Excerpt
I flipped back the tails of my duster and planted my hands on my hips. Sweeping back the duster revealed the twin hammers riding on my hips, Thor and Loki, with polished heads of cold steel and fire-hardened handles turned and sharpened into ten-inch stakes, perfect for dispatching unruly vamps. Below my hammers, silver-chased daggers rested in sheaths on both thighs. At my back, tucked into my vest and out of sight, more knives, short and perfectly weighted for throwing. I might not be a Slayer yet, but I knew how to kit myself out like one. "Evening, boys. What business do you have with the Slayers tonight?"
The vamps laughed, an ugly, grating sound. I clenched my fingers down, willing my hands to stop shaking.
Stretch growled. "The lamb thinks she's a Slayer. Don't see no ink. Don't see no bandana."
I crossed off Stretch as the leader. Too talkative. Too brash. Down to Ghost or Patch, then. I put my money on Ghost, with Stretch and the third guy shooting him quick glances before turning their hungry gaze back on me.
"You think every Slayer needs to wear their ink where you can see it? How have vamps as stupid as you survived this long?"
That jab earned me a deadly glare from Ghost. He didn't like being cut down in front of his subordinates. Of course, only the glare was deadly. They weren't planning on killing me. Not under the Pact. No, they were going to enslave me and turn me into cattle. Anything short of killing me inside the bounds of Market was fair game—a truly devious contract worthy of fae approval. It hardly mattered that vampire enslavement turned you into a mindless zombie, the Pact only concerned itself with true deaths. The only exception was for humans, because we were all outmatched so we could stand our ground or save a life. A human life. Today I aimed to save my own.
Ghost took a step towards me, pushing aside Stretch roughly. When he spoke his voice was a hoarse whisper. "You might dress like a Slayer but you smell like a blood donor. You're coming with me tonight."
That was definitely over the line. At least, it was over the Slayers' line. If a Slayer on patrol were present, they would be instantly adjusting Ghost's attitude. But despite my attempts to stall, no convenient patrols had come within sight of my little drama. While Ghost talked, the other two vamps moved to cut off my escape. My options were disappearing quickly. I dropped my weight into my knees, getting ready to move in any direction. Lessons from my dad buzzed through my head and my eyes darted left and right, scanning for exits. My mouth kept talking, almost on its own. "Do the math guys, this is not going to end well for you."
The vamps laughed again, and in the midst of that laugh, Ghost lunged for me, blurring into a pale smear of color. My nerves vanished like mist in a volcano as adrenaline took over. I already had my weight leaned towards Stretch. As the leader of their small peril, I knew they'd give Ghost the first strike, so I only needed to decide which of the other two to eliminate first. When Ghost disappeared I pushed off and launched myself at Stretch, vampire of long limbs and weak knees.
Muscle memory led the way and both of my hammers came out. Heads out, sharpened stake side down—I didn't need to attract the attention of Pierce Yang for killing his goons unless I had to. Against vampires, I could go all out with my hammers and see if that discouraged them first.
Stretch had half a moment to register a look of utter surprise as I came straight at him. He probably wasn't used to being the center of attention. I like to make people feel important. Thor likes to make an impression, too, and he did as the twenty-ounce stainless steel head whipped through the thick night air and connected with the side of Stretch's wonky left knee.
As the hammer slammed home I sparked the active aspect of my breaker magic. Vampires are tough. Any extra edge helped. The tracings of light that illuminated Stretch tugged at my mind like an itch. I followed the sensation to the point where the green lines faded to pale white inside the vampire's knee. In my mind the taut knee ligaments were like aged, brittle rubber bands. I pushed with my mind and Broke them.
Bone splintered with a crack that echoed off the brick facades of the vamp clubs. In my magic sight, the bright white point of his knee ligament shone like a tiny supernova as the tissue ripped in half. Stretch's knee caved inwards at a forty-five degree angle and the vampire gave a scream of surprise and pain as he went down and landed on the destroyed knee. His knee would heal within moments of him feeding. Too bad for Stretch it would always return to its original gimpy nature.
In the next moment a wave of...wrongness...rolled across me, the recoil from using my active magic. I'd Broken something, altering the world in a small way. Like dropping a pebble into water, the shockwaves of my magic spread out, then returned, collapsing into me. It felt like chewing tin foil and running my hands through broken glass. The sensation rocked me back but I shook it off, the sensation fading as quickly as it had appeared. I'd done this before, and thankfully I hadn't overdone it.
At the instant Stretch hit the asphalt, a rush of rotten air blew past me, whipping the tails of my duster. I'd just dodged Ghost as I'd taken out Stretch. Nothing like a little luck to grease the skids. I prayed my luck held up.
One down, two to go.
