Page 25 of The Tenor's Shadow

The one on the left swung at Freddie. It came fast and furious, and Anthony flinched, certain that Freddie would be hit in the face. But Freddie dodged it, and kicked the kid right in the sternum, sending him flying back.

The one on the right was on Freddie then, not looking back at the other punk splayed out on the ground. As he closed the distance, Freddie elbowed him in the jaw, and he stumbled back, dazed. He tripped over an uneven cobblestone and fell on his ass.

“Brian! What the hell?” The first one, having recovered enough to sit up, looked to Goatee for help.

“Brian? Your name is Brian?” Anthony asked. “Seriously? How mundane can you get?”

“There’s nothing wrong with my name!” Goatee, or Brian rather, yelled back.

Anthony laughed, unable to help himself. “Doesn’t exactly strike fear, you know?”

“You’re lucky you have your little bodyguard,” Brian growled, stepping forward. “Not that it matters. We can take him.”

Freddie shifted his weight back and forth between his legs in his protective stance. “Those idiots are too young,” he said to the bald vampire. “They’re weak from the sun.”

What the hell did that mean? They did look twenty-ish, but Anthony didn’t understand what the sun had to do with it.

“I don’t need them,” Brian said. “I can handle you.”

Freddie chuckled, and the low, resonant sound made Anthony’s balls tingle. Jesus Christ. Could he turn off the lust for one second? They were in a fight!

Freddie cocked his head, considering the man in front of him. Brian was in shape. He had some muscles, but he was small compared to Freddie.

“No,” Freddie said. “I don’t think you can.”

Brian hissed at them, actually hissed, and lunged for Freddie. He moved so fast that for a second, Anthony thought he saw him blur. Except that wasn’t possible.

“Freddie!”

Anthony yelped as Brian’s fist connected with Freddie’s stomach. It was a killer punch, with his entire strength behind it, and it landed square on.

Freddie didn’t even flinch. Before Anthony could blink, Freddie punched the bald man right in the jaw. Brian stumbled back, a surprised look on his face, and then launched himself at his opponent.

They were on each other, grappling and straining, as each tried to gain dominance. Anthony moved farther back, trying to stay clear of the fight. He couldn’t do anything to help, he knew that, but the thought of Freddie getting hurt on his behalf made his chest ache. He felt so helpless.

After a few moments of what seemed like an evenly matched struggle, Freddie reared back and head-butted Brian, hard. As the bald man’s eyes glazed over, Freddie wrapped his hand around his throat.

“Go back to New York.” Freddie’s voice was deep, and the ferocity made Anthony shudder. He wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that, but damn if it wasn’t sexy as hell.

Goatee struggled to speak through his closed airway. His voice was harsh and guttural. “Our master wants him, and our master gets what he wants.”

“He’s mine.” With a growl, Freddie threw Brian against the brick wall to their left. The goateed man let out a grunt as he hit the structure. A cloud of red dust sprang up from the impact. Brian slid down to the ground, looking conscious but dazed. A web of thin, spidery cracks was left behind on the wall above his head.

Just how hard had Freddie thrown the guy? Anthony looked back at him. He hadn’t even broken a sweat!

Freddie turned to the other two punks, who had gotten to their feet. One of them hissed, and they both stepped forward.

“What is wrong with them?” It was frightening, but also confusing as hell. “Who the hell acts like that?”

Freddie ignored Anthony’s question, holding his hand up to the two leather-clad punks, who stopped in their tracks.

“I’m older than you.” Freddie’s voice had a sense of command in it that made Anthony’s blood hum. “By many years.”

“Who the fuck cares how old you are?” The two were psyching themselves up for an attack.

“You haven’t learned yet what we can do.” Freddie made a claw shape with his right hand. Anthony stared, bewildered. What was Freddie doing? Why weren’t they attacking? It was as if Freddie had some kind of control over them. Their muscles strained, like a predator launching itself at its future meal, but they couldn’t move.

Freddie made a strange flicking gesture with his fingers. There was a strangled cry, and one took off running. The other went for the still-disoriented Brian. He pulled him off the ground and to his feet, although the bald man was unsteady, leaning against the kid.

“Tell your master,” Freddie snarled. “Anthony is not for him.”

The remaining punk made a low, harsh sound, like a hostile, caged animal, and hoisted Brian over his shoulder. He took off at a clip. Anthony stared as they rounded a corner and disappeared.

Their behavior made no sense. The animalistic sounds, the things they’d said. Anthony was tired of being in the dark about what the hell was going on. These weren’t some stalkers or even mafiosos. This was something else. And Freddie knew what it was.

He turned back to Freddie, who winced at the look of fury Anthony gave him.

“What the fuck?”

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