It is one more breath too many.
The wind is knocked out of me as one of the vamps hits me hard in the side. My feet fly out from under me, and I flip as I fall, time simultaneously speeding and slowing. I see flashes of images, catch fragments of thoughts streaking through my head.
Namely; the vampires that are about to drain me, the life I’m not ready to lose, the people I am not prepared to leave behind.
The fact that I do not want to die.
I hit the ground hard enough to send a shock all the way through me, a grunt of pain escaping me.
Then the bitches are on me.
My body is singing with pain, but my magic is ready.
I let the flames explode out of me. The spell takes everything I have.
The effect is immediate, enormous.
The vamps are thrown backwards into the air in a shower of flame and light. Their screeches fill the night.
I feel like a cup that’s been tipped over, energy flowing out of me like liquid. I lay on the dirty concrete, face pressed against the sidewalk, heart thrumming in my chest.
I see a pair of red eyes, hear snake-like hissing, smell the blood of the no-longer-pregnant wolf mother still on me.
Despite the fact that she might have died had I not been there, my last thought is a selfish one.
I wish I would have stayed home tonight.
2 12:27 a.m.
I am out for a split second.
As my vision clears, it takes everything in me to lift my head, to pull myself to a seated position.
It has been ages since I used a burst of magic that powerful. It has bought me precious time, but has left me vulnerable.
I need to get the fuck out of here. ASAP.
A lump forms in my throat as I see that the blast has burned the three vamps beyond recognition, has left them as smoking heaps on the concrete.
And has also managed to grab the attention of other bloodsuckers nearby. Wtf had I been thinking passing through a Red Zone at this time of night? Every supe in Philly knew Red Zones well, knew to steer clear of them after daylight hours. They were vamp hunting grounds.
I should’ve known better, and if I’d been able to get any sleep lately, maybe I wouldn’t have been so eager to get home. Maybe I would’ve spared the extra forty minutes to go around this area.
Somehow, I find my feet. My legs wobble beneath me, but I take a step. Then another. My ribs ache where the vamp struck me, and my other side hurts where it connected with the concrete–but those are worries for later.
Just a little further, and I will be in Old City, firmly within witch territory, magical barrier and all.
Their whispers carry to me on the wind, though I feel no breeze against my skin.
You’re on the wrong side of the line, little witch, taunts one of them.
She smells like flowers, responds another.
Blood and flowers, cackles a third.
Fear strikes me cold, to the bone. I am out of magic for the moment. Clean empty until I can sleep, eat, and recharge, and though I have trained in the martial arts since I was a child, I am no match for a horde of hungry vamps.
They circle the same as had the others, emboldened with the knowledge that I am drained. The fact is written in each of my labored breaths, my sluggish movements.
They draw closer.
I try to summon more fire magic. Sparks snap at my fingertips, but hold no flames.
The vamps laugh. It is as ugly a sound as their screams.
Then, they move.
The attack is too fast for me to defend myself.
I can’t believe this is how I die. People say life is a bitch. I would argue that death is…
The wolf comes out of nowhere.
And though I never like to think of myself as a damsel in distress, I thank the Goddess that he does.
He is in his human form, but I know instantly what he is; dark and muscled, with bright silver, reflective eyes—the eyes of a predator.
The wolf moves through the night with supernatural speed, taking the vamp nearest me by the neck and tossing her against the side of a building as though she weighs no more than a doll.
He backhands another, brute strength sending her stumbling.
The vamp’s mouth spreads wide, until it is a grotesque joke of a smile–three rows of razor sharp fangs flashing in the streetlights.
He kicks a third directly in the midsection. She hits the front of an abandoned row home so hard the whole structure shudders.
Then he is shoving me forward, urging me to move faster. I have never known a werewolf to do a kind deed for a stranger, and I do not trust him, but my choices at the moment are that or certain death.
I do as the wolf says, grateful that he seems to be herding me toward the Old City barrier.
“You move too slow, witch,” he mutters under his breath.
I flash him a look but hold my tongue. I haven’t the energy to argue, anyway.
In my peripherals, I see red eyes flash as the vamps take to the rooftops, leaping and skittering and crawling over them like giant beetles or roaches.
My stomach twists. We are not out of danger yet.
“Faster,” the wolf growls.
I grunt, not bothering to tell him that I’m going as fast as I can, which, to me, should be obvious. It’s not as though I’m considering this a stroll in the park or something.
Why is he out here alone, anyway? Wolves are as likely to travel in groups as vamps.
The border lies just up ahead, the magical barrier calling out to the magic in my blood; calling me home, if I can only reach it.
The wolf, however, will not be able to cross the border—not without my permission, and with the way
