Page 101 of Bewitched By a Vampire

She hurled a spiralling whip of fire at him and he nimbly dodged it, landing several feet to his right. The grass sizzled as the whip struck it and he felt the heat of it despite the distance between him and it. He growled and shot towards Petra. She brought the whip back and struck again, and he leaped to his left this time, and then his right as she struck again, zigzagging towards her.

The second he was close enough he lashed out with both blades.

And growled as they hit a barrier.

Vibrations rang up his arms as the swords he gripped hit it and bounced back, and he staggered backwards.

Into another witch.

Petra lashed at him with the whip again. Night grabbed the witch behind him and hurled her into the path of it. She screamed as the fiery whip struck her, wrapping around her chest, and Petra didn’t even react. Her eyes remained cold and expression placid, even as the witch burst into flames and turned to ashes before Night’s eyes.

The whip unravelled and Petra drew it back again.

Night decided that allowing it to touch him, even for a second, would be a very bad idea. One that would probably result in his death.

He pivoted and ran, leaping when the tip struck the ground so it didn’t hit him. A wave of fire rolled forwards from the point it had hit, almost catching another witch.

“Petra!” the fair-haired one snapped.

“I’m sorry, Beatrice.” Petra didn’t look as if she was sorry, and clearly, she wasn’t going to stop because she readied the whip again.

Night needed to get the damned thing off her.

Or put it out.

He glanced at Lilian and she sent Maryon flying away from her and looked at him. Her gaze shifted to Petra and narrowed, and ice formed on her fingers. Rather than leading Petra away from his little witch, Night turned in Lilian’s direction and led the woman towards her.

Night could feel how focused Petra was on him. It would be her undoing. Focus was key on the battlefield, but losing awareness of your surroundings by focusing on one enemy was a sure-fire way of losing your head.

Franz had taught him that.

Night looked back over his shoulder as he passed Lilian.

Saw the shock ripple across Petra’s face as Lilian launched the spell at her.

Petra tried to pull her whip back, but it was too late. The one Lilian had cast hit it and ice spread outwards from the point it had struck, moving rapidly along the length of the whip, extinguishing the fire as it went. The weight of it had Petra lunging forwards as it dropped to the ground, and her expression shifted from surprise to fury as she narrowed her eyes on Lilian.

Lilian hit her again, striking her with two blasts of light that knocked her away from the whip and sent her crashing into the fountain. Stone exploded outwards as Petra hit it, chunks of it flying through the air to rain down on the witches, knocking several of them down.

Night was quick to take advantage of the opening, moved through the witches like a shadow, cutting down several of them. His senses blared a warning and he sped up, narrowly avoiding being struck by a white spear that left a huge impact crater in the ground.

Beatrice’s starlit eyes narrowed on him as he glanced at her, and another white spear appeared in her hand. She hurled it at him, aiming at where he was about to be, and he twisted to face the way he had come, trying to stop it from hitting him.

And grimaced as the spear cut through his calf.

The scent of his own blood spilling had him growling and his mood darkening, his bloodlust rising to the fore. A hunger for violence spread like an oily black tide through him and he focused, refusing to give it control. He wouldn’t risk Lilian. There was no knowing whether or not he would hurt her if he surrendered to his bloodlust.

He would use it as Grave did.

As a weapon.

Night focused harder, sharpening his bloodlust, stoking it but holding it back at the same time. He snarled and bared his fangs as he sprinted at Beatrice, on a collision course with her. She summoned another white spear.

He swept his blades down at his sides and flexed his fingers around the hilts, tightened his grip on them and kicked off, launching into the air above her and catching her off guard. He spun in the air, bringing his blades up at the same time, and roared as he brought them down as he twisted towards her, putting all his strength into the blow.

His swords struck the white spear as she hastily held it aloft, and he grinned as it shattered under the force of the strike, splintering into a thousand pieces. He had her now. He followed through, hitting the ground in a crouch and kicking off, thrusting his right blade towards her at the same time.

And bellowed as something struck him in his right shoulder, knocking it backwards, and icy cold instantly spread over his chest and down his arm.

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