I feel like a fucking pincushion. Only worse. The bastard’s right, because I’m close to begging now. Only not going to give him that pleasure. I keep my gaze focused on Vik. If I watch Dalca and his damned knife…
Vik’s up to something. Looks like he’s got one hand free. But if he moves it, some of the bastard Vampyres not watching Dalca and me might see.
He needs a distraction. Fuck. Guess Dalca gets his wish.
The blade points at a part of my anatomy I’d rather he leave alone. Pricks lightly at first. I let out a yell. Start begging him not to. Pleading loudly. Shaking. Trying to pull away. Every move is torment. He laughs.
I take my eyes off the knife long enough to flash a glance at Vik before screaming again. The tip of the blade pierces. Agony. Close to passing out. Can’t do that. Not now. Vik’s freed his other hand.
A loud crash.
Men swarm in. I see Larkin. Vik’s lovers. Others. Mutter, “The cavalry has arrived.”
“Not in time for you, Dhampir,” Dalca says. Rage in his eyes. In his movements. The blade raises. Aimed at my heart.
* * * *
The second the door slammed open Vik moved swiftly to the pile of clothes, glad that for whatever reason only his hands had been bound to the cross. Foolish on Dalca’s part, or overconfidence in his powers.
As the guys and their backup spread around the room Vik grabbed Trevor’s coat, pulling his sword free. He spun around ready to do battle.
“Hell no,” he hissed as he saw what Dalca intended.
In a flash he was there, the sword speeding down to knock Dalca’s blade aside. The Vampyre howled in rage, spinning to face Vik.
Larkin and his people began to deal with the Vampyres. Though the odds were in the Vampyres’ favor, they were facing men with only one goal in life, to see to their eradication. Swords and knives clanged, the noise of guns being fired echoed through the dungeon.
Mychael and Pete fought their way to Vik’s side. “This the bastard we want?” Pete growled, aiming his gun at Dalca.
Suddenly Dalca vanished.
“What the hell!” Pete spun around looking for him, as did Vik.
Mychael turned his attention to Trevor, loosening his restraints and lowering him to the concrete floor. “You look like death warmed over,” he commented.
“Thanks,” Trevor replied wryly through clenched teeth. “You look like an angel. Don’t suppose you have healing powers, mine seem to be taking a break at the moment.”
“Given the number of cuts on you, I’m not surprised. Can’t do much but cover you for now.” Mychael looked around, spotting Trevor’s coat, and dashed to get it, narrowly avoiding a Vampyre’s flailing sword. He raced back to toss it over Trevor.
“My sword,” Trevor mumbled.
“I’d bet it’s the one Vik has. He’s hardly dressed enough to have had that hidden on him.”
Even through his pain Trevor was able to smile at that.
Vik was definitely underdressed to be fighting but it didn’t seem to stop him. He and Pete were tense, scanning the room for where Dalca would reappear. They were certain he wouldn’t just run. If nothing else, it wouldn’t be good for his reputation with the others of his kind. Beside, Vik figured, the Vampyre would want to finish what he’d started.