Intervamption

by Kristin Miller

  “I’m a teacher at Crimson Bay University. I teach Biblical Studies in the Fall and Mythology in the Spring.”

  Holy shit. Standing before him, powerful in all his glory, was Slade’s uncle. He didn’t have to acknowledge his name. Slade knew without a doubt he wouldn’t admit to it if Eve called him outright. It didn’t matter anyway.

  The idea that he shared blood with this cool and composed Primus made him . . . proud? Was that what was flowing through his veins? Pride?

  Hell, he really had signed on, head, body, and soul for the leech gig, hadn’t he?

  Hiram squinted hard, his long black lashes blocking out his irises completely. “There is much to know about you, young lady. Including how you came to be here standing before me . . . with two males flanking you, ready to defend you to the death amongst their own . . . the scent of a vampire surging through your veins. You and I will talk privately during the celebration, in which time I will decide if you are truly the one written in the scrolls.”

  “This is bullshit!” Savage roared, storming to Hiram’s side. “Spill her blood here and now. Drain the bitch to give us the strength we’ve been dying for.”

  “I will not.”

  “This is what can save our race! Won’t you slit her throat if it means restoring us to the glory we were before? Isn’t one life worth many?”

  “No.”

  Savage smiled. Like this was somehow the response he was waiting for.

  He turned to the khiss and raised his arms to the heavens. “Rise up and take what’s yours!” He hollered with enough force to be heard beyond the haven’s walls and through all Crimson Bay.

  Vampires roared, shaking the stage and podium. Slade yanked Dylan to his side and bolted down the side ramp, Ruan and Eve following suit.

  Sharp tingles danced down Slade’s spine, jolting him with enough electric current to amplify his speed and strength times ten. Adrenaline rushes and superior vampire strength had nothing on his sudden power.

  That’s when Slade sensed them.

  Therians were everywhere.

  Twenty, maybe more, were inside the warehouse, heading right for vampire central. Dozens barricaded the front door. More ran down the studio hallways. Shitloads covered the roof. Damn it, they were across the street, too.

  They were officially cornered.

  With Dylan in tow, Slade ran to the entrance of the great room as handfuls of therians blasted through the skylights and dropped to the floor like fat drops of rain. As they landed with heavy thuds, Slade knew what would come next. Screams and cries, shrieks of terror from every unsuspecting vamp.

  He was right.

  Therians went to work doing what they did best: killing blood suckers at whim. Knives spun in heavy hands, flew through the air with anger-fueled purpose, striking targets with typical consistency. Silver stars pierced the hearts of three to their left and one to their right. The vampires dropped to their knees in unison, then flat-faced it on the black-glossed dance floor.

  Slade covered Dylan’s head, bowing her over for protection, as he led her down a side hallway.

  Howls echoed through the great room. Cries swamped their ears.

  Everything in Slade’s being wanted to stand and fight simply because it wasn’t in his nature to run. But with Dylan at his side he didn’t have much of a choice. He wanted to get her as far away from her haven as he could. Keep running until Dylan was safe.

  Something about the pitch of screams appealed to him on a level he’d never known.

  The members of the khiss weren’t ready for battle. Blindsiding them with this kind of attack on their night of celebration didn’t sit well.

  He couldn’t let them all be exterminated like worthless parasites. Despite what he’d thought all his life, they were far from it.

  He stopped in his tracks, holding strong to Dylan’s hand.

  “What? What is it?” she asked, frantically searching the hallway right, then left.

  “We have to do something. I can’t just leave.”

  As Dylan nodded and turned her attention back to the great room, a wild-eyed, shaggy-haired therian bust through the wall behind her. They all turned from the sound of wood splintering, in time to see the therian pull two daggers from his waistband and spin them like pinwheels in his hands.

  Slade shoved Dylan behind him and took two steps back.

  “You sure you want to do this, boy?” Slade hissed. “I’ll only give you one chance to go crawling back to Moses before I rip your head off.”

  Slade felt the heat of Ruan’s stare hit his back and Dylan’s grip tighten on his hand.

  The therian crouched low, his eyes glazing with an insatiable hunger for vengeance and death.

  “Have it your way.”

  In a flash of speed he didn’t know he possessed, Slade grabbed Shaggy, spun him round then slammed him against the wall from which he came. He pounded two hard blows to his jaw and one to his gut in a single breath.

  It didn’t seem to faze the therian in the slightest. He twisted in Slade’s grasp, raised one blade up toward Slade’s heart, the other toward his back. Slade wrenched the bastard’s wrists into painfully awkward angles, applying agonizing pressure against his elbow joints until he dropped the blades.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ruan go for the knives just as another therian bolted behind Eve and Dylan while reaching for the blade on his belt.

  “Ruan, behind you!” Slade yelled.

  Ruan skidded across the ground like he was sliding into home plate, scooped up the knives, and jumped to his feet. Slade got the impression Ruan had been trained in the art of a blade, but had no idea where that would’ve come from.

  “Get down!” Ruan shouted at the girls, as they took cover, squatting with their arms above their heads. He flung the jagged blade through the air with precision. It hit its mark, shooting right through the therian’s heart, clear to the other side.

  Tearing his eye away from Ruan’s surprising marksmanship, Slade turned back to the therian he had pinned against the wall. He rammed his elbow into the therian, connecting the sharp edge of his bone right to its wide nose. It was enough to blind him from his own blood.

  The wounded therian writhed in pain, then sneaked in a jab to Slade’s jaw.

  Two more therians charged down the hallway, ready to engage in the fight.

  “Ruan, get them out of here!” Slade hollered, upper-cutting Shaggy’s scruffy chin. “There’s too many. Take them to my room and wait for me there. Keep her safe.”

  Eve and Ruan ran behind Slade, dragging Dylan all the way down the hallway. Slade knew she’d be safe in Ruan’s care. Especially now that he’d seen with his own eyes that Ruan knew how to handle himself in combat. Ruan would die rather than let something happen to her. At least they were like-minded in that regard. . . .

  With the pressure of Dylan’s innocent eyes lifted from his shoulders, he went to work on the therian the only way he knew how. Holding tight to Shaggy’s shoulders, Slade pushed back and then brought a sharp knee to his middle.

  The therian hit the ground, clutching one hand to his gut, the other to his busted nose.

  Slade reached for both blades when he saw the therian flicker.

  By the time he had the shafts firmly in his hands and had turned the therian on his back to make a stab that would cut clear through his heart, the fucker had shed his clothes and was bigger than his previous form. Stronger and meatier by a long shot.

  Slade had the fleeting thought that this man had been a gladiator at some point in his extensive life. The rippling muscles from his back alone showed brute force and rugged Roman composition.

  He struggled to his knees, gaining strength quicker than he should have.

  Slade kicked him in the gut again and again to keep him down.

  It didn’t work.

  The beast stood tall, well over seven feet, glaring at Slade as though he’d like to munch on his thighs like a drumstick. He nailed Slade in the chin, an uppercut th
at didn’t have nearly as much power behind it as Slade thought it would’ve. When Slade just looked at him, the therian roared, shoving him back to get a better angle to swing his massive tree trunks around again.

  Slade swiped at the beast’s middle with the jagged blade. He missed. He jumped back, dodged a blow, swiped again. The therian charged at Slade, using his body as a battering ram to slam him against the other wall.

  One of the blades slipped from Slade’s hand.

  Moving quicker than lightning, in a flash that felt much like shifting from one form to another, Slade twisted and turned, slipped from the therian’s hold, and stabbed him in the back twice.

  He shook violently, reaching behind him to rub the wound.

  Before he could shift again, Slade jumped into the air, spun the blade in his hand, and sliced a crescent moon right through the therian’s throat. When he landed on the opposite side of his monstrous form, he wasn’t sure if he’d caught him square. If the cut didn’t penetrate deeply enough it’d just piss him off more. But if it had. . . .

  The gigantic therian fell to his knees, his eyes focusing on some far-off place.

  Slade watched him flicker and twitch, waiting blade-in-hand for him to shift again. It never happened. He simply sat on his knees, wavering to and fro like some thick-headed flag that refused to die with the cessation of wind.

  Slade kicked him in the back, sending him careening face-first into the wall.

  As his mind replayed the fight, Slade realized he’d truly become the strongest of both species. The quick strikes he’d dished out were faster, with more lead behind them than he’d ever known. He didn’t feel the urge to shift in order to dominate the fight. It was as if the flashes of movement were his shift. And to his surprise, the strikes of his enemies didn’t even hurt. It was like he was shifting forms so fast that each time the therian struck him, it only took a single blur of movement for the pain to vanish from his body.

  He’d managed to keep his form intact . . . and his jaw. He knew if he needed to shift into some godforsaken animal at any moment, he could’ve. But he didn’t need to. He was strong enough to conquer anything that stood in his path.

  And it was over.

  Except when his tunnel vision widened and his ears started picking up sounds from the great room, he knew the khiss was in trouble. He may’ve won his battle, but they were losing the war.

  He picked up the dropped blade and ran into the great room, ready to put his newfound strength and speed to good use.

  “Get out of my way, Ruan,” Dylan said, her blood pressure through the roof. “You can tell me what’s good for me until the moon falls from the sky; I can’t leave Slade out there by himself.”

  He blocked the door, hands crossed over his chest. “You can and you will. Can’t you hear what’s going on out there? It’s suicide.”

  She stormed up close to him. So close she could feel his chest rise and fall with each sharp breath. “Yes, I can hear what’s going on. It’s not suicide. Our friends and family are being slaughtered. I have to do something.”

  “You’re crazy if you think I’m letting you set one foot out there. Besides, I get the feeling Slade can take care of himself.”

  “What about you?” She didn’t bother masking her judgment.

  “Right now my job is to take care of the two of you.”

  “Sometimes you need to scrap your responsibility and do what you think is right.”

  “I’m supposed to believe this coming from you? Ms. ‘ReVamp-a-holic’? Until the last week or so everything in your life had been about work and duty, responsibility and following orders. I don’t know what’s happened to the Dylan I used to know, but she’s long gone.”

  “You’re right, and I think it’s for the better.” Dylan spun around. Eve sat on the edge of Slade’s bed, rigid and proper, hands clasped in her lap like she was waiting for a job interview. “I think you’ll realize that making each day count is better than planning for a day that may never come.”

  A sharp rapping on the door turned all of their heads.

  They remained silent. Ruan backed up until he stood between the two of them. His eyes searched the back of Slade’s studio, probably for another way out. The only thing he’d find is a big-ass ventilation system.

  “It’s me, you fool.” a deep voice grumbled. “Open up.”

  “Slade?” Ruan called, marching to the door.

  When he ripped it open, Slade fell in, bloodied-up and bruised, his shirt torn to shreds and falling off his shoulders. Dylan and Ruan wrapped him in their arms and guided him to the bed.

  “Oh my God,” Dylan gasped. “What happened? Are you okay?”

  He nodded. Pinched his bottom lip with his finger and thumb. His lips looked weird. Like they’d been nibbled on and were starting to crust and flake off. His skin had turned muted gray—much too pale.

  “Here, why don’t you lie down for a second,” she said.

  Eve rushed to the refrigerator, brought back a bottle of AB. “Here,” she said. “AB always made David feel better.”

  Ruan’s protective hiss resounded throughout the room. The air between the four of them warped with something possessive and angry. Something bred of pure hatred.

  When Dylan searched Ruan’s eyes, there wasn’t any anger. Just raging jealousy against a vampire he’d never met. What would Eve have to be so angry about? No, judging by her steady heart rate and gentle expression, she wasn’t fuming either.

  That’s when Dylan turned her attention to Slade. He was breathing heavy, his eyes set on Ruan like he wanted to gouge his eyeballs out. His skin was clammy, and the pulse on his neck . . . wait . . . his neck. . . .

  With a delicate finger she pulled back the shreds of Slade’s shirt.

  His therian marking was gone.

  Blood-lusting eyes, red as the heart of a flame, bore into hers.

  “You’re not Slade.” The realization flew from her lips before she had time to catch it.

  She only made it two steps away from the therian imposter before he covered her mouth with his thick fingers and snaked an arm around her waist.

  Ruan lunged at the therian, then stopped as the sharp edge of a blade pressed against Dylan’s throat.

  “Come one step closer and I’ll take her head off in one swipe.”

  She could’ve sworn her heart stopped beating. She put up her hands, a gesture of obedience . . . at least while she could feel the sting of steel piercing her skin.

  “Easy, there,” Ruan said, inching closer still. “There’s no reason to go Rambo here. Let her go and I might let you walk out of here with a few shifts left.”

  He chuckled, two obnoxious belts that buzzed in her ears. “You’re hardly in a position to be barking orders, leech. Haven’t you seen what’s happening to your khiss or have you been hiding in here the whole time like a coward?”

  “Just let her go.”

  He tapped the blade against her throat. “I’ll tell you what. You get Slade to come in here and meet me face-to-face, and I’ll let this beauty of a parasite walk.”

  Lying bastard. Anyone with a brain would know his plan was to kill as many of them as possible before skipping out. He was going to kill her first . . . in front of Slade. Reality hit her like a ton of bricks.

  He was going to kill her anyway. And torture Slade in the process . . . then kill him too.

  So she couldn’t let that happen.

  “You gonna make the call or you want me to bleed this pretty one out?” he asked, his voice deep and demonic. He dug the tip of the blade into the vein at her neck. “Someone better tell me somethin’.”

  She hissed, arching back to escape the pressure of the point.

  Ruan took another step forward, his eyes pleading for reprieve like he was the one being hurt. She shook her head slightly—no need for him to get staked in this mess.

  “No one wants to talk, huh?” the therian said. “Fine. Then you tell Slade if he ever wants to suck off his precious leech agai
n, he needs to follow his nose back home. We’ll be waiting for him.” With the knife still pressed against Dylan’s vein, the pathetic version of Slade backed her toward the hall.

  Fury welled in Ruan’s eyes. His intent was crystal clear as he followed them out the door step-by-anger-fueled-step.

  It was then that the thought came to her. Exploded like a grenade going off. Meridian’s words splintered across her thoughts like shrapnel: Your life for his. When it is time, you will know how to act.

  Suddenly Dylan knew what she had to do.

  “Ruan,” she whispered, no longer dragging her feet. “It’s all right. It’s the way Meridian said it would be.”

  “Atta girl,” the therian breathed, hot and moist in her ear. “You tell Slade we’ll see him soon, all right?”

  She shook her head violently, ignoring the scraping against her throat. “Ruan, tell him to stay as far away from—”

  He thumped her in the back of the head with something hard. Flickering stars floated through the air above them. The last thing Dylan saw before she blacked out was Ruan charge them both and Eve’s horror-filled eyes peek from the doorway.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “When you die, you won’t turn to dust. But if you’ve lived your life a slave to sin, when you meet your maker, you may wish you had.”

  —Vampires: A Religious History

  Slade couldn’t believe his eyes. These vampires were supposed to be weak. On the verge of death due to an infection and weakening of the blood supply.

  But they were fighting with the tenacity of lions.

  What should’ve been a slaughter was a rough-and-tumble fight. From different angles, viewing one fight to another, it was clear the victory could’ve gone either way at any given moment.

  Slade caught sight of Erock, long blade in hand, fighting two therians on the stage. He looked like a warrior. A Primus’s son. Bred for battle. Long swishes of his blade across one side of his body, then criss-crossing to the other, made Slade realize Erock was much more trained than he originally gave him credit for.