A few screamed, and more than one water vampire pulled ice from the frosty air, creating pockets of safety for the immortals around him.
But it was enough of a distraction that Ivan’s men regained the upper hand; most of them sprang up from the ground, swinging daggers, swords, and axes at the enemies coming toward them.
Oleg walked forward, keeping twin balls of fire in his outstretched palms, rolling his shoulders at the crackling energy that flooded his system.
His axe was strapped to his back, but it wasn’t needed yet.
Ivan was fighting next to him, his bare feet planted in the frozen ground, ripping at the cold, icy earth with his elemental power and swallowing vampires underground.
But many emerged. The Kazakhs were also immortals of the mountains and the plains. There were as many earth vampires as?—
“Overhead!”
Ah yes. Oleg smiled, turning his eyes toward the dark sky where a flock of black-robed wind vampires had appeared like dark crows mobbing a lion.
Ivan shouted, “Oleg!”
He needed no instruction as fire shot from his hands, turning the space over their heads into an orange-and-red inferno as vampires screamed and fell to the ground.
The trees around the warehouse lit like matches, unable to withstand the intensity of Oleg’s flames.
Blue fire crawled over his arms, and he punched the air, sending fireballs at the remaining wind vampires, many of whom were shooting arrows from the sky.
How archaic.
He heard Ludmila then, the crack of her rifle sounding from the darkness. A wind vampire jerked his head to the side, and then he fell to the frozen ground with a hard thud.
“She’s lethal.” Ivan grinned.
“Yes.”
Oleg was focused on the air now that Ivan’s men had secured the ground.
There was a gust of wind, then a burning spike of pain in his shoulder as an arrow whizzed past his ear and planted into his body.
He growled, bared his fangs at the archer above, then sent another wave of flames up and over the mass of fighting immortals on the ground.
This fire burned his shirt to ashes, and Oleg fed it. It burned the shaft of the arrow until it was nothing but ash.
Yes. Good. More.
It was a furious cycle, the fire from the trees feeding his energy, which made more fire, which fed him even more power.
He felt the tip of the arrow melt as his body burned; then the metal oozed from the wound in his shoulder, pushed out by his pulsing amnis. The burning in his ears was swallowed by the fire that danced over his chest and arms, and the world around him looked like a medieval version of hell on earth.
He heard screams in Russian and pulled his fire back.
Back. Come back to me, my lovely.
The smell of singed hair curled into his nose. Burned flesh and smoldering fur from the bodies falling from the sky.
Oleg stalked across the blackened field where snow drifted to the ground, only to immediately turn to steam.
Ivan’s men had fled to the burning forest or run into the warehouse, leaving Oleg alone on the black field surrounding the warehouse. He heard sirens in the distance and knew the humans would be coming soon.
“Boss.” Ludmila fell into step beside him, her rifle secured to her back.
“Nice shooting.”
