Ignoring the holy silver pressed to his skin was far easier for Rahil than most vampires, but the metal-work blade spearing his palm to the table had him trapped. Still, he used the last of his energy to twist away from the hand clamped to his mouth, shoving William back just enough to—
“Mercer!”The name came out more gurgle than shout as William hit him again. Rahil’s vision wavered, but he didn’t fall, both of William’s fists and his pinned arm holding him up.
“You won’t be a good bat and die quietly, huh?” William grumbled. He grabbed Rahil’s other arm.
Fear shot through Rahil, and he jerked away on instinct, but he was too weak and trapped to stop William as he forced the back of Rahil’s other hand to the workbench. Rahil managed a whimper, the sound turning to a hiss when William pressed the tip of one of Mercer’s metal working blades to his skin. William pushed.
This agony was worse than the first time, amped by terror and a sharp rush of something like claustrophobia.
Willaim pushed Rahil into the counter, leaving him slumped there in his pain as he wandered through the black spots in Rahil’s vision to the box of Mercer’s holy silver.
William bounced a little charm in his palm as he returned. “I think I can waste a piece of this if I have the maker’s daughter, huh.” He grabbed Rahil by the shirt, forcing him up. Rahil swore that the closer the charm came, the worse his shakes got, the sun-poisoning reacting to the presence of the silver like a flock of vultures to a kill. William’s grin flickered dastardly in his eyes. “Let Vitalis-Barron see what happens when a vamp swallows the sun.”
He grabbed Rahil’s chin, and Rahil tried to scream again, but it came out a yowl as William shoved the charm into his mouth, wedging it toward the back of his throat. Rahil gagged, twisting away from the terrible metal and the man assaulting him with it. William clapped his hand over Rahil’s mouth.
“Don’t disappoint me,” William hissed. His finger and thumb closed around Rahil’s nostrils.
The sudden lack of air hit him like a ton of bricks, his chest swelling and shaking as nothing came in. Each useless gasp made his throat tighten. His lungs burned and his palms seared as he tried to struggle, the holy silver charm resting at the back of his throat like a weight.
What more could it possibly do to him? The metal didn’t hurt. He was weak already, shaking, aching, bleeding from the blades in both his hands, not strong enough to push William off for a single breath of air. But who knew what holy silver did when ingested, when circulated through a vampire’s bloodstream? Whatever that was, Rahil guessed it wouldn’t be quick. All he needed, though, was long enough to help Lydia.
But as Rahil tried to focus his attention beyond William, he realized Lydia didn’t need his help any longer.
She crashed into William, a smithing tool in each hand as she slashed them into his back. William stumbled, the handle ofsomethingsticking out of his shoulder-blade. He thrust Rahil away as he did.
Rahil’s body swallowed despite his efforts to stop it, the press of the metal forcing the motion. He gasped, feeling the fresh air plunge down his throat after the holy silver charm, but it was too late. His gut twisted, and he didn’t know whether it was dread or the charm, but he felt instantly sick.
He could think about that later, though—if there was a later.
He had to ensure there was a later forLydia, at least.
She must have freed herself with one of the tools she’d stabbed into William, but she still seemed off-kilter, leaning half her weight on Rahil as she grabbed at the blade in his left hand. To her credit, she didn’t hesitate. A fresh wave of pain rolled over Rahil as she pulled it free, but her presence—her freedom—gave Rahil the strength to awkwardly help her remove the other.
Rahil ignored the pain that screamed through his palms and bones and churned in his stomach as he burst up, one arm already looped around Lydia. He grabbed Leah’s nearly finished protective device with his other, forcing himself to move through the agony. Blood oozed from his palms onto the project. William looked more shocked than hurt, and Rahil took the only chance they were likely to get, charging past him for the shed entrance. They burst into the sunlight, the cords from Leah’s protective device flailing after them.
The house—they just needed to get to the house.
He could already hear William behind them, huffing under his breath. Rahil pulled Lydia faster. They crashed into the backdoor, Lydia banging as Rahil dragged at the handle, leaving dark red smudges in his wake. Nothing—locked. Kat whimpered on the other side, uselessly jumping against the glass.
“The front,” Rahil gasped, and yanked Lydia onward.
Every window was locked, every light turned off, blinds closed and house silent, but Rahil banged on the glass as he passed, hollering for Mercer. His car was gone from its usual place in the driveway.
“Goddamn,” Rahil hissed, trying to be angry instead of afraid. His hood bounced against his back, but his hands shook too much to pull it up. He knew what he’d find at the front door before he even tried the knob. Locked, again.
Mercer hadleft.
Rahil’s legs trembled. His stomach gave an uncomfortable twist.
“Your place!” Lydia shouted, dragging him along.
He wanted to protest—there had to be somewhere she could go if she wasn’t with him, a neighbor who’d let her in or call the cops—but she just kept pulling, guiding him down the street and back into the nearest spotty patch of woods, angling toward Rahil’s house. As the trees closed behind them, he risked a look back. He caught the angry form of William’s silhouette and a putrid whiff of his blood.
Rahil shifted his grip on Leah’s protective device, its cords now tucked against his chest. If they slowed enough, maybe… but he hadn’t been able to figure out why it wasn’t working earlier, not with all the time he’d had so far. What use would he be, stumbling between the forest and the sun, his pained hands shaking and bleeding and his mind frazzled?
Lydia seemed to be gaining strength as they ran, and it took him nearly a minute of scrambling after her to realize it was the opposite—he was growingweaker. Each step was a collision of muscle against bone, nothing but willpower pulling him forward. They would lose William soon, he told himself—they knew where they were going, charging through the trees, across neighborhood streets, around micro-cemeteries, and back into the shadows, dense brush at their heels—at some point, they’d turn the right corner, round the right trunk. But every time they slowed, tripped, redirected a little too suddenly, Rahil could hear William’s steady jogging behind them: a predator who already knew he had his prey cornered, even if they hadn’t realized it yet.
They had to do something. And soon—preferably before Rahil’s legs stopped functioning.
