harsh metallic grate of steel sliding over hard-edged, lethal steel. Behind the four Rogues, Dante leaped to the asphalt in a crouch, then drew himself up to his six-and-a-half-foot height. He had no sword, but circling his waist was a leather belt studded with a collection of deadly, hand-to-hand weaponry, including a pair of razor-sharp, curved blades that performed as hellish extensions of his dazzlingly fast hands.
Malebranche
, he called them, and evil claws they were. Dante had them poised in his grasp in an instant, one mean-ass vampire who was always ready for a round of up-close-and-personal combat.
“Oh, my God,” the human cried, his voice wobbling as he took in the danger that surrounded him. Gaping up at Lucan, the man went for his wallet, hands trembling as he pulled the worn billfold out of his back pocket and tossed it to the ground. “Take it, man! You can have it. Just don’t kill me, I’m begging you!”
Lucan kept his eyes trained on the four Rogues, who were checking their positions, going for their own weapons. “Get the hell out of here. Now.”
“He’s ours,” one of the Rogues hissed. Yellow eyes fixed on Lucan in pure hatred, the pupils permanently narrowed to hungered, vertical slits. Long fangs dripped with saliva, further evidence of the vampire’s advanced Bloodlust addiction.
Just like a human could fall dependent on a powerful narcotic, Bloodlust was as destructive for the Breed. The tipping point between the necessary assuaging of hunger and reckless overdose of blood was easily breached. Some vampires went willingly into that abyss, while others succumbed to the disease through inexperience or a lack of personal discipline. Gone too far, and for too long, a vampire would turn Rogue, like these feral beasts snarling before Lucan now.
Eager to smoke them, Lucan slapped his long blades together, smelling the spark of heat as one length of steel crashed against the other.
The human was still standing there, idiotic in his fear, his head swinging between the advancing Rogues and Lucan’s unwavering stance. The hesitation was sure to cost the man, but Lucan shrugged off the knowledge with cold dispassion. The human wasn’t his concern. Eradicating these bloodsuckers, and the rest of their diseased kind, was all that mattered.
One of the Rogues wiped a dirty hand across his slavering mouth. “Back off, asshole. Let us feed.”
“Not tonight,” Lucan growled, “not in my city.”
“Your city?” The rest of them sniggered as the Rogue in the lead spat on the ground at Lucan’s feet. “This city belongs to us. Won’t be long and we’re gonna own it all.”
“That’s right,” added another of the four. “So, looks like you’re the one trespassin’ here.”
Finally, the human had gathered his wits and started to make a break. He didn’t get far. Moving with incredible speed, one of the Rogues lashed out a hand and grabbed the man by the throat. He jerked him off his feet and held him aloft, letting the human’s black hightop sneakers dangle six inches off the ground. The human grunted and squirmed, struggling wildly as the Rogue squeezed harder, slowly strangling him with his bare hand. Lucan stared, unfazed, even as the vampire dropped his twitching prey and tore a hole in the man’s neck with his teeth.
In his periphery, Lucan saw Dante creep up silently behind the Rogues. Fangs bared, the warrior licked his lips, eager to get busy. He wouldn’t be disappointed. Lucan struck first, and then the street erupted with the clash of metal and the crush of breaking bone.
Where Dante fought like a hell-spawned demon,
malebranche
blades flashing, war cries splitting the night, Lucan maintained a cold control and deadly precision. One by one, the Rogues fell to the warriors’ punishing blows. The kiss of titanium-laced steel sped through the Rogues’ corrupted blood systems as poison, accelerating death and bringing on the swift stages of decomposition characteristic
Malebranche
, he called them, and evil claws they were. Dante had them poised in his grasp in an instant, one mean-ass vampire who was always ready for a round of up-close-and-personal combat.
“Oh, my God,” the human cried, his voice wobbling as he took in the danger that surrounded him. Gaping up at Lucan, the man went for his wallet, hands trembling as he pulled the worn billfold out of his back pocket and tossed it to the ground. “Take it, man! You can have it. Just don’t kill me, I’m begging you!”
Lucan kept his eyes trained on the four Rogues, who were checking their positions, going for their own weapons. “Get the hell out of here. Now.”
“He’s ours,” one of the Rogues hissed. Yellow eyes fixed on Lucan in pure hatred, the pupils permanently narrowed to hungered, vertical slits. Long fangs dripped with saliva, further evidence of the vampire’s advanced Bloodlust addiction.
Just like a human could fall dependent on a powerful narcotic, Bloodlust was as destructive for the Breed. The tipping point between the necessary assuaging of hunger and reckless overdose of blood was easily breached. Some vampires went willingly into that abyss, while others succumbed to the disease through inexperience or a lack of personal discipline. Gone too far, and for too long, a vampire would turn Rogue, like these feral beasts snarling before Lucan now.
Eager to smoke them, Lucan slapped his long blades together, smelling the spark of heat as one length of steel crashed against the other.
The human was still standing there, idiotic in his fear, his head swinging between the advancing Rogues and Lucan’s unwavering stance. The hesitation was sure to cost the man, but Lucan shrugged off the knowledge with cold dispassion. The human wasn’t his concern. Eradicating these bloodsuckers, and the rest of their diseased kind, was all that mattered.
One of the Rogues wiped a dirty hand across his slavering mouth. “Back off, asshole. Let us feed.”
“Not tonight,” Lucan growled, “not in my city.”
“Your city?” The rest of them sniggered as the Rogue in the lead spat on the ground at Lucan’s feet. “This city belongs to us. Won’t be long and we’re gonna own it all.”
“That’s right,” added another of the four. “So, looks like you’re the one trespassin’ here.”
Finally, the human had gathered his wits and started to make a break. He didn’t get far. Moving with incredible speed, one of the Rogues lashed out a hand and grabbed the man by the throat. He jerked him off his feet and held him aloft, letting the human’s black hightop sneakers dangle six inches off the ground. The human grunted and squirmed, struggling wildly as the Rogue squeezed harder, slowly strangling him with his bare hand. Lucan stared, unfazed, even as the vampire dropped his twitching prey and tore a hole in the man’s neck with his teeth.
In his periphery, Lucan saw Dante creep up silently behind the Rogues. Fangs bared, the warrior licked his lips, eager to get busy. He wouldn’t be disappointed. Lucan struck first, and then the street erupted with the clash of metal and the crush of breaking bone.
Where Dante fought like a hell-spawned demon,
malebranche
blades flashing, war cries splitting the night, Lucan maintained a cold control and deadly precision. One by one, the Rogues fell to the warriors’ punishing blows. The kiss of titanium-laced steel sped through the Rogues’ corrupted blood systems as poison, accelerating death and bringing on the swift stages of decomposition characteristic
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