16. SIXTEEN #2
He lunges free in one short, brutal movement, tackling the flask-wielding hunter against the curtained window.
No need for the curved dagger still glinting in his grasp—Dante rips out the man’s throat with his teeth.
A terrible fleshy tearing sound cuts across the room, blood gushing from the insidious wound.
The body goes limp and drops to Dante’s feet like a felled tree.
The assailant who’d pinned his arms turns green in the face.
With a frightened curse, he retreats—but Dante is faster, pivoting to seize the man’s shoulder and pull him onto his dagger.
The hunter chokes out a rasping cry. My own eyes widen when I realize I can see Dante’s hand protruding right through the man’s back, still clutching his weapon dripping in gore.
Dante snarls with a triumphant flash of teeth as he wrenches his hand back out with a sickening squelch.
The hunter’s guttural howl mingles with Thomas’ would-be attacker, whose left arm is now laying on the other side of the room.
Another two bodies thump onto the floor in a mangled heap, and without the barest second of hesitation, Dante side-steps the bodies to launch himself at Thomas.
I stagger back involuntarily, base instincts screaming at me to stand clear as they grapple like fallen gods.
I have little choice anyway, as I’m forced to parry against a light-haired hunter wielding an axe.
My bare feet move fluidly on the floor, using circular movements of middle misura to keep out of his effective range.
His weapon is heavy, leaving a gaping window for me to strike in close quarters after he’s swung.
I target his dominant arm, thrusting my blade deep into his bicep.
The hunter curses, staggering back, axe hitting the floor. He will survive the injury—probably.
Another deafening thud rattles the walls.
I whirl in time to see Dante pinning his brother to the wall, striking his face, again and again.
A chill snakes through me as I watch Dante’s face—his savagery runs even deeper than the confrontation last night.
Every blow is ruthless—aimed to kill. I swear a cloud of desperate fear lines his features: the very real possibility that Thomas can overpower him and drag him back to Alessandro.
Though his face is blooded and swollen, Thomas gains traction.
A well-placed kick sends Dante staggering backward.
He tackles Dante against the window, glass cracking from their combined weight.
The curtain rod shivers, coming loose with a metallic rattle.
Their only shield from the dawn drops to the floor in a heap.
Faint shafts of light spill into the room, forcing a pause to their fatal struggle.
Another two hunters, perhaps thinking they can use the dawn to their advantage, rush at the pair of vampires.
They split—one goes for Dante, who has stepped back into the shadows beside the ruined bed.
Dante’s dagger twirls deftly between his fingers.
I have no doubt the hunter will soon be another corpse on the floor.
The one targeting Thomas takes a swing with a wooden stake. Although Thomas lurches out of the way in time to avoid a strike through the heart, the hunter does not relent, and the point drives into the center of Thomas’ thigh.
Cursing, Thomas staggers against the wall. “That fucking hurt!”
I wince, too—without proper aim, the hunter has only pissed off his quarry.
Thomas rips the stake free and seizes the man by the front of his shirt.
More than that, judging by the man’s wails and the burst of blood across his tunic, Thomas has clenched a fistful of his chest as well.
With a grunt, he shoves the hunter through the window, shattering it entirely.
Thomas is met with a brief sizzle of flesh from his exposure to the light, and he hurriedly scrambles out of range.
Two hands seize me by the shoulders and whirl me around. I begin to raise my weapons, but the man is prepared. He shoves my head against the wall, making stars explode across my vision.
Bile rises to my throat. The next thing I know, he’s atop me, knees pinning my arms, hands tightening around my throat. I struggle as best I can, but I can’t move—I can’t breathe. All I can see is his bared teeth, the vicious delight he has in being the one to end my life.
The edges of my vision begin to blur—and all I can think is that this man’s horrid, brutish face will be the last thing I see in this life.
Dante’s voice creeps in, and for a moment, I think I’m imagining it. “I’m afraid that throat is already spoken for.”
I draw in a painful, gasping breath as the man is suddenly yanked off my body. He struggles above me, rasping out pleadingly, before a sickening snap resonates and he goes limp. His body drops, removing the barrier between me and Dante.
Breathing heavily, Dante reaches a hand to help me up. I can see a teasing remark wavering at his lips—but I don’t even have time to grasp him before Thomas tackles him from the side in a blur.
In one brutal motion, Thomas has shoved him into the brightest part of the room—the rising sun’s beams have shifted into one corner.
Dante tries to flee, but Thomas blocks his path—a fallen spear from the floor now grasped in place of his shortsword.
He drives the spearhead through Dante’s shoulder, effectively nailing him to the wall.
Dante’s ragged shout of pain curdles my blood.
“You know,” Thomas says, leaning more weight onto the spear.
“Father insisted you be brought back alive. He’s obsessed with the fantasy of a reunion.
But, accidents happen, don’t they? Your little slayer will make a good consolation prize.
All I have to say is that she killed your pathetic ass.
The favored son, slayed by that little slip of thing. ”
Dante’s flesh hisses as the sun heightens with each passing heartbeat—and Thomas is too busy relishing his brother’s torment to notice me stagger to my feet. If there is one thing I can be certain about in the Order’s teachings, it’s vampiric arrogance.
I waver a step behind Thomas and raise my weapons. “I can think of nothing more pathetic,” I breathe before swinging the blades inward from above his shoulders.
His head thuds to the floor, his body following suit.
Dante hurriedly wrenches the spear free from his upper chest and bolts out of the sunlight, gasping raggedly on hands and knees. He looks up at me, eyes wide. The exposure to dawn’s light, faint as it was, did more damage than the holy water.
“Thank you,” he rasps, eyes falling shut as he bows his head.
My hands tremble around the handles of my blades. “If anyone is going to kill you,” I tell him, “it’ll be me.”