Slaying Monsters for the Feeble - Annette Marie Page 0,16
ragged clothing—jeans, a t-shirt, no shoes.
Zora charged, swift and silent. The man sprang up and whirled around. In one hand, he held a small, furry animal. Blood smeared his mouth and jaw beneath hollow cheeks. His elbow joints were the thickest parts of his arms, his hands disturbingly large next to his emaciated wrists.
But his eyes were what horrified me—it was like someone had inverted them. His sclera were pitch black, while the irises and pupils were pearly white with the faintest red ring bordering the two colors.
He threw the limp animal aside and launched at Zora with his mouth gaping and curved fangs stained red. I thought the vampire would spear himself on her blade, but he twisted at the last moment, the point missing him as he grabbed for her face.
She ducked his grasping hand and spun, her blade sinking deep into the back of his thigh. The vampire took one staggering step, then lunged for her. She darted backward—
A small object flew out of the trees and slammed into the vampire’s skull with a sickening crunch.
The vampire pitched over sideways. A man strode out of the trees—Drew, Zora’s partner. He had both hands extended, his face hard with concentration. Above the vampire, a steel orb the size of a softball rose another foot, then plunged downward.
Grunting wetly, the vampire rolled clear an instant before the orb struck the ground with enough force to send up a geyser of mud. He stumbled onto his feet, wavering unsteadily. As he turned, my stomach jumped into my throat.
The steel orb’s first strike had collapsed the vampire’s right temple. How was the creature still standing?
He regained his bearings—somehow, despite part of his brain being mulched—and his sinister eyes swept across Zora and Drew, then found Zylas and me, standing at the edge of the trees.
The vampire’s mouth fell open, fangs on full display. With a gurgling snarl, he leaped toward us, as fast as he’d moved before Zora chopped his leg and Drew bashed his skull in. I backpedaled with a terrified gasp.
Zylas stepped forward, his hand flashing up. His palm smacked into the vampire’s face and he slammed the creature over backward. Bone crunched against the ground.
“Perfect!” Zora yelled. “Hold it there!”
Zylas held the writhing vampire down by his face as Zora sprinted over. She raised her sword, blade pointed downward, and rammed it into the vampire’s chest. His struggles stilled.
She yanked her sword out, oblivious to the gore, while I fought to keep my stomach where it belonged. Zylas released the vampire and backed up to stand beside me like an inanimate puppet.
“If you want to stop a vampire, take off the head,” she said clinically, pulling a rag from her back pocket and wiping off her blade. “If you want to kill the vampiric spirit, stab it through the heart.”
“Oh,” I said faintly. “That’s … I see.”
“I thought for a second there you’d frozen, but you got your demon moving in time. It’s a fast one, eh? Nicely done.”
His unusual weapon hovered by his right elbow as effortlessly as a soap bubble, and I could only assume he was a telekinetic. I wondered how much that steel orb weighed.
My gaze flicked down to the vampire. “It … didn’t die from … from the, uh …”
“Guess where zombie stories really come from?” Zora sheathed her weapon over her shoulder. “The vampiric spirit will keep the body moving, even if it’s mortally wounded. You have to take off the head or damage the heart to kill it. Though, if you inflict lethal injuries, it’ll eventually stop moving—after a few hours.”
I shuddered violently. “By vampiric spirit, you mean fae possession, right?”
“Yep.” She nudged the dead vampire with her boot. “This person was possessed and turned a long time ago. You can tell by how emaciated and sickly he looks, plus his behavior. The old vampires are the most bloodthirsty and wild. Once they can no longer impersonate a human, they deteriorate quickly. They’ll attack anything.”
Anything—like that small animal. Turning, I darted toward the gazebo. A dark shape lay in the grass and I knelt beside it. The vampire’s victim was a young cat—a leggy, half-grown kitten with black fur and three white paws. My chest constricted as I stroked its bloody fur.
A tiny mew escaped it. It was alive?
I unzipped my coat and pulled it off. Ignoring the cold wind cutting through my sweater, I bundled up the kitten and lifted it into my