Page 2 of Vampire Runner

A dark-haired man—not a man, an archangel—is towering over Eris as her knees begin to buckle against the onslaught of whatever power he’s pushing towards her. She bares her teeth in a vicious snarl, her face twisted in pain. Her dagger is on the sidewalk beside her, melting. Black, oily mist looks as if it’s been forced from Cassandra’s body, being pulled towards him.

He doesn’t even pay attention to me.

He raises an arm, a golden light coming from his hand and forming into a damn sword.

I charge, pure fury and the need to protect my mate pushing me past the pain of his angelic radiance. I unload my handgun, each bullet slamming into the power around him. Not a single one reaches him. My vampire speed seems to slow to nothing as I watch in horror as he raises the fully formed blade then begins to bring it down on Cassandra.

I push harder, every part of my being screaming as if I’m burning away.

The point of his blade inches closer to where Eris and Cassandra are now kneeling on the sidewalk before him. His eyes are a bright blue ringed with silver and his face is a visage of satisfaction.

I never take my eyes from him as I sweep my hand down and grab the melting celestial blade. My skin chars but I grip it tighter. With a snarl, I slam it into his gut. His eyes turn to me with hatred as my blow pushes him back a step. The blade swings down, barely missing my wife’s chest and sweeping down through the black mist.

Then Aeternaphiel laughs.

He drops the blade, and it dissipates. I’m caught in his powers, unable to move, my supernatural strength useless against his might.

He says something, a language only known by angels and demons. I’m helpless as he presses two fingers against my forehead. His smile is more twisted and evil than Eris’s has ever been.

I don’t care if I die. Not if it means I’ve kept Cassandra safe. The celestial blade is still in his stomach, and he finally looks down at the wound. My gaze follows his and he scowls as his own skin begins to flicker as if being burned by invisible flames.

He staggers back again, hitting the totaled SUV. He’s far enough from me that his power is no longer holding me up. I fall to my knees, twisting to face Cassandra where she’s collapsed. She looks distorted and too pale. Too still.

I croak as I try to say her name, reaching towards her with a weak arm. Whatever the asshole did to me, I have no strength left.

I don’t care as another SUV pulls up and men in white cassocks rush around us to help Aeternaphiel. I have to get to Cassandra.

Someone kicks me in the shoulder, sending me to sprawl on my back.

The archangel is snarling down at me, his arms thrown over a justicar on either side of him. He hisses something and power slams into me. I fight against the darkness overwhelming my mind. I must keep her safe.

I can’t fight it anymore when one of his assistants kicks me in the head, the darkness overwhelming me at once.

1865

Ashe

The house Ambrose had established our clan in was a recently finished sprawling, Greek Revival mansion. It was two stories, but larger than anything the people of Willow Creek had ever seen. We’d arrived in the moderately sized hamlet over a week ago, and the original intended occupants of this house, the Jamesons, had met with a swift, bloody end. The man who considered himself the appointed mayor of the town had a list of crimes against others and the townsfolk longer than a thoroughbred full stride. Ambrose had discovered the injustices perpetrated by every member of the family–even the sixteen-year-old daughter–and decided to make it the Nightshades’ business.

The people of Willow Creek believed the Jamesons had left under the cover of darkness, the story supported by Malachi and me taking the family carriage and racing out through the main road. By the time Ambrose and the rest of us moved in, rumors had spread and done most of the work for us. Officially, Ambrose had announced that the Jamesons had fled from him because the man had been deep in debt to the Nightshades. Not that our true nature was advertised, of course.

The villagers were more than willing to believe the story, since the family hadn’t paid their own debts to many in town. Their esteem for Ambrose and the rest of us rose when Ambrose paid the outstanding debts, including to the laborers who’d built the home we now occupied.

Unofficially… the Jameson family had been bled dry as we fed from them, ensuring they suffered every moment. They’d tormented countless people and had deserved the violent justice that they’d never face otherwise. The only one we did not harm was the youngest, a boy of four years old. The night I drove the carriage through the town, Malachi had held him close in the carriage. We delivered him to a family Ambrose trusted, ensuring he would be raised with love and care–and be taught to care for others.

The afternoon is becoming late as I guide the gorgeous black Saddlebred through the gate from the Nightshade estate and onto the road that’d take me to the center of Willow Creek. Wind rustles through the boughs of the trees which the area was named for, adding an earthy floral scent to the clean air. I take a deep breath, taking pleasure in the scents of plants, horseflesh, healthy soil, and wildlife. I prefer this to the city air clogged with smoke, metal, and sickness we left behind. While it had been easier to feed in a crowded city, those we fed on had blood as disgusting as their hearts. If it weren’t for our vampiric abilities, we’d have taken ill just like the human filth we fed on.

Being here allowed me to do something I couldn’t in the city, not properly at least.

“Ready, girl?” I murmur, patting the horse’s silky neck. The stable boy told me her name was Lily Dancer, on account of her light gait. The mare’s ears twist back at my words, and she sidesteps with excitement, proving her name. I’ve always had an affinity with horses. I grin at her eagerness. I cluck my tongue and touch my heels to her side. She doesn’t need any other prompting. Lily Dancer launches forward, moving from a walk straight into a gallop with a toss of her head.

Grinning savagely, not needing to hide my fangs, I loosen my grip on the reins and give her head as I lean forward over her as we begin to fly.

Her black mane whips my face, her muscles working like a powerful industrial machine underneath me, and our hearts begin racing in time together. For a moment, I wish I’d foregone the saddle, but I couldn’t risk the questions it’d raise among the humans. It was unseemly for someone of supposed wealth to ride bareback, never mind that when I was human, I was a stable boy and then a groomsman before being conscripted in the military.

A high-pitched shout cuts through the wind in my ears, quickly followed by a woman stumbling into the road ahead of us. I throw myself backwards, yanking Lily Dancer’s head to the left as I pull back. There’s no way we can stop in time, not with how fast we were going, but I can make sure we don’t trample the woman.

“Whoa,” I say. The instinct to calm and reassure the mare is second nature even as I crane my neck around as we pass the woman. Lily Dancer settles quickly, her sides heaving in breaths and she stomps her hooves in the dirt, sending dry dust into the air. I turn her back around, eyes moving from the woman struggling against her skirts to rise to the trees she came from. I can’t hear anything pursuing her, either man or beast. There’s a woven basket on its side, its contents of greenery spilling out pathetically.

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