Vallan tosses the head with a disgusting squelch when it lands. “Anyone else?” he challenges.
More shadows crowd the empty street. They come from all sides of the road, seeping in from the alleys and shadowy nooks. Somehow, someone has gotten here faster than us. And they’re all wearing gray cloaks.
Alacine’s spy-soldiers.
I grit my teeth and go back-to-back with Garroway, who crouches low.
“Someone’s been waiting for us,” the dhampir says casually, almost gleefully. “Perhaps they’re still smarting from that ambush we gave them and want to return the favor.”
“Don’t act so happy about it, cub,” I spit through clenched teeth.
There are at least five vampires. I have to hope they’re a vanguard unit—that there aren’t more of them down in the Firehold, wreaking havoc on the Grimsons.
“We have to get below,” I tell my mates, “at all costs. Preferably quickly.”
Vallan lets out a sound of acknowledgment.
Garroway taps his daggers together, rasping the steel blades in a grating way. He bumps his ass against mine. “Then are you ready to dance, little honey badger?”
Chapter 42
Garroway
I keep a defensive posture, knowing we’re stronger together. My legs skid back, knees bending, and when my heel clicks against Seph’s, it helps to keep my honey badger confident so she doesn’t go charging into danger on her own.
Alacine’s spy-soldiers are not idiots. They don’t charge one by one, but come at us from all sides in a circle, hemming in and charging as one cohesive unit.
Vallan lets out the first roar, his war-cry bouncing off the windows and walls of the buildings around us. I briefly notice heads popping up from behind windows, before scurrying down out of sight at the sign of a violent skirmish taking place on the streets.
The vampire who comes at my left is a thin fellow with beady eyes. His hood ruffles back as he lunges, baring his fangs in the night. The one on my right and Sephania’s left is a woman with stark white hair down to her shoulders, a thin scar stealing her left eye.
I use the vampiress’ lack of depth perception to my advantage, deftly bouncing back and then whirling my daggers at her.
The man on my left is stopped by Vallan, who arches the haft of his axe in a move meant to stun the vampire if it strikes.
He never makes contact, but that wasn’t the point. The point was to stiffen the vampire upright and send him skittering back, which works.
I focus my attention on the vampiress. She snarls at me as our daggers strike together, sending sparks flying. With both of us wielding such short blades, parrying and riposting is out of the question—I’m quickly scored with small nicks across my forearms, and so is she.
Blood spills, the vampires sniff the scented air, and their eyes dilate with hunger. Meanwhile, I hear clanging from behind me, Sephania adopting a similar defensive posture to keep the vampires at bay.
Vallan has no such compunction. He is also a fullblood—faster and stronger than either of us despite his size—and he charges into the fray full-cocked.
His war-axe keeps the assassins dancing back just out of his reach. They eye each other, trying to gauge when to strike the monstrous warrior in the middle of his bloodrage.
I know if it comes to it, my brother can keep these fiends occupied forhours.
Slowly, I inch toward the ladder leading down into the Firehold’s depths, with Sephania lockstep with me.
“Get down there,” Vallan growls to us. “I’ll handle these devils.”
“There’s five of them,” I point out.
“Too bad there’s not ten,” he answers coldly. “They might have a chance.”
I bark a laugh. His words rile the assassins and they come in another wave.
Vallan pushes off his feet, spearing toward the bloodies in front of him, wildly swinging his axe to gain their attention.
