led me upstairs and down a dark hallway into an office room that would have been nicely decorated if the designer had put more than the bare minimum required to fill a shoe closet. It was nice, I guess, if you were into the whole minimalist thing. I wasn’t. Robert leaned against the desk in the middle of the room with an expectant look on his face while I tried to think of a way to just kill him without getting in trouble.
It was thoughts like this that stopped me from seeing a psychiatrist – can’t fight supernatural baddies from a padded room or jail cell.
As it turned out, I didn’t need to think of anything. The assassins that smashed through the windows and shot Robert in the head handled it all for me.
6
The fact that no one came bursting through the door at the commotion spoke volumes about Robert’s security. If I’d known things were this lax, I would’ve snuck into his place while he was sleeping and stolen a sample. He probably wouldn’t have woken up – vampires slept like the dead. Literally. Khalil was going to get a talking to about this oversight later. Hell, he probably knew and just wanted to get me all dressed up. Aren’t I full of it tonight?
There were three attackers. They were dressed in all black and wrapped in shawls the color of dried blood that obscured their shoulders and face, leaving only a strip open for their eyes. That small strip revealed they all had tan skin but not much else. Though why they thought three people were necessary to break in and shoot a guy – vampire or otherwise – in the head was beyond me.
My personal opinion of Robert aside, it was my job to protect the residents of this city. I threw an ice spear at the farthest attacker and roundhouse kicked the one closest to me, the feeling of impact almost convincing me to wear heels full-time. The third attacker drew a curved sword and slashed, missing me by about an inch. I flung a ball of force at them before turning to check on Robert. He was still down from the shot, but nothing short of setting him on fire or cutting his head off would permanently kill him.
A heavy pressure slammed against my skull as one of the assassins hit me from behind. I staggered forward, hitting the floor before rolling over to avoid another hit. I kicked off my shoes and backed away from my attackers, shooting bursts of lightning in the figures’ general vicinity.
The lightning knocked them back, but didn’t appear to faze them much. Not human, and their coordinated movements confirmed they were professionals. Who sent them? Who wanted Robert dead?
I flung a fireball and they scattered, one of them pitching a handful of throwing knives at me. I brought up a barrier to deflect the projectiles as I grabbed my heels and charged forward. In a rare moment of perfect aim, I jammed a heel right into one of the attacker’s eyes, drawing a high-pitched scream.
Female. And bitter, it seemed. She shoved her sword through me, ripped it out, and kicked me in the face. I hit the ground with a shout, blood spilling from my abdomen and nose. One of the attacker’s hands flashed, and I brought my barrier back up in time to deflect a fireball.
Heat rushed over my side and a bright light flashed. I shouted again, this time in anger as a giant fire flared where Robert’s body used to be, the flames crackling for a few seconds before dying out and leaving nothing but a body’s worth of ash.
By the time I’d gathered myself up, the attackers were gone. I squished my face up at the feel of my insides and skin knitting back together. Every time I had a torso wound, I always thought back to the first time I’d gotten stabbed through the stomach. It had been an accident, but I almost got my arm stuck when I – curious beaver that I am – reached into the hole while it was healing up. The look on Lady Cassandra’s face had been priceless.
Shoving my childhood segue aside, I stood up, mourned the loss of my dress, and picked up my shoes.
It was thoughts like this that stopped me from seeing a psychiatrist – can’t fight supernatural baddies from a padded room or jail cell.
As it turned out, I didn’t need to think of anything. The assassins that smashed through the windows and shot Robert in the head handled it all for me.
6
The fact that no one came bursting through the door at the commotion spoke volumes about Robert’s security. If I’d known things were this lax, I would’ve snuck into his place while he was sleeping and stolen a sample. He probably wouldn’t have woken up – vampires slept like the dead. Literally. Khalil was going to get a talking to about this oversight later. Hell, he probably knew and just wanted to get me all dressed up. Aren’t I full of it tonight?
There were three attackers. They were dressed in all black and wrapped in shawls the color of dried blood that obscured their shoulders and face, leaving only a strip open for their eyes. That small strip revealed they all had tan skin but not much else. Though why they thought three people were necessary to break in and shoot a guy – vampire or otherwise – in the head was beyond me.
My personal opinion of Robert aside, it was my job to protect the residents of this city. I threw an ice spear at the farthest attacker and roundhouse kicked the one closest to me, the feeling of impact almost convincing me to wear heels full-time. The third attacker drew a curved sword and slashed, missing me by about an inch. I flung a ball of force at them before turning to check on Robert. He was still down from the shot, but nothing short of setting him on fire or cutting his head off would permanently kill him.
A heavy pressure slammed against my skull as one of the assassins hit me from behind. I staggered forward, hitting the floor before rolling over to avoid another hit. I kicked off my shoes and backed away from my attackers, shooting bursts of lightning in the figures’ general vicinity.
The lightning knocked them back, but didn’t appear to faze them much. Not human, and their coordinated movements confirmed they were professionals. Who sent them? Who wanted Robert dead?
I flung a fireball and they scattered, one of them pitching a handful of throwing knives at me. I brought up a barrier to deflect the projectiles as I grabbed my heels and charged forward. In a rare moment of perfect aim, I jammed a heel right into one of the attacker’s eyes, drawing a high-pitched scream.
Female. And bitter, it seemed. She shoved her sword through me, ripped it out, and kicked me in the face. I hit the ground with a shout, blood spilling from my abdomen and nose. One of the attacker’s hands flashed, and I brought my barrier back up in time to deflect a fireball.
Heat rushed over my side and a bright light flashed. I shouted again, this time in anger as a giant fire flared where Robert’s body used to be, the flames crackling for a few seconds before dying out and leaving nothing but a body’s worth of ash.
By the time I’d gathered myself up, the attackers were gone. I squished my face up at the feel of my insides and skin knitting back together. Every time I had a torso wound, I always thought back to the first time I’d gotten stabbed through the stomach. It had been an accident, but I almost got my arm stuck when I – curious beaver that I am – reached into the hole while it was healing up. The look on Lady Cassandra’s face had been priceless.
Shoving my childhood segue aside, I stood up, mourned the loss of my dress, and picked up my shoes.
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