Page 113 of Angel Of Darkness

“Because he’s not dying.” She pounded her other wrist against the cement and ignored the waves of pain that rolled through her. She and pain were starting to become good friends. Tears slipped down her cheeks, but Nicole didn’t realize she was crying until she tasted the salt on her lips. She rammed her left hand into the cement. Once, twice more, and the bones shifted. Nicole slid that hand free. “He’s not dying.”

“How will you save him? You can’t even fight now with your broken hands.”

“I’ll just get a little bite first.” She rose, but almost staggered from the pain. “Then I’ll be ready.”

“Death is coming.”

Her shoulders straightened. “Death—you—can wait.” She made it to the door. Nicole didn’t even bother trying to push it open. Her hands were a mess. She needed blood, fast, in order to get the strength to heal, and even then, she wouldn’t fully recover until her next rising.

Carlos could be waiting right outside. He probably was.

You won’t get Keenan.

She kicked open the vault’s heavy metal door.

Sam had taken Keenan to a bar, one that looked like a dozen others. But this one was different—his prey waited inside.

“There.” Sam’s finger pointed to the right. The two bikers who’d escaped were at the bar. They were guzzling beers and acting like they didn’t have a care in the world.

He’d make them care.

As Keenan stalked across the bar, smart people got out of his way. Maybe they could feel his rage. It sure burned him.

“Don’t touch them, not yet,” Sam muttered. “We need them alive to talk, remember?”

He jerked his head in agreement. The idiots must have sensed trouble because they both spun around. When they saw him, their eyes widened and fear slipped over their thick faces.

“Didn’t think it was over, did you?” He braced his legs apart. The scrape of chairs filled the room. Folks were leaving as fast as they could. Guess they were used to trouble in this place, and they knew better than to stay around and watch the show.

The guy right in front of him—a burly bastard with grizzled cheeks and a buzz cut—swallowed. “D-don’t know you.”

Keenan’s hand lifted. Oh, to touch…

“Keenan,” Sam warned, “the dead can’t talk.”

The buzz-cut biker blanched.

His buddy—a tall, tattooed guy with a mop of curly red hair—started to sidle away.

“I can kill you with less than a thought,” Keenan said.

Both men froze.

“Where is she?” he demanded.

The red-haired guy shook his head.

Wrong answer. Keenan grabbed a beer bottle, shattered the glass and pressed the jagged edge to buzz-cut’s throat. Since he wasn’t touching the guy directly, the biker wouldn’t die. Well, he wouldn’t die until Keenan sliced his throat wide open with that glass. “I’ll ask once more, then you’ll start bleeding.”

Sam reached for a glass of whiskey that had just been placed on the bar top. He drained it in one gulp, then swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “Better tell him. He’s real good at killing.”

“You talking about the vamp?” This came from the redhead.

“Shut up, Pete!” Buzz-cut snarled.

“They’ll kill us, Bo! I ain’t ready to die!”

Ah, a weak link. Keenan kept his weapon on Bo, but turned his stare on Pete. “Are there a couple more members of your little gang still living? A member or two who took my vampire?”

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