Ciar drops the headless, heartless, throatless corpse and looks around. Nightwalkers are frozen everywhere obviously watching and wondering if they should intervene. A woman is lying on the coach with tears in her eyes, and a vamp biting between her thighs and one at her neck, her body bare and covered in blood and bruises.
Ciar straightens his suit, frowning down at the blood. He delicately takes off his jacket and hangs it on the hook to the left and then rolls back his sleeves to his elbows. “Shall we begin?” he inquires, looking at me.
“Ladies first.” I grin and then I blur, wanting to show off a little, but also pissed as fucking hell and wanting blood for what’s happened to these women. Just because they have the ability to feed nightwalkers doesn’t mean they have to, and no one should get their choices taken away from them. Freedom is all we have, otherwise the world will just descend into chaos with everyone taking whatever and whoever they want.
It’s what separates us from the animals, although sometimes even animals are fucking better behaved than us.
I head straight to the nightwalkers with the woman. Ripping the one from between her legs away, I tear out his heart and throat like Ciar did, and toss them behind me before grabbing his head and ripping that away too. The one at her neck snarls at me and snaps my way, so I dart in, pressing a dagger into his mouth, and keep it from shutting and opening. Then, I wrench out both fangs as he howls in pain and falls back. He gets added to the pile too.
I turn to Ciar who’s watching me, looking hungry and proud at the same time, before a nightwalker rushes him. He’s a blur of movement, elegant even as he fights. Lethal, deadly, and oh so precise as he tears through the surge of nightwalkers streaming from the house, apparently brought by the yells. I jump into the fray, ripping and fighting with both hands and daggers before I get bored and bring out the big guns.
My chain.
Removing it from where it duals as a belt on my trousers, I wrap the silver end around my wrist and flick it out, cutting through necks and body parts. The end is sharp and the tip straight. Spinning, I slash through the masses, then I glance over at Ciar to see him cleave a man apart with his bare hands.
Oh, he wants to go? We’ll go.
Flicking the chain at the floor, I concentrate, and within a couple of seconds fire crawls along the silver, covering it. Everyone gapes at me and I grin. “Come and get it, boys,” I purr, as I burst back into action, the flames setting fires as I split them to pieces until ash is floating down around me.
I don’t think, I just move, letting my power and strength go. All my anger releases with each kill or cut I make on these soulless bastards.
By the time we are done, the living room—which the front door leads to—is a blood bath. The walls, floor, and furniture are all covered in blood. Our pile of body parts is toppling over in the corner and ash coats the floor. Dead bodies litter the room and I step over them to the woman huddled on the sofa, her face blank but tears and fear in her eyes.
“Ciar, wipe her,” I demand.
I turn and head farther into the house, my chain slithering on the floor behind me, burning into the wood as I go, leaving a permanent memory of what I did here. The kitchen is empty, but I freeze at the woman in here. She is lying half on the table, half off it, her neck and thighs ripped open. Her body is bare and clearly abused. They killed her.
Rage pours through me, the fire snapping on my chain as I turn, deadly quiet, and head upstairs to search for more. Each stomp of my feet on the steps echoes loudly, the only other sound is Ciar whispering to the woman on the sofa. I look over to see he has wrapped his suit jacket around her for modesty and my heart softens for him before I turn to face the stairs.
The landing at the top is quiet, but I can sense some lives up here. I hear their heartbeats. I don’t know who they are, woman or nightwalker, but I can sense them. The landing leads to one long hallway in front of me. I spot at least six doors.
Guess my whole kick down the door plan is going into action then. I pick the one on the left first, and raising my boot and kicking it down. I hear a scream inside and spot a woman huddled in the corner with a bloody sheet held to her chest. I smell sex, blood, and death in here.
“I’m here to help. Go downstairs, they won’t hurt you anymore,” I order, before backing out and turning to face the door behind me. I hear her rushing past me and stumbling down the steps. Each room has a lock on it, probably to stop the women from escaping.
I kick down the door, and in the split second it takes for the boom of it breaking to register to the occupants, I’ve scanned the room and I’m moving. A nightwalker, a female, is pinning a human male to the bed, drinking from his throat and grinding on top of him, her dress on the floor beside the bed. A shackle holds his hand to the bedpost and he’s turned towards the door. When he spots me, he doesn’t scream or beg for help, he simply watches me, expecting me to hurt him as well.
That, more than anything, enrages me, and I grab her hair and yank her away from his neck. He observes in mild interest, his eyes too stained and shattered to belong to such a young face. He can’t be older than eighteen.
The nightwalker snarls, blood dripping from her chin, her eyes wild, but I hold her still with one hand and stare into his too old eyes. “Hey, everyone is downstairs, you’re safe,” I say softly.
He scoots out from underneath the woman, bringing his bare legs up to his chest to hide his nudity, and I grit my teeth. The fucking piece of shit. I force myself to relax, even as I rip some of her hair out with my hold. Her claws slash at my hand, and blood drips to the bed from her swipes, but I focus on him.
“What’s your name?” I question.
“Fucking let me go!” the woman screeches, so I smash my fist into the side of her head, knocking her out.
“Mine’s Isabella,” I continue, like nothing just happened.
He clears his throat, looking from her dead weight to me. “Scott, my name is Scott. Are you going to kill it?” He looks pointedly at her, anger and humiliation coursing across his face before it goes blank again.
“I was going to rip her to pieces, then burn her,” I admit.
He nods casually. “Can I help?”
Erm, traumatised kid said what?
“You want to?” I ask.
He nods. “I’ve dreamed about it.”
Yep, I get that. “I was the same, it’s what got me through.”
He looks at me then. “Did you kill the person who hurt you?”
I nod. “One of them, the others were taken away before I could. It made me feel better though, crushing his smug face.”
I probably should offer some advice, comfort him through it, but I honestly don’t know how to. I’m fucked up, always have been, and this is the only way I know how to help, so instead of sending him downstairs like the others and probably like a normal person would do, I pluck my dagger from my side and hand it to him, handle first before breaking the shackle holding him.
“Don’t cut yourself. Want me to hold her while you get a few shots in? I’ll have to do the heavy lifting, like decapitating her.” I shrug.
He tests the knife, his shoulders rounding with confidence simply from holding the weapon. He gets to his knees and I keep my eyes on his face, giving him the respect and dignity he needs. I drag the woman up and in front of me as she hangs like a ragdoll from my grip.