Page 59 of Siege of Blood and Betrayal

He hits the ground hard but is back on his feet in an instant. His friend with the ridiculous stache sees his opening and charges in.

Scotland spins to face him, her fists up and ready. The second vamp swings at her, but she ducks, delivering a sharp jab to his ribs. The guy grunts but catches her outstretched arm and attempts to twist it behind her back.

Scotland isn’t having it. She pivots, using her other arm to deliver a powerful elbow strike to the second vamp’s face.

Vamp two stumbles back, blood dripping from his nose.

She moves like a warrior—every action calculated, every strike intentional. She’s a work of art in motion, fierce and unyielding. And with her blonde hair fanning out behind her as she spins and strikes, she looks like an angel.

An avenging angel—but an angel just the same.

The vamp with dreadlocks comes at her again, this time with more force and a bit more caution. He throws a series of punches, each one faster and more aggressive than the last.

Scotland blocks and counters, her reflexes sharp.

The second one moves in and tries to flank her, but she senses him coming. She jumps straight up, kicking out with both feet and catching both of them in the chest.

Her opponents are knocked backward, one crashing over a wooden table and splintering it to pieces, the other being caught by the bystanders coming to watch the fight.

The arrival of a dozen vampires is concerning and vamp two takes advantage of the momentary distraction. He lands a punch to her side that makes her gasp.

I growl and fight the urge to intervene, but she recovers without pause.

She spins, looping her legs around his waist from the back and her arms around his neck. The satisfying crunch has the vamp dropping to the floor like a sack of rotten potatoes.

The crowd practically pulses with disapproval, so I hold up my hand and make myself seen. “They challenged her abilities, boys. She’s the king’s squire and has the right to defend her honor.”

That seems to send a ripple of shock through several of them. Apparently not everyone in the seethe got the memo that Huntley isn’t the man of the hour.

They seem to accept that, though, so I return my attention to the fight. I’ve missed quite a bit. Somehow Scotland has ended up in a floor scramble, grappling with her opponent. She’s forced him to the ground from behind, her knee pressed into his back.

When her arms lock around his head, the vamp looks not only surprised, but a bit confused. “Yield, or your neck is about to snap.”

The vampire struggles under her grip, his dreads flailing around like limp snakes, but it’s obvious he’s beaten. “Fine. I yield. Get the fuck off me.”

Scotland releases him and stands, her chest heaving with exertion. I try not to stare, but damn, the woman fights like a warrior and has the rounded curves of a goddess.

I can’t help but want to worship her.

She’s magnificent.

She’s bloody but has kicked their asses and is glaring at the gathered crowd as if inviting any of the newcomers to take their shot.

Not smart, beautiful.

There are too many of them and now that they’ve seen what she did to their friends, they will be vicious not to suffer the same humiliation.

She casts another glance over the crowd and then relaxes her stance and dips her chin. “I didn’t come here looking for a fight. I was challenged. Tensions are high. Just take that hostility and shove it in someone else’s face.”

She waits to gauge if there will be any other conflict and then shakes her shoulders out and drops her guard. The moment she turns her back to the crowd, a blond brute comes at her from behind, his braids swinging. The attack is cowardly, and Scotland doesn’t see it coming.

“Scotland!” I launch forward, wrap my arms around her, and twist her out of harm’s way.

Before I can set her on her feet and go back for justice, the air blurs, and the Thor wannabe explodes into a plasma bomb as two fists come flying through his chest cavity.

Scotland’s attacker drops to the floor, and the crowd takes a step back. Zane is standing there, his Armani caked in blood and entrails, his gaze glowing scarlet, his fangs and claws extended more dramatically than I’ve ever seen on any vampire. “Touch her and die.”

He squeezes the blond vampire’s heart in his bloody grip and glares at the crowd. “Scotland McCullough ismine. You move on her, consider yourself dead.”

---