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Maybe, maybe she could take one more, just one more, bare-handed, before they killed her.
But they’d stepped back, she saw. Three? Four? Her vision was doubling on her. But she willed it to focus, and saw Lora glide over the ground.
Weren’t going to kill me, Blair thought dimly. Just working me over, wearing me down. Saving me for her. Worse than death, she realized as her blood went cold. She wondered if she could find a weapon and a way to end her own life before Lora made her a monster.
If she could manage it, she might be able to throw herself into the trap. Better staked than changed.
“I’m so impressed.” Clapping her hands together lightly, Lora smiled. “You defeated seven of our seasoned warriors. I’ve lost a bet with Lilith. I wagered you’d take out no more than four.”
“Happy to help you lose.”
“Well, you did have a slight advantage. They were ordered not to kill you. That pleasure will be mine.”
“You think?”
“Know. And that coat? I’ve admired that coat since I first saw you on the side of the road in Ireland. It’s going to look marvelous on me.”
“So that was you? Sorry, all of you smell the same to me.”
“I can say the same about you mortals.” Lora beamed out a gay smile. “Speaking of mortals, I have to say your Jeremy was absolutely delicious.” Still smiling, she touched her fingertips to her lips, flicked them out as if reliving the moment.
Don’t think about Jeremy, Blair ordered herself. Don’t give her the satisfaction. So she said nothing, meeting Lora’s laugh with stony silence.
“But where are my manners? We’ve met, of course, but haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Lora, and I’ll be your sire.”
“Blair Murphy, and I’ll be the one dusting you. And the coat looks better on me than it would on you.”
“You’re going to be the most delightful playmate! I can hardly wait. Because I have admiration and respect for you, we’ll fight this out. Just you and I.” Lora pointed a finger toward the trio of soldiers, wagged it. “Back, back, back now. This is between us girls.”
“So, you want to fight?” Think, think, think, Blair ordered herself. Think over the pain. “Swords, knives, hand-to-hand?”
“I do love bare hands.” Lora lifted hers, wiggled her fingers. “It’s so intimate.”
“Works for me.” Blair spread her coat open to show she had no weapons. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Bien sur.”
“Is that accent real, or do you just put it on?” She unhooked the water bottle from her belt.
“I was born in Paris, in the year fifteen-eighty-five.”
Blair let out a snort. “Come on.”
“All right,” Lora said with a laugh, “fifteen-eighty-three. But what woman doesn’t fudge a little about her age?”
“You were younger than me when you died.”
“Younger when I was given true life.”
“It’s all a matter of perspective.” Blair lifted the water sack, twisted it open. “Mind? Your boys gave me quite a workout. Feeling a little dehydrated.”
“Be my guest.”
Blair tipped the bag back, drank. The water felt like a miracle on her dry throat. “If I take you, are your boys going to finish me off?”
“You won’t take me.”
Blair angled her head, said a quick prayer. “Bet?”
