Zeke swings a leg over his bike, machete in hand. He doesn’t even give a warning before he submerges himself in the horde, sinking his blade into rotting flesh. I grimace but follow suit, pulling a couple throwing knives from the harness inside my leather cut. I let the blades slice through the air, singing beautifully as they hit their mark. Quinn is beside me in an instant, swinging his own machete and covering me as I stoop to retrieve the blades and target the next few ghouls.
We work in synchronicity, a perfectly harmonized team of lethal killers. Within our cuts, behind our veils, we come to life as the Blood Order—a nameless, faceless system put in place to protect the ungoverned district. We don’t carry out justice; we ensure order. By any means necessary. And fuck, do I hate how good it feels.
This is what we’ve been trained to do, anticipate each other's moves, work together as one large-scale machine whose only purpose is to punish and claim. And as little care as I have for the ghouls around us, it's just another reminder of the amount of blood on my hands.
I release my blades into another three ghouls hovering over the creature in the middle of the broad, empty road just up ahead. Probably some strung out bastard that wandered too close to the WildLands. I should let them die too—it’s the natural way of things out here. The ghouls need tofeed on something, and clearly he was all too willing to wander into ghoul territory and offer himself up as a meal. We cannot be expected to protect everyone. Sacrifices are sometimes necessary, not to mention an occupational hazard when you live within the ungoverned district. The echo of Andras’ training is loud in my mind: ensure order. One thing that Andras has grilled into all of the Blood Order is that we are not protectors, nor are we saviors.
But my rage grows as some deeper part of me pushes forward, drowning out Andras’ voice in my mind as I make my way towards the middle of the horde. To save the creature.
My blades are momentarily lost as they claim new victims and I resort to using my hands. Quinn is fighting right alongside me; he slices at the abdomen of the closest ghoul, guiding it to fall just in front of me as I grab either side of its head, twist, and rip. The sound is sickening, the tearing of decayed flesh, the snap and crunch of bone as its spinal cord disconnects. Hot, rotting fluid sprays my face, filling my senses with its putrid scent. I lean into the carnage, bathing myself in it—letting it fuel my power as I do in the rings each time I fight. I discard the decapitated head and jump over the mangled body before grabbing another ghoul and slamming it backwards for Quinn to slice the head clean off.
Through the frenzy I see Zeke and Sterling close in on the foreign body, clearing a path through the ghoulseffortlessly. If there’s one thing I can count on Zeke for, it’s his violent streak. It’s a wonder that Andras hasn’t roped him into entering the rings as well. I shove a boot into the chest of another ghoul that’s coming at me and Quinn takes over as the ghoul stumbles into him. The road around us is littered with decaying bodies and ghoul blood by now, enough so that the few still remaining finally get the hint that we aren’t here to play and they scurry away back into the shadows.
I find the bodies containing my knives, pulling them free and wiping them clean on the leg of my black jeans before sheathing them once more. Quinn chases after the last couple ghouls, making sure they don’t get brave and turn back to attack once more. My breath is heavy, sweat forming on my brow, but all things considered it's not a bad run.
I catch up to where Zeke's guarding Sterling, the latter bent over whatever creature had gotten trapped in the horde.
“How is he?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest as I stop beside Zeke. He turns his head towards me, and we nod at each other—recognition of a job well done.
“She,” Sterling corrects, looking up to me. His veil lifted and perched atop his head so he can get a better look at the creature. His eyes are damn near twin full moons, and I know it’s not good. I try to make out the female cradledin his arms, but he's turned from me, almost hiding her wounded form.
Her fear is the first thing to hit me. It’s palpable, so heavy I nearly stumble backwards. The next thing to hit me is the scent of her blood. I know instantly what she is, but there’s something about her scent . . . something hidden and intriguing. Something different.
Sterling finally sits back on his heels far enough to let me see her—the tears streaming down her face, her trembling body. A primal urge overcomes me as I take all of her in. She looks flighty as fuck, as if one wrong move would have her running for the WildLands.
And I can’t say I hate it—the look of fear on her.
Zeke is on me in an instant, holding me firm and keeping me in check. I stretch my neck, baring my fangs as the bloodlust rolls through me. Fuck, Quinn was right. I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself if not for the paltry bloodbag he forced on me before we left. Zeke and the girl would’ve been no match for that hunger.
“She’s hurt,” Sterling calls out. It irritates me, the way he keeps blocking her from my view. I need to see more of her. Something about the small glimpses of pale purple hair I catch through Sterling’s shifting frame feels familiar, but I cannot place it.
“But I don’t think it’s all from the ghouls,” he finishes, scooping her into his arms and lifting her to her feet. I try to step forward and Zeke’s hold on me tightens. “I’m fine,”I grumble under my breath, and he lets me go without argument.
I step up to her, swiping the disheveled strands of hair out of her deep amber eyes. And fuck if my cock isn’t hard instantly. I tense, breathing deeply through my nostrils in an attempt to repress the primal desire rearing inside of me. “Are you okay?” I ask, dipping my head a little to look up at her from behind her wild tresses.
The simple, high-collared dress she wears is ripped and ruined with dirt and gore. Her arms are folded defensively around her, as if trying to cover herself out of fear or shame. I bring my index finger down to her chin, tilting her head up to meet my gaze. She’s reluctant, but after a painful moment, I finally get eye contact.
And there it is. The realization hits me all at once. I’d seen her at the rings the other night. Through the crowds of ravenous spectators, she had stood, frozen and terrified when I’d laid my eyes on her. It was just the briefest of moments, but gods had she smelled intoxicating. Her eyes widen as she takes in my veil, her tremors deepening.
Sterling’s right—she’s hurt, bruised and banged up pretty good, but not just from the ghouls. Scrapes and cuts litter her exposed skin, as if she’s taken a nasty fall. There are bruises under her torn collar, a bandage on her wrist. Older wounds. I restrain a sudden surge of protective rage, coming to the brim inside me at the notion that someone put their hands on her recently. It’s unfounded. She is no one tome. And no matter how godsdamned enticing her blood smells, I need to remember my duty before I do something reckless.
She nods at last, straightening a little when she notices the ghouls are truly gone. “Y—yes. I just . . .” The shock is still clear on her face. She stares blankly at the three of us, possibly trying to process why three vampires have come to save her.
Quinn saunters back up to the group, just in time to terrify the female even further as another masked vampire joins the fold. “They’re gone for now, but we should probably—” He cuts himself off with a long whistle, making my eyes immediately roll. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?”
“Not now, Quinn,” I growl, suppressing the urge to punch him. His words may seem casual, but I don’t miss the way his nostrils flare, likely noticing the same thing I had.
Sterling is no better, soothing the female when a whimper slips past her lips. I can tell he’s nervous, too concerned for what should be an average encounter with another ungoverned district victim. I cock my head at him in assessment, my eyes lingering on the gentle way he holds her—his fingers caressing her trembling hand. It seems I’m not the only one who's allured by this mysterious creature.
“We need to get her back to the clubhouse.” Sterling moves forward, his arm holding the female’s weight. I put a hand against his chest, stopping him.
“Wecannottake her back there,” I say beneath my breath, trying to keep her from hearing.
Sterling looks at me, bewildered. “Why not?”
“Sterling.” I bend to his ear. “Are your fucking senses broken? Can you not feelwhatshe is?”
“She’s a Watcher,” Zeke answers for me.
