Archangel's Shadows (Guild Hunter #7)(75)

“Watch out for Khalil!” Ash called out after him.

“I will!” he yelled back.

However, when he reached Masque—after a hurried stop at the Tower to pick up his kukris—he discovered it wasn’t Khalil who was the threat. Trace was outside the club, a blood-soaked cloth being held to his throat by Adele. Scarlet drops dotted the snow despite the club owner’s efforts to stanch the flow.

“I’m fine,” the slender male said when Janvier reached him, his voice still a little wet with blood. “Situation inside—vamp named Rupert’s in full bloodlust and pumped up so he’s stronger than he should be.” Coughing up blood on the snow, Trace waved Adele and her cloth away. The claw marks on his throat said he’d come close to having his spine ripped out, but Trace was old enough that he’d survive.

“Did you call the Tower?”

Trace shook his head, dark green eyes pained but cogent. “It’s only one vamp, and I knew you and Naasir could take him, since we managed to trap him inside. Naasir’s on his way.”

It was a good call on Trace’s part, with the Tower’s resources so strained. “Casualties or hostages?”

“The club was mostly empty,” Adele said, taking a bottle of blood from a curvy Hispanic woman who’d run down the street with a box full of them, her indoor outfit of sleek black pants and blue velvet vest over a white lace shirt making it clear she was a local in the Quarter. “Trace, drink.”

As the vampire drank in an effort to speed up his healing, Adele continued to speak, the ordinarily flawless cream of her skin splotchy. “Only people left inside were the ones in the private rooms, and they were locked automatically inside those rooms when I activated the alarm for trouble on the floor.”

“That’s not good.” Janvier slipped out his kukris, the curved blades an extension of his body.

“No.” Adele gave Trace another bottle of blood. “There are mortals trapped in those rooms, and you know how quickly bloodlust can spread. Khalil had a look in his eye I didn’t like last night—that’s why I was up and watching the monitors myself, with Trace for company.”

Rupert. The name finally penetrated.

Merde.

“His woman,” Janvier said. “A pretty, plump brunette?” He searched his memory for her name. “Lacey.”

“Dead,” Trace answered, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. “He tore her apart in front of us, did it under the sheets—looked like he was going down on her. Must’ve put his hand over her mouth to stop her screams.”

“We weren’t paying attention to him.” Adele’s distress was open, the club owner oddly softhearted for one running such an establishment. “I mean, it was Rupert. Worst kink he has is staying in the Masque rooms when he knows they’re monitored. A little exhibitionism, that was his thing. He never hurt his women; and this one, he adored. It was their first night being intimate.”

Trace twisted the lid off a third bottle. “She didn’t stand a chance, and he was f*cking out the door before Adele could initiate the lockdown.” A string of harsh words. “I thought I could handle him, but he’s faster and stronger than he should be—no way Rupert should’ve been able to grab me, much less throw me off the mezzanine to the first floor.”

Janvier had once seen a vampire in bloodlust make an impossible leap across a canyon, almost as if he were flying. A large percentage, though, went into bloodthrall after their first kill, a torporlike state caused by their gluttonous feeding that made them easy to hunt down. It didn’t sound like Rupert was one of the latter. “Can I enter the club without going through the passageway?” He’d be the most vulnerable there, the narrow space negating the advantage of his blades.

Naasir jumped down from the roof at that instant, apparently having raced to the location by running along the “lower skyroad,” as he called it. “There is a skylight,” he told Janvier, shoving his hair out of his eyes.

Adele stirred. “It’s reinforced glass. You won’t be able to break it.”

Sheathing his weapons of choice, Janvier met Naasir’s eyes, caught his nod, and then they were climbing, the other vampire in the lead. When they reached the snow-covered skylight, Naasir raised his hands and slammed down with his claws. Cracks spread out from the point of contact. Janvier used the butt of a kukri to deepen the cracks, and then the two of them backed off . . . and ran to jump on the skylight, coming down in a hail of glass that sliced shards through both of them.

Rolling to a standing position, Janvier saw Naasir already pinned down, the once-urbane Rupert on top of him like a ravening beast, Rupert’s face a mask of blood. Naasir should’ve been able to take him without problem—except it appeared Rupert must’ve hit Naasir in midfall, causing the vampire to land on a huge shard of glass that had effectively skewered him to the floor.

All that went through Janvier’s mind in a split second. In position as he rose, he threw one of his blades with the flat spinning motion he’d learned during his time in Neha’s court. The lethally sharp and perfectly balanced kukri spun like one of Ash’s throwing stars, coming to a quivering stop in the wall behind Rupert.

Whose head toppled off his body a second later, the blade having sliced it clean through.

Growling, Naasir shoved off the body, which was spurting blood all over him. “Why did you do that?” he snarled, pulling himself off the glass shard with a look of irritation on his face. “I was about to break his neck.”