Page 19 of A Touch of Madness

The vampire is monstrous, all gangly legs, its features distorted as he drains the woman of her lifeforce. Scars lace its body, deep etches into his naked back. He’s in nothing but a pair of blood-soaked pants and shoes. Its eyes seem to glow and are much too large for its gaunt face, and its jagged fangs glisten with fresh blood as he moans into the night, drinking from the poor woman whose body goes limp.

Lucian’s voice cuts through the scene, sharp and commanding, more forceful than I’ve ever heard it before. “Let her go!”

The ragged vampire lifts its head, its lips peeling back in a terrifying snarl as the woman’s thick, bright blood drips from his fangs. The sound it makes is guttural, animalistic, and it sends a cold shiver down my spine.

“Get back, Sylvie,” Lucian says without looking at me, his body tense as a spring.

But I can’t move. My feet feel rooted to the ground, my eyes locked on the woman who’s barely clinging to life. My instincts are screaming to save her. Get to her and save her. But how?

The vampire hisses, crouching lower and cocking its head to the side, as if preparing to pounce.

Lucian doesn’t wait for the vampire to make a move. He’s on it in an instant, grabbing it by the throat and slamming it into the nearest wall. The impact cracks the brick, and for a moment, I think it’s over as its body temporarily slumps, falling to the ground.

But as quick as it went down, the vampire lashes out again, its long, talon-like nails raking across Lucian’s shoulder. He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he grips the creature tighter, his knuckles whitening as he bares his own fangs—looking dangerous and deadlier than I’ve ever seen him.

“Leave. Now,” he growls, his voice low and menacing, so deep it shakes me. “Or you’ll wish for a faster death.”

The feral vampire doesn’t heed the warning. With a guttural roar, it breaks free, throwing Lucian back a step and knocking him off-balance. The fight is a blur of motion—snarls, flashes of nails and fangs, the metallic tang of blood thick in the air.

The unruly vampire is strong, but Lucian is faster, more controlled, and stronger yet. He grabs the vampire by the arm, twisting until I hear the sickening snap of bone. He lets go and the arm dangles limply at its side.

“Run!” Lucian snarls at me, but his tone is sharp with command, not fear.

I force myself to move, darting toward the fallen woman, as opposed to the shop like I’m sure Lucian was intending. Her pulse is faint, her skin pale and clammy, beads of sweat rolling down her forehead and landing in her long lashes. I press my hands to the wound on her neck, trying to stanch the flow of blood, but it’s no use.

Behind me, the vampire lets out a long, ravenous wail, and I risk a glance over my shoulder. Lucian has it pinned, his fangs bared as if he’s about to finish it off. But then, the creature locks eyes with him, and something shifts.

Fear.

The vampire flips like a switch and kicks out, catching Lucian in the stomach. It uses the momentary distraction to twist free and dart into the shadows, its movements erratic but impossibly fast.

“Damn it!” Lucian mutters, his voice low and full of disappointment.

He doesn’t chase after it. Instead, he turns back to me, his expression hard.

“Is she?—?”

“She’s alive,” I say quickly, though the words feel fragile.

Lucian kneels beside me, his presence grounding me even as my hands tremble against the woman’s pale skin. Blood pools beneath her on the cracked pavement, glistening like spilled ink in the dim light.

“She’s fading quickly,” I whisper, panic tightening my chest. “I can try to heal her, like I helped you in the chamber.”

Lucian doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he shrugs off his coat and rolls up his sleeve, exposing the pale skin of his corded forearm. His movements are steady, deliberate, as though he’s done this before.

“Lucian, what are you?—”

“Sylvie, please.” His voice is calm, but there’s a raw edge beneath it. “Stay back.”

I don’t move. I can’t. I watch, frozen, as he rips into his skin using his fangs to puncture two small holes and brings his wrist to the woman’s chapped lips.

“Drink,” he murmurs, his voice low and coaxing. There’s something so intoxicating about the way he says that one word, and I have to bat away the feeling growing inside of me.

Her lips part slightly on instinct, her eyes fluttering open just enough to meet his. They’re unfocused, glassy with pain and fear, but his voice seems to cut through it all—reaching her just in time. She obeys, her mouth clamping down on his wrist with an instinctive desperation.

The sight should terrify me—itdoesterrify me—but I can’t look away. There’s something strangely intimate about the way Lucian cradles her, his hand supporting the back of her neck while she drinks. His face remains impassive, though his jaw tightens, and his breathing grows shallow.

She becomes almost…greedy. Latching onto his wrist with her hands and drinking furiously from his vein, life coming back into her eyes.

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