LIKE FATHER LIKE DAUGHTER
Rory rushed through the muddy streets, slipping and skidding in the rain, her still heart in opposition to the apprehension kicking up a storm into her mind to rival the one outside.
She couldn’t – she wouldn’t – watch another vampire kneel in the dirt to die in front of her. She didn’t have a proper plan, nothing besides the anxiety propelling her forward. Honestly, she did not know what she would do when she came face to face with rebel kin. She couldn’t tell whether she’d clobber them over the head or warn them that her father was coming for them, that the resistance was rallying and their insurrection would be vanquished. Their sole advantage of surprise was quickly melting away, and numbers were on the Keeper’s side.
A strangled, frustrated yell burst out of her lungs as she fell in the sludge, skidding on her knees before coming to an awkward stop.
How could they be so bloody stupid?
Rory did not care for the Upyr, and had anyone at any point come up with a halfway decent plan of destroying them all, she’d have eagerly joined in. But this was nothing short of madness. A mere handful lived in Sanctuary, they doubtlessly had kin and loyalists back at their Court who would see this town leveled for its hubris. It might have been a dream gone sour to her, but its promise of hope was still something she wanted to protect.
She just wanted to protect other vampires, too.
The sudden conflict between these two wills raged within her, making her hesitate. It wasn’t often she found herself not knowing what to do. It was during that stillness, those icy moments as she struggled with herself, that she heard it. The choked scream, the ring of metal, and she was on her feet, running towards the muted sounds of battle. She saw them first, before the smell of blood reached her, narrowing her vision to a mere pinprick of light. Two Upyr and a human whose mask was being ripped off his face. Rory leaped on a roof, stalking the scene. The creatures were both soldiers, wearing their uniform and their swords, but when their jaws started to unhinge she froze.
It was the first time she witnessed such a sight and the utter wrongness of it was sickly fascinating. But if she didn’t move, that man would die – he would be eaten alive, and no doubt they’d leave nothing behind to incriminate them. She jumped, landing heavily on one of them before he took a bite of his prey, and using him as a springboard to kick his fellow away. Rory rolled with her momentum, landing in a crouch, lips pulled back in a snarl.
“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” she taunted, uncoiling to her full height, feet apart, ready to spring again. The tips of her fingers tingled uncomfortably with the urge to rip open some throats. The smell of warm, fresh blood spilling on the ground brushed against her senses, making it harder to focus, but she forced through the bloodlust, gaze sharp on the Upyr who were shaking themselves back on their feet.
The rain was loud and messed with her hearing. It also washed away the smell of blood, helping her remain, barely, on the razor edge of her control. But even with it falling thickly around her, it still couldn’t mask the sound of footsteps, not in this mud, sucking at every single step. Rory twisted abruptly, lighting-fast, getting out of the way of a third sword that cut through the space she’d occupied a split second before. She continued on, without stopping, without slowing and grabbed the third Upyr by his sword arm, yanking him off his feet. Her boot landed heavily on his thigh bone, and he screamed loud enough to almost cover the sound of his leg breaking.
His weapon was now in her hands, and not a moment too soon as the other two rushed her. Rory was faster than them, and she’d had plenty of practice fighting with her own kind to find their movements somewhat stilted and slow. But hers was a style of fangs and claws, brawls in the arena, and the few times she’d touched the swords in her father’s office, it had been playacting. They were trained, and well, to fight with such weapons, and she struggled to avoid their attacks, the sword more of a hindrance as she lifted it to meet their blows.
Her father’s swords had not been sharpened for decades, these were honed to an edge fine enough to whistle as they cut through air. She had to disable another one of them, but they were protecting each other, fighting like a single organism. She feinted left, pretending she wanted to step between them, before bursting right, using the sword to block the blow that moved to meet her, keeping the body of one of them between her and his comrade, and then her hand closed against the back of his shirt, pulling him with her as she backed away. Without hesitating, she pressed her knee to his back and shoved him in the dirt, stepping on his sword arm until she heard the snap of bones fracturing.
She was already running as she picked up the second sword, smashing into the last Upyr and pushing the weapons away from their bodies as she landed on his chest in a spray of mud. One sword firmly pressed against his to keep it lowered, she lifted the second one and fitted the flat of the blade under his chin, keeping his mouth firmly closed. “You’ll find my flesh tougher to chew on, you bastard,” she snarled.
