampire against a Goliath of a slayer—a berserker warlord who undoubtedly had reinforcements close. A few weeks ago Mikhail might have allowed the slayer to run a stake through his heart, just to be done with this existence once and for all. But no longer. He had something to live for. A mate to seek out and a race to replenish. And he’d be damned if he let this—or any other of the Sortiari’s hellish creatures—end him.
A battle shout erupted from Mikhail’s lips as he charged his opponent. The slayer braced for the attack and met him head-on, his razor-sharp teeth bared and ready to shred. A loud crack echoed off of the building facades as Mikhail took the slayer to the ground, slamming his considerable frame on the sidewalk that broke from the impact.
“I was told you were formidable.” Blood spewed from the slayer’s mouth with his laughter. “But that was barely a love tap.” He rolled before Mikhail could stomp down on his head and sprang back to his feet. “The great Mikhail Aristov, neubivayemyy. You’re not even worth my time.”
The slayer spat at Mikhail’s feet as he slowly circled him. The assassin called him the unkillable. He could only hope that the title held true and instilled his opponent with a healthy dose of fear. “Then be on your way, and I’ll spare you,” he suggested with a slow smile. His fangs elongated at the onset of battle lust, his need to tear his enemy to shreds only second to his need for blood.
“The sun is about to rise, vampire. If you’re going to kill me, better make it quick. Otherwise, I might just let the sunlight do the job for me. I’ll watch you burn and give your ashes to your mate before I break her neck.”