Page 50 of Witch's Wolf

Sam.

He doesn’t stop or glance back. Twenty feet ahead his long strides slow, shifting into purposeful steps. His broad shoulders rise and fall with controlled breaths, his index finger taps the side of his nose.

“Shhh…,” he hisses with a finger to his lips.

Both a warning and a quiet command. He grabs the dressing room door handle and time slows to a crawl. A click. A shove. The door swings open hard enough it smacks against the wall. A sharp hiss cuts through the air, but it’s not from Sam.

Someone is in there. My pulse slams against my ribs as I quicken my pace, heart hammering, breath shallow.

What the hell is going on in my dressing room?

I hesitate, hearing the sounds of fighting. I should turn, run, get help. Call what passes for security, which isn’t much, but I don’t. I’m drawn inexorably forward. Stepping inside, I see Sam. He’s locked in a violent struggle with the intruder.

They hit the floor hard, rolling, limbs tangling. Sam slams his fist into the stranger’s ribs and he grunts in pain. In a fluid, ruthless motion, Sam pins the man beneath him, his arm hooked around the strangers throat.

I take a step forward, pulse pounding. Then four fangs flash in the dim light.

A vampire.

Ice floods my veins as my stomach lurches. Sam doesn’t hesitate. He yanks the vampire’s head up then slams it against the hardwood floor. The force of the impact reverberates through the room. Once. Twice. Again. Each sickening thud drowns out the monster’s guttural snarls.

Sam lets go of the vampire’s throat and drives his fist straight into his jaw. The creature’s head rolls sideways with the force of the brutal punch.

“Alcohol, Erica!” Sam barks, his voice a beastly growl. His knuckles flex, readying another blow as he leans in, lips curling back from his teeth. “Who sent you, you fucking prick? Tell me, and I’ll make this quick.”

A twisted smirk splits the vampire’s battered face. His legs thrash, boots kicking against the wall.

“Nobody,” he sneers, fangs glistening with his own blood. “She’s finer than French wine, don’t you think? I couldn’t help myself.”

A sickening wave of revulsion hits hard and fast. I wretch as I yank open the cabinet next to my dressing mirror. Hands shaking, I grab a pink bottle of makeup cleaner. The alcohol fumes fill the air as I unscrew the cap. Behind me, Sam’s fists rain down like sledgehammers, pounding on the vampire’s skull. The sickening cracks don’t sound like a fistfight, they’re the sound of someone demolishing a wall with brute force. I throw the alcohol straight onto the vampire’s face.

He doesn’t have the strength to spit it out. His body jerks, a strangled hiss escaping his lips, or what’s left of them. Sam’s final punch rips his upper lip clean off.

My heart races so hard it hurts, but I can’t look away. Sam is breathing hard, knuckles bloodied, shoulders heaving. And the vampire? He’s barely moving.

Sam growls, a low rumble. His eyes are burning red as he rises from the floor. He moves with a sharp, precise intensity, reaching into his pocket. Without a word he snatches the empty bottle from my fingers.

My breath catches as he circles the barely conscious vampire before dropping to his knees beside him. Then, without hesitation, he shoves the bottle between the bastard’s fangs and flicks open a silver lighter. The flame leaps to life.

The vampire doesn’t have time to scream before the fire engulfs him. It races over his face and arms. Devouring fabric and flesh alike. The acrid stench of burning meat clogs my throat, but before I can react, something even more unnatural happens.

He doesn’t burn like a man. No melted skin and exposed bones. Instead, his entire body suddenly collapses into black ash,leaving a powdery outline where he was. It happens in less than a minute. I stare at the scorched floor, horror and awe warring.

“H-how…?” My voice barely escapes my lips. I turn to Sam, reeling. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t at first,” he says, clenching his jaw and shaking his head. “I was leaving when I smelled him.”

His words knock some sense back into me, but my pulse is erratic, my body trembling with the aftermath of shock, adrenaline, and fear.

“Then why were you here?” The wobble in my voice betrays me. “After…I thought I’d never see you… not here… not again.”

His gaze flickers and he frowns. Something unreadable is behind his eyes.

“Wasn’t my idea,” he says in a clipped, almost reluctant tone. I stare, waiting for him to explain. “Helena had a bad feeling.”

Helena. I swallow hard, trying in vain to force the lump out of my throat. He didn’t come for me. Not of his own accord, but he did come. The weight of everything fractures the walls I’ve been building.

“Sam…” His name leaves my lips on a whisper, a plea tangled in it. My sweet Sam. “After everything, after the hell I dragged you through, after the way I—” my throat tightens, my breath shuddering. “You came to protect me?”

---