Blood Moon (Vampire Vigilante 1)

I touched the flat of the katana against my skin. People screamed. Divine lightning went shooting through my veins, frying me from the inside out. I cried out, shuddering. The pain – excruciating. The blade stuck to me like a magnet, the current grasping my skin like talons made out of a million pricking needles. With a final, desperate effort, I ripped the katana away, killing the circuit.

Something sizzled. I thought I could smell smoke wafting off the tips of my hair.

“You’re fucking crazy,” Damien said, his face wrought with disgust, but also, admiration. Little bit.

I rolled my shoulders and cracked my neck. “Maybe. But that woke me right the fuck up.”

Damien barely had time to blink and open his mouth for some pithy response. I rushed to close the little space between us, slashing out with the katana, aiming for his thigh. He screamed as the blade bit into his flesh, arcs of lightning running across his skin.

“Feels great, doesn’t it?” I said. “Really jolts you awake. Like being tased in an open wound.”

Damien grimaced, pressing both hands against his thigh. Garm’s Fang clanged as it fell onto the ground. “Fuck you and every last tainted vampire on this planet.” Blood ran down his fingers, spilling from the gash in his leg. Excellent.

“Point vampire. Two all.”

Jackie was looking a little nervous now. So were the other wolves, and most importantly, so was Damien. Just another drop of blood spilled and this would all be over.

Damien retrieved his claymore. I stood with my legs astride, sword and scabbard in each hand. Wordlessly, we continued the fight. I leaned in, hungry for another cut. Sparks trailed with the breeze as I rushed for Damien’s blood.

But he knew my tricks now. As sturdy as the katana’s steel might be, it was still very possible to deflect with the right shield, the right armor, or the right angle of an opposing weapon. Damien swatted his claymore towards me, his brute strength pushing my katana right out of my grip.

The katana went clattering across the asphalt, sparks and arcs of electricity fizzling out as it lost contact with my skin. Fuck. I was defenseless. The shadow of Garm’s Fang fell over me like a shroud. The blade was going to follow soon. I glared at it, angry, defiant. I wasn’t supposed to lose. Not like this.

But my defining trait was being stubborn as shit. I might act like I don’t care about things, but I’ve always hated the idea of losing. I refused to lose. I refused to back down.

I refused to die.

Reflexes took over, along with my very being’s determination to continue existing. I sidestepped Garm’s Fang at the last moment, its passage so close to my body that it could have shaved off the fine hairs on my arms. The claymore smashed into the ground. No wonder this parking lot had so many fucking potholes. But Damien’s confidence and anger had gotten the best of him. He’d put everything into that attack, burying the blade into the pavement. I didn’t have my sword anymore, but I did still have my scabbard.

I grabbed the scabbard with both hands, wielding it like a bat, or a club. In a single smooth motion, I twisted, driving power into my blow with my legs, my arms, my hips. The target: Damien’s hairy, stupid face.

Bone cracked as the scabbard met its mark. Damien’s head twisted at an uncomfortable angle, the impact forcing the air out of his

cheeks, along with a fair amount of saliva and blood. He stumbled, relinquishing his hold on Garm’s Fang, leaving it stuck in the pavement, the sword in the stone. He spat into his hand, a single, sharp white tooth, sitting in a puddle of spit and blood.

Point three.

“Eye for an eye,” I said, smiling. “And a tooth for a tooth, baby.”

I thought Damien would be angrier, but his face was oddly expressionless. He nodded once. “You win, vampire.”

“Call it, Jackie,” I said, resting the scabbard on my shoulder.

She did. She didn’t like it, but she did.

“The bloodsucker wins.”

You could feel the outrage coming off the wolves in heated waves. Their boos should’ve rattled me, but all the noise was starting to blur together. It sounded a hell of a lot like applause to me. I caught Asher pumping his fist, then Gil shaking his head in disapproval.

What? I won, didn’t I?

11

“Another one?” Damien said, offering me a salt shaker and a wedge of lime.

I shrugged. “Yeah, you know what? Fuck it. Hit me.”

The tang of lime and salt was the best part. The burning that went down my throat, not so much. Tequila was the worst. Not really, but after a bloody fight, it’s not the best thing to pour down your gullet. However, as much trouble as my mouth could get me into, I still had an understanding of social subtleties.