Page 7 of Outcast Island

Every wrong stench evaporates, only to be replaced with the new aroma of masculine woodsmoke and expensive liquor. There’s a bite to the scent, one that demands my attention.

The other vampires I can no longer smell burst through the tree line. One of them breaks from the frenzy and comes straight at me while the others pounce on a larger male I can’t make out.

The one approaching me has eyes as black as night, and his teeth are painted red with blood. He seems skinny and malnourished, but it doesn’t slow him down. He jumps—high.

Another ability.

I try to scramble out of the way, but the sound of growls holds me captive. When he lands, he pins me to the ground as he digs his long nails into my flesh. The impact draws what little breath I have from my chest and leaves me stunned.

I force myself to inhale, ignoring his putrid stench as I fight back. Snarling, I slash at him with little claws of my own, leaving bloody marks.

That seems like a practiced response, too, and I’m grateful my dark memories aren’t haunting me while I try to survive this living nightmare.

The male on top of me kicks my legs open as he stretches his jaw, looking ready to bite.

“Stop!” a male voice commands. The word barrels through the air and slams into the vampire on top of me as if it were a bullet.

My attacker goes still as his jaw clenches. I can almost feel his conflicting emotions battling against the order.

He doesn’t want to stop. The only thing that’ll prevent him from trying to mount me and bite me is his death.

His eyes widen when fear spikes inside his chest, seeming to spear straight through into me.

He can’t move. Which gives the male who ordered him to stop enough time to pounce.

Claws and fangs shred the vampire apart, tearing flesh from bone until I don’t even recognize him anymore.

Blood covers me as I shriek and curl into a ball.

Be small.

Be quiet.

The trained internal thoughts come to me with practiced ease. I’ve been in danger before, and I know better than to run.

Especially when an apex predator is tearing apart his enemies.

“Follow your friend to hell,” the new male commands, but the words aren’t meant for me.

He’s speaking to the other vampires.

I flinch as bodies practically explode all around me, showering me with blood that reeks of old death. From what I can see through my spread fingers, he’s using his claws and his teeth, but he’s so… powerful.

So angry.

Daring another glance up, I see that the predator has shredded through the remaining pack of vampires like they were papier-mâché. He’s covered in blood and gore, as am I.

While he’s obviously also a vampire, he’s somethingother.

He’s bigger, more terrifying, and seems to demand obedience in a way that holds me captive.

I try not to scream when he plucks me from the ground and protectively holds me to his hard chest.

I’ll look my death in the eyes,I decide. Because there’s no way I’m going to survive whatever comes next against such a powerful vampire. Not in my current state when I don’t even know my own name.

When I stare into black eyes with sparks of embers that reflect my frazzled, blood-soaked state, I feel like I’m drowning in a sea of fire.

He’s a male with sharp cheekbones and messy hair and has the face of a god. He doesn’t show his fangs, which is a measure of restraint that I know demonstrates his need for control. He had them out earlier, evident by the blood running down his chin, but he has no need to bite.

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