Keri Arthur: Fireborn

The footsteps coming toward us at rapid speed said there were another four to deal with. Sam’s hand clamped my wrist; then he was pulling me forward.

“We won’t outrun them,” I said, even as we tried to do just that.

“I know.” Sam’s voice was grim. Dark.

Sexy.

I batted the thought away and risked another glance over my shoulder. They’d rounded the corner and were now so close I could see their gaunt features, their scars, and the red of their eyes.

Fear shuddered through me. Whatever these things were, they weren’t human.

“We need somewhere to hide.” I scanned the buildings around us somewhat desperately. Broken windows, shattered brickwork, and rot abounded. Nothing offered the sort of fortress we so desperately needed right now.

“I know .” He yanked me to the right, just about pulling my arm out of the socket in the process. We pounded down a small lane that smelled of piss and decay, our footsteps echoing across the night. It was a sound that spoke of desperation.

The red cloaks were quiet. Eerily quiet.

A metal door appeared out of the shadows. Sam paused long enough to fling it open, then thrust me inside and followed, slamming the door shut and then shoving home several thick bolts.

Just in time.

Something hit the other side of the door, the force of it enough to dent the metal and make me jump back in fright. Fire flicked across my fingertips, an instinctive reaction I quickly doused as Sam turned around.

“ That won’t help.” His voice was grim, but it still held echoes of the distaste that had dominated his tone all those years ago. “We need to get upstairs. Now, ” he added, as the door shuddered under another impact.

He brushed past me and disappeared into the gloom of the cavernous building. I unraveled the scarf from around my face and hastily followed. “What the hell are those things? And why do they want to kill you?”

“Long story.” He reached a grimy set of stairs and took them two at a time. The metal groaned under his weight, but the sound was smothered by another hit to the door. This time, something broke.

“Hurry,” he added rather unnecessarily.

I galloped after him, my feet barely even hitting the metal. We ran down a corridor, stirring the dust that clung to everything until the air was thick and difficult to breathe. From downstairs came a metallic crash—the door coming off its hinges and smashing to the concrete.

They were in. They were coming.

Fear leapt up my throat, and this time the flames that danced across my fingertips would not be quenched. The red-gold flickers lit the darkness, lending the decay and dirt that surrounded us an odd sort of warmth.

Sam went through another doorway and hit a switch on the way through. Light flooded the space, revealing a long, rectangular room. In the left corner, as far away from the door as possible, was a rudimentary living area. Hanging from the ceiling on thick metal cables was a ring of lights that bathed the space in surreal violet light.

“Don’t tell me you live here,” I said as I followed Sam across the room.

He snorted. “No. This is merely a safe house. One of five we have in this area.”

The problems in this area were obviously far worse than anyone was admitting if cops now needed safe houses. Or maybe it was simply a development linked to the appearance of the red cloaks. Certainly I hadn’t come across anything like them before, and I’d been around for centuries. “Will the UV lighting stop those things?”

He glanced at me. “You can see that?”

“Yes.” I said it tartly, my gaze on his, searching for the distaste and the hate. Seeing neither. “I’m not human, remember?”

He grunted and looked away. Hurt stirred again, the embers refusing to die, even five years down the track.

“UV stops them.” He paused, then added, “Most of the time.”

“Oh, that’s a comfort,” I muttered, the flames across my fingers dousing as I thrust a hand through my hair. “What the hell are they, then? Vampires? They’re the only nonhumans I can think of affected by UV.”

And they certainly hadn’t looked like vampires. Most vamps tended to look and act human, except for the necessity to drink blood and avoid sunlight. None that I’d met had red eyes or weird scars on their cheeks—not even the psycho ones who killed for the pure pleasure of it.

“They’re a type of vampire.”

He pulled out a rack filled with crossbows, shotguns, and machine pistols from under the bed, then waved a hand toward it, silently offering me one of the weapons. I hesitated, then shook my head. I had my own weapon, and it was more powerful than any bullet.

“You’ll regret it.”

But he shrugged and began to load shells into a pump-action shotgun. There was little other sound. The red cloaks might be on their way up, but they remained eerily quiet.

I rubbed my arms, felt the sticky warmth, and glanced down. The red cloak’s bullet had done little more than wing me, but it bled profusely. If they were a type of vampire, then the wound—or rather the blood—would call to them.

“That blood might call to more than just those red cloaks,” he added, obviously noticing my actions. “There’re some bandages in the drawer of the table holding the coffeepot. Use them.”

I walked over to the drawer. “I doubt there’s anything worse than those red cloaks out on the streets at the moment.”

He glanced at me, expression unreadable. “Then you’d be wrong.”

I frowned, but opened the drawer and found a tube of antiseptic along with the bandages. As medical kits went, it was pretty basic, but I guess it was better than nothing. I applied both, then moved to stand in the middle of the UV circle, close enough to Sam that his aftershave—a rich mix of woody, earthy scents and musk—teased my nostrils and stirred memories to life. I thrust them away and crossed my arms.

“How can these things be a type of vampire?” I asked, voice a little sharper than necessary. “Either you are or you aren’t. There’s not really an in-between state, unless you’re in the process of turning from human to vamp.”

And those things in the cloaks were neither dead nor turning.

“It’s a long story,” he said. “And one I’d rather not go into right now.”

“Then at least tell me what they’re called.”

“We’ve nicknamed them red cloaks. What they call themselves is anyone’s guess.” His shoulder brushed mine as he turned, and a tremor ran down my body. I hadn’t felt this man’s touch for five years, but my senses remembered it. Remembered the joy it had once given me.

“So why are they after you?”

His short, sharp laugh sent a shiver down my spine. It was the sound of a man who’d seen too much, been through too much, and it made me wonder just what the hell had happened to him in the last five years.

“They hunt me because I’ve vowed to kill as many of the bastards as I can.”

The chance to ask any more questions was temporarily cut off as the red cloaks ran through the door. They were so damn fast that they were halfway across the room before Sam could even get a shot off. I took a step back, my fingers aflame, the yellow-white light flaring oddly against the violet.

The front one ran at Sam with outstretched fingers, revealing nails that were grotesque talons ready to rip and tear. The red cloak hit the UV light, and instantly his skin began to blacken and burn. The stench was horrific, clogging the air and making my stomach churn, but he didn’t seem to notice, let alone care. He just kept on running.

The others were close behind.

Sam fired. The bullet hit the center of the first red cloak’s forehead, and the back of his head exploded, spraying those behind him with flesh and bone and brain matter.