Out for Blood
Page 39

I tied my hair back and loaded the crossbow. An unloaded crossbow would be about as useful as a spoon. Mom could have been an undead boy scout with all her “Be Prepared” speeches. “Let’s go.”
On the farm and in the thick woods around the mountains where we patrolled, we didn’t have to hold back. We could move as fast as we wanted and not worry that we might appear blurry to human eyes. There was freedom in that, and exhilaration.
I hadn’t been lying when I told Hunter I didn’t believe in hiding who and what I was. I also didn’t believe in moping about because I happened to be undead.
In my opinion, being a vampire kicked ass.
And undead was better than dead.
Okay, when I was human, the thought of drinking blood had me worried I was in for a lifetime of an eat-your- Brussels-sprouts-they’re-good-for-you diet. But once I’d changed, so had my taste buds. Why turn your nose up at what kept you alive? Or, not dead? Whatever.
The only drawback, as far as I could see, was that it was easier to score a cheeseburger than a pint of blood. And I missed the whole sunlight thing, but I got over that pretty quickly. It made me feel like crap now anyway. Duncan was the one who moaned about daylight and not being able to taste coffee anymore.
I just counted myself lucky that girls thought vamps were cool, even if they never actually realized I was a vampire. Pheromones had their uses.
The irony that I wasn’t crushing on one of those girls, but on the type that killed vampires, wasn’t lost on me.
But I wasn’t going to let it ruin my night. Or the taste of her, still on my lips.
“You’re actually strutting,” Nicholas muttered.
“Just a little. It’s good for the soul.” I ducked under a low-hanging branch. The smells of damp earth and cold wind and cedar was thick as smoke. “Finally got rid of that Matthew vampire and his gang.” We hadn’t had a lot of time to deal with him what with Solange dying at her own birthday party. And anyway, the Drakes weren’t vampire police. We just tried to take care of our own backyard. I wasn’t joking when I told Hunter not all bad vampires are easily recognizable.
“Are they dust?”
“Not all of them. Hunter and her friends were there. She called in some Helios-Ra cleanup crew to take them into custody.”
“And they just left you there?” he asked incredulously.
“Like I hung around to shake hands.”
The forest was dark and full of shifting shadows but we could see just fine. Another perk to vampirism: really great night vision. I saw the leaves shifting, the outline of tree branches and ferns and the path glowing as if the moon were full over head. Everything seemed to glitter, just a little, around the edges. An owl called from some pine bough, searching for unwary mice. The owl would have to find new hunting grounds or go hungry tonight. Vampires tend to scare small animals into hiding.
Nicholas paused, sniffed. His expression went flat. “Hel-Blar,” he mouthed.
I nodded, catching a whiff of boiled mushrooms and mildew. If the Hel-Blar ever got their shit together and figured out how to cover their stench, they’d really be a force to be reckoned with.
I took point, steadying the crossbow. Nicholas walked backward behind me, a stake in each hand. There was no one I trusted at my back more than one of my brothers.
The Hel-Blar came in a wave, three of them swinging down from a branch, bursting out of a thicket, and leaping out from behind a thick elm tree. A crossbow bolt hit the first one in the chest, piercing his rib cage and his heart. He screeched and crumbled into a gray dust. The next one crashed into me, knocking my crossbow into a patch of primroses. Nicholas was occupied shoving a stake, only half-stuck, into the last one.
“Drakes,” my Hel-Blar laughed at his companion. “Even better.”
His many fangs clicked at me hungrily and the sound was like bones breaking. I leaped back out of the way, avoiding the drip of his saliva. No one knew how contagious it really was. And this guy didn’t look like he was about to conveniently disintegrate, like the woman at the high school. Whatever sickness she’d had clearly wasn’t widespread through the Hel-Blar.
He followed my backward bend, clinging like a barnacle. I used momentum against him, falling into the undergrowth and flipping him over my head. He landed in a crouch, snarling over his shoulder. His veins were nearly black under his blue skin. There was fresh blood under his fingernails.
I didn’t bother scrambling to my feet; I just rolled toward my discarded crossbow. The first bolt missed, biting into a birch tree and sending papery bark into the air.
“Nick, you okay?” I yelled. He grunted what I thought was a “yes.” I loosed another bolt and it missed the heart again, but at least it sliced through his shoulder. He hissed in pain.
Good.
Except now he had an open bleeding wound that might contaminate Nicholas or me.
Bad.
And now my Hel-Blar was closing in and staying just in front of Nicholas so that if I used my crossbow I risked shooting my own brother. I was usually a pretty good shot but there were just too many variables. I exchanged my crossbow for the stake inside my coat and launched myself into the fray, hollering.
I don’t care what Mom says about the advantage of surprise; a good battle yell can sometimes make the difference between winning or losing.
The Hel-Blar yelled back and then we were grappling again, trying to see who could cause the most damage. He didn’t have a weapon. They mostly used their numerous fangs and the threat of their poisoned blood. I shoved the stake toward his chest and he blocked it, trying to shove it back. I held on with a viselike grip, my fangs burning through my gums, my fingers cramping around the stake. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a cloud of ash and heard Nicholas cough. Hel-Blar ashes were nasty.