A blow smashed into his hand and the pistol skittered across the floor. Lynch ground his teeth as his arm was nearly wrenched clean out of the socket. He twisted back, avoiding another blow, and finally caught a good look at his adversary.
Falcone’s face twisted in an expression of rage, his eyes bloodshot and wild. Nothing human lurked there. Blood matted his hair and clothes, and the nails on his hand were sharp. Lynch had a split second to examine him before they raked toward his face.
Parrying with the cane-sword, he barely managed to block the first blow, then the next one, let alone use it to his advantage. Falcone was monstrously fast and each blow echoed up the muscle in Lynch’s forearm. Lynch ripped the sword free of the cane, but Falcone lashed out, nails screaming on steel as he knocked it out of Lynch’s hand.
“Help!” Barrons yelled, scrambling upright. Blood bubbled on his lips and his chest was a raw mess. He clutched at the stained velvet, trying to drag himself into a sitting position against the wall.
Falcone’s head turned at the sound and Lynch seized his chance. He leaped forward, tackling the man to the floor and using his own considerable strength to force Falcone onto his face. Yanking on an arm, he wrenched it up, putting a shoulder lock on the creature.
Light flooded into the room as the door opened.
Lynch recoiled from the bright glare just as Falcone gave a mighty heave beneath him. Rosa rushed inside, backlit by the light, a pistol in her hands and her face grim as her eyes locked on him.
“Get out!” he bellowed. “Get out of the house!”
Falcone strained, the tendons in his shoulder tearing. Lynch could feel his grip slipping, and horror sank its cold claws into his gut as he saw Rosa’s jaw drop in surprise.
“Run!” he screamed as Falcone rolled and threw him aside.
Lynch hit the wall, the breath whooshing out of him. He landed on hands and knees, just in time to see Rosa flee down the corridor. Falcone went after her in a blur.
“Perry! Garrett!” He shoved off the wall and lurched toward the door. Something hurt in his side. Maybe a cracked rib. No time though. He had to stop Falcone—before the creature tore Rosa’s throat out.
That thought burned through his chest like fire. Tearing through the door, he saw the flap of Falcone’s coattails as the lord bounded down the stairs. Rosa screamed out of sight and a gun barked.
“Bloody hell!” Garrett’s voice echoed through the entry.
Lynch sprinted along the corridor as shouts broke out. He didn’t know what was happening. More gunfire coughed. Perry screamed Garrett’s name and then the gunfire fell silent.
Vaulting over the rail of the staircase, Lynch leaped through the air, raking the scene with a sharp glance. Rosa tripped on the bottom step and went sprawling. Garrett was down, clawing at his chest. He was perhaps the only reason Rosa was still alive. Falcone had stopped to attack him first.
Lynch landed hard on the marble foyer below, the vibration shivering up his legs. Falcone ignored him, leaping on Rosa and riding her to the ground. Her head cracked on the marble tiles and the gun in her hand tumbled free.
No!
Blind rage turned his vision to shadows. The demon in him—the hungry, darker side of him—rose with a choking grip until he could barely see. The next thing he knew, he was hauling the creature off Rosa and throwing it into the wall. Falcone gathered his feet under him as he hit and rebounded off it with athletic grace.
Lynch had a knife in his hand before he knew it. Falcone hit him hard, blunt teeth sinking into his throat. Lynch drove the knife up, deep into the creature’s chest. As if realizing his intentions, Falcone jerked, his jaw opening. Lynch grabbed him and yanked him over his shoulder, slamming the lord flat on the ground. His bone handled knife hilt gleamed in the golden light, and he knelt down, using his knee to shove it home as he grabbed Falcone by the head and snapped his neck.
Silence fell, broken only by the gasping wheeze from Garrett’s throat.
Lynch staggered off the body, the shadows draining from his vision. He felt light-headed all of a sudden. Rosa was on her feet, her mouth parted in shock as she stared at him.
“Stay there,” he snarled, stabbing a finger toward her. One last glance at Falcone—he wasn’t getting up again—and he staggered toward Garrett.
Perry was on her knees, hands clamped over the wound on Garrett’s chest.
“How bad is it?” Lynch demanded. Not Garrett. He’d been only a boy when Lynch took him on, streetwise and full of an insincere charm he used to protect himself, running along at Lynch’s heels, emulating him, driving him insane with a thousand and one questions.
He reached out and tilted Garrett’s head to the side.
Garrett winced. “I’ll live,” he gasped. With a bloody smile, he added, “Can’t leave so many bereft women behind. They’ll be…crying for days.”
Perry shrugged out of her coat and pressed it over the mess in Garrett’s chest. Lynch saw blood pumping through an artery and felt the iron grip of those icy fingers rake his gut again. The heart. Falcone had hit the heart. There was no surer way to kill a blue blood.
“He needs a physician,” Perry said in an emotionless tone, but that didn’t mean she felt nothing. When she looked up, light gleamed off her eyes, suspiciously bright. “Fast.”
Lynch straightened and looked around. “Where the bloody hell are the Coldrush Guards Barrons brought with him?”
Nobody could answer that.
“Rosa, I need you to fetch help,” he said, trying to prioritize needs in his mind. Lynch liked Barrons enough that he didn’t wish to see the lord die—but more than that, he knew losing the Duke of Caine’s heir would be a monumental catastrophe. Garrett however…Garrett was personal.
“I’ve got him, sir,” Perry said softly, seeing the dilemma in his face.
He nodded shortly. “Barrons is down. I need to see if he’s going to survive. Rosa, send for a physician or a doctor. Even a bloody midwife will do.”
Rosa’s gloved hands were clenched in her navy skirts as she stared at him with those liquid-dark eyes. She made no move to obey.
Had the fright shocked her insensible? “What?” he snapped.
“You’re bleeding.” Her lips compressed, a hint of defiance glinting in her eyes. “Quite badly.”
He slapped a hand to his throat and felt the wetness there. The room stank of blood—most of it not his, thank goodness. But the smell of it… Lynch almost groaned, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. That was the only sign of his discomposure, but she saw it.
“I’ve had worse,” Lynch said, tugging the collar of his leather coat up. Gesturing toward the door, he added, “Hurry. Before the others bleed to death. And then make sure you stay outside until this is dealt with.”
Lynch needed her out of here. He’d not risk her life again and right now, with the way she was looking at him and the intoxicating scent of blood, he just might be the one who lost control.
Rosalind shivered on the doorstep of the mansion, tucking her cape-jacket tight about her shoulders. More of the Nighthawks had arrived in the last hour, as well as a pair of physicians and enough Coldrush Guards to secure the mansion. Crowds of curious onlookers loomed beyond their impassive forms, desperate to know more of what had happened.
“Was it them humanists?” a blue blood lord called, his top hat bobbing in the crowd.
“A vampire?” another cried, waving his walking stick.
Panic edged their voices and the crowd murmured. Rosalind edged back into the concealment of the trailing roses that cascaded over the entrance and tugged her bonnet up around her face. Nobody would know her here, yet vulnerability rode her. She was surrounded by too many blue bloods—half the Echelon it seemed, clad in their flamboyant velvets and silks. Even at this time of the day, gaudy feathers bobbed in ladies’ bonnets and Rosalind caught a glimpse of several white wigs and powdered faces in the crowd—older blue bloods, by the look of it, those still mired in fashions from the past. Or perhaps seeking to hide the effects of the Fade. Who knew?