"Say again?"
"Aggravated assault," Kira amended, surprised the dispatch operator hadn't registered the police code. She gave the address of where the warehouse was located.
"Sounds like the bottom floor," she added to be more specific.
"Please hold while I transfer you to that station," the operator replied. Moments later, another voice asked what her emergency was.
"I'm reporting an aggravated assault," Kira said, not bothering with the code this time.
She gave the address and information again, her teeth grinding in frustration as she had to repeat twice what she'd heard.
"So you never actually saw an assault?" the dispatch operator asked.
"No, I didn't go in there," Kira said stiffly, not walking now that she was close to her apartment building.
"Right," the now bored-sounding voice replied. "What's your name?"
"I prefer to be anonymous," Kira said after a pause. She had a history with the police that wasn't necessarily pleasant.
"We'll send a car around," the operator intoned.
"Thanks," Kira muttered, and hung up. She'd done all she could. Hopefully it would be enough for whoever'd made that awful noise.
But when she started to walk toward the front door of her building, her steps faltered.
Instinct told her to turn around and head back to the warehouse. It would be five to ten minutes before the patrol car arrived. What if the unknown, injured person didn't have that long?
Never try to be a hero, kid. Leave that to the shields.
Her boss's admonition rang in Kira's mind, but instead of making her feel better, anger rose. If not for her ex-husband, she'd be one of those "shields." She'd aced the police academy, gotten her certification in law enforcement, and she was just two blocks away from that scream, not several minutes like the patrol car.
Mack's voice, deep and scratchy, sounded through her mind next: Save one life. That had been her mentor's credo. If Mack had been more like her boss, Kira might be dead.
Not standing on a sidewalk debating whether or not to help someone in need.
Mack wouldn't have hesitated, badge or no badge. Who did she want to be like, her old friend Mack, or her jaded boss, Frank?
Kira spun around, heading back toward the warehouses and the source of that scream.
Mencheres let out a long moan when the silver knife slashed into his sternum. When the ghouls first started cutting him, he hadn't made a noise, and they'd drawn their blades even more slowly across his flesh, taking his silence as a challenge. So he grunted, moaned, and even shouted. It helped; they grew more excited, their cuts went deeper.
Soon, he'd have to choose between using his energy to cloak the fact that he was a Master vampire, or using his power to protect himself from the worst of the pain. He'd lost too much blood to keep doing both. But if his attackers had a grain of sense, revealing the extent of what he had coiling inside him might make them run away. No, he couldn't chance that. Pain it was, then.
Mencheres dropped the mental barrier he'd erected between himself and those relentless, seeking knives. Immediately, his body felt like it was on fire, the silver causing an intense, agonizing reaction as it sliced through him.
With his barrier to the pain down, a new problem arose. Every new cut or stab wound roused the swirling energy in him that craved retribution. Mencheres forced it back, concentrating on keeping his aura tamped down, fighting his urge to kill the ghouls even though his power demanded to be released.
"Stakes," Mencheres said, calling him by the name the others had used. "Are you inexperienced, or is this merely the best you can do?"
The ghoul snarled at the insult, hacking a deep line in Mencheres's thigh as a response. Another ghoul took hold of Mencheres's waist-length black hair and sawed a hunk of it off at the shoulder.
Mencheres's anger rose again, dark and deadly, seeking to merge with his power to be given form. He forced it back, knowing if he released his control for even an instant, all of the ghouls would die. And they hadn't served their purpose yet.
"Put the knives down and get away from him," someone gasped.
Mencheres swung his gaze toward the sound with the same amazement the ghouls showed. Had he been so distracted by his own thoughts - and the ghouls by their torture
- that a human had actually managed to sneak up on them?
The proof stood on the other side of the room, posture in a classic shooting stance, gun pointed at the ghouls clustered around him. The woman's eyes were wide, her face pale, but she held her weapon in an unwavering grip.
This was a complication he didn't need.
"Leave now," Mencheres ordered. Her warm mortal body would be too tempting for the flesh-eaters to resist if she didn't flee at once.
"Well, well," Stakes drew out, leaving his knife embedded in Mencheres's thigh. "Look here, guys. Dessert."
A clicking sound indicated the woman's thumbing back the hammer. "I'll shoot," she warned. "All of you, put your knives down and get away from him. The police are already on the way . . ."
Her voice cracked as Stakes moved away from Mencheres. Most of what they'd done to him had been blocked from her view by the ghoul's body, but when Mencheres was fully revealed to the woman's gaze, she stared.
The ghouls charged.
Mencheres knew he should do nothing. Should stay lashed to the building's support beam, pretending to be helpless, and let the ghouls kill her. After all, he'd had an objective when he set out to this place, and it didn't involve saving a reckless human.
But in the single second that it took the ghouls to reach the woman, another thought rose within Mencheres, overcoming his practicality. She'd tried to save him. He could not let her die for it.
Power ripped out of him, slamming into the ghouls. The bloodied ropes around Mencheres began to unwind themselves, whipping about like snakes as Mencheres blasted more of his power into the six ghouls. The strikes were weaker than normal from his blood loss, but the sudden high-pitched shrieks coming from the flesh-eaters ended as abruptly as their attack on her. By the time the ropes all fell away, and Mencheres strode over to the woman, none of the ghouls could even move.
Mencheres kicked Stakes of out the way to reveal the woman underneath him. She was gasping, blood coming from her mouth in a thin trail, more pouring from the gaping wound in her stomach. His hesitation had been costly. The ghoul managed to wound her mortally before he'd stopped him. In mere minutes, the woman would bleed to death.
She stared up at him, anguish showing in her expression, followed by a horrified understanding as she glanced down at her stomach.