Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
“One last chance,” she said. “Hand over the items, or we’ll take payment in the form of your sweet magical blood.”
I calmly stepped back, set my blanket, pillow, extra clothing, and toiletries on a step behind me, then turned to face the vampires. Briefly, I glanced up and realised we weren’t as alone as I thought. Up above, prisoners silently peered down, having gathered to watch the show. I looked down, and there were onlookers there, too, leaning against the railing as they peered up at us. I swallowed thickly, wondering if Vasilios and Sven were among them.
The vampires advanced on me, extending their fangs. “You think those scare me?” I asked, with pure bravado, as I took a quick step to the side. The old lady, who obviously held some kind of authority, narrowed her gaze on me. My swift movements piqued her suspicion. A tall vampire tried to swipe for me, but I jumped up onto the metal railing, balancing perfectly. The old lady’s eyes narrowed further.
“Dhampir,” she seethed, her gaze thin with hatred. “Get her.”
The tall vampire tried to swipe at me again, but I quickly leapt, grabbed hold of the railing above me, and swung my legs out, kicking him hard in the chest with both feet. My father had trained me since I was a child for situations like I was in—cornered and outnumbered. I had no weapons, but I had my strength and skill, which would have to be enough.
“Little bitch!” the vampire roared, rubbing at his chest.
I quickly swung down, grabbed my things, and hoped I made it to my cell before they caught me. “Why don’t you all just back off? You’re embarrassing yourselves,” I goaded, happily traversing the narrow metal railing. There was an amused chuckle from above. I glanced up and saw Serg among the gathered observers. He winked at me, and I grinned back, then flung myself onto the stairs and ran for my life.
I made it to the fourth floor, but the vampires weren’t far behind. I barely got the chance to peer at the cell numbers when a meaty paw grabbed my hair and yanked me back. I screamed at the sharp pain, my things dropping haphazardly to the floor. My back met a hard body, and I knew it was the vampire I’d kicked in the chest. He smelled like blood and sawdust. Perhaps kicking him wasn’t the wisest move, because now he was mad at me. Very, very mad.
This was me belatedly realising that I should’ve used some of my de-escalation techniques instead of going on the defensive. Evidently, I still had a lot to learn.
I struggled in his hold, but his arm came around my waist, his hand keeping a firm grip on my hair. He fisted it so hard that I feared he would leave a bald patch. On instinct, my fangs emerged. I twisted my head to the side, feeling the hair pull away from the root as I opened my mouth and bit down hard. The unpleasant, metallic taste of vampire blood hit my tongue, and I immediately spat it out while his hold on me loosened long enough for me to get away.
In my panic, I couldn’t remember a thing about the prison’s layout that Sergeant Davis had drilled into me. I ran down a long row of cells only to find the old lady and her posse of vamps had somehow gotten ahead of me. For a second, I wondered why I hadn’t just handed over my things. I could survive without a pillow and a blanket. What I might not survive was the beating the vampires were sure to give me.
Over my shoulder, several more appeared. Unless I wanted to jump over the railing and possibly fall to my death, there was no avoiding whatever was about to happen to me.
The old lady approached. “You’re a feisty one. A pity you’re a half-breed. I could’ve used a fighter like you in my crew.”
“Yeah, well, I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member,” I shot back, but the quote seemed to go over her head. It made me wonder exactly how long she’d been locked up. My dad was a fan of Groucho Marx, and as far as I knew, he’d died back in the 1970s, which meant she’d been there for fifty years at least.
“You’ll be begging to be in someone’s club by the time we’re done with you,” the tall vampire who’d yanked my hair said. My scalp smarted as I stood there, and I was terrified to look in a mirror and see the damage. The sleeves of his jumpsuit were rolled up, and he had a tattoo on his right forearm that read Vincent. It could’ve been the name of a treasured loved one, but the guy seemed dim and oafish enough to have tattooed his own name on his arm.