As he emerged from inside, the vampires all around tensed. They’d seen him take down one of their luminaries already. None would be so careless with him ever again. Wentworth nodded to individuals on his left and right. Blades and guns came out as five of the vampires crept forward, spreading in an arc around the lone young man. They watched his empty hands come up in surrender.
Tellingly, Unferth stayed in place. “This feels wrong,” he growled.
“We’ll sort that out soon enough,” said Wentworth. He raised his voice for the others as he said, “Let him come out into the open!”
“Boss?” asked Marco, still in place behind the prisoners. “Did you want me to go out there, too?”
“No, damn you! Just stay with them!”
“Sorry,” Marco mumbled. He turned back to his job, but found himself still a bit lost. He had a gun, right? Why wouldn’t they want him in the group surrounding whatshisname there? That’s what they were here to do, right? What he traveled all the way to Portland to do?
Wait, Portland? Was that it? Or Vancouver? Was he in Canada? Why couldn’t he remember?
Carlisle. He remembered Carlisle’s name, anyway, ‘cause it came up again and again. Alex or something. There he was, anyway, walking out into a welcoming party of five other vampires. He didn’t look like much. Just some punk kid in a leather jacket and jeans.
That, and Carlisle’s twin brother suddenly appearing right behind him, throwing something in the air. Hey, wait, Marco thought, right before the axe blade landed in his face.
Flames exploded from the mouth of the first Alex Carlisle as he crouched and swept the field before him. Screams of pain and terror split the air. Two of the vampires caught fire instantly. Another scrambled to get out of the way, but even his supernatural speed wasn’t enough to save him completely. Most of his body evaded the blast, but even one burning leg was enough to send him flailing away in full panic.
Marco missed the show. Too many things happened to him at once. He jerked backward from the axe in his head and immediately felt the sudden shock of bullets tearing through his upper chest and neck. His one good eye caught just a glimpse of the two mortal prisoners scrambling forward to get away from him before he could shoot.
It was the last thing he ever saw.
The bolt of lightning from the clouds above annihilated Marco where he stood. Its accompanying clap of thunder shocked everyone. As the air split with light and sound, more than a few of the vampires flung themselves to the grass.
Long experience with artillery and airstrikes carried Alex through the sudden distraction. Though just as surprised by the lightning as anyone else, he’d opened up this fight and was already focused on following through with it. Alex slipped Bjorn’s sword into his right hand on his way to the two agents. Nguyen and Lanier both lay face first on the grass, having gotten only a few yards from Marco before the blast.
Lorelei, too, recovered quickly. Dropping her illusory disguise, she turned on the nearest vampire still standing after her ambush. Talons replaced her fingernails as she tore into her victim’s neck.
Gunfire from the upper floor of the building behind them added to the chaos. Though little of it struck any particular target, the vampires still scattered and leapt for cover out of reflex if nothing else.
Only the most disciplined of fighters among the enemy held themselves together. Rupert turned his gun on Lorelei, firing at her in short, controlled bursts that knocked her to the ground. It made him a target for more of the gunfire from above. Unlike most of his fellows, Rupert knew the sting of bullets well enough to shrug off all but the most jarring strike.
Alex had his mind on other things. “Up!” he urged Lanier and Nguyen. With one hand on Nguyen’s arm and his other trying to hold both sword and Lanier’s coat, Alex heaved up to help the pair to their feet. The two agents made it to their knees, at least, shaking off their disorientation. “Go for the building!” Alex yelled. “Just go!”
His eyes came up in time to spot the nearest oncoming threat. Unferth ran straight for the group. Alex had no time to think of anything fancy. He simply got between the vampire and the agents, brought up his sword and went down in a heap as Unferth tackled him to the ground.
* * *
Her second wind arrived shortly after the lightning bolt, which she knew for the magic that it was. She didn’t stop to analyze it-with all the monsters fighting for a piece of her flesh, Rachel didn’t have much time to think about anything-but she felt a surge of strength just the same. It reminded her of a rainy night in downtown and that first flight into the sky after being grounded for days because some fucknut had cut off her wings.
That wouldn’t happen again. Not even with these fucking asshat wolf-people trying to bring her down. She still had the one mangling her sword arm, and another biting her leg. A grey wolf made a new lunge for her side. Rather than swatting it off, Rachel grabbed at its neck.
She bent at the knees, spread her wings and leapt straight up into the air.
The grey managed a yelp of helplessness as she soared higher and higher. His packmates missed their chance to let go in that first second of flight, and rather than working together to keep the angel grounded now found themselves hanging on for dear life.
Rachel’s grip on the grey turned vicious as she flung him into the towering monster clinging to her right arm. “Mother! Fucker! Get! Off! Me!” she yelled, slamming the grey into the beast with each word. Bones cracked as she battered the pair senseless. Finally, the black werewolf on her arm lost its grip and fell away, plummeting back toward the rooftop of the building hundreds of feet below.
She dropped the grey, leaving her with only one remaining passenger. While it still clung to her with jaws sunken into her hip, the wolf’s eyes looked up into hers with sheer desperation.
As if driving her sword into a sheath at her hip, Rachel stabbed right through the wolf’s head. The flames didn’t hurt her at all. The beast fell lifelessly away.
Alone in the air now, Rachel looked down at the ground below. On one side of the building, she saw Donald still struggling to hold off the rest of the werewolf pack. On the other, she saw numerous shapes dart this way and that, with flashes of light and a few smoldering spots in the grass. Someone fired guns out of one window.
She saw the larger werewolf crash through the roof of the building not far from the shooter’s corner. Two others of its kind on the ground saw the crash and jumped up onto the side of the building, rapidly climbing up after its packmate.
Rachel let out a bitter sigh. “Aw, balls.”
* * *
The werewolves mocked him.
Donald swung his flaming blade at each and every one as it approached. His hurt and bloody wings attested to what they would do if they got hold of him again. The beasts surrounded him eagerly, forcing him to turn in circles that would have left any mortal dizzy. They kept their distance, with each of them making feints and lunges to keep Donald frantic.
They laughed at him, too. He heard it in their yips and whines and saw it in their eyes.
In all his many centuries as a guardian, Donald never fought such foes. Direct conflict like this could never be in the interests of his charges. How much good could he do for the other souls in his care if he perished defending just one of them? In the few instances where Donald’s charges fell into such danger, they did so with courage and honor that did both themselves and their guardian proud-and he was proud, when they fell, to meet their souls and take them to their reward.
None of which he could do if he became lunch for some Pit-spawned mongrel.
Yet here he was, fighting for his skin against monsters whose teeth and claws dug into his flesh even when the angel could pass right through everything else in the world around them. They could hold him down, grapple him and hurt him. And though he knew his death would be but temporary, the thought of it still chilled him to the core.