Dianne Duvall: Darkness Rises

The vampire’s eyes widened. Stumbling back, he raised both hands to the throat her sword had laid open. The gray shirt he wore turned red as blood spilled down his chest and saturated it.

Spinning around, she raised her weapons. The last vamp, who should have been all over her after the opening she’d given him, stared at her stupidly and stumbled back a step.

She frowned.

He grunted. And grunted again. Blood spilled from his lips.

What the hell?

Groaning, he sank to his knees and clumsily tried to reach behind him with both hands.

Was this a trick?

Swords at the ready, she limped forward and began to edge around him to see what the hell he was reaching for.

Krysta stopped and stared. Half a dozen daggers protruded from his back. And, judging by their positions, they had pierced his heart and probably sliced through at least one major artery.

A whole new fear invaded her as she backed away, her gaze darting all around her and seeking the source of those weapons.

A sound drew her attention to the entrance of the alley.

Ice skittered through her.

Seven vampires. Eyes glowing various shades of blue, green, silver, and amber.

I’m dead. The panicked thought barreled through her brain at light speed. There’s no way I’ll survive this.

“She’s a second!” one snarled.

What the hell is a second?

Their glowing orange auras zipped toward her.

Kysta swung and thrust as she backed away toward the chain-link fence. But, even as she scored hits, the vampires flew past to circle around and cut her off.

A thud sounded behind her. The vamps in front of her paused to look over her shoulder. Something bumped her back.

Krysta spun around and swung.

A large hand clamped around her wrist, stopping her with infuriating ease.

Her gaze rose, taking in the tall figure garbed all in black who towered over her. His luminescent amber eyes, as bright as the moon, met hers. His lips parted, exposing deadly fangs.

But his aura . . .

It wasn’t orange like the other vampires’. It was bright white and purple, the two colors swirling together without ever mixing. She had never seen anything like it.

Or had she?

Hadn’t she seen it up on the roof earlier and dismissed it as a trick of the eye?

“You,” she breathed, and waited for him to strike a death blow.

Étienne frowned.

She knew him?

He released her arm, ready to catch it again if she should try to skewer him.

The vamps behind her decided to take advantage of her inattention and zipped forward.

Quick as lightning, Étienne drew four throwing stars and threw them. Two struck carotid arteries.

Krysta’s eyes widened as blood splattered her back.

“You started this,” he said. As soon as this was over, he intended to reprimand the hell out of her for stepping outside the bounds of her duties. She must be a new Second. Reordon usually made it clear that the human guards who aided immortals were not to strike out and hunt vampires on their own unless they suspected their immortal had been captured and, for some reason, couldn’t reach anyone at the network for help. “Now let’s finish it together. I’ll watch your back.”

Turning his own back, he drew his katanas and tore into the four vamps who had circled around to attack her from the rear.

Bloody bastards had no honor. Attacking a woman—a human woman at that—from behind.

Battle sounds erupted over his shoulder. Étienne listened closely for any sound that might indicate Krysta wasn’t holding her own, still astonished by the skill she had displayed thus far.

The last of the four vampires he fought fell.

Étienne swung around. Three still remained. Krysta had managed to keep them at bay, but had struck no more killing blows. She was tiring. Fending off blows backed by supernatural strength tended to do that to a human.

Étienne stepped up beside her, careful to avoid her swords, and dove into the fight.

The vamps immediately turned away from her to defend themselves, but didn’t succeed. Étienne opened the arteries of two, who fell to the ground. The last vampire opted to abandon his dying comrades, some of whom had already begun to shrivel up like mummies as the virus that infected them devoured them from the inside out in a desperate bid to live. The vamp’s crimson-stained form blurred as he darted toward the street.

Étienne caught him easily at the mouth of the alley, yanked him back into the shadows, and swiftly dispatched him.

When he turned around, Krysta had sheathed one of her swords and was texting away on a cell phone.

He strolled toward her.

Head jerking up, she pocketed the phone and drew her other sword.

He frowned. She watched him as though she expected him to attack her.

“How badly are you hurt?” he asked. Surely she could tell friend from foe. Even Sheldon, his brother Richart’s notoriously green Second, could do that much.

“I’m fine,” she lied, chin rising. Her clothing sported a dozen or more cuts and tears. She also rested most of her weight on one leg and limped when she moved. Like now, as she inched backward at his approach.

Étienne stopped several feet away from her.

She feared him. He could both smell it and see it in the dilation of her warm, brown eyes.

“You are a Second, aren’t you?” he asked.

“ What is a Second?” she practically shouted.

Ah, hell. This was a problem. She was a civilian?

He should call Chris Reordon, the head of the East Coast division of the human network that aided immortals. But Étienne couldn’t bring himself to do so. This mortal woman had just hunted and defeated four vampires on her own. And she hadn’t broken down when facing almost certain death. He found that damned appealing and worried over what Chris might do to her to ensure her silence and cooperation. He hadn’t had much hands-on contact with the human network until recently, but had heard Chris could be ruthless when it came to protecting the identities and ensuring the safety of the Immortal Guardians.

“What are you?” she demanded and began to edge around him, giving him a wide berth.

“You don’t know?”

“Would I ask if I did?” she countered. “You’re different from them.” She motioned to the deceased vampires, a couple of whom were only piles of empty clothing now.

Étienne studied her closely. “Because I didn’t kill you?”

She shook her head, her eyes roving him as if she could see a difference.

“You seemed to know me, when I joined the battle. Do you?”

She inched toward the entrance of the alley.

Étienne didn’t follow. He could catch her easily if she should decide to run and he didn’t want to frighten her any more than he already had.

“I saw you,” she said. “On the roof of the building across from the frat house. Were you following me?”

“Actually I was hunting the vampires you lured away and had no knowledge of your existence until that time.”

“I’m supposed to believe you hunt vampires?” She snorted. “You are a vampire.”

“You yourself said I’m different.”

“Different but the same.” Her gaze went to his fangs.

Étienne breathed deeply and forced his fangs to retract.

Her eyes widened.

The rumble of an approaching engine reached Étienne’s ears. Fortunately most drivers were so busy chatting or texting that they wouldn’t notice anything peculiar taking place in the alleyways they passed.

“Put your swords away and let us discuss this,” he suggested reasonably. He needed to keep her talking while he decided what to do about this, whether to call Reordon or . . .