Deathtrap (Crossbreed #3)(62)
Cristo stood several paces back and looked genuinely stunned that we weren’t incapacitated and bleeding out. The gunshots wouldn’t have killed us, but they would have taken us by surprise. Guns were noisy, required bullets, and not a favorite weapon for most Breed.
Except in the Bricks, where apparently everyone carried a semiautomatic.
The Vampire slowly licked his lips, his eyes soaking in the blood on my arm and leg. “I can’t wait to taste that juicy vein.”
Christian edged in front of me.
“Watch out for the woman,” Cristo warned. “She’s a mutant.”
I narrowed my eyes.
Christian torpedoed out of the van and lunged at the Vampire. Their colossal fistfight made the ground quake. I’d never seen him fight like that. So calculated and swift, each countermove followed by an offensive blow. He elbowed the Vampire in the jaw with enough force that it knocked him out of sight. Who was this guy? Jean-Claude Van Poe?
Lightning quick, I drew my push dagger and jumped out of the van.
Someone fired at me, so I flashed to the right. Before I could attack one of Cristo’s men, Claude dropped from the rooftop above and crashed onto him. He was in primal mode, all four incisors out and a savage look in his eyes. He sank his teeth into the man’s neck, and a scream poured out—the scream of a Mage powerless against the deadly poison of a Chitah.
A shooter on the rooftop fired. Since I was out in the open, I flashed back to the van.
“Fecking hell!” Christian roared as the bullets pinged against the concrete all around him.
The long-haired Vampire gracefully jumped on top of the van and climbed up an inactive intersection light as if he were an acrobat.
Cristo looked like a maestro as he watched from the middle of the street. He was in the safest place possible with gunmen protecting him from above. That dickless bastard wasn’t going to make a move until I got shot.
His eyes widened in surprise when I flashed toward him, dagger in hand.
I crashed into him, my fangs scraping his neck as I went for his jugular. He flailed, and we went rolling across the snow as sporadic gunshots went off.
“What the fuck are you?” he growled, shoving my face away as I went for his neck again.
“Your worst nightmare.”
I grasped his hands and pulled just enough of his core light to make him tremble with terror. He blanched and scurried back on his elbows, realizing that as a Stealer, I could end his reign of terror by stripping away his immortal light.
Cristo brandished a long dagger that made mine pale in comparison, and I sprang to my feet. While stunners didn’t affect me, the way he twirled the blade in his hand proved he was skilled with a knife. Cristo was a big guy and had probably taken a head or two, so I backed up a step. He waved his hand, gesturing for someone to join him.
Claude scaled the building, chasing after the second gunman, but that wasn’t who Cristo was summoning.
“They’re all yours,” he said, backing away.
Several goons emerged from the surrounding buildings. I counted seven, one of them a Chitah by the looks of his light hair and eyes.
Christian shook the intersection light pole, trying to get the fanghole—who was laughing maniacally—down.
When Cristo flashed away, I chased after him. Snow crunched beneath my boots as I closed in on him. He suddenly stopped, placing a parked car between us. “How long do you think he’ll last on his own?” he asked, jerking his chin at Christian.
I risked a glance over my shoulder. Two men surrounded Christian, one of them holding an impalement stake.
Three onlookers descended upon them like hyenas.
I slammed my fists against the parked car. “Fight me!”
“Satisfying my ego isn’t worth the risk.”
“Then why lure us here? So other people can do your dirty work for you?”
“Bingo. I just make the money, honey.”
When I moved to the right, he inched left. “A real man fights his own battles.”
Cristo laughed haughtily. “Real men are only real until they’re dead. You’re just a blip on the radar. Nice knowing you, blue eye.” Cristo fled, flashing down the street in the opposite direction from the van.
Oh, no you don’t!
When I caught up with him, I grabbed the back of his shirt and swiped my dagger. It pierced his shoulder, but Cristo didn’t stay still long enough for the blade to sink in. He pivoted, ducked, and tried to escape as I kept a firm grip of the fabric. I finally just dropped the blade and punched him in the face. He flew back several feet, reminding me that Christian’s blood had given me temporary strength.
Invigorated with Vampire blood, I lunged, but he raised his feet and slammed them against my chest. The wind whooshed from my lungs as I fell to my side and coughed up blood.
In the blink of an eye, Cristo scrambled up and flashed off. Still coughing, I staggered to my feet, pants wet from the snow, and harnessed my energy. The instinct to go after him was powerful, but something held me back.
I looked over my shoulder at Christian fighting off a number of men. I couldn’t leave my partner behind. Without a second thought, I flashed down the street just as a Chitah came up behind him with an impalement stake. I blasted the attacker with energy, and when he flew onto the concrete, he hit his head on the curb and fell unconscious. Christian and I stood with our backs together as the men circled us. I hefted a trash can and hurled it at a beetle-browed man in a blue coat.