of the two men walking toward the marshal's station. Coaxing his drunken legs into a run, he took after them, his revolver still in his hand. It went off before he could take aim, and the bullet soared over the vampires' heads. They both turned to face him. Jack skidded to a halt a few yards from them, his vision swimming. He took aim at Glava, but before he could pull the trigger, a gloved hand clamped down on his wrist and twisted. There was a snapping sound.
"Your persistence is admirable, but also irritating," Glava said, twisting the arm further. Jack cried out in pain. Around them, people stopped to watch the scene unfold.
Another twist brought the deputy to his knees. "You were fond of the whore, were you?" Glava asked. Jack managed a nod, the fire in his eyes replaced by tears. The vampire looked up at his apprentice, a sadistic smile on his lips. "Then perhaps you should be reunited."
Glava's free hand grabbed a fistful of Jack's shirt and hauled him to his feet. With a shove, he began marching the deputy back toward the saloon. Behind him, Wash picked up Jack's fallen pistol and stuck it in his belt. He had taken two steps toward the saloon when another shout rang out. Turning, he saw a short man with a fiery red beard running toward him at full speed, a big revolver in each hand.
Glava turned as well, Jack's shirt still firmly in his grip. The man stopped a few feet from them, aiming one pistol at each vampire. "Just where do you boys think you're going with my deputy?"
"To reunite him with his whore," Glava said. "You must be the local marshal."
"Mart Duggan," the marshal replied. "I have it on good authority that his whore is dead, so you best start talking sense before I put a bullet in each of you."
Glava looked at Wash. "Might you care to handle this situation, Mr Jones? I am so looking forward to bringing these two lovers back together."
The vampire turned and began walking with his captive again. Duggan took careful aim at the dark hair and pulled back the hammer. Before he could fire, Wash Jones appeared in front of him and knocked the pistol from his grip. Without thinking, the marshal swung his other revolver toward those grinning blue eyes. He made contact, the barrel smashing into Wash's temple, but the vampire absorbed the blow without taking a step. Wash reached up and tore the second pistol from Duggan's hand. He tossed it aside, then wrapped his fingers around the marshal's neck and pulled him close.
"I never liked lawmen," Wash said. He shoved Duggan backward, sending him sprawling in the snow. The impact jarred the marshal's bones, sending spikes of pain through his body. Before he could recover, Wash Jones stood over him, blue eyes alight with pleasure. The vampire bent down, grabbed two fistfuls of Duggan's shirt, and pulled him to his feet.
"You should know, marshal, that you ain't the first lawman I've done in," Wash said, "but you're the first I aim to make my slave." His grin widened, revealing his fangs. "Why, I reckon you ought to be honored by that. You get to live forever in the cause of serving a higher being."
"I already do," Duggan said.
Wash laughed in his face. He placed a cold hand on the marshal's forehead, pushing his chin up. Duggan's neck pulsed with the blood flowing beneath it. Wash took a moment to prepare himself for the bliss to come, then lowered his face to the lawman's neck.
Before his fangs could pierce the marshal's skin, a wave of nausea hit Wash like a flash flood. The strength evaporated from his limbs. Confused, he dropped the marshal in the snow and backed away. After a few steps, the sensation subsided. Regaining his bearings, Wash made to charge back toward the marshal when the nausea hit him again. He crumpled to the ground, holding his stomach, pale face twisted in pain and surprise. His immortal body was above disease and even death. Nothing should be able to cause any pain to him now, yet here he was, lying helpless in the snow. His stomach heaved, trying to vomit out its contents, but nothing came.
Boots crunched in the snow near his head. Through his agony, he looked up at the form of Mart Duggan standing over him, a crucifix in his outstretched hand. The sight of the holy symbol made Wash's