There were ten mercenaries left.
Bullets sizzled through the freezing currents. She pulled herself behind a piling and gathered her bearings. Shredded from the elbow down, her left arm repaired itself. Bone grew and strengthened, new skin stretched, pulling itself back together until the wounds were a distant memory. The aurorium scratch on the back of her leg would take much longer to heal. She glanced down at the scars on the back of her hands and let the other wounds mend.
The chill of the water brought back the past she fought so hard to forget. She stared out at the expanse of the sea stretching into darkness. The shape of her sister loomed in the distance as memories flashed back to their fateful voyage through the North Atlantic. The seas were much more violent then. Over two-hundred years had passed and this one memory would never leave her alone.
She squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth. Shaking away her haunted past, she concentrated on the task on hand. Trevin and Moreci had forced her into the mold of a trained monster, covered her body in aurorium scars, and made her the way they wanted her to be.
Not anymore.
She squinted toward the surface, where Drake and his men were waiting. With fists clenched, she swam back to the foot of the pier to finish the job. A diversion was necessary. Make them look one way, attack from behind. She had done this a thousand times. Simple.
With powerful blows, she split the pilings and tore them apart one by one. The pier fell to pieces, cutting off the men’s escape to land. Unless they were very strong, very fast swimmers, they were trapped.
The rainstorm yielded to a drizzle as she glided through the water and popped up underneath the pier, listening to the chaos: feet losing purchase, men falling down, weapons skidding into the water. Others shot blindly into the sea. Two of them spoke, the ogrek and the leader, Drake of their withering, incompetent operation.
“Where’s she at?” Gerrick asked.
“We lost fourteen men in less than half a minute. Money be damned!” Drake shouted.
Walls of plaster, thick wood cracked apart, and electric lights exploded as the warehouse collapsed into the rolling sea. Flames spread through what was left. The roars and screeches of the caged beasts were deafening.
Such a perfect diversion.
Fang leapt from the sea and picked Drake’s men off one by one, attacking from different points. Their guns fired wildly at the empty air and rolling waves. Pent-up fury rushed through her veins, and their screams were stifled as they sank into the dark water. She leapt once more out of the water, landing on the ogrek’s shoulders. His wide muscles tensed, but not to fight. He was confused, terrified.
Useless.
Her sharpened teeth sank into his neck, and blood gushed from the pierced skin. Warm tingles washed over her skin, and her eyes glazed over as crimson rivulets streaked down her chin. She drank what her body had been craving for years. Weakness and fatigue evaporated as delicious warmth flooded her muscles and bones.
The hollow shell of Gerrick crumpled to the floor. A wide smear of blood covered her mouth from ear to ear, dripping onto her chest. Drake squinted through the smoke and flames, watching the shape of the vampire advance.
He pointed his forty-five-caliber revolver. The aurorium bullet burned bright inside the barrel, her warning signal.
“You think you can cover fifteen yards in a hurry?” he asked.
She tilted her head.
“I don’t miss, neither,” he added.
“I’m pretty certain you missed a few times.” She wiped her mouth.
He cocked the hammer back.
She blurred.
His finger squeezed, but she was next to him, bending his elbow. His ear disappeared in a burst of hot, orange flame.
He cried out, and his knees slammed into the planks, the gun clattering to the side.
“One of your mistakes was not carrying enough aurorium,” she said, picking splinters from her knuckles. “The handlers always carried aurorium-embedded pendants, knuckle-dusters, neck collars and other tools. Kept me on my toes. Compliant. Fearful. Orderly. But, that was from experience. They got tired of losing men.”
She flexed her fingers, rolled her neck and squinted at the puddle of mess kneeling before her. Flames from the warehouse glinted off his dripping, bloody face. Wet planks shimmered orange and gold beneath her feet. The pitiful cries of beasts had long since subsided.
“Aww, your lips are quivering,” she teased. “And you made a mess in your pants. I thought you were a professional.”
“Ears are ringin’,” he groaned.
“Indeed. Now. Tell me, who hired you?” she asked.
He grimaced. “Damn ear’s gone. Can’t think straight.”
She had no pity for him. His heart rate had increased with stress, but it indicated he wasn’t lying. He was a hired gun with limited knowledge of his employer. Amateur.
“What are your leads on Trevin and Moreci?”
“Trevin’s in his whorehouses just a few blocks from here. No one’s seen Moreci.” His breaths came in ragged gasps, and he kept his eyes shut. Pain compliance always worked. She had had years of it.
“And what are they going to do with the book?”
“Why would I know?” he spat.
She used her Reach. The slightest vibrations echoed from his conscience. Loathsome memories lapped against her own conscience, and she recognized the abhorrent emotional scarring on his soul, part and parcel of a murderer. And he wasn’t just a murderer of men.
“You don’t like women, do you?”
He moaned.
“I
