Page 81 of Tainted Souls
Dozens of glowing red eyes appear in the darkness, surrounding us on all sides. Rhodes wastes no time. She raisesher weapon and fires three shots in rapid succession, each one finding its mark in a vampire’s chest—dead. The backup team emerges from hiding and springs into action. Gunfire erupts from multiple positions. Arrows whiz from a far distance outside. Smoke bombs fly through the air, thudding against the floor and hissing as they detonate, blanketing the facility in reeking clouds and warding off the closest vampires like poison.
I dive for cover, choking on the remnants of smoke I couldn’t avoid, my hand instinctively drawing my dagger in one fluid motion.
There was no command.
Because thisisthe command. The fallback. The safeguard drilled into muscle memory, meant only for disaster.
When comms die, formation fractures, and the only option left is survival, we fade or fight. In other words, retreat if possible, but engage if you must.
I scramble behind a steel pillar as bullets whine past, then pivot and fire at a pair of advancing shadows.
One drops, but the other keeps coming, hissing, until a sniper shot takes it through the chest and drops it like a puppet with cut strings.
“Status report?” I bark into the comm, even knowing what I’ll get.
Static.
I press my back to the pillar, breath ragged, senses wide open.
Screams echo from the far end of the building, both human and vampire. Shadows move above me on the catwalks, too many to count. My blood runs cold as I realize what’s happening. This isn’t just the Whiteshade and her cohorts. This is an army. Dozens of them.
Lexa’s voice comes through, steady despite the chaos. “Seraph, get to extraction point Charlie. We’re outnumbered.”
Hearing her voice brings an unexpected sense of relief, grounding me right when I need it most. Moving low and fast, I retrace my steps toward the same door I entered through earlier, when everything was still under control. Smoke now chokes the aisles between machinery, thick with the bitter burn of gardenia. It stings my skin, eyes, and lungs, slowing me down with every breath. I have to grip the edge of a rusted pipe to steady myself as a fresh volley of gunfire erupts behind me.
When the smoke thins out, I spot the narrow doorway swinging crooked on its hinge, exactly as I left it. I hastily dart through, back into the cold night air. The sudden exposure hits hard, like surfacing from underwater, but I can’t stop. Keeping low, I follow the emergency evac route we mapped earlier. Memory guides me more than sight: right at the collapsed scaffolding. Through the breach in the chain-link fence. Down the rustic embankment.
Behind me, the facility roars with an inhuman howl from inside. There’s more shouts, gunfire, and the unmistakable wet tearing noise that means vampires have reached our front lines.
“Lieutenant Keller is down!” someone yells over the comm, and my heart sinks. “Repeat, Keller is down!”
No, not again. How is this possible? We came overprepared.
I reach a junction and freeze, my body telling me to go back. To help. To prevent more deaths in vain.
I gulp once, hard, then speed back until my path is blocked by three vampires, their eyes gleaming red in the darkness.
I pivot, heading down an alternate route, only to find it similarly obstructed. They’re herding me, I realize with mounting dread. Like wolves circling prey.
“I’m heading back,” I report, even if static is my only answer. It’s my signal to them to hold out for as long as they can, while I take care of these pesky vampires obstructing me.
My comm crackles.
“Seraph…” Lexa’s voice is strained and breathless. “D-don’t come. It’s a trap.”
My pulse thrums in my throat, backed against the wall to eliminate one angle of attack. The vampires surge forward and I spin into action, my dagger flashing as I cut through the first line of attackers. The G-oil does its work, searing vampire flesh and filling the air with the stench of burning. I activate the other spray on my gloves, sending a fine mist of gardenia extract into the faces of those who get too close.
They recoil, screaming as their skin blisters and peels.
“Where are you?” I demand through my comm, already moving in the direction of her last known position.
To my relief, it crackles.
“Look up, darling.” A slow, almost amused voice slithers through the comm. “On the rooftop.”
Through the shifting veil of fog left hanging in the air, I catch eerie movement above. Just a flicker at first, a silhouette through the haze. I look up, squinting past the rising gardenia vapor to the rooftop of the treatment plant.
There, half-obscured by darkness and swirling mist, stands a lean figure, broad-shouldered and hauntingly still. His bone-white hair stirs a shade in the wind, a few loose strands framing a face carved with cruel amusement. His eyes gleam, fixed on me like a predator enjoying the moment before the pounce.
