chest, running from shoulder to navel as Christoph fought back, shredding the already torn netted shirt. Christoph hadn’t expected to be thrown against the wall, but he was tough and an experienced fighter, already hyped up from the bit of blood in his mouth. The salty, coppery liquid was normally enough to kick in his instincts to kill and feed, but only when it was hot and alive. The vamp’s was cool, the sensation of it in his mouth and sliding down his throat like ice and velvet. A touch of something fundamentally wrong tainting it. Alive-but-not. Unnatural.
It only pissed him off more.
Enraged, Royce tangled his fingers in Christoph’s hair, yanking the Were off balance. Despite the pinprick of claws digging into his wrist, the vamp followed up with a leg hooked around Christoph’s, sending the bigger man tumbling face-first to the ground. The Were didn’t let go of his arm, dragging Royce down until the two were rolling on the ground, snarling and clawing at each other.
Before long, the Were had a few shallow cuts across his jaw and chest from Royce’s blunt, manicured nails, and deep bruises from where he’d been kicked, kneed, elbowed, and punched. The speed was blinding, the pain phenomenal. Royce wasn’t putting added kinetic force behind the strikes—he didn’t need to. His frame was deceiving; for while he was toned, it was his vampiric powers that gave him unnatural might to more than match Christoph’s.
Christoph didn’t have enough time to shift into his half-man, half-wolf form. It might have evened the odds, but he was too afraid to take his attention off the vampire long enough to do so. Perhaps he could use his greater weight to pin the vamp to the floor until he figured out some better way of stopping him.
A low “oof” was forced out of him as Royce jabbed his fingers into Christoph’s gut. Grimacing, he grabbed the vampire’s wrists, using what little leverage he had to shove the smaller man onto the floor. Royce slid on his butt on the linoleum, twisting to get back to his feet, but Christoph was on top of him before he could stand. He knocked the vamp back down to land on top of bags of chips and pretzels they’d knocked over earlier, popping the plastic and scattering bits and pieces across the floor.
Christoph dug a knee into the middle of Royce’s back, pulling his wrists behind him and pinning him. The Were was surprised and ashamed to feel himself shaking in reaction—then angry to realize it. Especially when the vamp laughed, his voice low and rich with mocking undertones.
“Not bad for a dog. Not too old to learn new tricks, are you?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Christoph demanded, irritated that the leech sounded more cheerful than angry or frightened.
A sudden surge of unseen power shot them toward the ceiling, lifting them clear off the ground until they shattered the track lighting and cheap ceiling tile. Christoph cried out as broken glass and metal shards lodged in his back, losing his grip on the vampire. Punctuating the battle were the terrified screams of the clerk, lights flickering, and sparks spitting from newly severed wires.
The vampire twisted around mid-air, sinuous as a snake, and quickly reversed their positions so that he held Christoph’s wrists and rode his back when they landed heavily on the floor. Blood spattered from Christoph’s nose and split lip as his face hit the tile.
“Good dog,” Royce caroled, ruffling the Were’s curly brown hair with his free hand. “Next time, I’ll teach you sit, stay, and beg.”
Christoph groaned deep in his chest, not getting up when the vamp stood and sauntered to the counter. The kid cringing behind it loosed a high-pitched shriek when he saw the bright red eyes peering down at him, throwing the dirty magazine over his head like it might serve as protection against the monsters in the room.
Shrugging, Royce pulled one of his business cards and a $20 out of his thin wallet. “Keep the change. When the cops get here, tell them to call my office if they need my statement. Everything should be on the security tapes. I’m not pressing charges at this time.”
An incoherent moan was the clerk’s only answer.
Royce hummed a cheerful song under his breath as he walked toward the exit, scooping up the container of ice cream off the floor on his way. Dented and battered, maybe a bit melted, but it was whole.
He still had