Page 37 of Tainted Souls
Her smile widens as she gestures to her companions. “Restrain her.”
The vampires move with blinding speed, securing my wrists in front of me with metal chains, the weight heavy even for me.
“You won’t be needing this,” Clementine says, plucking the comm unit from my ear and crushing it between her fingers. “Or this.” She retrieves my weapons from their holsters in one swift motion, including the hidden ones in my boots and jacket, causing me to feel more naked than if I actually were.
“How did you—”
“Please,” she scoffs. “I’ve been playing this game longer than you’ve been alive.”
A rough fabric bag gets thrown over my head. Darkness engulfs me as the coarse material scratches against my face.
“Move,” a gruff voice commands, shoving me forward.
I stumble in my steps, disoriented by the sudden blindness. Hands grip my arms, steering me through what feels like a maze of streets. I try to keep track of our movements—left, right, straight for about fifty paces, then right again—but they purposely zigzag, making it impossible to maintain any sense of direction.
The distant sound of rotors cuts overhead. The extraction team. But they’re not supposed to move in until I’m secured at the vampire’s location.
Something is wrong.
Gunfire erupts, the distinctive crack of lumen rounds splitting the air.
CHAPTER 7
MYCAPTORS CURSE,their grips tightening painfully on my arms as they increase our pace to a run, the pavement pounding under my boots.
“Slayers!” one of them hisses.
More shots, closer now. A body thumps to the ground nearby.
The military steps of Redmoore operatives clomp loudly, their coordinated movements forming a perimeter around us.
Clementine barks orders in a language I don’t recognize, her voice tight with fury. The hands on my right arm suddenly disappear. A wet gurgle follows, then the thud of a body hitting the ground.
I twist, trying to free myself from the remaining grip on my left, but it’s like iron around my bicep.
“Retreat!” Clementine’s screech soars like a hawk over the treetops.
I’m yanked forward with such strength it nearly dislocates my shoulder. I dig my heels into the ground, fighting against themomentum. The bag shifts slightly, allowing me a glimpse of chaos.
Slayers in tactical gear are engaging vampires in brutal close-quarters combat, splatters of vitae spraying across ancient stonework as lumen blades find their marks.
“This way!” My captor drags me despite my resistance.
Clementine’s footsteps retreat in the opposite direction, drawing most of the slayers with her.
The plan is working.
The vampires are scattered, the blood is secured, and the extraction team is pushing them back. Soon, I will be free.
A new sound overtakes the chaos of gunfire—a strange, awful tearing noise followed by silence. Then another. And another.
The coordinated shouts of slayers falter, replaced by screams of confusion and pain. My captor freezes, his grip on my arm slackening. I take advantage of the distraction, dropping to the ground and rolling away. The bag falls from my head, and I blink against the sudden influx of moonlight, trying to make sense of the scene before me.
Bodies litter the square—both vampires and slayers—throats torn out, chests caved in, limbs twisted at impossible angles. And moving among them, silent as midnight, are figures in dark clothing, their lower faces obscured by masks.
The Ravens.
My captor’s heart is suddenly separated from his ribcage, his body collapsing beside me, revealing the vampire who makes my heart beat tenfold with rage.
