Fanged

Chapter Eight

  At Uncle Devin’s instruction, the Thatcher twin holding me rams my body up against the guardrail.

  Damian watches with hollow, tortured eyes as I’m positioned to fall once the other vampire shoots me.

  The Thatcher twin presses the barrel of the gun against my sternum, right where Chase was threatening to shoot me last night. I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to look my death in the face now that it’s arrived. I hate that about myself. I can’t even die properly.

  Even though I’m not one for religion, I pray to the god of my silver cross that Damian and Madelyn will be alright…and that I will see Fletcher.

  I wait for the shot. What is really mere seconds seems lifetimes and centuries.

  Bang!

  I cringe back as the loud shot rings through the air. But I don’t feel a thing. I crack my eyes open and see the Thatcher twin in front of me topple to the ground. I glance up and see Chase standing in the maintenance doorway with his .50 pistol extended in front of him. It takes a moment for me to process what just happened.

  An instant later, it’s a flurry of action all around me. Damian lunges for the Thatcher twin holding Madelyn. He wrenches her free and knocks the gun over the guardrail, but the other vampire, the one I hadn’t seen before yesterday, claws at his back.

  I dart forward to help my brother as a second shot rings out from Chase’s gun, hitting the troll in the knee and sending him cursing to the ground. James emerges behind Chase, gun drawn, but he can’t get a clean shot because Damian and I are wrestling with the other two vampires. I’m not sure where Uncle Devin is. I’m too busy keeping another vampire’s fangs off my throat.

  The unnamed vampire swings his fists at my head. I duck and land a kick to his shins. With a quick motion, he recovers and throws me sideways as Damian tumbles to the floor with the other Thatcher twin. Madelyn tries to help my brother, but Chase grabs her arm and yanks her back before she can get hurt.

  The vampire I’m fighting slams my body into the solid side of the dam with a vicious snarl. I plant my hands against the concrete and shove backwards into him.

  He stumbles back and I follow up my advantage, raining kicks and punches on the vulnerable points of his body. But he still recovers and whips a fist across my cheek. The blow knocks me backwards, into the guardrail, clear of him—giving Chase a clean shot.

  Two loud bangs later, my second attacker is dropping to the ground.

  I whirl around to my brother, but it looks like James has shot the other Thatcher twin.

  I swing my gaze around. I have the terrible feeling that there’s something we missed.

  Beside me, Madelyn yelps. I whip back to face her. It’s Uncle Devin. He has Madelyn in a death-grip as he leans back over the guardrail. If Chase or James fire their guns and shoot him, he’ll fall and take Madelyn with him. How he managed to keep out of all the fighting, I have no idea.

  Damian springs to his feet. His eyes flash red and his fangs shoot down. “I’m going to rip you in quarters,” he hisses.

  Uncle Devin doesn’t seem to care. “And risk scratching your human dainty? I hardly think so. You two, Huntsmen. Drop the guns, please. I would hate to have to damage something so lovely.” He presses his mouth against the side of Madelyn’s neck. She uses an unladylike word and kicks back at him. Her blows have no effect.

  Damian growls, but knows better than to try rushing for our uncle.

  Chase and James lower their guns, but don’t holster them and certainly don’t take their eyes off Uncle Devin.

  I stand not three yards away, fists balled at my sides, fangs begging to come free. I think of a night one year ago. A night when Uncle Devin and my father handcuffed me to a wall and made me watch as they drank Fletcher dry while he screamed. I think of all the times I disobeyed Uncle Devin and he punished me by drinking my blood. I think of the way he’s taunting Damian now, taunting him with the creature Damian loves most in this world. Damian, the creature I love most in this world. And it’s all Uncle Devin.

  A burning lust for his blood fills my soul.

  My eyes glint crimson. My fangs burst free. A savage animal snarl tears from my throat and I lunge for him. I yank the pocket knife out and jam the whole three-inch blade into his shoulder. He yelps in pain and hesitates, giving me the opening I need.

  I rip Madelyn from his grasp and shove her forward, into Damian. He catches her, wraps her in his arms, and carries her well away. I rake my hand through Uncle Devin’s short hair and clench as much of it as I can grab. I jerk his head back as he did to me so many times. I briefly see the deliciously shocked, completely stunned look on his face before I drive my fangs into his throat.

  I bite and tear, not drinking, just destroying. A garbled scream erupts from him as his vocal cords vibrate beneath my mouth. He struggles, trying to push me off him. A hard fist lands against my stomach. It does him no good. I shove him further back, pushing him over the guardrail, leaning against him as I wreak havoc on his throat. Cool blood soaks my mouth and runs down my scarred neck. It tastes chalky and metallic, nothing like human blood.

  I keep biting, acting out of pure rage. Uncle Devin’s body stops writhing. Soon his body is giving away, sinking over the edge of the guardrail. I realize too late that I’m sinking with him.

  I try to regain my balance, to pull back, but I keep falling. I claw at the edge of the guardrail, fighting for dear life.

  Someone grabs my collar and yanks me back. I tumble to the concrete walkway, my mouth filled with my uncle’s blood as his body plummets over the edge and down, down into the river. Even if I hadn’t completely obliterated every vein and artery above his shoulders, there’s no way anyone could survive that. He’s dead.

  So why don’t I feel better?

  I crumple to the ground, clumsily smearing his blood off my face. The bright red stuff stains dark patches on my purple sweater. Even my jeans are splotched with it. The concrete where he was standing has a few bright red stains, too.

  I just killed someone. It was Uncle Devin and I should be happy. I tried to kill him a number of times over the nine months I served as his assistant. He helped kill Fletcher. I wanted this. So why do I feel defiled, like I’ve done something wicked?

  Kneeling on the Tom Miller Bridge, stained in the blood of a vampire who killed the boy I loved, in front of two Huntsmen, I start to cry. The tears come quick and mercilessly before I can bat them away or even hope to hold them back. I double over, sobbing like some pathetic sap as I replay what I’ve just done over and over inside my head.

  It makes me sick. Why does it make me sick?

  I’ve heard people say revenge is sweet, but all I have is a chalky taste in my mouth and an unreasonably guilty conscience. Why, why, why?

  Someone touches my shoulder. I look up, expecting to see Damian. But it isn’t Damian, it’s Chase. I try to read his expression through my tear-ridden eyes, but I can’t.

  Chase grasps my wrist and pulls me to my feet. “Come on,” he says. “We need to get out of here.”