Chapter 48
Sebastian
Hunter ducked. The blade whirred past me in a circular flash of steel, sailing over the top of the booth’s back, across the lobby below and into the main section. A scream rang out as we all rocketed to our feet, clattering cutlery, plates and glasses. Hunter almost knocked the goddamn table over.
A waiter was splayed at the bottom of the main section’s stairs, his tray of drinks—headed to our table—strewn around him. Dagger’s switchblade was buried hilt deep in one of his lifeless eyes.
One of Bryce’s security guys crouched to check for a pulse while the other two rushed upstairs toward our table, hands on their gun holsters.
Serenity let out a shriek. “Oh my God, Dagger, what have you done? You killed a—”
“That vamp’s no waiter,” Bryce said, his face aghast.
The bodyguard picked up something dull and black the waiter had dropped. I focused my vamp vision, realizing what it was just as Dagger confirmed it out loud. “Fucker had a .44 peeking under the tray. Everyone, we’re leaving. Right now.”
A .44 magnum revolver could blow a giant hole through anyone, human or paranormal. The waiter—the vamp—had been carrying it under his tray. Only an eagle could have picked that out.
Or a jaguar.
Hunter ripped his shirt off, ratting buttons across the booth. “Someone had a birthday gift lined up for us. We don’t know if the surprise is over yet.”
“Start the car,” one of the security guys radioed into a walkie while the other waved us forward, saying, “Go now! We have a clean—”
A harrowing cry of agony from the stairs cut him off. We all looked down at the main section in time to see another vamp tear his fangs out of the third security guy’s gushing neck.
Oh fuck. Definitely not over. Oh fuck.
The vamp dropped the lifeless guard and took up a skin-crawling chant that was growing steadily louder. It hissed from countless lips as the lights were turned up and the other so-called diners rose.
Pana la moarte. Pana la moarte. Pana la moarte.
At least ninety, maybe a hundred vamps, glowered at us with crocodile grins.
Spewing malice, cursing and spitting as they surged down the stairs into the lobby, with their eyes and fangs drenched in bloodlust. I couldn’t see any more guns, but that was little comfort.
Because their slimy hands were gripped on knives, swords and hatchets!
Pana la moarte. Pana la moarte. Pana la moarte.
We formed a protective semi-circle around Serenity.
Bryce stripped, ripping and kicking the fancy threads off until he was naked.
His skin erupted into flames that flitted between blood red and ice blue.
The radiant light somehow chapped and chilled my skin by turns.
Hunter, whose face and body were now wisped in yellow and black jaguar fur, followed Bryce’s example, tearing his remaining clothes off with razor claws.
We were getting ambushed, and everyone was desperate to get naked.
The absurdity wasn’t lost on me, but fuck it, I didn’t want my shirt pulled over my head in the chaos to come.
I popped the buttons Superman style and tossed it, clenching my fists.
My biceps and knuckles hardened like they’d been dipped in liquid brass.
All the swordsmanship and battle techniques I’d ever learned popped into my mind, the images fierce, certain.
Pana la moarte! Pana la moarte! Pana la moarte!
Dagger looked ready to redecorate the place in red.
His jaguar tat glowed like miniature car headlights, searing my retinas when I stared too long.
He’d stripped off his T-shirt and vest and stood with his Colt aimed square at the coven, as they slithered toward us like one giant, putrid snake, blocking the elevators and emergency exit, filling the area.
“I’m guessing that’s not Happy Birthday they’re singing. ”
Shaking my head, I tried not to let adrenaline mush my words. “It—it’s Romanian, actually. It means…‘To the death.’”
“They got that right,” Hunter snarled, glaring at the mob below. His fur grew in thickening patches over his chest, up his neck, and down his arms. The animal rose within, changing his face, bulking out his already huge frame, and growing his claws to the size of carving knives.
A series of bangs kickstarted my heart.
A few vamps had reached our stairs, and the security guys had squeezed off a few rounds from the balcony railing, dropping one vamp in a heap and staggering two more.
Dagger thrust a small pistol under my nose, and I almost yelled, adrenaline firing through my head. “Aim anywhere between their balls and brains. You got fifteen shots. Make ‘em count.”
Holy shit. A gun. A real gun. The cold steel against my palm, I trained the barrel on the closest vamp at the bottom of the stairs, sweat streaming from my temples. I didn’t want to kill. But fifteen careful shots meant fifteen fewer scumbags who could hurt Serenity.
Except, after the security team’s deadly warning, they weren’t attacking. They just lurked at the bottom of the stairs, hissing and cursing at us, their creepy chant now raised to near shouting.
Pana la moarte! Pana la moarte! Pana la moarte!
Bryce’s breath billowed blue and red as he retorted loudly but calmly, “If you came here for the human, it’ll be your death before ours.”
Serenity clasped my free hand from behind, her voice trembling. “I’m scared.”
“Me too. But I’m not letting anyone take you. We—”
All three of the elevators pinged, their yellow flashing triangles signaling new arrivals. Shit.
The doors rolled open and at least two dozen more vamps spilled out, joining the horde below. We were in deep shit.
There are steak knives on that table, I told Serenity in my head. Grab one and go for the throat or the eyes.
Way ahead of you. She held up a serrated blade. I’m not going back to that hell hole, Seb. I’d rather d—Her thought cut off with an external gasp.
The chanting had stopped, and the mob started to part.
With weapons still raised, they bowed their heads at the presence weaving its way through the lobby.
I could chart the newcomer’s path with ease but never caught a glimpse until he popped into existence at the top of the stairs—slender, vamp-white, and decked in sharply tailored black… with the dropped .44 in his fist.
Bang!
A security guard’s head exploded, and Serenity screamed, tucking her face into my arm to block out the horrific sight.
The other guard swiveled, taking aim, but the vamp blew a hole in his chest with the massive firearm.
I raised my gun higher, arm shaking, finger curling through the trigger guard. It had to be Conrad. The shimmering layer of translucent blue around his body confirmed it. Oh fuck.
I relaxed the finger cramping around the trigger, fighting with my own instincts as I remembered Dagger’s tale of his own bullets whizzing back at his head. Conrad had some of that Fae armor. It looked just like Dagger had described.
Conrad twirled the magnum, grinning at us as the guards’ blood pooled around his shoes.
His voice was raspy, grating at my ears.
“Happy Birthday, you overgrown strays.” He swiped bloody backspatter off his cheek and sucked it from his finger.
“You’re both looking suitably furry, I see.
Shame you didn’t get your surprise gift.
” He flaunted the gun, pointed skyward. “It would have made things a lot simpler.”
“I’m surprised you even dared show your face, you fucking coward,” Hunter growled.
Conrad tutted, looking Hunter up and down. “What does she see in you?” His eyes roamed us. “Now, where is she? Ah, there you are, pet.
I pushed Serenity further behind me.
He beckoned her anyway. “Come on now, or I’ll have to break all your toys.”
“You know, killing that sack of shit Raphael was a real joy for me,” Dagger boasted, his hand on Hunter’s chest to hold him back from a reckless charge. “You should have seen his skull pop. Like a fucking melon. Yours is next.”
“He was my brother.” Conrad’s fangy smile disappeared as he turned the magnum this way and that in front of his face. “Not always easy, getting weapons like this. But now that we’re face to face”—he tossed it over his shoulder—“a gun seems so inelegant, not nearly personal enough.”
Crimson sparks crackled and popped in his palm.
An acrid magical smoke billowed out and wrapped around his hand, tainting the air with a rotten egg stench.
Within seconds, it solidified into an otherworldly short sword.
Transparent silver and coated in glowing purple runes, it curved upward into a barbed tip.
“Isn’t she a beauty? Meet Soul Splitter.
” He slashed it through the air. “The Fae have a pretty nice stash of magic, don’t you think?
” His fevered grin dropped into a scowl, quick as pulling down a mask.
“Hand over the little human, or you’ll all feel its bite. ”
“Ain’t scared of your pocketknife, you little motherfucker,” Hunter growled in a voice that wasn’t quite his. “I’ve got twenty blades to your one!” His feet had morphed and sprouted ten more savage claws.
“Hold on, boss!” Someone emerged from the snarling masses and walked up the stairs. He tilted his head to appraise Hunter with a cold sneer. “I told you he wouldn’t respond to threats. This is the king of the streetfighters. He’s too proud.”
“Vance! What the fuck!?!” Hunter’s growl was tinged in pain.
The vamp shrugged. “Actually, it’s Vincent. Vincent Marchand.” He nodded at Conrad. “This is my uncle.”
“Your uncle? You little fuck!”