Then her life had changed dramatically, and she had actually found a use for her talent.
Vampires were incredibly fast. Like as fast as The Flash. Their movements became blurry and indistinct when they moved at top speeds. But their auras behaved very differently than those of humans. Vampires’ auras moved and shifted before they did, telling her exactly where they intended to go before they even took a step.
Krysta eyed the vamps before her, waiting for the telltale shift in auras that would precede their attack.
“Aren’t you afraid of us?” one asked.
“No. Should I be?”
Looks were exchanged.
“Yeah, ya dumb bitch,” another proclaimed. “We’re vampires!”
So polite. She slid a hand into her coat and grasped the handle of one of the shoto swords she carried, ready to teach him some manners. “Yeah, and?”
“What, are you a second?”
She fought a frown. He wasn’t the first vampire who had asked her that. What the hell was a second? A second what?
“Fuck this. Let’s kick her ass!” a third cried.
The aura of the one closest to her shifted. Krysta drew her sword and swung it, the blade sinking into flesh as the vampire blurred and caught up with the orange glow.
Krysta drew her other sword.
The three remaining vampires gaped as the severed head of their companion hit the ground and rolled several feet away from the body that tumbled after it.
The first kill was always the easiest.
The vampires’ faces contorted with fury. Growls and snarls erupted. Eyes glowed brighter.
Crap. Here we go.
Orange auras deepened in color and shot forward just before the vampires’ forms all blurred.
Krysta swung both swords with as much speed and strength as she possessed. Her heart raced. Adrenaline surged through her veins. Her blades sank into her opponents.
When warm blood slapped her in the face, she clamped her lips shut. No way did she want any of that getting into her mouth. She didn’t know exactly how one became a vampire, but figured it probably had something to do with the blood.
One of the vamps landed a blow to her back that sent pain careening through her as she flew forward and hit the ground.
Rolling, she came up swinging as the vamps converged on her. The momentum of one came to her aid and made a hit that normally would have just cut him instead sever his arm. Vamps tended to not recover from such severe wounds, bleeding out faster than they could heal. As this one did, stumbling backward and falling to the ground while he fought to staunch the crimson river flowing onto the pavement around him.
The vampires divided, attacking from opposite sides.
Krysta continued to wield her deadly shotos, creating a barrier as formidable as a rotary fan’s blades. Cuts opened on the vampires, who became manic in their fury, slavering like rabid dogs.
Fear a constant companion, she delivered a round-house kick to the vamp behind her. Agony shot up her leg. It was like kicking a damned boulder. But at least it had kept him from diving low and biting her leg as his aura had warned her he intended.
She landed several more slashes before silver glinted in their hands.
Hell.
Needlelike pain erupted in her arms, sides, and back as they cut her.
Time to take a huge risk.
Ignoring the vampire behind her, she focused all of her attention on the one in front of her. The next time his aura shifted, she swung with all of her might.
The vampire’s eyes widened. Stumbling back, he raised both hands to the throat her sword had laid open. The gray shirt he wore turned red as blood spilled down his chest and saturated it.
Spinning around, she raised her weapons. The last vamp, who should have been all over her after the opening she’d given him, stared at her stupidly and stumbled back a step.
She frowned.
He grunted. And grunted again. Blood spilled from his lips.
What the hell?
Groaning, he sank to his knees and clumsily tried to reach behind him with both hands.
Was this a trick?
Swords at the ready, she limped forward and began to edge around him to see what the hell he was reaching for.
Krysta stopped and stared. Half a dozen daggers protruded from his back. And, judging by their positions, they had pierced his heart and probably sliced through at least one major artery.
A whole new fear invaded her as she backed away, her gaze darting all around her and seeking the source of those weapons.
A sound drew her attention to the entrance of the alley.
Ice skittered through her.
Seven vampires. Eyes glowing various shades of blue, green, silver, and amber.
I’m dead. The panicked thought barreled through her brain at light speed. There’s no way I’ll survive this.
“She’s a second!” one snarled.
What the hell is a second?
Their glowing orange auras zipped toward her.
Kysta swung and thrust as she backed away toward the chain-link fence. But, even as she scored hits, the vampires flew past to circle around and cut her off.
A thud sounded behind her. The vamps in front of her paused to look over her shoulder. Something bumped her back.
Krysta spun around and swung.
A large hand clamped around her wrist, stopping her with infuriating ease.
Her gaze rose, taking in the tall figure garbed all in black who towered over her. His luminescent amber eyes, as bright as the moon, met hers. His lips parted, exposing deadly fangs.
But his aura . . .
It wasn’t orange like the other vampires’. It was bright white and purple, the two colors swirling together without ever mixing. She had never seen anything like it.
Or had she?
Hadn’t she seen it up on the roof earlier and dismissed it as a trick of the eye?
“You,” she breathed, and waited for him to strike a death blow.
Etienne frowned.
She knew him?
He released her arm, ready to catch it again if she should try to skewer him.
The vamps behind her decided to take advantage of her inattention and zipped forward.
Quick as lightning, Etienne drew four throwing stars and threw them. Two struck carotid arteries.
Krysta’s eyes widened as blood splattered her back.
“You started this,” he said. As soon as this was over, he intended to reprimand the hell out of her for stepping outside the bounds of her duties. She must be a new Second. Reordon usually made it clear that the human guards who aided immortals were not to strike out and hunt vampires on their own unless they suspected their immortal had been captured and, for some reason, couldn’t reach anyone at the network for help. “Now let’s finish it together. I’ll watch your back.”
Turning his own back, he drew his katanas and tore into the four vamps who had circled around to attack her from the rear.
Bloody bastards had no honor. Attacking a woman—a human woman at that—from behind.
Battle sounds erupted over his shoulder. Etienne listened closely for any sound that might indicate Krysta wasn’t holding her own, still astonished by the skill she had displayed thus far.
The last of the four vampires he fought fell.
Etienne swung around. Three still remained. Krysta had managed to keep them at bay, but had struck no more killing blows. She was tiring. Fending off blows backed by supernatural strength tended to do that to a human.
Etienne stepped up beside her, careful to avoid her swords, and dove into the fight.
The vamps immediately turned away from her to defend themselves, but didn’t succeed. Etienne opened the arteries of two, who fell to the ground. The last vampire opted to abandon his dying comrades, some of whom had already begun to shrivel up like mummies as the virus that infected them devoured them from the inside out in a desperate bid to live. The vamp’s crimson-stained form blurred as he darted toward the street.
Etienne caught him easily at the mouth of the alley, yanked him back into the shadows, and swiftly dispatched him.
When he turned around, Krysta had sheathed one of her swords and was texting away on a cell phone.
He strolled toward her.
Head jerking up, she pocketed the phone and drew her other sword.
He frowned. She watched him as though she expected him to attack her.
“How badly are you hurt?” he asked. Surely she could tell friend from foe. Even Sheldon, his brother Richart’s notoriously green Second, could do that much.
“I’m fine,” she lied, chin rising. Her clothing sported a dozen or more cuts and tears. She also rested most of her weight on one leg and limped when she moved. Like now, as she inched backward at his approach.
Etienne stopped several feet away from her.
She feared him. He could both smell it and see it in the dilation of her warm, brown eyes.
“You are a Second, aren’t you?” he asked.
“What is a Second?” she practically shouted.
Ah, hell. This was a problem. She was a civilian?
He should call Chris Reordon, the head of the East Coast division of the human network that aided immortals. But Etienne couldn’t bring himself to do so. This mortal woman had just hunted and defeated four vampires on her own. And she hadn’t broken down when facing almost certain death. He found that damned appealing and worried over what Chris might do to her to ensure her silence and cooperation. He hadn’t had much hands-on contact with the human network until recently, but had heard Chris could be ruthless when it came to protecting the identities and ensuring the safety of the Immortal Guardians.
“What are you?” she demanded and began to edge around him, giving him a wide berth.
“You don’t know?”
“Would I ask if I did?” she countered. “You’re different from them.” She motioned to the deceased vampires, a couple of whom were only piles of empty clothing now.
Etienne studied her closely. “Because I didn’t kill you?”
She shook her head, her eyes roving him as if she could see a difference.
“You seemed to know me, when I joined the battle. Do you?”
She inched toward the entrance of the alley.
Etienne didn’t follow. He could catch her easily if she should decide to run and he didn’t want to frighten her any more than he already had.