Page 278 of Golden Eagle

Yes, yes it was that.

It dove for her.

She lifted the gun just in time – she wasn’t breathing, or thinking, her heart wasn’t even beating, but muscle memory brought the gun up. The muzzle caught it in the throat, and it made a sound as the pressure choked it. She pulled the trigger – and kept pulling it.

The hot, wet stuff on her, getting in her eyes, stinging, was blood this time. She lost track of how many times she shot, but finally the vampire collapsed on top of her, boneless, hot blood pouring across her neck, down into the collar of her shirt, down her chest.

It wasn’t dead; she felt its ribs move as it breathed; it made terrible gurgling sounds in the open ruin of its throat, the skin sticking and sucking as the shredded trachea tried to draw air. But she must have hit the spinal cord, because it didn’t move otherwise.

Above her, around her, in the gloaming, there were more shots, and the sound of swords doing nasty work. Shouts, curses, grunts, growls; someone breathing high and fast through an open mouth, struggling.

Another sound, too. Distant, but getting closer; a sound she could feel shuddering through the floor at her back.

The chop of helicopter blades. A steadywhump-whump-whump.

She didn’t want to think about what that meant.

She gritted her teeth and tried to shove the body off of her. It was dense, and heavy, and it stank of unwashed human, and now blood. Her arms were shaking, and it took three tries; more than anything, she clawed across the carpet and dragged herself out from under it.

She sucked in a deep breath, and prepared to sit up–

And a hand latched onto her ankle, and dragged her.

She didn’t scream. Ekaterina Baskin was not a screamer.

But she shouted. A shout that burst out of her before she could react properly. Something strong had her, and dragged her across the carpet, toward one of the cubicles. She tried to sit up, tried to point her gun at it – she had only an impression of fangs, and snarling, and something human-shaped that moved in a hunched-over, animalistic way. She fired, but it went wild, she knew. She was being dragged too fast.

Something clipped her in the back of the head, and she saw stars.

If that thing got her into the cubicle…

No, no, no…

A light came in through the wide windows along the far wall. Not a flashlight beam, not the glow of city lights, but a blinding spotlight. Its fat beam cut through the dark like the sun. She slammed her eyes closed, just a second, against the onslaught. Still being dragged, still heading for that cubicle.

And then the windows shattered.

Wind roared into the openings, tossing bits of forgotten paper, buffeting her skin, making her want to duck and shield her face. Thewhump-whump-whumpof the helicopter wasright there. That was the source of the wind: its blades beating right outside the windows.

Someone howled. A wild, high wolf howl.

The thing dragging her had let go. She squinted, and, silhouetted by the light, she saw Much, his slender frame bowed backward, head flung up; he was the one howling, loudly – joyously.

Figures on ropes swung in through the window. Four, five, six. One was smaller and slighter than the others; it lifted one hand, and Trina saw a bright curl of flame fill its palm.

A man’s voice shouted: “Everybody who’s got a thinking brain in their head, hit the deck! It’s about to get real hot in here.”

“Much, you okay?” another voice asked.

“Yes! Burn the fuckers!” he called back, and dropped.

Trina lay down flat, covered her face with her hands, and fire exploded overhead. She could see it through the gaps in her fingers, orange-red, its heat bearing down on her, its wind more ferocious than that generated by the helo hovering outside.

Snarls and growls filled the air, and the stink of burned hair, and scorched flesh.

The fire receded, and she heard the crack of gunshots, the rat-a-tat-tat of full auto.

She rolled onto her side, and saw them coming in, guns up, firing at the burning, smoking vampires left standing: their saviors.

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