An involuntary sound of alarm escaped her as she caught sight of Duke, the vampire closest to her, raising his gun to fire at her phantom. The newcomer’s head swiveled toward her just in time to avoid a point-blank shot to his helmet.
The plasma bolt just grazed one side. It was more than enough contact to do devastating damage to most material, but apparently not whatever the helmet was made of. The white-hot plasma merely scorched the strange glass.
The bolt seared a hole in the wall behind him. It hardly had the chance to smoke before the phantom swooped down on Duke like a gods-sent calamity.
Cecilia watched in horrified fascination as he went for the vampire’s extended arm. She’d never seen anyone or anything move the way he did. It was faster than fast and so graceful that she had trouble tracking him.
And he said nothing. Not when the vampires hollered at him, demanding to know who he was and warning him to leave or they’d shoot again. Not even when Duke frantically tried to bargain with him.
In one smooth movement, he’d grasped Duke’s arm, raised his knee, and brought the arm down across it — once, twice, and a third time.
Bone burst through flesh with a sickening crack. A sickening yowl of agony escaped Duke’s throat. His gun fell to the floor and slid into the widening pool of blood made by his nearly decapitated lackey.
Cecilia drew her scratched legs up to her chest as if they might shield her from the horror. She wanted to cover her eyes, but she couldn’t lift her arms to do it. She couldn’t even close her eyelids. Her gaze was locked on the phantom as he tore off the lower half of Duke’s arm and casually tossed it aside.
Blood gushed from the wound, but it was the least of the vampire’s worries when the phantom grasped both sides of his head. She couldn’t quite figure out what he intended to do until he began to squeeze.
The heels of his gloved hands pressed inward, into the delicate indents of Duke’s temples. With one ruthless shove, the sides of the vampire’s head caved in. His mouth opened in a silent scream as the capillaries in his eyes burst. Blood streamed from his nose and the corners of his eyes as they popped like cherry tomatoes in their crushed sockets.
It was over in a matter of seconds but it felt like it took hours for Duke to stop struggling. The man in black dropped him to the floor. Duke lay twitching and gurgling, the shape of his headreminiscent of some crooked neck gourds that sold for too much money at the grocery store around the fall equinox.
She couldn’t stop staring at him. Even when the last vampire standing made an unsuccessful run for the door, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from her dying boss. He stared sightlessly back at her through the pulped gelatin of his eyes, blood oozing from his mouth and pearly fangs gleaming in the dull yellow light streaming through her shattered window. His last breath was a thready, pathetic wheeze.
The only thing that managed to pull her attention away from him was the steady tread of combat boots across the old wood floor.
She swallowed hard, shaking from head to toe, as they came to stand between her and Duke’s body. They were completely black, but she could make out the gleam of blood splatter on the matte material and heavy rubber tread.
His slow crouch was so smooth that she didn’t even hear the rustle of his clothing. He rested his wrists on his knees and cocked his helmeted head.
The pose was so casual that she nearly let out a burst of hysterical laughter, but managed to swallow it back just in time.
The fingers of his deadly right hand flexed and curled. From somewhere deep within that blacked out helmet, a familiar robotic voice intoned, “You require assistance.”
“I don’t,” she rasped. The words were nearly inaudible, as if her throat had been scraped raw by a scream she never got to release.
She flinched when the hand that had so casually split a throat raised. The very tips of those metal-covered claws touched a spot below her wounded cheek.
In that same toneless voice, he insisted, “You do.”
Her mouth opened to protest, but she didn’t get a chance to. Instead, a yelp burst from her lips as something sharp struck her bare thigh.
Cecilia looked down in horror. While she’d been distracted, he’d apparently retrieved what looked like a very small, unlabeled pen injector. The tiny needle was stuck in her leg while his thumb depressed the plunger at the top.
“What is that?” she screeched, trying to kick him and his needle away. “Whatever that is, just?—”
“You require assistance,” he repeated. A gloved hand dropped to pin her leg down, holding her still. Fear surged as she vividly recalled what those hands had so easily done to Duke’s arm. And other parts of him.
A pathetic whimper slipped past her lips. “Please just let me go.”
The shape of him began to waver. Even his robotic voice seemed to come from farther away when he replied, “No.”
Tongue growing worryingly heavy, she slurred, “Why?”
She listed to one side, but she didn’t make it far. The phantom caught her head and eased her down onto the floor. The scent of his gloves — blood-saturated leather and something indefinable — permeated her lungs as her vision darkened.
“Because,” he answered simply, “you need me.”
CHAPTER
