Chicks Kick Butt (22 page)

Red charged right into them, using the daggers to feint at their faces, dodging the few that managed to swing swords. Her speed and their confusion allowed her to pass through the group. She’d some vague idea of running into the stables but the body in the doorway changed that plan. So she turned as she passed the last man and lashed out with her strong hand.

She caught the guard’s upper arm and cut deep, enough that he cried out and dropped his weapon. But now the others were focused on her as their target, and they started to move, spreading out to surround her.

Breathing hard, Red ran for the wagons, and darted down between them and the wall of the stable. The shelter was fleeting; they’d box her in at any moment. She could go for the wall, try to get up and over—

“Stay safe, Red. Your life is dear to me.”
A small part of her remembered the High Baron’s admonishments. But her blood sang of steel and death, and caution had no place in the moment.

She ran to the back of the last wagon, thrust the larger key in, and twisted. The lock clicked open, and she lifted the bolt.

The enemy of her enemy, with any luck.

The door burst open. Red fell, landing hard on her back, the wind pushed from her lungs. Her daggers went skittering away.

A huge
something
stood over her, growling, its teeth inches from her throat.

Red fumbled around, trying to find her daggers, staring at the jaws of the monster. It was as big as a bear; she couldn’t see much past the teeth. Hot breath stung her eyes. It sniffed the air … paused—

—then spun off, charging toward the guards.

Red flipped onto her chest, grabbing up her daggers as a seemingly endless stream of the creatures jumped out of the wagon. Their huge paws were all she saw, landing around her and then past her, off into the darkness. Screams started then, of men fighting for their lives.

Red scrambled up to her feet, not questioning her luck. If the beasts could draw off a few, she could take down the rest.

She rounded the wagon on the other side and saw two men, their backs to her, fending off one of the creatures. Softly, holding her breath, she ran up behind the one, grabbed his hair, yanked back, and stabbed at his throat.

He screamed, blood spurting from his neck. She jerked the dagger free, letting him fall to the ground. The other guard was fending off the animal, shield high, eyes hard. “Here! She’s here!”

Red snarled, pulled her blade free.

An arrow slammed into her shoulder, the pain driving her to her knees.

The flagstones swam before her eyes. Blackness swirled as well, but Red fought it off, forcing herself up, her one hand still grasping a blade. But two hits to the same shoulder—that hand wasn’t going to grasp much of anything anytime soon.

“Bitch,” one of the men growled as they started toward her. “Don’t crowd, boys. Disarm her, then we’ll have some fun.”

Red grimaced, not really seeing much more than heavy boots, drawing close. Enough men to take her, that was sure. Provided they were willing to pay the price.

A scrabbling sound came then, of claws on stone. Deep snarls from behind the guards, who lost all interest in her, fast.

Red used the distraction to force herself to her feet. The arrow in her shoulder shifted as the tip grated on bone.

Dark, swift forms leapt out from the wagon’s shadow, claws scraping on the flagstones.

“Vores,” one of the guards cried out, no longer focused on Red.

The others cried out as the animals leapt forward, fangs gleaming white. Huge wolflike creatures, but these were no wolves. These were nightmares out of the darkness with teeth and fangs and savage fury in red eyes. No matter. The enemy of my enemy …

Red launched herself at the man who’d screamed, bringing her dagger into play. He was swift enough to parry her. She had a quick glimpse of grim eyes under the helm, and a sword swinging for her neck. She blocked, but not before the blade caught the arrow and tore the tip partway out of her shoulder. Red staggered back as her arm went numb and useless.

A big vore with silver on his ruff darted in behind her opponent. The man cried out as he fell, hamstrung. Red heard the beast growl, and then the screaming stopped.

Red kept moving back until she came up against the wall of the stable, the pain ebbing just enough so that she could see.

Blood covered the cobblestones until at last all was silent. The guards were down and those not dying had been torn apart, with flesh and blood scattered everywhere. The animals were around her, breathing heavily, growling under their breaths, their heads held low, their muzzles stained with blood. Odd though. They weren’t eating the bodies.

Suddenly a few of the creatures lifted their heads and looked toward the manor house.

More men spilled through the doors, weapons and bows at the ready. Five, ten … Red snarled as she readied her weapon. That dicer had much to answer for.

The vores growled, their heads low, intent on the enemy. But Silver, the big one with the ruff, glanced off toward the wagons, and then back at the gathering force.

Red heard it then—the faint rattle of a key in a lock. She glanced over to see a pair of bare human feet at the back of the second wagon. And a larger dark shape leaping down and darting into the shadows. Followed by another … and another.

More vores. They had to be.

The growls around her deepened. Red turned and saw more bows being brought to bear.

“Scatter,” she commanded, more from instinct than anything else.

To her surprise, the vores obeyed. The entire pack seemed to disappear, loping off into cover, under wagons, behind barrels, into the stables.

What were those creatures?

No time to worry about that. Red threw herself between the wagons and the stable, Silver at her heels. Arrows thunked into the wagon.

“Muck,” Red grumbled under her breath as she pressed herself against the wagon. She rammed her dagger into the side of the wagon, then worked the arrow in her shoulder all the way out. It came free, at the price of pain. Red pressed her head against the wood, woozy and sick to her stomach.

More arrows thunked into the wagon. The guards were advancing.

Red swore. “Best I run for it now.” She glanced down at the animal at her side.

Silver looked up at her, and the intelligence in those eyes struck her hard. It waited for a moment and then shook its head in a negative gesture.

Red’s skin crawled. The movement looked unnatural and wrong. “You got a better idea?” she whispered.

Sliver moved his head up and down with an odd deliberation.

Her stomach clenched. “Fine,” she snapped.

Silver barked and darted back into the courtyard. He—and Red had no doubt he was a “he”—moved fast.

Shouts from the men. They had crossbows now. Bolts clattered on the flagstones. Red heard cranking as the weapons were reloaded. She glanced around the wagon. The men were moving, slowly coming closer, the bowmen toward the rear.

Two more vores darted toward the men, then away. Bolts and arrows rained down, but none hit their targets that Red could tell.

Silver came across the courtyard at a run, then whined and half collapsed. Shouts rang out as he dragged himself toward her. Red reached out with her good arm and hauled him into cover. She knelt and ran her hands over him, searching for …

The big animal stood and shook himself. And gave her a toothy grin.

“Faker,” Red growled in admiration. “Still, we—”

Screams.

Red was up and moving, but Silver was faster. They both broke out from cover to see that the new vores had come up from behind and targeted the crossbowmen.

Silver howled, and a fierce joy filled Red. She charged—

“Return to me, my Red,”
The High Baron’s voice rang in her head.
“Don’t let your bloodlust overrule your common sense.”

She took a few more steps, then stopped. No sense in being stupid. Besides, the beasts had them down. There was no need.

A slim man made his way down the side of the wagons, wearing a tattered tabard around his waist. The cloth bore the crest of the young Queen, the white dagger-star on a red background. “Are they all dead?” the young man asked, his ribs sticking out, with whip marks on his chest and face. “Are all the slavers—”

Red nodded.

The man sighed, and slowly lowered himself to the cobblestones. “Thank the Lord of Light.”

Two of the creatures padded over and crouched next to him.

“What are these things?” Red breathed, watching as they finished the guards.

“I don’t know.” The young man shook his head. “The slavers stripped me, beat me, then threw me in the wagons, figuring I’d be eaten. The creatures hadn’t been fed, the wagons hadn’t been cleaned. They had to keep the snarling beasts back with spears when they opened the door. I thought I was dead when they tossed me in.”

“But—,” Red prompted him.

“But these creatures, whatever they are, I swear they knew I wasn’t one of their captors. They understood me. They didn’t hurt me, and slept with me, kept me warm. I’ve—”

“The High Baron of Athelbryght sent me,” Red interrupted him; then a high-pitched screech interrupted her.

From out of the manor house ran a fat man, dressed in silks, fleeing the vores snapping at his heels. The dark animals chased after him, their tongues hanging out, and Red could have sworn they were laughing as they herded him in her direction.

The fat one screamed again when he saw the blood and the dead, but he threw himself at Red’s feet, sobbing. “Call them off! Call them off!”

The vores stood there, hackles raised, growling. Staring.

Red looked down at the slave master. “If it was my choice, you’d be their prey and rightfully so.”

Silver started stalking toward the fat man.

“But it’s not my choice,” Red warned.

Silver gave her a hard look.

“Into one of the wagons,” Red ordered. “The High Baron will decide your fate.”

“But…” The man gathered his robe tight around his body.

“Now,” Red barked.

The fat man scrambled off the flagstones and ran for the wagon door.

“You’re hurt,” the Queen’s man said to her.

“It can wait.” Red managed to sheathe her dagger, and pushed the weakened hand into her belt. “We need to open the main gates, and send word to the High Baron. Then there’s questions to ask, and slaves to free.”

“Aye to that.” The young one smiled. “And then there’s them.”

The vores were all seated, staring at them. Red could swear they were listening.

“True enough.” Red looked around the courtyard. “We’ll summon the High Baron, and see if we can find some answers. Can you get the main gate open by yourself?”

“I’ll try.” The young man pushed himself up with the help of the wall. “But what will you be doing?”

Red looked over at the guardhouse. “Oh, I’ve a promise to keep.”

My name is Anna Strong. I am vampire. It’s been over a month since I fed. A month since the first anniversary of my becoming. A month since I assumed the mantle of the Chosen One. I’ve gone about my daily routine as if nothing has changed, when in reality, everything has changed.

I move out to the deck off my bedroom and sink into a chaise. The early-morning sun is hot on my face. It feels good. I can almost feel my blood warming, though I know that’s an illusion. Only feeding and sex warm a vampire’s blood.

I haven’t had either in a while.

I sip coffee. A few blocks away, the ocean sparkles under a flawless summer sky. I live in San Diego, Mission Beach to be exact, near the boardwalk. I love it here. The sea is vibrant, alive. People drawn to it are vibrant and alive, too. Kids at play in the sand, surfers bobbing on the waves, sunbathers eschewing warnings of dire consequences to bake pasty skin to a toasty brown. All share a common bond. They are human. They belong.

I drain my cup, rise to go inside. I’m feeling the effects of lack of blood. Like a diabetic without insulin, my body is slowing down, my mind becoming sluggish. I’d better call Culebra and make sure he can arrange a host to meet me at Beso de la Muerte. I can’t afford to let myself become vulnerable—not anymore. Not to anyone.

The guy waiting for me in Culebra’s back room looks to be about thirty. He’s lying naked on the bed, his clothes folded neatly on a bedside chair. He has a sheet thrown over the lower part of his body. He’s lean, muscular, with the arrogant good looks of a guy used to having his way with women. He smiles when he sees me, a smile of relief and anticipation. I’m sure the relief is because I’m female (a host never knows) and the anticipation that because I’m female, sex will be a part of the deal.

I pull a wad of cash out of my purse and lay it on top of his clothes. “I just want the blood,” I tell him. “Whatever you do while I’m feeding is up to you, but I don’t intend to participate.”

“Are you sure?” The guy pushes the sheet off his hips. He started without me.

If the size of his dick is supposed to impress me, my reaction must be a bitter disappointment. I flutter fingers in a dismissive gesture. “Yeah, I’m sure. Face the wall, please.”

“Don’t you want to know my name?”

“No.”

He grunts and rolls over. I position myself behind him, spoon style, and pull his head closer. My body vibrates from need and the heady sensation that comes from watching blood coarse through an artery just a kiss away. His hands are busy between his legs and he groans before I break through the skin.

Then I’m lost in my own sensations. His blood is sweet and clean, his fitness the result of good diet and exercise, not pills or needles. Not that it would matter. Vampires are immune from human drugs and disease. Only the taste differs, like drinking vinegar or wine, and I’m pleased with this vintage. The first mouthful brings intense pleasure, my body now tingling with something other than hunger. There’s a fleeting moment when I am tempted to roll him over, to mount him, feel him inside me while I feed.

But I resist.

The blood is enough. It awakens every cell in my body. It revives and restores. My skin warms. A flush of heat floods my cheeks. My senses become needle sharp. The feel of the host’s skin against my lips, the smell of his arousal, the quickness of his breath, I experience it all. His heartbeat. Steady, rhythmic, until he nears climax. Then his heart begins to race until it reaches a crescendo and his body tenses. He moans, grinds against me, one hand clutches the sheet, the other moves faster and with more urgency.

I keep feeding until the last shudder of release passes and he is quiet beside me. I use my tongue to seal the puncture wounds, watch as the marks fade. He does not speak or move. In a minute, his breathing becomes deep and regular and I know.

He’s fallen asleep.