Page 16

After mulling over the plan with Tiffany, Damon stood in his room, prepping his weapons bag while Tiffany was downstairs, preparing to make her call.

Everything was planned to the full extent it could be. The incoming hunters would provide the tracking device for Tiffany to wear. His contact in the police department had ensured that word of Caius and Carl’s deaths and the abandoned and—much to Tiffany’s chagrin—now impounded Bugatti was never released to the press, and somehow the mess at the restaurant had been entirely hushed up by Headquarters. Without evidence of Caius and Carl’s deaths, the other vamps would be confused as to their sudden absence. Everyone knew of Caius’s obsession with Tiffany, and luckily, it gave her a higher standing in the hierarchy. She was going to request a private meeting with the coven to discuss his disappearance. She’d prepped to play the role of the grieving, overly attached human.

Once she met up with her contact, she would be escorted to the coven’s meeting location. Damon and the other hunters would monitor her movements from a safe distance and follow her to the location. Damon had instructed her to play it cool once she was inside and not draw too much attention to herself. Caius’s subordinates would undoubtedly engage in a power struggle if they assumed he was dead. She needed to encourage them in the direction of declaring him missing, instead. Ideally, she would also find out who was behind the zombie virus.

While Tiffany distracted the vamps, the tech specialists would map a layout of the building and use a high-powered heat sensor to detect where all the beings in the residence resided. It was Damon’s job to make the call on when to enter and to direct their routes of entry.

Tiffany promised him that once the hunters were inside, she would seek safety in the van with the tech team.

The hunters’ objective was simple: annihilate as many vamps as possible, particularly the ones showing any signs of viral infection. With luck, all the Rochester vamps would be in attendance, including the bloodsucker orchestrating the spread of the disease.

No matter what, they hoped to effectively control the situation by destroying the source of infection, even if they were unable to identify him, which would free Damon to hunt down any remaining infected vamps—should there be any left—as quickly as possible.

He finished tucking his weapons into place, with one last piece to go. With care, he removed a long black case from the top shelf of his weapons closet and laid it across his bed. Damn, it had been a long time since he’d opened this thing.

He unhooked the latches and opened the lid to reveal his father’s pure silver slaying sword. The sword had passed through the last ten generations of Damon’s family, a treasured possession even before the Execution Underground’s formation, uniting freelancing hunters who were newly settled in the Americas into one central group, a group which would later become international. The beautifully crafted piece of weaponry had served his ancestors in slaying thousands of vampires over the years, and now he intended to use it for the very first time.

He strapped the custom scabbard on his back and slipped the sword in. Assessing his mental check list, he made certain he’d prepared. He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes before the Sergeant’s chosen hunters arrived.

He grabbed his jacket from the bed, felt something in a pocket and realized what it was. Tiffany’s letters.

A tight feeling constricted his chest.

Before he could change his mind, he snatched the letters from the pocket and opened the single envelope holding them.

Tiffany was right. He needed to know.

He had ten minutes. He sat down on his bed and opened the pages. The first letter was dated three weeks after Mark’s death.

Dear B,

Your letters are piling up. I’ve received one every day for a week now. I haven’t read a single one.

Damon stopped breathing. Deep down, he wasn’t surprised she’d never read them, but it still hurt.

But she had read his letters now. One, anyway. The letter.

He flipped to the next.

Dear B,

I wish you’d stop sending letters. Every time I see the return address of the Execution Underground, my stomach churns because I know it’s either a check that’s meant to pay me off for the brother I lost, a check I have to cash if I don’t want to be homeless...or a letter from you. I don’t know which makes me feel worse.

He bit his lip. Shit. That one stung.

Dear B,

Why?

All I can think is why.

A sharp pain stabbed at his heart as he read the words. The next was merely a single sentence.

I feel nothing...

God help him. He had to keep reading. He couldn’t pause to think. It hurt too much.

Dear B,

I tried believing this today.

Everything is normal. Mark is not dead. You are not the cause. Life is the way it used to be. I’m a happy college student, preparing for med school.

Yeah...it didn’t fool me for a second, either.

And the next:

If you were here, I’d stab a knife straight into your back, just like you did to Mark. What worthless excuse for a man betrays his friends? What kind of pathetic human being leaves the ones they love to die?

Next:

I wish I hated you. Things would be less complicated if I hated you.

He hated to keep reading, but he had to.

Dear B,

I’m addressing this to you, because though I know I’ll never send it, I don’t know who else to write to. It’s strange that the only person left in this world who I feel a strong connection to is the man responsible for the death of my brother.

I’m all alone now. I have no family left. My grandparents are dead. Aunt Cecelia’s dead. My parents are dead. Mark is dead. And now you might as well be dead, too.

I must be next....

Tiffany

He had to force himself to keep going.

Dear B,

I realize now that not only is my brother really dead, but so is the friendship you and I had. I’ve run through endless possibilities of ways to fix this, ways we could reconcile, but there is no way.

Tiffany

He wanted to stop, but he couldn’t.

Dear B,

I need to move on, to forget about you and put the past behind me, but your letters just keep coming.

I tried to burn them. I built a small fire out behind my apartment building last night. As I watched the flames, I held your letters—all of them, the ones I’ve read and the ones I haven’t— over the fire. But even though I will never read them again, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t burn a single one.

Tiffany

And finally...

Dear B,

This is the last letter I will ever write to you. I’m moving forward with my life.

I wish I could say what we once had between us was good, but I question whether a relationship built entirely on letters is really a relationship at all. The bitter, cynical side of me says it was never really anything. The nostalgic part of me disagrees and insists that at one point in time we did have something good, but that the goodness was just lost.

On most days, it feels as if I’m at war with myself about what to make of what we once were and what we are now. Was it good? Bad? Worth it? Not worth it? I don’t know if I’ll ever fully come to terms with either feeling. Perhaps that’s because it’s a little of both.

All I can hope for is that in the future I’ll be able to go a day, maybe a week, maybe even a month, or, finally, years without thinking about you, because at the current moment...

You occupy my mind every second, and without you, life doesn’t feel worth living.

Yours truly,

Tiff

Damon folded the letters and placed them back inside the envelope. Mechanically, he tucked them inside his pocket again. A knock sounded at the front door. The team had arrived.

Tiffany called out to him from downstairs. “Damon?”

For a long moment he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. His heart pounded, and adrenaline pierced through him. He could feel her pain, her grief within every word, but...

Despite everything she’d said, her feelings had never faltered. They were back to where they’d been prior to Mark’s death. He sucked in a deep breath. A massive weight lifted off his shoulders. They were back to where they’d started, as if they’d continued writing all along. Back to both of them knowing but never speaking it aloud.

She loved him...and God help him, he loved her, too.

Tiffany stood stock still as Damon attached the tracking device to the clasp of her bra. Despite all her nerves, the feeling of his fingertips brushing her skin sent chills racing down her spine, and heat rushed between her legs. The last time she’d felt that feeling, he’d been on top of her, pushing inside her. Pure ecstasy.

She barely noticed the small device rubbing against her skin as Damon lowered the hem of her shirt. With gentle movements, he moved her long hair to hang free down her spine. She bit her lower lip. She didn’t know why, but since right before they left his apartment with the E.U. team, he’d been more tender with her than ever, like how he’d been in bed, but...different.

Not that she was complaining.

“Are you ready?” he whispered in her ear.

She nodded. “Yeah, as ready as a girl can ever be for playing with vampires.” Nerves built inside her again. A light sheen of sweat covered her palms. She always felt a little clammy before meeting vamps, even when fully armed, with her gun hidden beneath her jacket as it was now. But the feeling always subsided when she encountered them and her hatred for what they’d done to her family rose to the top.

It was the anticipation that raked her nerves, not the mission itself.

“Repeat to me what you’re going to do again. I want to be completely certain we’re on the same page,” Damon said.

She let out a long sigh and faced him. “I’ve already repeated this to you twenty times, but all right. I’m driving to Club Fantasy and meeting up with Janette. I’m riding with her to the coven meeting, and when we enter, I’ll stall the discussion of Caius’s disappearance for as long as I can. When you guys burst in, I’ll hightail it out of there to the van.”

He gave her a single nod. “Good.” He met her eyes as he placed his hands on her shoulders. “We’ll be close by the whole time. Nothing will happen to you. I swear it.”

She smiled as much as she could, considering her nerves. “I trust you to keep me safe.”

He circled his arms around her waist and pulled her flush against him. Pressing his lips against hers, he kissed her deep. A small round of catcalls and whistles echoed from his fellow hunters.

He released her and shot a glare in their direction. “All you morons shut your gaping mouths and get back in position before I put you there,” he commanded.

The other operatives snapped to attention. Their mouths slammed shut.

Tiffany planted a kiss on her palm, before pressing it against his heart. She grinned. “For you to keep. I love you.”

Damon’s breath caught. She wanted to hear him utter three words to her in return, but she knew how hard that would be for him. For a man who’d been taught to bottle up his emotions, to be distant for the sake of the job, telling her how he felt wouldn’t be easy, not while he still bore the guilt of Mark’s death.

Damon opened his mouth, trying to force words out, but she placed a single finger over his lips.

“You don’t have to say it. I already know.” She ran her hand over his arm before she sighed. “Let’s go massacre some leeches.” She turned away and walked toward the door.

Fifteen minutes later she sat in the passenger seat of Janette’s silver sedan, cruising away from the city. She had no idea where they were going, but she’d assured herself that there was nothing for her to be afraid of; Damon and the rest of the Execution Underground team were right behind her. They had her back.

Once the vamps had accepted her suggestion of a meeting, entering their fold should have been a piece of cake, but a mounting feeling of dread crept through her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the night wasn’t going to go as smoothly as planned.

After thirty minutes of silence, Janette parked her car outside what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. Tiffany nearly scoffed. What a cliche?. Was it just her, or did all drug dealers, gangsters, monsters and the general underbelly of the population operate from inside old warehouses? She and Janette exited the vehicle and slipped inside the freezing cold building.

Tiffany almost choked on her own tongue. The inside held more vampires than she had ever imagined resided in Rochester. Nearly thirty bloodsuckers filled the room, along with only a small scattering of the humans she knew to be Hosts.

With twenty members of the Execution Underground at Damon’s side, the vampires outnumbered them. She tried not to think about that. Few of the vampires were very old, of that she was certain. She prayed the E.U. hunters could handle the extra monsters.

All eyes turned to her and Janette as they entered the room. Tiffany scanned the crowd and recognized several faces. The closest in rank to Caius was Lucas. The regular bartender at Club Fantasy, Lucas had been on this earth since the mid-1800s, when he’d been working as a scientist, or so Caius had told her. The vamp wasn’t nearly as ancient as his egotistical Roman superior had been, but in age he trumped all the other vamps in the room. Caius had told her that Lucas was the second-eldest vampire in the city, another migrant from N.Y.C.

“Finally, our absent leader’s pet is here,” Lucas said with a grin.

From the look on his face, she already knew he couldn’t have been happier about Caius’s disappearance. With Caius gone, it was highly likely power would fall to him. Others might try to battle him for the position, but considering his age, his defeat would be highly unlikely.

He eyed her up and down. “You don’t look to be grieving very deeply over the death of your lover.”

Lover, my ass. In her head, Tiffany pulled her gun and shot Lucas point-blank solely for the disgustingly smug grin painted across his face.

She fixed him with a hard glare. “I’m not grieving because Caius is not dead,” she said.

A murmur of whispers ignited throughout the small crowd. So much for not drawing attention to herself.

Lucas raised a brow. “That’s quite an assertive claim. Do you know something we don’t?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. Gentlemen first.”

Lucas frowned. He didn’t like being sassed by a lowly human. His lips remained shut.

Janette answered instead, her ghostly face reminding Tiffany of a skeleton. And, man, was the red lipstick freaky against that pale skin. Janette glanced in her direction. “All we know is that Caius, Carl and the car have disappeared. Perhaps you know something more than we do?”

Tiffany continued to stare straight at Lucas. “Actually, I don’t. But why Caius going missing would cause all of you to believe he is dead is beyond me.” She scanned the crowd, meeting several pairs of eyes along the way. “There’s nothing pointing to Caius’s death, and knowing him as I do— as we all do—it seems quite likely to me that he’s putting a plan in motion, something he doesn’t want anyone to know about until he’s ready to reveal it. It sounds to me—” her gaze locked with Lucas’s again “—that some may be all too eager to declare him dead.”

His jaw clenched. “Don’t get too cocky, human,” he spat.

She feigned an innocent look. “Too cocky? I’m just trying to protect Caius’s interests...exactly like everyone else here who is loyal to him.”

Many vampires and Hosts alike nodded.

She cleared her throat. She had to keep this situation under control. “Rather than bickering about whether or not Caius is dead, I think it would benefit all of us to come up with a strategy to search for him. Until it’s proven otherwise, we should proceed as if Caius is alive and well. I’m certain he left to attend to pressing business.”

Lucas chuckled. “Without informing you or any of his fellow vampires?”

Tiffany shrugged innocently. “Who am I to question his motivations?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Perhaps you’re correct.”

What? Tiffany’s eyes widened. Where was he going with this? Why was he agreeing with her so readily?

A devious grin spread across Lucas’s face. “May I have a word, Tiffany? While the others create possible action plans, you and I can discuss the finer details of Caius’s disappearance in private.”

Damn it all to hell. With everyone standing there watching, she couldn’t refuse or she would appear insubordinate, a deadly sin for a human, as if she had something to hide or a reason to fear. And as Caius’s favorite, she was somewhat safe—hurting her would be as blatant as attacking Caius himself. So, if she wanted to appear as if she truly believed he was still alive, she couldn’t act as if she feared Lucas. But she wouldn’t put it past him—or any powerful vampire, for that matter—to attack her in Caius’s absence, if only to strike a blow at Caius since he sought the elder’s position. In other words, either way: she was fucked.

She flashed a fake smile. “Of course.”

Lucas gestured for her to follow him down a nearby hall. Voices erupted in open discussion behind them, heatedly debating Caius’s disappearance, as she walked toward what felt like her doom.

She followed Lucas to the end of the hall, where he held open a door to what had probably once been an office. She walked inside, and he followed suit. Adrenaline raced through her. When he closed the door behind them, the distinct sound of a dead bolt clicking into place sounded in her ears.

Shit-tastic sign number one.

Damon rode in the first of four E.U. vans. He sat next to the tech team leader, staring at the tracking screen. From what they could tell using their maps, a few minutes ago Janette had parked outside an abandoned warehouse near Brighton, a nearby suburb.

Courtesy of the silent hybrid engines, they surrounded the warehouse undetected. Though

Damon’s feelings regarding the raid remained steady and focused, his nerves circled around the thought of Tiffany in danger. He couldn’t push their earlier moment from his mind. She’d known exactly what he’d been struggling to say, and despite that the words had still refused to leave his mouth, she cared for him anyway.

Damn his stupid emotional inhibitions. If something happened and he’d never told her he loved her, he would never forgive himself. His failure would haunt him for the rest of his days.

No.

He couldn’t allow himself to think like that. Nothing would happen to her. Her safety was his highest priority.

“All units secured,” a muffled voice sounded over Damon’s handheld radio.

Damon pressed down the button for confirmation. “Copy. Tech unit establishing ground layout.”

Careful to not make any sound, one of his tech hunters slid open the side door of the van. He and two other hunters hopped out, the high-powered heat sensors in their hands. The three of them rushed around the building, hooking their equipment into place.

“Operative,” a voice whispered from outside the van.

Damon turned.

Shit.

The Sergeant was standing outside the van, dressed in full gear and—from the bulges underneath his short leather jacket—fully armed. He climbed into the vehicle and crouched next to Damon.

Damon gave a single nod to his commanding officer. “Evening, Sergeant.”

A moment of silence passed between them before Damon cleared his throat.

“With all due respect, sir, may I ask why you’re here?”

The Sergeant fixed Damon with a look that was half-annoyance, half-amusement. “What do you think I’m here for, Brock?” After a long moment, he said, “To make sure this goes smoothly.”

Damon met his eyes. “With all due respect, sir, I can—”

The Sergeant jabbed his finger into Damon’s chest. If he’d been speaking above a whisper, he would have been barking at Damon, as usual. “Don’t tell me what you can and can’t do, Operative. I know you can do this or I wouldn’t have put you in charge, would I? I’m here to make sure you don’t call ‘go’ too soon. I can’t have you getting trigger-happy. I’m no imbecile. You think I’m forgetting this is your first raid since we lost Solow? Not to mention his sister is inside there. That’s the woman you love, Brock. Don’t think I don’t know that.”

Damon frowned. Damn. The Sergeant had always been so friggin’ perceptive. It pissed Damon the hell off, but at the same time he respected the man for it. The Sergeant grated on his every nerve, but he was the man who’d made Damon into the hunter he was. For that, he was grateful.

Static crackled over the radio. “All secure.”

Damon flipped three switches connected to the second monitor. A shadowy green layout of the building appeared on the screen. Damon’s eyes widened.

“Damn. Don’t know if I’ve ever seen more bloodsuckers in one place,” the Sergeant said as he shook his head.

Damon scanned the screen. There had to be nearly thirty vamps in the main area and...

He paused.

Three on the far side of the building?

His heart stopped. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but…

Something wasn’t right about that.

He opened his mouth, prepared to mention as much to the Sergeant, but the older man interrupted him swiftly, “Prep your team, operative, and remain calm,” he said, a knowing glint in his eyes. “We’ll get her out of there safely.”

Tiffany’s heart raced as she faced Lucas. Her pulse thumped hard inside her chest, and she could feel the rhythm all through her body. Standing tall, she glared at the bloodsucker. She wouldn’t show her fear. Not now. Not ever. “What is this about, Lucas?”

An evil grin twisted his face. “That worthless hunter of yours, Damon Brock.”

Tiffany froze. It took everything she had to hold her face completely still.

How did he know about Damon?

She met his eyes and decided to bluff. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lucas snarled. “Don’t be cute with me, human. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Your vampire slayer lover and his brigade of Execution Underground cronies positioned outside this building.” He stepped closer. “Lie and pretend you don’t know again, and I’ll sink my fangs into your throat.”

She held her breath, holding her face still and stern.

He walked toward the wall and leaned against it. “I know you killed Caius.”

All the neurons in Tiffany’s brain fired. How the hell was she going to get herself out of this? She tried to steady her breathing. Damon and the other E.U. members would rush in soon, and when Damon saw she wasn’t in the main room, he would come looking for her. Could she hold Lucas off until then? She was unarmed, but she could stall him. Make him talk.

Lucas went on. “But it’s not Caius’s life I care about. It’s my master, Apophis.”

Tiffany stared at him as calmly as she could. “If you expect that name to mean something to me, you’re going to be disappointed.”

A low growl escaped Lucas’s throat and a shiver rushed down her spine. “Apophis, named for the Egyptian God of chaos and war, my sire—the ancient vampire your hunter murdered.”

She held her position. “Damon has destroyed hundreds of vampires, and you expect me to know the name of one in particular?”

Lucas chuckled. Moving faster than she could comprehend, he came to stand behind her, grasping her throat in one hand and her hair in the other. He led her toward a closed door that she assumed opened into another room. “Perhaps you’ll put two and two together when you see what I’ve saved as a surprise for the two of you.”

Still gripping her hair, he wrenched the door open. A dark form loomed in the shadows. Lucas shoved her forward. She stumbled inside, and he flipped on the light. Her eyes locked onto the sight before her, and her heart stopped. For a moment, Tiffany couldn’t move. Her stomach churned, and her whole body shook violently.

Tears welled in her eyes as she choked down a scream.

Chained against the wall by his wrists stood her brother. Or the shell of what had once been him anyway. At the sight of her, his irises flashed red and he hissed, his fangs descending as he fought against his restraints.

No. No.

Bile rose in her throat. Unable to scream, she doubled over and vomited onto the floor. Attempting to catch her breath, she panted, eyes wide and staring at the horror before her, but to no avail, her brain refusing to process what stood directly in front of her.

Mark wasn’t dead. He was a vampire.

And he was infected...

“No doubt that hunter of yours told you that your brother’s body burned in the fire from the raid, and believe me, until this day he still thinks that to be true. But there’s one problem with fires....” He stepped up behind her, and the warmth of his disgusting breath brushed against her neck. “There are no bodies to be found.”

As fast as she could, Tiffany withdrew her stake from its hiding place and lunged toward Mark. But Lucas grabbed her mid-movement. He dug his fingers into her hand, and the stake fell from her grasp as she felt the bones of her wrist break beneath his fingertips. She let out a sharp shriek, crumpling to the ground.

With her already down, Lucas kicked her spine, knocking the wind from her, then put his foot between her shoulder blades, holding her down. She prayed he wouldn’t move his foot low enough on her back to find her gun. “See, here’s what happened. That hunter of yours murdered my master, Apophis. Caius, being the coward he is, stabbed your brother with his own stake, then left to save his own skin. When I saw your brother lying there on the cold ground, bleeding, I saw my window of opportunity.”

He stomped harder on her spine. She reached for her stake, but the lacquered wood had landed just beyond her reach.

Lucas continued. “To make your hunter suffer, I turned your brother. I knew that to a vampire slayer, the only thing worse than death is being transitioned into one of the creatures they hunt.”

Foot still on her spine, he bent and picked up her stake, then released her.

She gasped for air.

“At first your brother was a normal vampire— under my direction, of course, seeing as I’m his sire. But, well...a little experiment backfired on us. As Caius may have told you, other than the master I lost, science is the one love of my life. When the new vampire movement asked me to create a serum that would allow us to walk by day without weakening, I decided to use your brother as a test subject.”

He paused to break her stake in two as if it were nothing more than a twig. “Turns out because it’s been tampered with, the DNA of the hunters of the Execution Underground doesn’t mix well with my serum, and, well, you know the virus that resulted.”

Tiffany stared up at her older brother. Mark hissed and spat like an animal, fighting to be freed. If he hadn’t been restrained, he would have torn into her flesh without hesitation.

“With the help of your brother, we were able to spread the virus and create a new strain of vampires by letting the newly turned feed on the humans he devoured.”

Tiffany’s stomach churned. If she’d had anything else there, she would have been sick again.

“Now I’ve combined the Execution Underground serum and my anti-sun serum into a single shot, and one injection can turn a new vampire into a flesh-eating monster. But for one special dose—” he pulled a syringe from his jacket pocket and held it up for Tiffany to see “—I’ve reversed the effect. Injected into the arm of an Execution Underground hunter, this will turn him into a ravenous flesh-hungry monster in minutes.” A smirked crossed his face. “And guess which hunter I’ve saved it for.”

Her eyes widened. Adrenaline raced through her body. Tears poured down her face.

No, not Damon. She couldn’t lose him, too.

“When the hunters storm in here any minute, your hunter will come straight here, looking for you. One injection.” He grinned and raised the syringe into the light. “Or I can crush it now, and you won’t have to go through the horror of seeing the man you love murdered, like I did. I’ll give you a chance to save him—if you agree to sacrifice yourself.”

Tiffany lay on the cold concrete of the warehouse floor, her whole-body trembling. All the warmth drained from her face. “Only if you get rid of the injection first.” She fixed him with a hard stare. Nothing was more important to her than Damon and his safety. She couldn’t take risks.

Lucas placed the syringe on the ground and positioned his foot overtop it.

Then she nodded. She would do anything to save Damon. Anything.

“What do you want from me?”

He crouched and prepared to lunge for her. “Don’t hold back.” He met her eyes. “I like it when my victims put up a fight.”

Happy to oblige, she pulled her Smith & Wesson from her lower back, aimed and fired.

The sound of a shot from somewhere inside the building rang in Damon’s ears. His heart stopped. “Go!” he yelled into his radio. He and the Sergeant lunged from the van, hitting the pavement at full speed.

The hunters rushed from their positions and burst into the warehouse. Shots fired, the sounds echoing off the metal walls, followed by the clatter of ricocheting bullets. Damon unsheathed his sword and launched himself through the main entry. He didn’t think twice. He swung the heavy weight of the silver hilt in front of him, slicing the head of the vampire in front of him clean off. Damn, a man could get used to this.

The vampire exploded in a burst of blood. Shrieks and cries of pain filled the room, but a steady constant buzz filled Damon’s ears.

Tiffany.

Nothing would stop him from getting to her.

Brandishing his weapon, he cut savagely into vampire after vampire, destroying any and all of the monsters standing in his path. A male leech rushed him from behind. Spinning, Damon brought down his sword and chopped through the monster’s skull. Blood splattered his face.

He drew his sword back, only to have the weapon wrenched from his grasp as something huge tackled him from behind.

Spinning to face his attacker, Damon snatched his stake from his side and plunged the sharpened weapon downward. Huge hands caught his wrist, and he locked eyes with his opponent. His breath caught in his throat as he stood nose to nose with the shell of what had once been his best friend.

“Mark,” he breathed.

A blazing red pulsed in Mark’s eyes. He hissed and twisted Damon’s arm, trying to get him to release the stake, but Damon gritted his teeth and pushed forward. He would not allow the pain constricting his chest to deter him. He would kill Mark, releasing his friend from the fate he’d always dreaded.

The two men met each other punch for punch and kick for kick. It was just like sparring class, where they’d always partnered to fight against each other. Being older and stronger, Damon had always won. He intended to win this time, too.

Mark stepped closer, and his fist collided with Damon’s gut. It was the one move Damon always caught him on. It was almost as if…Mark was handing him the fight. Damon stepped into him, clutching Mark’s arm and using the weight of his body against him.

With the help of his hip, he dropped Mark onto his back, but Mark quickly shifted to his knees.

Damon brought the stake down with all his might. Mark grabbed Damon’s wrist, but he was at a clear disadvantage, on his knees with Damon standing over him. A loud yell ripped from Damon’s throat, releasing a fresh wave of adrenaline. He channeled all his energy into his biceps, struggling until he positioned the stake directly in front of Mark’s heart.

The vampire bared his teeth, battling with all his strength, but Damon held firm. One small shove and he could end this. He would keep his promise to his best friend, his fellow hunter. His whole body shook as he tried to force himself to do what he needed to.

God help him. He had to murder his friend.

The pulsating red in Mark’s eyes flickered and for a quick moment his face slackened, the rage and fight disappearing from his expression completely.

“D-do it, Damon,” he stammered, before his eyes blazed crimson again.

Damon gritted his teeth and didn’t think twice. He plunged the wood of his stake straight into Mark’s heart. The blood of his only friend, his fellow hunter, of Tiffany’s brother, covered his face.

“Everybody out!” he heard someone scream.

A loud explosion sounded from his right, and a wave of heat washed over him, the force of the explosion knocking him to the ground. Fire spilled through the building.

With shaking hands, he wiped the crimson liquid from his eyes.

“Brock!” The Sergeant’s muffled yell carried from behind him.

Damon looked up and everything stopped.

For one long second, he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t function.

Amidst the smoke and flames, a large vampire stood silhouetted on the opposite side of the room, his arm around Tiffany’s neck in a choke hold. She writhed against the bloodsucker’s grip, struggling fruitlessly against him.

Damon launched himself from the ground and sprinted full speed toward her. Several of his fellow hunters and the Sergeant hooked their arms through his and tugged him back. Damon fought against them with every ounce of strength he possessed, as they struggled to hold him.

“No! Let it go, Brock! No!” the Sergeant yelled in his ear.

As the vampire disappeared into the smoke of the building, carrying Tiffany with him, her head snapped in Damon’s direction.

No!

A loud cry ripped from Damon’s throat as Tiffany’s eyes flashed crimson and she bared her fangs.

***