Page 37 of The Guardian's Curse

The bigger man stood in the center of the room, counting quietly. “All three are still here.”

The ginger sneered. “I told you I checked,” he snapped. He took two plastic sports bottles from his backpack and squirted a pungent liquid over the corpses. Safira shot out of the shadows and tackled him against a wall, knocking the bottles out of his hands. At the sound of his companion’s surprised shout, the bigger man lunged at Safira with a wooden stake. Alistair pounced on his back and pulled him away.

They fought in a flurry of punches and kicks, and Alistair narrowly dodged a wooden stake that swung up toward his belly and caught the hem of his shirt. He twisted the hunter’s wrist. Bones snapped. The man screamed and dropped his stake.

Thunder cracked in the small chamber, and Safira screamed. He whirled to see Safira reeling with blood streaming from her side. A blonde woman stood in the doorway, holding a gun. Safira slammed the red-haired male into the nearest wall, and he fell to the ground unconscious. Glaring at the female hunter, Safira dug into the bullet wound and pulled a chunk of wood out. Her lip curled into a snarl as she sprinted after the blonde woman.

Alistair bore his prey to the ground, tearing open his own wrist with his teeth. With his prey pinned, he pressed the bleeding wound to the human’s mouth. The big man writhed and yelled in protest.

“Just drink,” Alistair ordered. With his free hand, he pinched the man’s nose and calmly waited for him to run out of air. Finally, the man opened his mouth, but the bastard bit him hard enough to send pain lancing up his arm. He gritted his teeth and shoved his wrist deeper.

Soon, the hunter’s struggles weakened. Then, his bite eased, and his lips closed on Alistair’s wrist. A low groan vibrated against his skin. The euphoric sensation of vampire blood was washing over him now. Alistair pulled away, then flipped him over.

Alistair pulled his hood back to reveal his face, and the man’s face twisted with terror. “Look at me,” he ordered, pushing his compulsion through the power of the blood connection. He could feel the man’s terror and revulsion, mixed with the strange magnetism that came from sharing blood. “Who are you from? Le Bouclier?”

“Shieldsmen,” the man confirmed, his voice trembling. He hadn’t seen their hunters in decades.

“And what is your name?” The man clamped his lips together, but Alistair leaned in closer to growl, “Tell me.”

“Henry Marks,” he spat, his face twisting with anguish. His fear started to overwhelm the connection, prickling at Alistair’s nerves.

“And how many Auberon vampires have you killed, Henry Marks?”

“I don’t know,” he said. His brow furrowed. “A lot. Please don’t kill me.”

“Why did you kill these vampires?”

“Because we were ordered to clean up Atlanta,” he said.

Alistair glanced up and saw that he was alone with the bodies. In the distance, he could hear Safira’s rapid footsteps. Someone else was breathing hard, tiny sobs escaping with each breath. “Ordered by who?”

“The boss,” he said. “There have been reports of dead bodies with bite marks. We watch for that kind of thing. I’m just doing my job.”

Alistair leaned in. The red of his eyes glared back at him from the hunter’s glassy gaze. “And I am doing mine. If it were up to me, I would rip your throat out and bathe in your blood. But for some reason, the Elder sees things differently. You and your murderous brethren are going to leave this city. If I encounter you again, I will not spare you. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” he said.

Alistair eased off Henry, then hauled him up by his collar. “Leave and don’t look back.”

Henry’s movements were halting and awkward as he fought back against the blood compulsion overpowering him. Alistair snarled at him, then turned to the fallen hunter that Safira had left on the ground.

He found only an empty space and a flattened pile of cardboard boxes. No hunter.

Alistair spun on his heel and saw the wiry redhead lurching out of the shadows with a stake. He stepped to the side, but the stake came down hard on his shoulder and pierced behind his collarbone. Excruciating pain radiated down his arm.

The hunter flicked a lighter and dropped it, igniting one of the vampire corpses. Then he grabbed Henry’s arm and ran out the door. Alistair started after him, but the potent wood toxins were already spreading through his veins. He fell to his knees, fingers curling against the dirty ground.

Behind him, the other corpses ignited. The foul stench of burning flesh filled the air. Alistair lurched out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

His muscles felt like lead, and his joints were coated in sandpaper. Leaning against the wall outside the burning room, he grabbed the stake and yanked it out. His roar of pain echoed in the hall.

As he dropped the bloody stake, Safira hurtled down the hall. Loops of silky red hair had been ripped out of her braid. Her lips were bloody. “What a mess. Oh shit, are you okay?”

He dropped the bloody stake and glared at her. She winced, though he wasn’t sure if that look was for his exposed face or the bloody mess of his shoulder. “Bloody perfect. I enthralled the big one, but you left the other one here.”

“He was unconscious,” she protested.

“Was,” he spat. “What about the woman?”

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