trying to run. He had a bunch of fully loaded guns on him, and except for the Dhestroyer, all the other vampires were still in a stupor. So it wouldn’t be hard to make a getaway.
But no. This was what he had engineered.
Taking all his weapons in hand, he stepped out from the doorway.
The Dhestroyer noticed him instantly and went for his gun, but Mr. F called out to his enemy.
“I’m putting everything I have on me down.”
Mr. F dropped the guns on the asphalt and kicked them away. Then he took his jacket off and let it fall to the ground. As he put his hands up and did a slow turn so that the Dhestroyer would know he presented no harm, the cold of the spring night bit into his unholy flesh and he shivered.
When he finished his full circle, he faced the Brother. “Please . . .” he said in a voice that cracked. “Take me now. You’re the only way out. Please, I’m begging. End this for me. End this . . . for all of us.”
Mr. F was the last lesser.
After centuries of warfare, he was the last of his breed, and he didn’t want to go out in a blaze of glory. He just wanted to go out.
The Brother frowned and seemed to breathe in the air, his nostrils flaring. And then he limped forward.
“I only want this to end.” Mr. F knew he’d already said that, but what did it matter. “I’ve wanted my life to be over for quite some time now. Please . . . let it be here. Let it be now.”
The addiction. The Omega. The war he had been drafted into without his consent.
The Brother stopped and leaned down to the pavement, his narrowed eyes never leaving Mr. F. When he straightened, he’d picked up something, there was something in his hand.
Even in the darkness, Mr. F knew what it was.
A black dagger.
Mr. F closed his eyes and let his head fall back. As the Brother resumed his approach, and the heavy footfalls grew closer, Mr. F got calmer, especially as the scent of the vampire became loud in his nose and he could feel the heat coming off of the male’s massive, deadly body.
“It ends here,” the Dhestroyer said.
“Thank you,” Mr. F whispered.
The strike did not come through the heart. Instead, the blade streaked across the front of Mr. F’s throat. As black blood bubbled up, he started to choke, fluid entering his lungs.
Giving himself up to the death he had begged for, he let himself go loose, but he didn’t fall to the ground. The vampire caught him before he hit the pavement, and Mr. F opened his eyes.
The Dhestroyer lowered his face down and the two of them looked at each other.
Then the vampire opened his mouth . . . and began to inhale.
Syn pounded down Market Street in the darkness, following the scent of lesser. The sheer amount of the stench made him throw some more power into his legs. It was as if an entire army of the enemy had shown up in the field from out of nowhere—and what the fuck was up with the lights? Caldwell’s power had been cut for some reason, only the anemic glow from fixtures powered by emergency generators giving distant stars to some of the skyscrapers.
Not that he gave a fuck.
He re-formed downtown in the quadrant he was usually given, over by the meatpacking district, but as soon as his nose had caught a whiff of this? Cue the running—and he would have dematerialized, but he didn’t know exactly where he was going.
Besides, it was only a matter of a couple of blocks—
The SUV came out of nowhere, rounding the corner from one way as Syn rounded the turn from the other. As the headlights blinded him, he slammed into the front grille, and was so pissed off by the inconvenience, he shoved back at the vehicle, pushing it out of his way.
Then he took off running again.
That slayer stench was a calling card not to be ignored.
One final corner later and Syn went stealth, slowing his speed so he could move in silence, nothing but the creak of his leather jacket to warn anyone of his arrival—
Syn slowed.
Syn stopped.
The carnage was the kind of thing that the brain could not process. Bodies, everywhere on the ground, and he knew them all. It was the Brotherhood. The Bastards. The fighters. Too many to count or to comprehend.