Page 101 of Level Up for Love

Before the same dangerous languor can settle into Sindra’s limbs, making her numb and pliable, she wrenches herself backward and out of the vampire’s grasp.

He runs his tongue along his lower lip, still wet and shining with her blood. His eyes are very bright. “That’s two now, my darling.”

“You won’t get another.”

“We’ll see.”

He lunges forward but freezes at the sound of frantic footfalls approaching the armory doors. Sindra doesn’t waste a moment of his hesitation—she lunges for Brightmorn and curls her fingers around its hilt.

In the hallway, someone shouts, “Stand back!” and Sindra’s heart seizes with hope as she recognizes Moss’s voice.

The door to the armory explodes.

The thick planks of wood burst apart in a shower of flame and splinters, and on the other side, Mortimer stands with sparks still licking at his palms.

His grin stretches even wider than his extravagant mustache. “Gods, I’ve always wanted to do that.”

A squad of purple-eyed undead rushes into the room on his command, quickly followed by Vera, Lord Gullet, and Moss, back in her orcish form. As the skeletons swarm toward Vadrien, the druid hurries to Antoni’s side. One touch of her vine-wrapped staff and the captain sucks in a great breath of air, looking healthier already. Moss flashes him a bright smile as he sits straight up and wastes no time in arming himself.

“Don’t you recall the last time we met?” Vadrien pants, studying the party as they form a loose ring around him. His fingers flex at his sides, silver rings sparkling. “You’ve only made this easier for me, gathering in one place.”

“We’ll see,” Sindra growls.

Antoni steps forward until he’s shoulder to shoulder with her, and together, they race forward with blades held high.

Time seems to stretch, and Sindra loses track of it, instead measuring how many times her blade comes into contact with Vadrien’s marble-like skin, and how many times his clawlike nails gouge burning trails down her arms and ribs, through her dress. Antoni’s own sword glows with a dim holy light that he channels from his hands, and every time it connects with Vadrien, the vampire hisses in anger and pain. Together, paladin and fighter keep the prince fenced in, distracting him and trading blows while Vera fires burning arrows into his suit and Mortimer’s skeletons charge forward. Moss flits where she can, knitting wounds with small sprouting vines as quickly as she’s able.

For the first time, the party members fight in perfect harmony with one another—but as the battle rages on, Sindra sees that their efforts will not be enough. Even as they chip away at Vadrien’s defenses, scoring wounds into his skin that don’t bleed, he’s still faster. He dodges between attacks, ducking under her defenses and taking her apart with each new strike. Blood and sweat run into her eyes, but even so, she can see that she’s losing. They all are.

I do not quit, she reminds herself.

But there’s more at stake than this fight alone—a battle that still needs to be fought. Sindra feels her strength flagging as she shoves Vadrien backward, giving her enough time to turn to Moss. “Go. Find help. Go back to the chapel, or the enclave. Find whatever allies you can.”

Moss’s tusks jut forward as she bares her teeth. “I won’t leave you, Sindra.”

“Someone has to warn them, Moss.” Sindra swallows. “Please.”

The druid stumbles back and looks to the others. Mortimer flips frantically through his spellbook, his magic reserves low. Antoni’s shield has nearly broken in two, but still he holds it before himself and Sindra in a stalwart defense. Vera kneels on the ground, still firing arrows despite the deep wound Vadrien managed to tear into her thigh.

“No,” Moss mutters. “No, I can—just let me try—”

She extends an open hand toward Vadrien.

“Please work,” she gasps. “Please—”

Sunlight floods the room.

It bursts from Moss’s outstretched palm in a great sparkling beam, bubbling outward into a glowing sphere. Sindra has grown so used to the darkness that she has to briefly shield her eyes from the blinding light. Still she presses forward, Brightmorn held shakily before her.

But the scream torn from Vadrien’s mouth is enough to make her hesitate. Pain thrums along whatever cursed bond they share, and Sindra feels echoes of agony rippling across her skin. Seizing on Sindra’s pause, Vadrien lashes out with a clawed hand, and Brightmorn clatters to the floor; sunlight dances sparkling arcs over the blade as it slides to the other side of the room. Antoni races after it, but as Vadrien looms over her with a snarl, Sindra knows there’s no way the captain will get it back to her in time. Vadrien lunges forward, and Sindra raises her arm to protect herself as bloodshot red eyes and long fangs fill her vision.

A second pulse of sunlight fills the room—but it’s a thousand times more brilliant than the first, and Sindra doesn’t have a chance to close her eyes.

Everything goes white, and then eerily silent.

Like a bell, a single word echoes in the back of Sindra’s ringing skull.

*Finally.*