Chapter 3 #2
He halted as four figures leapt down in front of him, landing with the grace of felines.
Byron and two other men, one dark-skinned and a shorter, broader-set lad with a mop of curls on his head.
And a dark-haired woman, of maybe eighteen when she was turned.
Three more landed in almost perfect unison behind him.
Karson didn’t look at them, but he could see two shapes out of the corner of his eye. The other was shielded directly behind his back. Not ideal. It was more challenging to fight what you couldn’t see.
He raised his chin and smiled. “Gentlemen, and lady,” he said casually. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not here for a light-hearted visit?”
Byron took a step forward. The leader of the group. It was a self-assigned role. Anyone with a brain cell, a true leader, wouldn’t try to trap Karson.
Byron ran his eyes over Karson from head to toe and back again, feigning indifference to the power he must know Karson had. Maybe they thought seven would be enough to take down one. Maybe they thought lowborns could defeat the king.
Surely fucking not.
He was their king—even if he hadn’t turned them, this was his area, his kingdom. He didn’t want to kill these vampires; they couldn’t have been turned long ago or there was no way they’d risk confronting him. They’d be fast, but they’d lack the fighting skills older vampires possessed.
“We know what you tried to do to Sarah, and we’re here to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
A lazy smile curled the corners of Karson’s lips. “Oh, how very interesting. Tell me, how exactly do young lowborns intend to do that?”
If there was one thing these new-age vampires hated, it was being called a lowborn. Apparently, it wasn’t a politically correct term and it deeply offended. It would be a cold day in hell before he gave a damn about their feelings.
Byron’s lip curled in barely contained disgust. “I’m going to give you a warning, a chance—stay the fuck away from Sarah. If we hear of you looking for her, if we hear of you even glancing in her direction again, we will kill you.”
A war between vampires was the last thing Karson wanted.
It was exactly what Sarah wanted. She was quick as whipped cats’ tails and twice as clever.
One on one, she was no match for him and she knew it.
With an army of vampires she’d sired going against him, young and old alike, there’d be many deaths on both sides.
“Tell me, did she send you to do her dirty work for her, or did you take it upon yourselves in a misguided and ill-fated attempt to protect her?”
Byron’s eyes narrowed. The way he was looking at Karson with such contempt and wicked humor, it was as though he had no idea whom he faced. And that just wouldn’t do.
“You can talk about sending people in to do your dirty work! Word has it you’re working with a filthy witch.”
Karson felt his blood simmer deep in the pit of his stomach. “I’m going to give you a chance to walk away now, or you will no longer be drawing air,” he glanced at his watch, “past midnight.”
Byron snorted and jerked his chin up. The dark-skinned vampire swallowed and darted his eyes to the female. A few others looked nervous, but they all stood their ground.
“I think you’ve lost the ability to count. There are seven of us and only one of you,” the mop-haired prick said, his French accent heavy. Interesting.
Karson wanted to call their bluff, make them back down. “I can count perfectly fine, and I can also tell you, unless you leave, there will be seven coffins required in …” he glanced at his watch again, “about sixty seconds.”
Byron tensed, a subtle movement of muscles most wouldn’t notice, but Karson did.
He moved in a flash, nails becoming claws.
Bryon didn’t step aside. Instead, unpracticed in the art of fighting, and filled with a stupid rage, he rushed to meet him.
Karson slammed a fist into his chest and Byron screamed.
His body jerked to an abrupt halt, his back arching, arms flailing, and he stiffened like a speared fish as Karson’s hand slipped through skin, flesh, muscle, and bone.
Karson jerked his hand back, and in it was a lump of pulped tissue, beating its last.
Byron collapsed into a heap as Karson tossed the heart against the wall.
There was utter silence, utter horror, the vampires frozen.
Karson smiled and held out his hands. “Who’s next?”
He thought the brief show of power would be enough to deter them. Hell was swarming with the souls lacking common sense.
They charged, lips peeled, fangs glinting.
Karson spun and side-kicked, his boot slamming into the gut of one soon-to-be-dead golden-haired vampire.
He flew backwards, slapping into the wall with a force that snapped his spine.
He dropped, but it wouldn’t keep the bastard down; he’d heal and be up shortly.
Karson kept spinning, arm outstretched, claws extended, ripping through another lowborn’s throat.
Blood sprayed, splattering his shirt like spring rain.
The vampire, eyes wide with horror, staggered back, clutching at his parted windpipe in a fruitless attempt to hold it together.
“Georgie.” It was Amelia’s voice, distant and faint, but he’d recognize it anywhere.
What was she doing here? His heart leapt then plunged in the same heartbeat as he swung back.
He knew it was a mistake as soon as he saw the mop-haired vampire pressed to the side of the lane holding a phone in his hand.
She wasn’t here at all; they had recorded her voice.
He whipped back, but it was too late. He felt something hard punch into his side. A burning pain exploded through his stomach.
He’d been stabbed.
No matter, he’d faced far worse. But his legs staggered. The pain was red hot, searing through his body like fire. His skin broke into a cold sweat. He knew from the raw, ugly ache through his entire body that this was no ordinary blade. It was poisoned.
Fuck.
He didn’t normally like to swear. He thought it a display of the lowest articulated form of intelligence.
But sometimes, there was no better word than fuck to adequately express a situation.
Maybe his newfound fondness for swearing was because he so often heard it from Amelia’s mouth, and there was nothing that came out of her mouth that he didn’t find oddly appealing.
They’d made another vital mistake—the vampire that stabbed him had left the blade in his body. Karson gritted his teeth as he yanked it out. Warm black blood rushed over his side.
The four vampires stood in front of him. Two were side by side. The dark-skinned one and the female hung back. The two on the ground were disabled for now—but healing.
The burn was like bolts of lightning electrifying his veins. His muscles stiffened and began to seize. If they rushed him now, he was all kinds of fucked.
They didn’t attack again though. They waited for him to drop. The sheer agony ripping through him might have dropped a lesser vampire.
He was not lesser.
However, he was struggling to stand, and had to brace his knees so he didn’t stumble and press the blade to his hip side to stop his hand from visibly trembling.
“I’d highly suggest you call it a night,” Karson drawled.
The vampires ran their eyes over his body as if analyzing how he could still be upright. A flicker of fear pinched their faces. The girl swallowed nervously and backed away, along with the dark-skinned guy. Good, they had at least a brain cell between them.
“Witch lover,” the mop-headed bastard sneered. “When I’m finished with you, I’m going to tear the bitch to pieces.”
Something stirred within Karson’s core. Something ancient, dark, lethal.
Kill him.
Fire glowed in his eyes as a deep, primal rage surged.
The vampires’ faces paled. The drumming beat of their terrified hearts drifted to his ears like a song. They’d never seen a firstborn’s fury. To hear of it was one thing, but to see it would be like staring at a scene of a horror movie. Caught off guard, they froze.
Even though every muscle inside him screamed, Karson lurched, teeth bared, the growl rumbling from his throat echoing against the night. A sound entirely inhuman.
The two vampires got over their shock, and their lips peeled back as they stood side by side and tensed to face him.
It was another amateur mistake standing so close.
Karson’s fingers still clutched around the blade, and with one fisted hand, he punched against the side of one vampire’s head while the other hand clutched the curly-haired vampire’s neck.
He slammed their heads together so hard, the crack ricocheted into the night.
Their skulls caved in like half-sunken loaves of bread.
They lost their balance, wobbling wildly.
Karson shifted his free hand to the curly-haired vampire’s head and his claws punched into the skull.
The vampire didn’t scream; he opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
Karson planted his foot on the other’s shoe and yanked upwards.
There was a pop as his head ripped clean from his shoulders.
Karson tossed it to the wall and turned his attention to the other male.
He staggered backwards, his eyes wild and dazed.
“No, please.” He held up his palms and wheezed. His head was horribly indented, juts of white bone and bits of brain leaking out of a crack. “We were only doing what we were ordered to do.” He spoke with an English accent, his words choked and slurred. “We didn’t have a choice, please.”
“Where is Sarah?” Karson snarled.
The vampire stumbled. The indent in his head was slowly pushing out and knitting over, but he’d have one hell of a headache. “I don’t know, I don’t know. She called, told us we had to or she’d kill us.”
Killing these vampires might spark a war between the factions. They had avoided fighting for hundreds of years due to an agreement the firstborns that remained had made. They avoided each other where possible, and if one firstborn entered another’s territory, they were to keep the peace.
War would be brutal and bloody.
And yet … no one threatened Amelia.
“Don’t,” the vampire whimpered, backing up as Karson stalked forward. “Please, no!”
Karson slammed him against the building and drove the poisoned blade into his heart.
His scream screeched painfully through Karson’s ears as black crept under the skin of the man’s chest, up his neck, slithering like serpents.
The vampire slumped to the pavement, pathetic moans falling from his mouth as his body writhed in agony.
Karson turned his attention to the other two, almost repaired and climbing shakily to their feet. They lost their lives before either of them could even open their mouths to scream.
Karson’s legs shook, his veins feeling like they were on fire, thirst and heat sucking his insides dry.
He turned, agonizingly slowly, to the dark-skinned man and the woman.
The vampires might be brave in a pack, but these two looked heartbeats away from pissing their pants.
He wanted to collapse from exhaustion, from sheer pain.
He needed to drink, needed blood to repair the damage these bastards had caused.
He barely had the strength left to stand, let alone fight.
But he kept his body taut, his face furious, refusing to show any sign of weakness.
His voice was calm and unbothered as he asked, “Where did you get the recording?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know.” Another English accent. The male’s eyes flickered to a dead Byron and back again. “Byron … I think … he got it from Sarah.”
Karson needed to find out when she’d recorded Amelia. And who had recorded her? It felt like a vital piece of information …
Karson’s muscles stretched and twisted, constricted like wet rope being wrung dry. He locked his jaw so he didn’t cry out, his vision blurring. He felt his body about to collapse. Once again, he locked his knees so he didn’t stagger, didn’t show how much agony he was in.
It was more than likely Sarah who had recorded Amelia months ago when she’d first hatched her diabolical plan.
“Run,” he snarled. “Unless you want to join him.”
He didn’t need to tell them again; they were gone. He stared down the alley, making sure no more threats appeared, then sagged against the wall. He couldn’t drop. If he did, he knew he wouldn’t have the strength to get up.
Through watery vision, he glanced at the vampire he’d stabbed; his entire neck and face were woven in black as if a coven of vipers had crawled under his skin.
His mouth was open, stretched in an empty scream, his eyes black and glassy.
He was dead. Whatever poison they had used was potent.
If they had used the recording earlier to distract him, he shuddered to think if he could have managed to fight them all off.
His fingers shook as he lifted his shirt and cringed; a twisted black web stained his side.
His breathing was labored, the heat in his body feeling like he was being cooked alive.
He wanted to lie down, give in to the pain, curl into a ball and sleep for a hundred years.
Anything to ease the terrible agony tearing through him.
But with the threat to Amelia, giving up wasn’t a fucking option.