Jocelynn Drake - Nightwalker

The tension and lines slowly disappeared from his handsome face, as if time was kindly erasing some of the wear and tear he had suffered through his long years. He was moving away from the pain and the fear. Peace was settling inside him.

Something inside of me screamed in pain. I should have sent him home. I should have never included him in my life. Michael was a breath of fresh air. He had glowed with light and vitality, and I’d seen to its destruction.

Holding him, I could feel the life draining from his body, his heart slowing to a thick, torpid beat. His soul was pulling loose of its bonds, struggling to be free. I couldn’t heal him. With all my power and abilities, I couldn’t heal the human body beyond the closing of puncture wounds from my fangs. The best I could do was try to turn him into a nightwalker, but I wouldn’t. His soul wanted to be free like a kite on a string. I knew I had to let him go no matter how badly I needed him to stay.

The pain in my left arm was gone. I stood without actually using my muscles. I just pushed out with my powers until I was lifted to my feet. Around me the sounds of battle dimmed and the world faded. Time ground to a crawl, edging along the floorboards like a multilegged insect. I paused long enough to grab both of Michael’s guns and my sword. Tucking one gun in my pants at the hollow of my back, I kept the other in my left hand while the sword remained tightly clutched in my right hand.

To say that I was angry would have been an understatement. I wanted to send a wall of fire through the entire building, cleansing it of every moving creature, breathing or not. Michael was gone and I wanted a gallon of naturi blood for every drop spilled of his. I wanted them dead.

Striding into the front parlor, I paused long enough to assess the scene. Furniture had been overturned and the lighting was dim as one small lamp in the far corner fought back the darkness. Danaus battled two naturi at once, a scimitar in one hand and a short sword in the other. A flicker of light danced across the steel that had yet to be smeared with blood. Three more naturi stood near the window where they had come in, watching the show. I would have normally let Danaus have his fun, but I just wanted them dead. One of them had killed Michael.

Stepping forward, I lifted the gun toward Danaus’s assailants. Without hesitation, I squeezed off several rounds, putting one into the forehead of each naturi before they could turn on me. The recoil sent a shock wave up my arm and I hissed in pain, but it didn’t slow me as I swung around and fired the last three rounds at the remaining naturi. Only one found its mark, briefly pinning the brown-haired creature to the blood-splattered wall before he slid to the floor.

Out of bullets, I pitched the gun at the closest naturi, shattering his nose and left cheekbone. He screamed and stumbled backward, holding his face. I closed the distance, rage bubbling in my veins. His companion stepped forward to protect him, and I left his head rocking on the floor seconds later.

The wounded elflike creature lashed out, swinging his sword wildly, half blinded by the pain. In a flash of movement I was standing behind the creature. I grabbed a fistful of brown hair and jerked his head back before running my blade across his throat. I was careful to slice the main arteries and open his windpipe. It’s a subtle art; something learned through years of torture and death. If I had left him like that, he might have drowned in his own blood. Unfortunately, I wasn’t sure how quickly he would heal so I lopped off both his hands. I didn’t want him coming back to stab me later. This way he would at least bleed to death. He would suffer awhile longer than if I’d just decapitated him like his companion. I wanted his death to be a slow one.

Danaus grabbed my right arm as I started to leave the room, halting my progress. “He’s not dead,” the hunter growled. His hand bit into my flesh while his powers beat angrily against me.

“He will be.” Danaus didn’t release me, his gaze burning into my cold eyes. I knew what he wanted. He didn’t believe in torture. “Remember, they did far worse to me. At least he knows he’s going to die. I had no such guarantee.” I wrenched my arm free of his grasp and continued to the hall.

I was relieved to see he followed directly behind me instead of ending the naturi’s suffering. Maybe he knew this wasn’t the best time to cross me. I paused in the hall, careful not to look down at Michael’s cold body. Instead I gazed up the hall to find three more naturi heading toward the room holding Jabari and the others, looking to attack the small group from behind. I pulled the second and last gun from my pants and plowed through the three that were now coming after me.

“Are there any more coming?” I stepped on the body of the nearest naturi, indifferent as to whether he was dead yet, as I walked toward the closed door.

“Yes, but we have a couple of minutes,” Danaus said, following close behind me. “The last of them are in with the others.”

I shoved open the door and for a second my confidence slipped several notches. The room looked like a cyclone had blown through. All the furniture had been destroyed. Exquisite landscapes were ripped off the walls, their heavy frames used as weapons. The walls were pockmarked with bullets and gaping holes created by flying bodies. Corpses littered the floor, broken and torn.

Sadira stood in one corner with a wounded Tristan behind her. One of the legs of the chair she’d been sitting in was tightly clenched in her fist and her fangs were bared. Other than the fangs, she still didn’t look like a vampire, just a mother protecting her child. Of course, we’re talking a half-crazed, bloodthirsty mother with her blood-splashed yellow shirt sticking to her thin frame and dark hair flowing down her back.

My Gabriel still stood strong beside her, a knife in one hand and a naturi short sword in the other. I didn’t want to contemplate how long he had been without ammo. His right shoulder and left thigh were bleeding, but he didn’t waver, so I hoped the wounds were superficial. I couldn’t lose him too.

And in the eye of the storm stood Jabari. His energy pulsed in violent waves through the room. At least a dozen bodies circled him, torn apart in various ways. The nightwalker stood empty-handed, covered in the blood of his enemies. Jabari didn’t use a sword or knife. He preferred to take apart his enemies with his bare hands. It was a lost art.

Watching him face down the five naturi that currently circled him, I remembered why I had always loved him. I loved his strength and his power. I loved that I only felt anger radiating from him, no fear, no doubt, no indecision. With little effort and no hesitation, Jabari pulled the heart from a naturi’s chest. He tossed the two objects carelessly aside and moved onto his next prey.

And deep down I knew I was standing in that line, no matter what happened from here on out.

“Shall we?” I said, looking over at Danaus as I tried gauge the best place to enter the fray. Relieving Sadira and Gabriel would probably be the wisest place to start. Jabari was doing fine on his own.

“After you,” Danaus said, motioning for me to precede him. I was beginning to think he was enjoying himself. He was splattered with blood and a line of sweat ran from his temple to his hard jaw. His narrowed eyes were keenly focused on the naturi in the room, weighing their skills. But there was also a glitter of amusement there, soaking in the thrill of the battle and the rush of adrenaline. At that moment, Danaus was more of a predator than the naturi could ever be. He was a dark stalker riding the wave of blood and death, his human side obliterated.