Page 108 of Loreblood

Men like Taclo and Koylen weren’t built for that kind of shooting.

A vision flared in my mind as I stood back-to-back with Garroway, taking a defensive stance.The mysterious archerfrom the window of Manor Marquin who put down vampires and Diplomats alike in a matter of seconds.

My blood hummed for battle, thrummed with fear.

Before I could step forward to try and locate our attackers, they came at us—two black shapes moving unnaturally fast in a zigzagging pattern across the cobblestones.

One came from the alley where I’d caught a glimpse, headed right for me. The other came at Garroway from the opposite side of the street, emerging from behind a stack of barrels near a closed shopfront.

The paleness of the vampire’s face, glinting in the moonlight, made goosebumps run along my skin. My eyes took in his unorthodox charge, focusing on his feet and legs.

He was too swift. By the time I swung my first strike, he ducked under it and was behind me. I inhaled, expecting the frigid pain of a blade burying into my back.

Wheeling—

Garroway shouldered me out of the way, sword flashing to deflect the vampire’s attack on me.

My dhampir ally managed to fend off both vampires for a few heartbeats, earning a few cuts on his body. Blood sprayed and Garroway grunted, stumbling back a step as he managed to disengage. “Run, lass! Get to the gate and tell my master what happened here!”

I stooped my shoulders and bent my knees. Running was the last thing on my mind—not when I had all this pent-up aggression and anger to get out and murderous vampires were right in front of me.

I didn’t answer Garro’s plea. My lunge at the nearest vampire was answer enough.

He hissed. “Damned stubborn girl!”

We attacked the vampires together. The fullbloods were dressed in black, cloaks fluttering behind them, turning theminto living shadows. Their blades were short and quick, their styles recognizable from the way Lukain fought.

I had never managed to best Lukain . . . and he was only a half-blood. These were full-fanged, fullblooded monsters who owned the night.

We stood no chance. Even with Garroway, it was clear. The vampires moved swiftly, toying with us, pushing us back along the road. Faithless be damned,Garrowayhad kicked my ass in the ring and he was struggling against these two.

“Shit,” Garroway growled, earning another cut across his forearm he was too slow to dodge.

The sparks and crashing of our swords rang out in the still night. Windows opened from households, candles lit, curious faces poking out in fear.

Amid a tumble of gasps and murmurs, I heard more windows slamming shut than opening. People recognized the pale faces, the fanged snarls, and the unnatural movements of our would-be assassins.

We’re going to die here.

Pain burned along my leg as one of the vampires lunged under my guard, lashed out with a quick nick across my thigh, and hopped back well before my own sword could take him.

“If you won’t go,” Garroway growled, “then we go together.”

I didn’t chance a look at him. There was no time. The vampires were weaving in and out in front of us, batting our blades aside before executing their own graceful strikes. They had a precision and skill with their swords I’d never fought against.

No matter how much anger I summoned, how much wrath I wanted to commit, I couldn’t match up to our attackers’ expertise. I also wasn’t about to let my rage fuel me and make me do something deadly and stupid.

Garroway had no such reservations. He noticed our desperation for what it was: our last stand.

We began to skip backward, dancing away. One of us would retreat while the other parried. Rinse and repeat. The going was slow. We made it half a block like that before my legs ached and my adrenaline began to sour.

We would never make it miles north to the gate this way. The vampires would grow bored after a while and simply end us. That’s what Garroway must have noticed, because his next move changed the entire landscape of our fight.

“Buy me a second!” he shouted.

I dashed forward without thinking, letting my martial instinct take over. I’d been raised in the Firehold and could hold my own—I could give Garro a few heartbeats to finish whatever he was scheming.

My blade whirred as I went on the offensive. My boots thudded on uneven cobblestones.