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“Kill him,” the strange vampire whispered.
Both wolves lowered slightly, massive bodies tensing for a heartbeat before launching themselves toward them. Philippe backpedaled and turned, raising his tire iron so he could swing it like a fucking club.
But the wolves ran right past him and threw themselves at Rafe. Philippe tried to attack the wolves, force them away from Rafe, but the vampire controlling the wolves came after him. There wasn’t time to assist Rafe or even help Ezra.
The vampire had no weapon in his hands as he came after Philippe. But his fingers were hooked like claws. Too-long nails were ready to gouge out his eyes and tear away his throat. Philippe took a cautious step away, trying not to think about Rafe or Ezra.
Rage burned hot in his veins. He was sick of not knowing who wanted his clan dead. Sick of waiting for the bodies of his clanmates to turn up. Erik, Sarah, and Piper deserved so much better. They might not have wanted to be vampires, but it didn’t mean they couldn’t live a quiet, peaceful life.
He was done.
The unknown vampire lunged toward him, his large hand swiping down, trying to rake his jagged nails across his face. Philippe ducked out of the way of his hand and swung the tire iron. The metal bar connected with his arm. A nasty cracking sound echoed above the shouts and growls. The vampire howled in pain.
Philippe’s attacker pressed his wounded arm protectively to his chest. The vampire was still wearing his sneer, but his face was pale with pain.
“Why are you attacking the Arsenaults?”
The man said nothing as he grabbed for Philippe again. Expecting the move, Philippe dodged. This time he swung the iron like a miniature bat, slamming it into his attacker’s knee.
His cry was nearly drowned out by an even louder shout as a body fell past the open area where there would eventually be windows and crashed into the ground below from the third floor. Philippe looked down at the vampire holding his knee with his uninjured hand. It was a safe guess that Marcus and Winter were taking care of the remaining two unknown vampires up on the third floor.
Philippe turned to the vampire who had been attempting to rip out his eyes when something large and heavy crashed into him. The air exploded from his lungs as his back slammed into the hard ground. The world went white when his head followed a half second later. There was no chance to get reoriented. No chance to even put his guard up.
Pain slashed across his throat as Philippe tried to suck in air. Fangs…fangs had sunk deep. He blinked his eyes open and he could finally see the massive vampire that had been attacking Ezra was now on his chest. Bracing his hands against the vampire’s shoulders, he tried to push him off. He didn’t know where the damn tire iron had gone. It had flown out of his hand when the vampire attacked.
Panic and pain pumped in equal measure through his veins. The fucker was trying to drain him, make him weaker and easier to kill. But he wasn’t dying like this. The sound of the wolves snarling and yelping still filled the air, their teeth still sinking into Rafe. He didn’t know if Ezra was alive or dead.
Bracing his feet on the floor, he started to give a renewed push to get the asshole biting him off when he suddenly flew off. Philippe blinked again and Ezra stood over him for a second, bloody and eyes glowing. He gave a little nod, scooping up the missing tire iron and proceeded to beat the other vampire’s head in.
The bastard controlling the wolves gave a short, sharp whistle and ran toward the stairs. With a low bark, the pair chased after him. For a second, Philippe thought of following, but it took only a look at Ezra who was swaying where he stood to know he couldn’t leave. Rafe wasn’t in much better shape. He was leaning heavily against the wall, covered in bites and blood.
Not that Philippe was in any shape to move.
He sat up and the world spun for a moment. Lifting one trembling hand to his throat, he felt the torn flesh. Blood flowed freely down his neck and soaked into his shirt. The pain was starting to ease, and the wound was undoubtedly closing, but so damn slowly.
“Philippe!” Ezra cried. He dropped the tire iron with a metallic clatter on the concrete and took several stumbling steps to his side. Falling to his knees, he wrapped an arm around his shoulders and helped him sit up.
“I’m okay. I’m okay,” Philippe reassured him, though his voice was rough and tired. “Are you?”
Ezra nodded. His face was streaked with healing cuts and still damp blood. His T-shirt had been shredded as well. The zip-up hoodie he usually wore when he was out was missing completely.
