Death Wish (Alexa O'Brien, Huntress #5)(66)

“She doesn’t seem so tough,” a gruff voiced vampire said to his buddies. “This is a little disappointing.”

“Aw look, Colin, you made her cry.” A chorus of laughter followed.

I reached for my power with the intent to use it on the guys holding me, but my concentration was scattered, and my vision swam. I’d taken so many hits already, I could barely focus. Lesson learned. Never underestimate the power of a group beating.

The taste of my own blood filled my mouth. I was not going down this way. I lashed out with a metaphysical attack on the two holding me. It threw them both off their feet. However, one pulled me off balance, and I fell to my knees. A psi ball in each hand, I hit two more. I could scarcely keep track of who was where. The remaining two rushed me, wrestling me to the ground. My head smacked the pavement, and everything began to darken.

I expected the blows to rain down upon me, but they never came. A sharp cry came from one of my assailants. It was followed by shouts and commotion. I blinked to clear my vision, finding myself looking up at a man with great silver wings. Aw, shit. Not another fence rider. How could this help me?

But sure enough, he was smacking the vampires around like they were dolls. The swell of his power was stifling and heavy, just like Falon’s. With a groan, I rolled over, trying to catch my breath as I got to my feet.

My head pounded, a throbbing so intense it hurt to open my eyes. A strong hand on my arm sent a surge of panic through me. I found myself staring into sympathetic, gold-flecked green eyes. It took a moment for it to sink in that he wasn’t trying to hurt me.

“You’re alright,” he said, his voice soft and soothing. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

I spat blood and swiped a hand across my face. Between the tears and the smacks, my face was a mess of blood. I probably looked like I’d been hit by a bus.

Three of the vampires were dust. The others were long gone. I took a few shuddery breaths and gazed at my rescuer. He was tall and lean with a muscular build and silver wings similar to Falon’s. That’s where the similarities ended. This angel had gentle eyes and a mouth that was made for smiling. His hair was short and thick, a light brown that could have been dirty blonde.

“Please don’t tell me you’re a friend of Falon’s,” I muttered, finding my teeth intact. Thank God for that.

The angel grimaced. “Hell no. I’m not affiliated with that sorry bastard. Come on. I know a little watering hole nearby. We’ll get you washed up and order a round of shots.”

He led me along down the quiet street. I was puzzled for sure. An angel that wanted to do shots? Well, he was fallen.

“Thanks,” I said, calming as the adrenaline slowly began to fade. “You really saved my ass there.”

“I’m surprised you couldn’t save your own ass. You are the vampire wolf, are you not?”

“Vampire wolf,” I laughed. “That’s a good one. I guess you could say that. It’s been a long night. I was kind of taken by surprise.”

“I’m Willow.” He offered me a hand, which I accepted.

“Alexa.”

“Ah, the protector of mankind.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your name. That’s what it means. The protector of mankind.”

His words struck hard and sunk deep. I hadn’t known my name meant something so profound. After taking a human life tonight, hearing it felt like a slap in the face.

“If only that was true.” I smiled bitterly and my face hurt.

Willow tilted his head, studying me. “It could be.”

We stopped at an abandoned building with darkened windows, but when Willow pulled the battered wooden door open, light and music spilled out onto the street. A small weathered sign read Woody’s Pub.

“I love this place.” Willow’s smile became mischievous as he ushered me inside, his wings disappearing from sight.

I really wasn’t sure what to expect from this guy. I had very little experience with his kind, and what I knew of them was not good at all. Still, he’d saved my ass, and so far, Willow was nothing like Falon. A relief, to say the least.

The pub was relatively small. Most of the patrons were middle aged and older. A TV hung from the ceiling in a corner broadcasting a sports channel. Willow pulled me along, my hand clasped tightly in his much the way a protective parent might hold onto a child.

Without hesitation, he pushed through the door to the ladies’ room. A woman stood at the sink washing her hands. She caught sight of Willow in the mirror, then my battered face, and her jaw dropped. She pursed her lips in disapproval before hurriedly drying her hands. Her eyes met mine, and I waited, expecting her to say something. Another glance at Willow had her rushing for the door.

“Is bursting into the women’s washroom something you make a habit of doing?” I asked when we were alone. I busied myself wetting disposable hand towels with warm water.

“Not usually,” he laughed softly. “I never expected it to be occupied. This place isn’t known for having a lot in the way of female clientele.”

My face was a mess. Blood ran from my nose and lip. My left eye was bruised deep purple and swollen. Small bruises decorated my chin and forehead. Wincing in pain, I dabbed at the blood staining my skin.

“Here,” Willow reached to take the wet towel from me. “Let me help you.”