Page 17 of Immortal Burden

Instinctively, I moved to call my magic forth after it had sputtered out at the brutal impact.

But the hostile hauled me up and then spun me around with a burst of speed, shoving me up against the wall adjacent to the garbage cans.

I heard that telltale snap of fangs dropping a moment before the bastard sank them into my throat.

In his rabid state, he tore my flesh open viciously, driving deep and drawing brutally hard as he ingested my blood, gulping it down.

It was a widespread myth amongst supernatural beings that magic-wielders couldn’t call their magic if their hands were bound. But it was actually possible to expel your power in a concentrated burst via your body as a whole.

It was my first thought and the optimal strategy to stop the unhinged vamp from literally sucking me dry.

But I was already weakened and with every moment that passed of this fucker draining my lifeforce, it was weakening my hold on the illusion. I couldn’t allow it to fall at any cost, it would expose us all and be absolutely catastrophic.

A vicious snarl sounded.

In my current state, it took me a moment or two to realize it wasn’t coming from the hostile.

All of a sudden, the fangs were ripped from my throat.

The vampire’s weight left me and I watched as he was propelled forty feet into the air, hitting the fire escape above the garbage cans with such force that his neck snapped on impact, his face crushed by the rough metal.

Lightheadedness overwhelmed me and I stumbled forward.

As the ground rushed toward me, I braced myself for the impact.

But it never came.

An arm wrapped around my torso, a steel band wrenching me back just in time.

The next thing I knew I was being settled onto a concrete step.

I leaned my head back against a wall, straining to make out the figure before me as my head swam and my vision blurred.

When I finally managed it, I was relieved to see a known ally staring back at me.

“Lucian,” I breathed.

“Youngling,” he returned with a smirk.

I took in his three-piece designer navy suit, his perfectly coiffed hair brushing the collar of his shirt. “Just in the neighborhood?” I quipped, rasping out the words against the wound in my throat.

He wasn’t clad in Guardian attire, or on the roster for today, and given the fact that his club was at least two-hundred miles away from here, him randomly being in the neighborhood seemed highly unlikely.

Instead of answering, he stilled for a moment of concentration, then reported, “Your pulse is growing weaker by the moment.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said, exerting more pressure against my throat, wincing as I felt blood literally dripping down over my fingers. “I just need… a second, then… I’ll finish… the mission.”

“Shh, don’t talk,” he said, bursting right in front of me. “You’ll aggravate the wound.”

Leaning down, he touched my cheek and angled my head carefully as he inspected the damage. “He took a great deal. This needs immediate attention or you heart risks failing.”

“Not… human. I can… fix… it.”

“Then why haven’t you?”

Damn him and his overt perceptiveness.

“Need to… hold the… illusion.”

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