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I suck in a shimmering breath, my shield of sassiness falling away to reveal the fear beneath.
He takes a step forward and gestures with the knife casually.
“Do you really want to make this difficult, sweetheart?” he growls.
“Drop the knife.”
The voice comes from the deeper darkness of the alleyway, off to the left.
Several of the men turn to find the source of the voice, but there’s nothing there, just the dark.
Torsten.
I can’t help but smile.
If Torsten was tricking me, how would he be here, and why?
A nasty thought occurs to me.
What if he arranged for these thugs to attack me so that he could save me?
But no, that’s ridiculous.
He didn’t know I was going to take a walk this evening and, anyway, I just know that isn’t true. I feel it deep inside of me, a chorus of trust that sings loudly and confidently even if it doesn’t make any sense.
I don’t care.
I trust him.
And I’m done fighting that.
“Drop.”
From above now, from the surrounding roofs, his voice comes firmly.
“The.”
Now from the right, from the direction of the street.
“Knife.”
Torsten appears between me and the man, his clothes dripping with wetness and his hair an even deeper shade of iron as he clenches his fists and gazes at the men.
“What the fuck?” the leader snaps, eyes narrowed.
He looks at Torsten the same way I probably did last night in the stockroom, as though he’s trying to work out exactly how Torsten just performed this trick.
His expression shifts and he glances to his goons on either side, standing up straighter.
“Fancy little trick,” he says, hiding the fear in his voice. “But it doesn’t change the fact that unless you get the fuck out of my way, I’m going to slice a new smile into your face.”
“It’s been hundreds of years since I smiled, asshole,” Torsten snarls. “I’ve got no desire to put you in the hospital. It’s not a fair fight. I killed the last person who could offer me a fair fight.”
“Ooh, freaky,” the man says, going for sarcastic but sounding unsure. “What, am I supposed to be impressed?”
“I don’t care,” Torsten sighs. “All I care about right now is the woman you’re threatening, which is a big fucking mistake on your part. Walk away and that will be the end of it.”
I clutch Chipper close to me, whispering in his ear, telling him everything is going to be okay. I can feel the anxiety running through him. He’s gone from growling to whimpering quietly now.
“Alright, fuck this,” the man snarls. “I’ve had enough.”
Torsten sighs again, though it sounds different to a regular sigh, hollow, like a wind blowing through the inside of a catacomb.
The man leaps with the knife, slashing with a speed that seems vicious and unstoppable.
But then – so quickly I hardly even have time to register it – the knife is on the floor and the man is lying on his back, gasping up at the night sky, making a choking noise that sounds like he’s on the verge of passing out.
Torsten blinks into existence in front of me, facing down the other men.
“Well?” he snarls.
Several of them let out guttural cries and leap at him.
Blink, blink, blink.
They all end up on the asphalt, clutching their injuries, whirrs of movement so quickly I’d need a special slow-motion camera to see how they got there.
I’m stunned to see that five of the nine men are lying on the ground, with the remaining four slowly creeping away, their mouths agape.
One man was smoking and his cigarette falls to the ground and extinguishes with an oddly loud hiss as he stares.
“Are we done?” Torsten says, sounding bored and utterly in control.
The men turn at the same time and sprint away, their heads ducked as they pump their arms so quickly it’s like they’re trying to dislocate them.
Torsten kneels down next to the leader and grips the back of his neck. He holds him with his thumb and forefinger, but the way the man squirms tells me everything I need know about the power in Torsten’s grip.
If this is a trick, it’s the most well-orchestrated trick in the world, and if that’s the case, how the heck did Torsten know I’d take this particular route? Surely there’d be equipment to fake his speed? Surely there’d be prep?
I feel a swelling inside of me.
It’s true.
Jesus Christ.
Torsten really is a vampire.
“Apologizes,” he snarls. “Now.”
“S-sorry,” the man whimpers. “I’m so sorry. Jesus. Please. Don’t kill me.”
Torsten glances up at me, a glinting question in his eyes.
“It’s fine,” I say quickly. “Let him lie in the dirt where he belongs.”
“Hmm,” Torsten growls, and then stands up with the grace of a jungle cat. He places a hand on Chipper’s head. “Calm, boy. Be calm. You’re safe. You’re protected.”
I feel Chipper’s body relax, his heartbeat no longer pounding as though it’s trying to bust out of his chest.
