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And Zsadist’s only response, like hers, was the reason he’d been born: He got his black daggers out and ran to join the fight.
He engaged with the firstlesserhe came to, a female who already had a horrible head wound. She still had the strength of ten human men, and the pair of them traded gunshots—hers—and stabs—his. Which was a deadly dance being repeated all around the landscape—
The bullet went through his side, spinning him around.
Goddamn it, he hadn’t controlled the barrel of her weapon—
A sudden uncontrollable loginess overtook him, and the next thinghe knew, thelesserhad him flat on his back—and his own black dagger in her hand. Looking up, he told his arms and legs to move.
They didn’t listen all that well—and it was as he tried to lift his left hand that he saw the problem was not the bullet wound in his side.
He’d somehow been stabbed in the forearm.
And he’d sustained a critical venous puncture.
Red blood was flowing out of him at an alarming rate.
At which point he saw that thelesserhad knives in both her hands. So she’d pulled out a second one from somewhere, the silver blade marking it as hers.
The expression on her face was rapt, her eyes wide with an aggression that bordered on absolute mania.
She put her own blade away.
And double-fisted his black dagger, lifting it over her head.
Nate had started the fight as he meant to go on with it: As soon as Nalla had gone into his escape tunnel, he’d strapped on his weapons and gone up his set of stairs. He’d been standing on his own threshold as thelessersstarted coming out of the fucking trees, and he’d had a moment of pause only because he hadn’t been sure that Nalla was off the property yet.
Being unsure of her whereabouts had made him antsy.
But then he couldn’t hold himself back any longer. Busting out of his front door, he started picking off the enemy with bullets, dropping them like flies in the forest—except as a strange sense tingled at the nape of his neck, he glanced back.
He immediately shit himself because surely it was morelessers.
Except no, it was not the enemy.
It was the Brotherhood. And they had come to fight.
Nalla must have called her sire—and Z must have not let her down.
Like the good father he was.
As Nate continued to engage, he totally did not hate the backup.Before he’d been with Nalla, he would have gotten his dick in a crack, but with her on his land? He was grateful for the help, especially because he knew, going by the pain in his shoulder and his side, that he’d been plugged at least twice—
Alesserjumped out in his path and started rushing for him—and all he could think was:You want to dance? Let’s fucking dance.
Meeting the undead chest to chest, he shoved his barrel into its face, and discharged a pair of bullets to blow the back of the skull out. Then he let the slayer drop to the snow. The thing wouldn’t be dead until someone stabbed it back to Lash, but there’d be time for that later.
On to the next one. And the next.
As he worked, he smelled his own blood mixing with the stink of the enemy, felt the sweat from his body’s efforts, knew the strength that came from doing what he was best at as he controlled his guns and heard thepop!s not just of his own weapon, but those around him. The fighting was dangerous. It required a level head. It consumed all of his attention, except for that wedge of his consciousness that would always be with Nalla now.
But in a weird, fucked-up way, he was reminded of how much he loved his job with the Brothers—
Except then everything changed.
When there was an explosion at his barn.
Jerking to face the loud, unexpected sound, Nate stopped dead in mid-stride… because he couldn’t believe what he was looking at.
