Marcus Pelegrimas - Blood Blade

“So you have chosen to stand your ground,” he said as he glanced at the weapon in Cole’s hands. “I’m always happy to send another Skinner from this world.” He then shifted his eyes toward Walter and snarled, “Kill him before he fires another shot!”

The bodyguard ran toward Cole, but leapt into the air at the last moment.

Shifting his grip to hold onto his weapon more like a golf club, Cole swung the spear upward and snagged the bodyguard’s foot with the two points at the bottom of the grip. That was enough to divert the airborne Nymar’s course and bounce him off the trunk of the tree next to Walter’s.

Walter kept the rifle to his shoulder and fired whenever a target presented itself. If he had any doubts regarding Cole’s ability to protect him, he didn’t voice them.

Tightening both fists around his weapon the way Paige had shown him, Cole swung in a low arc that cut across Misonyk’s ankles. The blow caught the Nymar by surprise, but only caused him to stumble back half a step. Then he straightened and lashed out with one hand. The Nymar’s nails were short, jagged, and sharp enough to slice through the air like tempered steel. Cole leaned back to avoid getting eviscerated and saw Misonyk’s other arm coming straight down toward his face.

It was nothing but reflex that brought both of Cole’s arms up to block the incoming swing with his weapon. Misonyk’s fist landed like a sledgehammer, sending a shockwave all the way up to Cole’s shoulders while also burying the weapon’s thorns into his palms. At first Cole felt numb, then the pain hit him in a white hot explosion that caused his vision to blur around the edges. Gritting his teeth, he pulled one end of the weapon back while pushing the other end forward to drive the twin spearheads into Misonyk’s midsection.

Misonyk hopped backward while pressing a hand against the bloody gashes that had been torn across his stomach. As he bared all three sets of his fangs, the muscles in his jaw strained as if every one of his teeth were separate entities that hungered for Cole’s blood.

Cole’s rage grew as those thorns pulled and twisted within his hands. When he caught the bodyguard approaching Walter’s tree, he was glad to have another target on which to vent some of the fire that had been sparked within him.

The bodyguard bent at the knees and launched himself toward Walter’s legs with both hands open. In doing so, he left himself open for the impact of the single spearhead that Cole drove all the way up between his ribs. The Nymar opened his mouth to scream, but only half a grunt came out. The bodyguard’s arms and legs flailed, losing their grip on the tree.

Cole drove him to the ground and pulled the sharpened end of his spear free, just as Misonyk’s arms wrapped around him from behind. With the fire still raging through him, Cole twisted his upper body back and forth until he gained some leverage. At the first cold touch of Misonyk’s deadly lower fangs against his throat, he leaned forward and drove the lower end of his weapon down and back to take a chunk out of Misonyk’s right shin. As Misonyk cursed and fell back, the bodyguard rose up to renew his attack. Cole pulled one hand free so he could draw the .44 and fired several shots into the bulkier Nymar.

The gun slipped within Cole’s bloody hand, but his target was nearly at point-blank range. Each bullet knocked the bodyguard farther back and kept him off balance. Even as the .44 was still bucking against his palm, Cole could see the bodyguard’s wounds closing up like little, toothless mouths puckering beneath the holes that had been blasted through the Nymar’s clothes. Finally, he fired a round that glanced off the big man’s head and sent him spinning on one heel and flopping to the ground. Cole knew better than to assume the bodyguard was dead, but the Nymar was obviously stunned. Turning back around, he reflexively fired his last round when he saw Misonyk fly at him like something launched straight out of hell.

His shot caught Misonyk in the chest and tore open a gaping wound, but didn’t do much to slow the Nymar. Misonyk knocked him down and dug his claws into the fabric of his jacket. As he wrapped his hand around the barrel of the .44, steam erupted with a noisy hiss as heated metal met bare skin. Without showing the slightest reaction from the burn, he yanked the .44 from Cole’s grasp and tossed it away.

Jagged fingernails scraped against Cole’s chest as Misonyk pushed him down. What worried Cole more was the strength behind those fingers, which was enough to hold him against the grass without any hope of wriggling free.

Gritting his teeth, he brought his weapon around to hit Misonyk in the ribs. For the first time, he was thankful for the thorns connecting the weapon to his hand. Without them, he would have surely lost his grip on the specially treated spear. One of the two sharpened points dug into Misonyk’s side, landing within inches of the first wound Cole had given him. The Nymar bared his teeth like a wounded animal and swiped at Cole’s face, but quickly pulled his hands back to protect himself from the next swing. Cole turned his head when he saw the Misonyk’s jagged nails slashing toward him, and he felt the breeze as those claws passed less than an inch from his cheek.

Since the bodyguard was still pulling himself up and Misonyk was backing away, Cole scrambled to his feet and gripped the spear in both hands. “Walter! How’s Paige?” he asked quickly.

Walter fired another shot and reached into his jacket pocket for more ammunition. “You don’t want to know.”

The newly infected Nymar knew how to bite and snarl, but they were still uncomfortable in their own skins. Their spores had yet to spread fully throughout their bodies, which meant they were slow to recover after taking the damage Paige was dishing out.

She held a club in each hand and kept her stance low. The weapon in her right hand had shifted into a sickle, while the other had extended into a stake with a sharpened point on either end. That way, she could hit one Nymar after another in a series of quick, flowing movements. After putting one of them down with a stab to the chest, she managed to crack a few skulls with the side of her other weapon. Walter had dropped a few of the Nymar, killing at least two, but that left plenty more for Paige to contend with.

They came at her in waves, flailing madly with claws that were too new to be sharp but still strong enough to shred through the layers of clothing protecting her arms, neck, and back. Only a few of those claws were quick enough to cut her skin. The rest were deflected by her weapons or scraped along the protective black body armor. She didn’t even feel the attacks that bounced against her torso, thanks to the layer of werewolf hide, which was strong enough to make Half Breeds among the most feared animals in creation.

Most of the Nymar relied upon their bare hands or a few small weapons to attack Paige. A few bullets whipped past her or slammed into her vest, but Walter focused his aim on the Nymar who’d brought guns. Paige remained in motion so she could always attack, while also making herself a difficult target to hit. As soon as she spotted a Nymar who had thick, muscular arms marked by the gray tendrils beneath his skin, she bent down low and raked her sickle against the back of his knees, cutting his hamstring and sending him to the ground. She then buried the sharp end of her double-ended stake into the heart of another attacker, a blow that landed perfectly and put a look of stark terror onto the Nymar’s face. Its eyes shifted from those of a hungry demon to a tired victim grateful to be released from the twisted shell that had once been his own body.

Suddenly, the Nymar all jerked their heads around as if they were hearing something well out of Paige’s range. She scrambled away from the group and was barely able to brace herself before Henry leapt from the top of the garage to land with the crunch of bare feet against broken pavement. He pulled himself mostly upright and then took in as much of his surroundings as his wobbling head would allow.