Page 53 of Tainted Souls
But it’s not hunger that overtakes him.
The dagger is forcefully yanked from my stomach and tossed aside. Before I can react, he grabs me, hoisting me over his shoulder with his newfound vampire strength.
“What are you doing?!” The wound in my abdomen screams as he jostles me. “Max, put me down!”
He doesn’t respond.
Instead, he moves toward the cave entrance with uncanny purpose, the last rays of sunlight having disappeared below the horizon when he carries me out into the forest. The twilight air hits my face as he runs, his vampire speed turning the trees into blurs around us. Blood drips from my wound, leaving a trail behind us that I can only hope someone will follow.
CHAPTER 11
MY MINDRACES,spinning through what is and what must not be, finally starting to make sense of what is happening: Max isn’t himself. He’s being controlled. His sire must have some kind of influence over him. That’s why she let us have her blood. Not as a gesture of mercy, but as a means of control. It was all part of her plan. Perhaps not the main plan, but a backup plan.
A sire bond.
I’ve heard of it before, vaguely, something about wanting to please your sire, the vampire who turned you. There has just never been an instance where this was proven, since most vampires don’t have contact with their sires anymore.
Which means that she must be nearby for this to work.
I act fast, swiveling in his grip and using the momentum to slam my elbow into the back of his neck. It’s a precise strike, one that would incapacitate a human instantly, but Max barely stumbles.
My wound is already starting to heal, but I’m still weak from blood loss. With a deep breath, I gather my strength for a more decisive blow.
I drive my knee hard into his sternum, following with a sharp strike to his temple. Max falters, his grip loosening just enough for me to break free. I roll as I hit the ground, ignoring the searing pain in my abdomen and springing to my feet.
Max turns, his movements still mechanical but now overlaid with aggression. He lunges for me, but I’m ready, sidestepping his attack and delivering a powerful uppercut to his jaw, sending him staggering backward. Before he can recover, I follow with a roundhouse kick to the side of his head, which makes him drop like a stone.
I stand over him, chest heaving, blood soaking through my tank top. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. He’s out cold, but otherwise unscathed.
A twig snaps behind me, then another. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I sense multiple presences surrounding us.
I turn slowly, muscles tensing despite my injury. I was right.
Fifteen or so vampires, probably more, form a circle around me and Max. Their eyes gleam with the same predatory anticipation as the last time. Without hesitation, I fumble at my wrist and yank off the signal jammer, hoping beyond reason that they’ve been trying to monitor me. It wouldn’t have taken long for the hospital to find out Max is gone, and a simple investigation could’ve easily traced it back to me and my disappearance. The device drops to the ground with a dull bang, but I don’t spare it another glance.
“Not bad for a fledgling,” Clementine shrugs, cocking her head to the side.
“What did you do to him?” I ask, shifting into a defensive stance despite knowing I’m wounded and outnumbered.
She smiles, baring a pair of perfect white fangs. “I merely suggested he bring you to me.”
“You turned thirty-seven people just to get to me?” I ask, trying to buy time as I assess my options. My dagger is back in the cave, and I’m losing blood faster than my body can replenish it. As I take a step back, my heel brushes against Max’s unconscious form.
“A necessary sacrifice,” she says dismissively, then snaps her fingers to make all vampires close in on me in unison, at a rate too fast for me to react.
Instinctively, I launch myself at the nearest tree, each of my hands snagging a kunai from my hip and sinking them into the wood.
As I dangle, suspended by my arms, my wound reopens, fresh blood spilling down my abdomen. I haul myself onto a low branch, testing its strength under my weight, and assess my measly options: flee upward, or fight downward.
My eyes dart to the horde below, their fangs bared in a frenzy from my blood, then flit to the vampires already springing along the branches, closing in on my perch.
Height advantage only works if I can keep my distance—up close, it barely matters; vampires can leap just as far and high, if not farther and higher, closing the gap in an instant. And with my injury, I don’t stand a chance.
With only one direction to go, my kunai drive into two vampires mid-air as I flip back to the ground. I roll through the landing to absorb the impact, coming up in a crouch. My hand instantly shoots to my boot, snatching my pocket knife and bracing myself to kill.
As they come for me, I waste no time with slashes or shows of force, solely aiming for the hollows between ribs. The crystal hisses as it meets blood, bodies folding like puppets with their strings cut.
Each strike demands focus and space that I am losing fast. For every heart I still, others surge closer. My breath comes ragged, my wound burns, but I keep dodging and stabbing, each successful thrust buying me seconds I need to keep moving. When hands grab at me from all sides, clawing and restraining, my knife slips free from my grip. I manage to break one vampire’s jaw with my head and another’s knee with a well-placed kick, but it tickles them at best. After a few more punches, my energy is spent.
