her back. She pitched forward, arms flung in front of her to break the fall. Her palms hit the floor with a dull thud, but they couldn't stop her from half-rolling, half-skidding along the boards.
When she came to a stop, Victoria pushed herself up on her hands and knees. The floor pitched and rolled like the deck of a ship. Struggling to rise, she realized her right hand was now empty. The impact must have knocked the Colt out of her grasp. She now faced this monster armed with nothing but a small carving.
As if to underline the point, the blue eyes loomed above the place where she had been standing a moment before. "This here's a pretty little gun you got," the man said. "Seems a right shame that it got itself all banged up like it did. That's what happens when a girl plays at gunfighting, I reckon."
There was a thump at her feet. Kneeling down, Victoria reached toward the sound. Her fingers touched on cold metal. Picking it up, she could immediately tell that something was wrong with the revolver. It felt different in her hand, as if the weight had shifted. She ran it along the back of her other hand, and her heart sank.
The barrel was bent back on itself.
"We gave you a chance, darlin," the man said. "We let you go easy and free, but you just had to stick in our boots like a devil's thorn." His eyes blazed as he approached her. "Ain't pretty what happens to them as stick in the devil's own boot, neither."
Victoria raised the crucifix, and the blue eyes halted. "I do not fear you," she lied.
"Then you ain't got the sense of a toad. Waving that matchstick around ain't going to get you nowhere. I ain't afraid of no kindling."
Holding her useless gun, Victoria backed away from the man. Her mind raced. Even if she had the bowie knife with her, she knew it wouldn't work against him. It was just ordinary steel, and Cora had explained to her how only blessed steel or silver weapons could harm vampires. Without a weapon, she couldn't hope to fight.
The man called Fodor Glava seemed to read her thoughts. "You ain't got a prayer, darlin. Best you just come quietlike. Makes it easier on one of us, at least."
His laughter turned Victoria's stomach. "Then kill me," she said. Her words might be her doom, but she wouldn't die kneeling to this man. "If it really is just a piece of kindling, what's stopping you?"
"I like them alive," he said. "Ain't no fun if you just lays there like a dead fish."
"I do not fear you," she said again, trying to muster her resolve.
"Pudding-headed whore. You got every reason to be scared of me, and here you is being all uppity. Digging your own grave, or so they say." He laughed. "You ain't exactly going to need a grave when I get through with you. No, I reckon I'll keep you on as my own personal pokey-poke for all time. A fine gentleman such as myself deserves himself a fancy girl, ain't that right?"
The man's eyes vanished without warning. Startled, she looked around. Lightning lit the interior of the house, but he was nowhere to be seen. The crucifix trembled in her hand as thunder shook the air. In that instant, her nerve broke. The fear of death consumed her, overwhelming what little courage she had rallied. It took control of her body, turning her toward the door and forcing her legs into a mad dash. Dropping the ruined gun on the floor, she nearly tore the doorknob apart as she twisted it and yanked the door open.
Victoria kept just enough sense to point the crucifix behind her as she ran out into the storm. Rain splattered in cold droplets on her face. Blinking it away, she charged through the yard in the direction of the barn. Mud splashed beneath her heels, and she fought to keep her footing amid the hidden rocks and twisted scrub. She could feel the man giving chase, the hunger and lust burning brightly in his eyes, but she could not spare the time to glance backward.
Lightning flooded the yard with brilliance, allowing her a brief moment of sight. The barn loomed just ahead, its hunched shape offering her the one chance of salvation she had. Victoria brought her arms in close for a final, desperate sprint. An arm of the crucifix jabbed into her side