A Midsummer Night's Demon(3)
Ky’s hands bunched at his sides as he called on the self-control he had honed over the centuries. He could not strike while his enemy fed. Tearing the male away from her neck could inflict a fatal wound. He waited, biding his time for the perfect moment to strike.
The vampire tore his fangs from the woman’s throat, and spit a chunk of her flesh on the ground. Ky steeled his features. The monster deliberately hurt the woman to distract him, divert his attention. And dammit, it worked. He didn’t have long to take this male down before the woman would die.
His opponent tossed the woman aside, her limp body fell against the tire of a nearby car. The debauchee turned and said nothing, simply wagged two arrogant fingers to encourage Ky’s advance.
He was no longer interested in capturing this vampire. This male needed to die. There could be no salvation for a person who would so callously waste a life. The debauchee obviously experienced no remorse for the damage he did to the woman. In fact, the evil grin on his face evidenced his shameless bloodlust.
Ky’s jaw flinched, the only indication he gave his attacker before he leapt and caught the vampire around the waist, taking him to the hard ground in a lineman’s tackle. He heard a rib crack, whether from the strength of his grip or the cement floor he couldn’t be sure. It didn’t matter. Every crack created a chink in the rogue’s preternatural armor that made it one step easier for Ky to destroy him.
Arms and legs struggled for supremacy as the two males wrestled on the cool concrete. Their bodies tumbled over each other in a bid for dominance. They rolled to a stop with Ky lying under the debauchee who unsheathed a gun holstered to his calf, then gave Ky a sanguine smile, the shiny barrel of the gun reflecting the sharp ends of his teeth.
Gripping the weapon with both hands, the rogue aimed for Ky’s heart. The warrior’s hands flew up, folding around the gun. Ky’s grip cranked down hard. The finger of one hand slipped behind the trigger to keep it from firing, while his other hand closed around the barrel. Strength would determine where the gun would aim. Their arms shook with their effort as the barrel slowly turned toward the rogue.
The vampire’s eyes widened, watching the weapon turn his way. Ky knew bullets, especially harmful to his kind, filled the magazine. He smelled the poisonous titanium that coated the ammunition within. The debauchee breathed hard from his effort to keep the gun pointed away; each inhale had to be a new experience in pain from his broken rib.
Ky’s finger slipped out from behind the trigger, allowing the gun to discharge with a deafening explosive shot.
The vampire’s body shook with the force of the blast, while the thunderous concussion echoed off the concrete walls. The bastard looked down, registering the spread of red over his shirt. Pain twisted his face. Though not a fatal wound, the injury would slow him.
The warrior ripped the gun from his opponent’s hands, and dug his heels into the floor. Using his powerful thighs, he bucked his opponent’s body, and sent the debauchee flying through the air to slam upright into a nearby wall. The concrete cocooned around his body sending little bits of the gray powder drifting to the floor.
In the blur of movement, Ky headed toward the monster. When he approached, the debauchee‘s leg shot out and connected with the gun in Ky‘s hand to send it skittering across the floor. Ky’s hand wrapped around his opponent’s throat, pinning the vampire against the wall. The agent pushed him up the rough wall, hoping the concrete would bite into the rogue’s back.
The vampire clawed at Ky’s arm to break the suffocating grip. His feet kicked against the wall, desperate to find a foothold so he could take the pressure from his throat. Ky’s iron grasp stopped his air, making his body jerk with the need for oxygen. The whites of his eyes turned red from bursting capillaries before his lids fluttered shut.
The rogue’s heart stuttered, his body fell limp, then before Ky’s eyes the listless form he held coalesced into itself, until only a wisp of black smoke remained. As it wafted through his empty fingers, he threw back his head, letting a roar of frustration escape from deep within his chest cavity. The sonorous sound reverberated off the concrete walls. The bastard had dematerialized! His fist punched into the concrete sending more ashen debris to the floor.
The sound of a soft moan behind him garnered his attention. Ky’s determined strides took him quickly to the injured woman. With gentle hands, he lowered her slumped body to the floor, turning her face so he could examine the wound.
He touched the skin around the gash on her neck and her eyes fluttered opened, wide with fright. Her drugged hand lazily smacked at his, as if trying to ward off an attack. He could smell her fear, knew only adrenaline kept her conscious.