“Drop them or he’s dead!” Wu Shen held a pistol aimed at Howard’s face. The other two guards poked the tips of their swords into his back.
The Vamps froze. When Wu Shen cocked his pistol, they tossed their swords onto the ground.
He gave them a disgusted look. “You think you can escape by killing three guards? I have a hundred more outside. And every one of us considers it an honor to die for Master Han.”
“Well said, Wu Shen,” a muffled voice announced outside the cave.
“Master Han.” He stepped back and inclined his head. “We have the prisoners you wanted.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Shit. He’d killed a man.
Gregori’s gaze drifted to the dead body and his knife protruding from the man’s chest. Ian had warned him when he’d first begun his lessons in fencing and martial arts. Once you engage in combat, you have to kill to survive.
Over the years, Gregori had mentally prepared himself. If a battle occurred with the Malcontents, he wanted to be able to fight alongside his friends. And that meant killing Malcontents. He’d accepted that. After all, Malcontents were vicious vampires who had a long track record of torturing and killing humans. They deserved to die. Skewering them through the heart just made them disintegrate into a pile of dust. One strong gust of wind, and the dust was gone.
No body. No guilt. No remorse.
It had never occurred to him that he might have to kill a human. This body wasn’t going to disappear. The dead man lay there in a pool of blood, his eyes wide open, staring but not seeing.
Gregori clenched his fists and looked away. You’re a warrior now. Deal with it. He needed to protect Abigail, get her home safely, get them all home safely.
Their first attempt had failed, but he would stay alert and prepared for the next opportunity.
A new group of soldiers dashed inside the cave and retrieved the swords he, Russell, and J.L. had dropped. They even yanked the knives from the dead men’s chests, in case Gregori and his friends were tempted to use them again.
Abigail was pale, her hands gripped together, so he gave her an encouraging look. They still had a few aces up their sleeve. Rajiv had escaped. If he made it to his grandfather’s tribe, there would be a group of were-tigers ready for battle. Rajiv would manage to call Angus, or the check-in call would be missed—either way, Angus would know they were in trouble. And he could locate them with the tracking chips embedded in their arms.
The soldiers went into a scraping and bowing routine, then moved aside so Master Han could advance into the cave.
He was tall. And slim. That was all Gregori could make out, for his body was covered with black silk robes and topped with a hooded robe of red silk, embroidered in gold. Deep inside the shadow of the hood, his face was hidden behind a mask of gold. No wonder his voice had sounded tinny and muffled.
“Master Han, and the three vampire lords,” Wu Shen announced. “Lord Ming, Lord Qing, and Lord Liao.”
Three Asian vampires followed Master Han. They were also dressed in flowing silk robes, but their heads were uncovered. Their hair, long and braided, dangled down their backs. Each one clasped his hands together at the waist. Gregori figured they didn’t use their hands much, not with fingernails that were about six inches long, curved and yellow.
Gross. From the look on Abigail’s face, he could tell she agreed.
It was hard to tell what Master Han was thinking or feeling with the stupid gold mask on his face, but Gregori could see his brown eyes studying Howard before moving slowly toward the back of the cave. His gaze passed over Gregori, lingered on Abigail, then moved on to J.L. and Russell. He stiffened.
“Bastard,” Russell muttered.
Lord Ming said something in Chinese, and Lord Qing appeared to agree.
“They want to kill us,” J.L. whispered.
“Lords Ming, Qing, and Dingaling can take a flying leap,” Russell growled.
Master Han lifted a black-gloved hand and pointed at Russell. “This one is mine. He bears my mark.”
The three vampire lords murmured in disbelief.
“Show your mark,” Master Han demanded in his muffled voice. “Show you belong to me.”
Russell glared back, not moving.
A soldier came forward to grab his right arm, but he pulled away. Master Han motioned to Howard, and a soldier grasped Howard’s hair to yank back his head while he pressed a knife to his throat.
“Now, slave.” Master Han turned back to Russell. “Show me your mark.”
Russell jerked back his sleeve to reveal his tattoo. “It means nothing, asshole.”
“On the contrary, it means I will keep you alive until I can reclaim what is mine.” Master Han removed three syringes from an embroidered pouch tied to his waist by silken cords. He passed them to a soldier and gave him directions in Chinese.