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One man came at me high, the other low. I slashed out with my switchblades, tracing a pattern in the air that caught the high man’s blade and knocked it out of his hand. But the low man evaded the pattern and managed to stick me in the side.
I felt a shock of heat as the silver slid in. Then the pain got lost in the buzz of fighting.
The movement had brought Low Man within inches of me. I brought my left hand up and under his ribcage and shoved my switchblade into his heart.
He grunted and looked at me, eyes wide and mouth ajar, like he couldn’t believe he’d been bested by a dhampir.
I pushed him away. He stumbled back and sank to the concrete, body smoking as fire consumed him from the inside out. The acrid stench of his burning flesh mixed with the metallic scent of my own blood.
Low Man’s dagger was still in my side. I yanked it out to replace the switchblade I’d left in him.
Behind me, Zaq had staked one of his opponents, too, and was fighting with George.
I parried another thrust by High Man. He moved closer and struck again.
Fear closed my throat. He was my match in fighting skills and uninjured, whereas my side burned and my knees felt like rubber. The silver blade had gone deep into my side. Already, the poison was spreading through my bloodstream.
I managed to evade his dagger and struck out, but he sidestepped my thrust and closed in. His leg swept behind me, hooking the back of my knee and knocking me off my feet. I hit the ground hard, my breath whooshing out of my lungs.
Meanwhile Zaq had somehow gotten George’s dagger away from him, leaving George weaponless. From the corner of my eye, I saw Zaq stab George in the chest. The knife bounced off bone with a sickening thunk, and with a growl, he threw Zaq off.
Blood ran down George’s face. He swiped it away and backed up, a hand to his chest wound, squinting at Zaq through his good eye.
He bared his fangs. “Bastard. Why don’t you go running back to your daddy? Oh, that’s right. He thinks you’re trying to overthrow him.”
Zaq came at George a second time. George bobbed and weaved, trying to strike at Zaq with his fangs.
I didn’t see what happened next, because my opponent lunged at me. I threw my body to the side and his blade whistled past my shoulder. The momentum sent him flying over my prone body. He rolled and jumped to his feet.
I pushed myself onto my knees. Bracing myself with one hand on the concrete, I grit my teeth and somehow managed to bring my switchblade up between me and High Man, hissing as the movement sent pain spiking through me. It felt like someone had inserted a hot poker into my side.
Two things happened almost simultaneously. Zaq staked George, shoving the dagger into the vampire’s chest so hard, his body bounced off the wall; and High Man lunged at me with his dagger. As I thrust out an arm to block him, my blade flew out of my hand. I watched, horrified, as it landed a couple of yards away. I’d lost coordination in my fingers.
I threw myself to the side and he missed again, stumbling past me. I curled up on the dirty, blood-soaked concrete, prepared to die. My last thought was a fervent prayer that Zaq would live.
Suddenly, High Man slammed to the ground, his dagger flying out of his hand. That’s when I realized he’d stumbled because Zaq had knocked him away from me. Zaq kicked High Man’s dagger away and snatched up my switchblade. He stabbed it into the man’s heart, pulling the blade down like he was gutting a fish.
High Man let out a low, agonized grunt. He gripped the switchblade’s handle, attempting to pull it out, but he was already too weak. He took his smoking hand from his chest and looked at it like it wasn’t attached to him.
He gave Zaq a baleful look. “Fucking rich S.O.B.”
Zaq came to his knees, breathing hard. “Who put out the hit on us?”
High Man smiled, a fuck-you curve of his lips, and closed his eyes.
Zaq shook his shoulder. “Tell me, damn you!”
“Go…to…Hades,” he said without opening his eyes, and started crumbling into ashes.
Zaq heaved a breath and turned his head toward me.
I managed a small smile. “Nice work, Kral.”
He grinned. Then his nostrils flared. “You’re hurt.”
I grunted assent.
“What the fuck?” Emotions chased across his face. Fear, worry.
