Chapter 4

The freezing Detroit rain hit my bare skin like a thousand tiny needles the second I burst through the shattered front doors of the mansion. I didn't care. The continuous, frantic wail of the Crown Vic's horn was like a leash pulling me toward it, fearful as I was at what danger Allan might be in.

I flew down the grand steps, my bare feet slapping violently against the slick, ice-cold cobblestones. I clutched the front of my heavy leather trench coat tightly across my bouncing breasts with my left hand, keeping it closed against the biting wind, while my right hand dug deep into the inner pocket. My fingers wrapped around the cold, comforting steel grip of my.38 revolver.

Then I looked up, and the breath caught in my throat.

The driveway was a theater of pure, savage slaughter, illuminated by the dim yellow glare of Allan's headlights.

A man in a heavy leather jacket was on the ground, shrieking in pain. Blood was gushing from where one of his legs had been torn off from his torso. Another man, similarly dressed, was facing down the creature responsible: an eight foot tall monstrosity made up of dark black fur, muscle, and hate. Slaver dripped from the beast's maw of and its yellow teeth were like miniature daggers. Its eyes were intelligent, cold, and burning a harsh gold color like miniature suns against a pool of black.

As I skidded closer, my heart stopped. I recognized the man still standing, whose fingers were presently turning into claws. It was Viktor, one of Marcus Sterling's top lieutenant. The man on the ground must be his brother, another vampire named Jacob. That the Count of Detroit had his top two lieutenants here shortly after Eleanor's wards fell was troubling. But that was a worry for later. Right now the more concerning fact was that Viktor was losing this fight. One of the more powerful vampires in the city, Viktor had a reputation for being cruel, merciless, and a skilled killer.

Right now his skills were being put to the test. His lips were pulled back to reveal elongated, razor-sharp fangs that gleamed under the amber headlights. He was yelling obscenities at the beast with pure, unadulterated rage as his brother bled out.

"Jesus Christ! Vivienne! Vivienne!" Allan shrieked from inside the car, his voice cracking into panicked hysteria. His eyes were wide behind his crooked glasses, locked onto the carnage. The Veil hadn't just been peered through here; it ripped asunder right in front of him. Everything he knew about what was and was not real suddenly blown away in an instant. The tone in his voice went beyond terror and skirted the edge of madness. When the supernatural makes itself known to those behind the Veil, the results can be catastrophic. Some mundane humans never recover from such an experience.

But that was another worry for later.

For now I had to ignore him and focus on the beast and the vampire.

My bare feet gripped the slick gravel as I slowed to a halt, raising my gun. "JUST STAY IN THE CAR!" I yelled at Allan. "DON'T WATCH THIS SHIT! LOOK AWAY!"

Whether he heeded my advice, I didn't know. I was too busy watching as Viktor's fingers finished elongating into jagged claws and his eyes began burning into predatory red. With a feral hiss, the lieutenant moved with vampiric speed and then leaped onto the werewolf's massive back, wildly clawing and tearing at the creature's neck. The werewolf unleashed a deafening howl of rage as blood gushed from the fresh wounds, his massive arms sweeping backward to throw Viktor off.

The wolf tore Viktor from his back and brutally ripped open the lieutenant's throat, dropping his limp body into the mud. It wouldn't permanently kill a vampire like Viktor. Only sunlight, fire, or a stake to the heart could finish him. But it took him out of the fight instantly, leaving him bleeding out alongside his brother.

Then, the beast turned his glowing, amber eyes directly onto me.

He sniffed the air, catching the heavy scent of me: witchery magic, sex, and arousal all mingled with the expensive French perfume still clinging to my skin. He bared a row of yellow fangs and a low, guttural growl followed.

He lowered his head, bending his massive hind legs to charge.

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Even so, the.38 didn't shake. I stood my ground and squeezed the trigger.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

With every deafening blast, the heavy recoil jerked my hand upward, and the violent rush of wind tore my trench coat wide open. The unbuttoned leather flapped wildly in the storm, exposing my bare legs and breasts to the freezing rain, but I didn't flinch. I emptied the cylinder, landing every single shot directly into the werewolf's chest.

The heavy lead slugs tore into his fur, making him snarl and stumble back a step, but they didn't drop him. There was no silver in these bullets, and this wolf was far too large and powerful for mundane lead to stop him.

So yeah, that had been a miscalculation on my part.

Dread suddenly gripped my stomach. My cane! I had left my silver-bladed skull cane in Eleanor's mansion. Fat lot of good it was going to do me there.

The Alpha realized I was defenseless. He ignored the standard lead in his wounds and let out a mocking, triumphant snap of his jaws. He lunged forward, covering the distance between us in a fraction of a second, a towering wall of fur and fangs hurtling straight at my throat.

I didn't run. There was nowhere to go. Instead, I dropped the empty revolver into the mud, planted my bare heels firmly into the slick cobblestone, and threw both of my hands out in front of me. I channelled every ounce of my raw, covenless magic into a single, desperate barrier.

"Praesidium!" I roared.

A shimmering, translucent wall of invisible kinetic force snapped into existence an inch from my face.

The Alpha slammed into the barrier at full speed. The impact was deafening, a loud CRACK that rippled violently down my arms and threatening to shatter the bones in my shoulders. It knocked me back half a foot. My bare feet skidded across the cobblestone and back into the gravel, but the shield held. The kinetic backlash exploded outward, catching the beast dead in the chest and launching his massive frame backward. He went sprawling violently into a thick patch of mud and split timber.

Before the werewolf could scramble back to his feet, the air in the driveway went dead, freezing solid in a fraction of a second. Rain turned to sleet and froze across my skin and jacket. A blur of crimson and pale skin dropped from the second-story balcony, landing lightly on the cobblestones directly between me and the beast.

Eleanor stood tall in the flurry of sleet and renewed wind, her silk crimson robe blowing around her bare legs, her dark eyes completely black with an ancient, terrifying authority. Her small, pale breasts were a sight to behold and the weight of her vampiric aura rolled over the driveway. She bared her fangs, letting out a low, predatory hiss that promised nothing but death.

The Alpha scrambled out of the mud, his chest heaving, his amber eyes darting from Eleanor's raw, elder power to the blood dripping from his bullet wounds. He was heavy, powerful, and brutal, but as I'd seen in his eyes, he wasn't stupid. He was wounded, and he was facing a high-society elder on her own turf.

With a final, frustrated snap of his jaws, the werewolf turned and leaped into the dark canopy of the oaks, disappearing into the blinding Detroit downpour.

To my surprise, Eleanor didn't give chase. She stood perfectly still, watching the tree line until the wild hum of his magic vanished entirely from the air.

Slowly, the icy tension in the air began to lift. The sleet turned back to rain. Eleanor turned her head slightly, looking back over her shoulder at me. Her eyes raked over my shivering, mud-splattered form, noting the way I was frantically pulling the edges of my trench coat back over my naked body. A cruel, amused little smirk tugged at the corner of her cold lips.

"After tonight, modesty doesn't suit you," she murmured smoothly.

"The vampires," I said, pointing.

She looked in their direction. Viktor was up, moving like an eighty year old human, dragging his legless brother's still body after him as he made his way down the drive.

Eleanor scowled. "I don't see any other vampires here tonight," she said loudly. "Especially not the underlings of our wise and powerful Count!"

Viktor looked back at us briefly, then redoubled his efforts to extricate himself from Eleanor's domain.

Before I could say anything else the Crown Vic's blaring horn finally quieted. The sudden absence of that noise made me notice it, and I turned and saw poor Allan, his head against the steering wheel, weeping.

Well, shit, I thought.

End of Chapter 4