claws were as razor sharp as the others.
Damon took a step or two backward to widen the distance between them, keeping his target squarely in his sights.
Katelynn stopped in mid-stride, one foot still raised in the air, as she saw Damon raise his pistol and point it in her direction. This close, the barrel of the gun seemed impossibly wide, and she could almost believe she could look down its length to see the bullet inside.
From the glazed look in Damon’s eyes, Katelynn knew he was not seeing her. His lack of response to her earlier cries suddenly made sense as she realized he was seeing something else, some phantom in his mind that the Nightshade must have conjured forth. That Damon perceived her as a threat was not in doubt; the hand holding the pistol on her didn’t waver an inch. Katelynn slowly put her foot down, and tried to decide what to do.
She looked up, tearing her gaze away from the gun, and searched Damon’s face for any sign of recognition.
There wasn’t any.
She saw only hatred and fear.
In that moment, things went from bad to worse.
From where she stood, Katelynn watched in horror as the doorway behind Damon suddenly filled with a human form. One side of the man’s face was a devastated ruin, the left eye mangled beyond recognition from the bullet that had torn through that side of his face. Blood flowed freely from the wound, mixing with the steady flow that poured out of a similar wound in the man’s upper chest. Despite the injuries, his stance was firm, his smile grim, and in his hands he held the English long sword.
In the next instant, Hudson Blake extended the sword directly before him and charged at Damon!
Damon saw the beast’s gaze flick past his shoulder and knew in that instant that he’d been trapped. Determined to at least cause some damage before dying, Damon ignored the motion behind him for a second, just long enough to squeeze off a shot at the creature in front of him.
A sharp, cold numbness pierced his back as he pulled the trigger. He watched as the beast before him was thrown backward by the force of the shot, but knew instinctively that he hadn’t hit it in any particularly vital area, the attack from behind having spoiled his aim.
Then a nova-hot blaze of pain surged up from his stomach and caused him to glance down in shock, only to discover half a foot of cold steel protruding from an area just left of his navel. Blood pumped from the wound in a surging, crimson tide and Damon knew his time had just run out.
So be it.
At least he’d take some of them with him.
His gaze fell on the form on the floor in front of him, and he blinked his eyes in shocked disbelief. That wave of chestnut hair, that long limbed form was unmistakable, and in a corner of his pain-filled mind Damon found himself wondering how he could ever have mistaken Katelynn for a Nightshade. Whoever was wielding the sword chose that moment to yank it violently from his body. He dimly heard the clatter of his gun striking the floor in front of him, and Damon felt the world around him spin as he slipped into a darkness deeper than night.
Katelynn found herself lying on her stomach, gazing at the floor in dazed bewilderment. She was aware of a sharp pain radiating up from her leg, reminding her of what had just occurred. Blake’s attack had spoiled Damon’s aim, so she had taken the bullet in the leg instead of the chest. The force of the blow had knocked her off her feet.
She lifted her head and looked around, discovering that Damon’s gun lay just inches from her. Damon himself lay crumbled on the floor a few feet away, a brilliant crimson stain spreading across the floor around him.
Blake was raising his weapon for another strike, looking more than anything as if he intended to cleave Damon’s head from his body with that one, simple stroke.
It only took an instant for all of this to register in Katelynn’s mind.
Then she reacted.
As Blake advanced the last few steps and raised his sword high over his head, Katelynn lunged out and grasped Damon’s pistol.
Blake started the downstroke of his sword.
As if in slow motion, Katelynn watched the sword cutting through the air, watched as her own arm raised the weapon and pointed it in Blake’s direction.
She had just a fleeting instant to pray and then she pulled the trigger.
The shot took Blake high in the chest for the second time that night, throwing him backward several feet. The sword spun through the air, off to one side.
Katelynn barely noticed.
She was too busy pulling the barrel down in line with Blake and firing again.
And again.
The second shot opened a red wound in his stomach.
The third flung him violently backward off his feet to lie unmoving on the floor.
She inched forward, keeping the gun on him, until she was close enough to see that he was no longer breathing.
Satisfied the son of a bitch wasn’t going to get up again, she turned her attention to the wound in her leg. It was bleeding freely, but not heavily, and she clamped her hand tightly to it while using the other to strip off her belt. She wrapped the belt around her leg just above the wound and cinched it tight. The pain was intense, but she was relieved to see that the wound wasn’t spraying blood the way it might have been had the bullet struck a major artery.
She glanced around for Sam, but didn’t see him or the Nightshade any longer. She then turned her attention to Damon alone.
He hadn’t moved since he’d fallen.
When she dragged herself over to him, she discovered he was alive but unconscious. From the amount of blood staining the floor, however, he might not stay that way for long.
Katelynn stripped off her sodden sweatshirt and was wadding it up to use as a compress when Damon opened his eyes.
'Katelynn,' he gurgled, blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth.
That wasn’t a good sign, she knew.
'Easy, Sheriff. It’s okay.' She rolled him onto his side and pressed the sweatshirt against the wound in his back where it quickly became saturated with blood.
She rolled him face-up, his weight causing the sweatshirt to become a makeshift compress on the wound.
Her actions had sent pain flaring up her leg, and she was forced to stop a moment in an effort to fight off the gray haze that was threatening to overwhelm her.
Once she had her equilibrium back, she tore the bottom half of her shirt free and pressed it against the wound on Damon’s stomach. It, too, was instantly soaked with blood, but it would have to do. She had nothing else to stop the bleeding. The Sheriff’s hand moved to hold the bandage in place, causing Katelynn to look up at his face. His eyes were open but free of pain; he was obviously in shock. He maintained enough control, however, to nod toward the door behind her.
'Sam went on alone,' he choked out.
Fear seized Katelynn’s heart in its stony grip.
Damon indicated the radio on his belt with a feeble motion. 'Call for back-up. Then follow Sam.' He appeared to want to say more, but choked on his own blood and had to turn away to cough it free. That motion alone exhausted him. He slumped back down, barely conscious.
Katelynn didn’t think he would make it until help arrived.
She took the radio from his belt and pressed the switch. 'Hello? Hello? This is Katelynn Riley. The Sheriff has been stabbed and needs medical help. We’re at the University, in Keating Hall.'
Questioning voices came back over the air, but Katelynn ignored them. She didn’t have time to answer any of
