Page 107 of The Vampire's Thirst
Dax bolted upright, staring out the darkened window. “Damn.”
She saw a man wearing what Chiara recognized as an insurgent’s black uniform with a patch depicting two mountains and a rising sun between them. Before Brak pressed the gas pedal, the guy signaled his companions. They charged the vehicle, palms to the undercarriage, lifting it off its wheels. Though Brak gunned the engine, the tires spun uselessly while the males held nearly three tons of metal off the pavement.
Dax squeezed hisfreron’sshoulder. “You know what to do. I’ll distract them. Get her out of here.”
Chiara grabbed Dax’s upper arm with both hands. “No. We won’t leave you.”
The SUV rocked, nearly tipping over. Dax gripped her wrists so hard her fingers popped free. “Let go, little witch.”
Chiara bristled, her chest heaving up and down. “You do not get to be a fucking hero again. You’ll die. I’ll never forgive you.”
“Stay safe,” Brak said from behind the wheel. “I’ll send help.”
“Please. Please, don’t do this.” Furious tears rolled down Chiara’s cheeks. “I can help.”
Dax cracked a smile as he leaned toward her, planting a goodbye kiss on her lips. “Now,freron.”
Brak grabbed Chiara’s arm, pulling her over the seat and into the front when Dax opened his door. He lunged out of the SUV to land on the ground with a thud, his long dark hair whipping behind him.
“Hold her tight,” said Dax over his shoulder. “She’ll spell you. The little witch has a mean streak.”
“Turn me loose. I’ll rip off your dick. Make you a fucking eunuch.” He was about to risk his life for her. Again. Chiara fought the demon’s grasp as he floored the vehicle while her hero distracted the attackers.
****
Daxvaulted onto a vampire and a demon, an elbow locked around each breed’s neck. He listened. The SUV squealed away with Chiara yelling obscenities. He chuckled, not envying hisfreron. His witch had a temper.
Taking both Arisen Dawn soldiers to the ground, he banged the bloodsucker’s head into the dirt until the guy passed out. With one temporarily out of commission, Dax plunged a fist through the demon’s flesh to rip out his heart. Returning to make sure the vampire never rose, he put one hand to the head and the other to the neck and twisted.
Pop. See you in Angor.
Mobbed by others, he was up to his ass in black uniforms. He bobbed, weaved, ducked, tossed an incubus over his shoulder and sent a shifter flying above the heads of the attackers.
With extra elbow room, Dax pulled both jungle bolos out of the crisscrossed sheaths on his back. Twisting the weapons in an intricate pattern, he beheaded two miscreants while keeping the others at bay. At least ten mutherfuckers surrounded him. His blades swooshed through the air to keep them at a cautious distance.
Though outnumbered, he only had to wait until the Firebrands arrived. Which would be more than a few minutes. Brak would have to D-chip Kole. After he clarified the situation, the Firebrands would need to muster.
When a fidiot incubus charged, his weighty blade pointed forward, Dax swept his bolo outward and lobbed off his head. Stupid. Two machetes wielded by an expert outclassed a badly handled sword any day. And Dax was talented.
As one of his bolos swung overhead, the other punched downward, the movements so swift as to be a blur. His weapons of choice required fast footwork and evasion, both skills he possessed.
With the blades in his grip, his maneuvers were second nature. He was a honed warrior, sharpened by his enhanced Firebrand speed and years of practice. His feet moved left or right, responding to his attacker. No thought. Only action-reaction. If a target went low, Dax bent his knees, his upper body straight, striking offensively to evade their move. He always protected his exposed hand and stepped toward his opponent.
Others came forward to challenge his skills. Once Dax reduced his opponents to half, he caught the thunder of boots on the ground. They didn’t belong to hisfrerons. His blades still snapping overhead, his body performing an intricate dance of death, he prepped formore Arisen Dawn assholes.
The situation is going from hell no to fucking hell no.
He couldn’t catch a break. Time to live up to his mantra. Wipe out as many mutherfuckers as possible before they get you.
It’s a good day to die. Open the gates to Angor. I’m on my way.
Dax’s enemies circled him, giving him the opportunity to lob off a few more heads.
Swish. Thud. Roll.
Despite being outnumbered, he resumed the deadly dance with his bolos, swinging high, swinging low. Spinning. Hacking limbs. Leveling the field. He sliced a berserker like a side of ham, diced a satyr as he would an onion, and minced a vampire for a clove of garlic in the stew.
Dax was in the zone, the killing zone. A place he knew well. A place where he excelled. No guilt here. No failures. No one to let down.
