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Leo chuckled. "There is more here than meets the eyes."
"No shit, dude. I got free weed, four downed boys, and the Master of the City hiding behind a brick column. How 'bout you come out. Make nice-nice wid me."
"How about we take down whoever is waiting for us in the office? I smell six. One is a Mithran, one is female and bleeding, one is a dead human."
"My men?"
"They are breathing. I will offer them healing blood if they are not awake before dawn."
Derek considered. "You take the fanghead. I'll take the others."
Leo stepped from behind the column, hands where they could be seen.
"You seem certain that you can contain the humans," he said. "Three against one?"
"This trap wasn't for me. Makes sense it was for you. I'm supposed to be down and out, so they won't be expecting me."
"Better things, indeed," Leo murmured to himself, reevaluating the young man. "You are correct that this is a trap for me. I was sent here by a woman, to chastise an employee named Marcoise. You don't perhaps know if he is with the others?"
"Beats the hell outta me."
Leo chuckled. "I shall enter at speed and engage the Mithran. If there are humans held against their will . . ."
"Understood. No collateral damage. After this, I suggest you get a better security system. Cameras woulda gone a long way to keeping this place safe."
"Undeniably so." Behind him, he heard the door open and George's scent blew in. George seldom followed orders he felt were unwise. "Do not shoot my primo. He follows," Leo instructed Derek. Silently, he led the way to the back, Derek following, and George behind.
At the door to the office, Leo paused, pressed his ear to the crack and listened. There was silence on the other side, the scent of blood and pain and gun oil wafting from beneath the door, but no scent of a fired weapon. He gently attempted to turn the knob. It was locked.
He nodded to Derek and to George, both armed, weapons at the ready.
He stood back, positioned his body, lightly balanced on both feet, and kicked out with all the strength of a well-trained Mithran. His foot impacted the door where the lock's bolt entered the strike plate. The frame splintered, the door banging open. Moving with faster-than-human speed, Leo leaped inside. Still in the air, he took in the room's layout in an instant.
Three humans bracketed the doorway. Two with cudgels, one with a long rifle, the battlefield kind, fully automatic, created to bring down multiple enemies. If it hadn't been pointed at him, he might have approved of the choice. And the girl, in the center of the room. Fastened to a chair with duct tape. Unconscious. Bleeding. Near death. No Marcoise in sight.
The true enemy stood in the back of the room, holding two silvered blades, his fangs down, eyes scarlet and black in fighting form. Shock sped through Leo in recognition. El Mago. Leo had left the mage on the fighting floor, his body in pieces, over three hundred years ago on a visit to Madrid. The fiend was dead. Or should be.
Leo snarled, bending his legs to touch down. Heard three shots from the door. Derek, behind cover, taking down the shooter. George screamed, a battlefield roar, intended to shock the other two humans. Leo landed, let his body fall forward over the chair, taking it and the girl with him, into a roll, and shoving her and the chair across the room, out of the line of fire. He drew two small steel blades and rose upright, into El Mago's face. Inside his reach. Thrust both blades into his abdomen, twice each. Stab-stab, high, low. He withdrew the blades for another double thrust.
Pain ratcheted up and through his body. He looked down. El Mago had dropped the longswords and performed the same maneuver on him--two shorter blades were buried inside him. Agony shredded his belly. The blades were silvered.
And then El Mago yanked upward, the blades slicing into his core, then out to the sides.
Leo fell to the floor, the blades still buried in his body.
Standing above him, El Mago extended an arm and turned over his hand. White crystals poured from a black bag. Salt? Sea salt? Crystalline flakes of a brilliant white fell over him. El Mago removed his blades, wiped them on a cloth. Darkness descended upon Leo, his vision telescoping down into nothingness. The sound of gunshots was a muffled hollow drumming as the darkness stole even that.
When Leo woke, El Mago was gone and his own scions had filled the office of Royal Mojo. He was fighting exhaustion, the thirst, and a rage that he could scarcely control. Not since he went through the devoveo, the decade of madness experienced by all his kind when they were turned, had his need for blood been so strong that he could not force his fangs to retract. The broken thing, the girl who had been tied in the chair, had been bled almost to the point of death. She was being attended to by his heir, life coaxed into her, so that she need not be turned. Another drop of blood lost, and she would die a true death. Still, he could think only of sinking his fangs into her throat and draining her dry. Even Marcoise's dead body, bloodless and cold, on the floor across the room, was appealing. Marcoise, the bait to this trap, which had been sprung on him with such exquisi
te perfection, had been dead for hours.
"Master?"
George stood behind him, his heart strong and pounding. He had been honed into a weapon so perfect his body was little more than a sheath for the blade he was. Hot, perfect blood, pumping through his primo. Son sang est rempli d'energie, puissant, merveilleux sang.
Leo spun up from the floor like a snake striking, too fast for George to dodge. He sank his fangs into George's throat.
He heard gunshots. Felt the impacts. Whirled to confront his enemies and took a stake to the belly. Leo fell to his knees at the feet of his assailant. His own heir. Katherine.
