Page 25 of Level Up for Love

Chapter

Seven

Warmth blooms up the side of Sindra’s neck. A kiss, pressed against her skin where her pulse beats in the slow, steady march of sleep. She shifts in her bedroll, hums a note of surprise. But sleep tugs at her still. It finds her so rarely that she’s all too happy to sink back into it.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had a dream like this…

Then she feels the sharp sting of teeth in the side of her neck.

Sindra gasps awake, and the stinging suddenly stops. She blinks blearily into the night, but the darkness is thick. A moment later, there’s a breath of warm air against her cheek, a gentle Shhh exhaled into her ear.

She settles back into the warmth of her bedroll.

When the sting returns—two small pinpricks of pain—Sindra barely feels it, as numbness spreads soon after. It’s a dull, tender ache that radiates warmth from her neck and flows languidly through her chest and each of her limbs. Her fingers flex, knuckles brushing against Brightmorn’s scabbard. But the numbness sends her back under, sends her eyelids fluttering closed again.

It’s Antoni’s enraged roar that fully wakes her.

Sindra jerks up, but the figure kneeling at her side moves even faster, raising his arm to casually bat away the downward swing of Antoni’s sword—an arc that should have decapitated him.

“Your reflexes have always impressed me, old man,” the stranger drawls, his deep tone rich with disdainful amusement. She hears the smile in his voice rather than sees it; his features are shrouded in the darkness of his cloak. “See if you can keep up.”

The stranger launches into action, moving so fast that he blurs before Sindra’s eyes. He fights with no weapons at all, yet his clawed hands parry Antoni’s strikes with ease and grace, as if this is nothing more than a dance to him.

Antoni shouts again, and his gaze finds her in the dark. His gray eyes are wild with anger—and not a small amount of fear. “It’s him—Vadrien,” he pants. “To arms, you fool!”

Lord Gullet looses a piercing cry from above, and Sindra turns to see Vera already kneeling behind a tree with her bow strung and ready. But Moss scrambles to Sindra’s side and slaps a palm to her neck. “Gods, Sin—what happened to you?”

For the first time, Sindra touches her finger to her neck, where blood runs in a thin rivulet to pool in her collarbone.

Moss’s hand lights up with healing magic, a spell she’s used on Sindra a hundred times before. But it doesn’t feel like its usual cool healing balm—it burns. Sindra has to clench her jaw to keep from crying out in pain. She stumbles to her feet, her limbs sluggish and heavy. “Later,” she says with a gasp. “I have to help.”

Moss nods and turns to where Mortimer lies near the edge of their small camp, crumpled on his side. Sindra watches just long enough to see Moss raise a shaking hand to her mouth, then she tears her gaze back to where Antoni duels Vadrien, the paladin’s sword sparking with a golden light whenever it meets the vampire’s clawed hands.

Sindra tightens her grip on Brightmorn’s hilt and surges forward.

It’s hell keeping up with a vampire. Vadrien moves with a speed she’s never seen before, trading off strong blows between her and Antoni with all the ease of a seasoned knight among inexperienced squires. The shadows seem to cling closely to him, shrouding his movements until the last moment, when she has to arc Brightmorn upward to fend off the bright flash of his teeth or his shining claws. She can almost swear that every time her eyes catch on Vadrien’s cruel, piercing gaze, the wound in her neck throbs. Still, she falls in sync with Antoni the same way she did earlier that day; they may have had different training, but it’s clear both have seen enough battle to know how to dance together. Between the two of them and Vera’s well-aimed arrows, they hold their ground.

Until one by one, Vadrien begins to pick them off.

Mortimer, of course, had been the first to fall. Sindra can afford to spare him only a few glances between strikes, but it appears that, despite Moss’s efforts, he remains unmoving.

Moss is next. As she stumbles to her feet to reach for Antoni, who bleeds from a deep slash to his temple, Vadrien steps between them and casually swings his arm outward, catching her in the ribs. His inhuman strength sends her sailing into the nearest tree trunk; Sindra’s name tears from her lips before she goes limp and falls to the dirt. Seemingly of their own volition, the tree’s roots arch upward to cradle her protectively.

Sindra can’t help it; her vision goes red, and she yells as she races forward. When she gets emotional, when she gets desperate—she gets sloppy. Vadrien ducks easily under the arc of her sword, draws a thin dagger from his side—Gods, he’s had that this whole time and didn’t even need to use it?—and thumps the pommel against Antoni’s temple, sending the old man crumpling to the ground.

Sindra and Vera share a charged look—and then the ranger begins to run.

Vadrien is faster. With a quick strike to Lord Gullet’s long neck and a careless cuff against the side of Vera’s head, the two fall without fuss.

Sindra stands panting, Brightmorn held out before her. To her left is Mortimer’s body, his skin deathly pale and his throat red and torn. The others lie farther out, but at least she can see their chests rise and fall with shallow breaths. Good. She’s the last one on her feet, but damnit, if she dies today, at least she’ll die standing.

From the other side of the campfire they never lit, Vadrien regards her with cold, calculating interest.

In the moon’s cool glow, she sees him clearly for the first time.

His eyes catch her attention first—the bright red rings of his irises seem to burn right through her. His features are cut in straight lines, from his sharp cheekbones to his narrow jaw to the slash of his teeth as he mimics a smile.

His razor-sharp white canines are longer than the rest.