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“Very well.” To Thorne he called out, “Fiona believes she must stay and I will not force her to go.”
Jean-Pierre waved a hand, and gone was his finery. He now wore a black leather kilt, weapons harness of the same sturdy black leather that held two daggers, studded wrist guards, black battle sandals, and shin guards.
His sword was in his hand as Thorne shouted at Fiona, “Goddammit! Fiona, get the hell out of here! You don’t understand what’s about to happen.”
Fiona turned in Thorne’s direction and in a loud voice responded, “Marguerite issued the warning.”
Thorne’s complexion paled. “Marguerite warned you?”
“Yes,” Fiona responded.
“Who is Marguerite?” Jean-Pierre asked.
But it was too late now. In the distance, deep into the forest, there was movement everywhere, a dozen, two dozen, more. Mon Dieu. “Fiona, let me take you from here. I have never seen so many.”
She shook her head. She squeezed his arm. “No, no. This is where I belong.”
Jean-Pierre slid his arm around Fiona’s waist and pulled her tight against him. “This will be very bad. Are you sure?” He heard the running feet of the death vampires. “There is still time.”
“I will stay. I must.”
“Very well.” He turned his gaze. “Luken! Zacharius! Fiona believes she must stay. Will you help me protect her?”
The men answered by drawing close to Fiona, or as close as they could with all the awkward benches in the way. With swords drawn, they formed a protective triangle around her, facing away from her.
What he feared the most had come upon him. His woman was at his back and dozens of death vampires moved forward on swift-running feet through the forest. How could he keep her alive against so many?
They came.
They were so beautiful, dark hair, bluish translucent skin, dark eyes, muscled like gods, fierce, fair of face. Mon Dieu. Even after more than two centuries of battling them, he could still be almost mesmerized by such incredible beauty.
But he knew their beauty served them in exactly that way—for what mortal or ascender, other than trained warriors, could withstand such magnificence? They were designed to enthrall, to trap, to kill the mortal in order to quench their addiction to the powerful effects of dying blood.
He lowered his chin and dropped into a fighting stance.
Three attacked him at once, but his sword flew in swift arcs and at preternatural speed, leaping over the bench in front of him, and before he had even struck steel two pretty-boys were on the ground cut, bleeding, and flying toward death on swift wings.
The third was older and much more skilled with his sword. He matched strike for strike. Jean-Pierre focused his attention on his adversary’s waist and, noting the direction of movement, he countered, struck, and decapitated him.
He did not dare look behind him but he heard Fiona softly within his head. Five to the left.
How calm his woman sounded in the midst of battle.
Five to his left and another three to his right. Merde.
He had never seen so many death vampires in one place before, not even at the Borderlands during the night.
To Fiona, he sent, Make yourself very small, low to the ground, near a bench if possible.
What he had to do next would require skill and much movement. He did not want a blade to touch her accidentally. He folded, materialized behind the ones to his right, and took out three along the hamstring, then resumed his place in front of Fiona.
The remaining two were bewildered by the maneuver, but they gathered their fighting wits and approached. He could not risk leaving Fiona again.
He drew a deep breath, plotted his course, and moved like a whirlwind, spinning and striking with preternatural speed. The other warriors did the same. He brought them all to the ground but none were dead and they would heal.
What he had to do next, he did not have time to issue a warning to Fiona.
He moved from one to the next and took each head in a barbaric series of moves. This he would have protected her from if he could have.
More came. On and on he fought. He caught glimpses of Fiona crouched, keeping herself low to the ground, but moving away from the warriors when needed. She never once uttered a sound. Luken and Zacharius fought as well, in the same manner, with speed, agility, and the training of centuries.
* * *
Fiona’s determination shaped itself into a rock. The beauty of the death vampires meant nothing to her, had no power over her, because she knew what they did to arrive at such beauty. After all, her blood had fed them for over a hundred years. The only thing that really surprised her was how much they looked alike—not completely, but there was an overwhelming resemblance. She knew this was true of the monsters, but she’d never seen it before.
Rage boiled in her blood, in her chest, in her lungs until she felt choked with it. She wished for a sword in her hand and the ability to battle as the warriors around her were battling. These creatures deserved death and as each Warrior of the Blood took death vampires to the ground, something primal within her rejoiced, even savored the blood that now poured over the pine needles and into the hard ground beneath.
Her heartbeat pounded in her head, loud, hard thumps. She should have been horrified by what she saw around her, but she knew how these men fought. She had heard tales for months now, and she had listened to the battles of the Militia Warriors over the loudspeaker at HQ.
On her dates with Jean-Pierre she had asked him many questions about what his battles were like. He had been reluctant to speak at first, but in the end her persistence had been rewarded and more and more he had opened up about the thrill of slaying the enemy, because he knew each kill meant that he had saved lives.
So it was that she rejoiced with every death now.
The number of death vampires that came began to diminish. The fighting had extended farther away from her since there were bodies everywhere. She recalled what Jean-Pierre had told her about Central Command, so she made a phone call to Alison who connected her. Central Command served Endelle and the Warriors of the Blood, while HQ served Seriffe and the Thunder God Warriors, as the Militia Warriors were known among the ranks.
“Carla here, Fiona. How may I serve?” How calm she sounded even though no doubt Alison had told her what was going on. Carla worked Central during the day while her counterpart, Jeannie, served the warriors at night. Both women were utterly adored by the Warriors of the Blood.
“We need cleanup. There have to be at least thirty, maybe forty, death vamps on the ground, but some are still half alive so the morgue should have Militia Warriors on standby.” She heard the clicking of fingernails on a keyboard.
