CHAPTER 11
MY MIND RACES, spinning through what is and what must not be, finally starting to make sense of what is happening: Max isn’t himself.
He’s being controlled. His sire must have some kind of influence over him.
That’s why she let us have her blood. Not as a gesture of mercy, but as a means of control.
It was all part of her plan. Perhaps not the main plan, but a backup plan.
A sire bond.
I’ve heard of it before, vaguely, something about wanting to please your sire, the vampire who turned you. There has just never been an instance where this was proven, since most vampires don’t have contact with their sires anymore.
Which means that she must be nearby for this to work.
I act fast, swiveling in his grip and using the momentum to slam my elbow into the back of his neck. It’s a precise strike, one that would incapacitate a human instantly, but Max barely stumbles.
My wound is already starting to heal, but I’m still weak from blood loss. With a deep breath, I gather my strength for a more decisive blow.
I drive my knee hard into his sternum, following with a sharp strike to his temple. Max falters, his grip loosening just enough for me to break free. I roll as I hit the ground, ignoring the searing pain in my abdomen and springing to my feet.
Max turns, his movements still mechanical but now overlaid with aggression.
He lunges for me, but I’m ready, sidestepping his attack and delivering a powerful uppercut to his jaw, sending him staggering backward.
Before he can recover, I follow with a roundhouse kick to the side of his head, which makes him drop like a stone.
I stand over him, chest heaving, blood soaking through my tank top. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. He’s out cold, but otherwise unscathed.
A twig snaps behind me, then another. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I sense multiple presences surrounding us.
I turn slowly, muscles tensing despite my injury. I was right.
Fifteen or so vampires, probably more, form a circle around me and Max.
Their eyes gleam with the same predatory anticipation as the last time.
Without hesitation, I fumble at my wrist and yank off the signal jammer, hoping beyond reason that they’ve been trying to monitor me.
It wouldn’t have taken long for the hospital to find out Max is gone, and a simple investigation could’ve easily traced it back to me and my disappearance.
The device drops to the ground with a dull bang, but I don’t spare it another glance.
“Not bad for a fledgling,” Clementine shrugs, cocking her head to the side.
“What did you do to him?” I ask, shifting into a defensive stance despite knowing I’m wounded and outnumbered.
She smiles, baring a pair of perfect white fangs. “I merely suggested he bring you to me.”
“You turned thirty-seven people just to get to me?” I ask, trying to buy time as I assess my options. My dagger is back in the cave, and I’m losing blood faster than my body can replenish it. As I take a step back, my heel brushes against Max’s unconscious form.
“A necessary sacrifice,” she says dismissively, then snaps her fingers to make all vampires close in on me in unison, at a rate too fast for me to react.
Instinctively, I launch myself at the nearest tree, each of my hands snagging a kunai from my hip and sinking them into the wood.
As I dangle, suspended by my arms, my wound reopens, fresh blood spilling down my abdomen. I haul myself onto a low branch, testing its strength under my weight, and assess my measly options: flee upward, or fight downward.
My eyes dart to the horde below, their fangs bared in a frenzy from my blood, then flit to the vampires already springing along the branches, closing in on my perch.
Height advantage only works if I can keep my distance—up close, it barely matters; vampires can leap just as far and high, if not farther and higher, closing the gap in an instant. And with my injury, I don’t stand a chance.
With only one direction to go, my kunai drive into two vampires mid-air as I flip back to the ground. I roll through the landing to absorb the impact, coming up in a crouch. My hand instantly shoots to my boot, snatching my pocket knife and bracing myself to kill.
As they come for me, I waste no time with slashes or shows of force, solely aiming for the hollows between ribs. The crystal hisses as it meets blood, bodies folding like puppets with their strings cut.
Each strike demands focus and space that I am losing fast. For every heart I still, others surge closer.
My breath comes ragged, my wound burns, but I keep dodging and stabbing, each successful thrust buying me seconds I need to keep moving.
When hands grab at me from all sides, clawing and restraining, my knife slips free from my grip.
I manage to break one vampire’s jaw with my head and another’s knee with a well-placed kick, but it tickles them at best. After a few more punches, my energy is spent.
Working purely on adrenaline, I duck to grab twigs from the floor and start stabbing eyes with them. Without full sight, they falter, their temporary blindness giving me leverage and making my blows far more effective than when I was trading blows abortively.
Clementine crosses the distance between us, straight through her circle of cohorts. She is losing patience.
Despite the pain radiating through my core, I straighten my posture and raise my fists. Her first strike is barely blocked, the impact sending shockwaves up my arm. My counter is a jab to her throat, which she dodges effortlessly, her laughter echoing through the woods.
Her fist connects hard with my jaw, then my stomach, reopening my wound.
Pain explodes through me, but I refuse to fall.
I feint left, then drive my right fist toward her face.
She catches it mid-swing, twisting until the bones in my wrist grind together.
I bite back a scream, dropping to one knee to relieve the pressure.
Using the momentum, I sweep my leg out, catching her ankle and sending her stumbling backward.
For a brief moment, satisfaction flares within me, until she rights herself with demonic dexterity and launches a counterattack. Her fist connects with my chest, sending me flying backward into a tree trunk. The impact knocks the wind from my lungs, spots dancing across my vision.
“Play time’s over,” she says, stalking toward me as I struggle to my feet.
I spit blood on the ground, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “Is that all you got?”
This time when she attacks, I’m ready. My hand sweeps up a fistful of grit, dirt flying from the earth before it splatters across her face. Using this tiny window of distraction, I gather any vampire speed in my body and make a run for it.
It’s impossible to outspeed her, but I might make it close enough to notify any sentry nearby. After all, we’re not too far from Northcross borders. That’s the first mistake she made.
“Help!” I yell my lungs out.
A vicious kick in my back brings me to my knees. What follows is a brutal demonstration of power. She toys with me, letting me land hits only to show how quickly she can heal from them, while, each blow she lands weakens me further.
My dhampir healing is no match for a vampire’s regeneration, let alone a Whiteshade’s.
Every vampire I injured before seems to have completely healed by now, all gathered around me as if I’m the spectacle of the day.
With a sudden movement, Clementine kicks me onto my back and places her foot on my chest, pinning me to the ground.
I struggle violently beneath her weight, but she merely increases the pressure until breathing becomes difficult.
“I must admit, you have impressed me,” she says, looking down at me with something like fondness. “Few last this long against me. Fret not, we don’t plan to kill you. Not yet, anyway.”
I watch as the last of her wounds knit themselves closed, vitae drying and flaking away to reveal unblemished skin beneath. It’s almost unfair how fast she heals while my own body struggles to close a single wound.
An arrow flies straight through the side of her head, momentarily rendering her unconscious.
Panic breaks out among her cohorts, one racing to pull the arrow out, while others frantically look around in search of the unseen threat.
Without warning, they fan out in a circle, covering every possible angle.
A movement in the trees above catches my attention—a flash of tactical gear and the glint of a weapon’s barrel.
I keep my expression as neutral as I can, not wanting to alert the vampires to the presence of slayers positioned in the canopy above us.
“You’ll die if you don’t leave,” I taunt, trying to instill more panic while I count the shadowy figures above.
Six, maybe eight slayers, are strategically placed around the clearing, at least the ones I can see from my line of sight. The same amount, or more, could be anywhere else around us.
A high-pitched whistle shrills through the air, making vampire heads snap upward just as the first lumen arrow pierces the shoulder of one standing to my right.
She howls in pain, staggering backward as more arrows rain down from above.
The one to my left ducks a shot aimed at his head, frustration evident.
The forest erupts into chaos. Vampires leap into the trees, trying to engage the slayers in fistfights, while slayers, fully equipped with their loadouts and weapons, stay well out of reach.
A familiar figure drops from the trees, landing in a crouch beside me. Brown hair the color of oak bark is pulled back into a tight braid, freckles dusting her cheeks.
Lexa Ventura.
She wears the insignia of a captain now, the promotion evident in both her uniform and commanding presence, firing a shot that catches a charging vampire in the chest. “Long time no see.”
“Your timing is impeccable,” I say, somewhat astonished, accepting the spare pistol she offers me.