I wondered what they thought of a fellow dark master killing their own. That is, until I didn’t care what they thought.
I moved around the still-screaming girl and told her to stop screaming. In fact, I quickly reached into her mind to calm her down. Her screaming was making it hard for me to think, and attracting more of the semi-werewolves.
Not that it matter. Just as I reached out with a pointed index finger, I felt it happen. From one second to the next, I was a different person...and so were the creatures now bounding toward me. They were very, very much different.
The sun had set.
Just like that.
I swiped clean through her ropes and had just reached for her hand, when something powerful hit me from the side...and sent me hurtling head over ass into the grass.
* * *
I spun to my back and lifted the gun, just as the creature was in mid-leap, its massive, clawed hands reaching for me, its oversized mouth gaping open. The creature was nearly as big as the creature Kingsley had turned into. Nearly, but not quite.
As it flew through the air, I had a clear shot at its chest, and I took it, simultaneously firing and rolling to my right.
The ground shook with the thudding weight of the beast, who gasped and clawed the earth, and then lay still. As he transformed back into a naked man, I was already up and moving, scrambling back to the now-freed woman.
Chapter Forty-two
Six werewolves, all of different sizes and shapes.
Which one had been Gunther, I didn’t know, nor did it matter. Not any more.
Six werewolves, four bullets.
The problem was: I couldn’t seem to focus long enough on the single flame. I needed a sense of peace around me. Some quiet. The ability to focus.
I could do none of that now as I held the girl’s hand and pointed at the circling, hulking, massive creatures that could have just as easily been giant apes or Sasquatches.
For the first time in a long time, I knew I was in a bad situation. There was a chance I could outrun them, although I doubted that. There might even be a chance I could scale this sheer rock wall, or climb the massive gate. But I suspected the werewolves were faster than me.
All of those scenarios involved leaving Elise behind.
And I wasn’t going to do that, not now.
I needed to focus to bring forth the single flame, and I couldn’t. Not at this moment, and not with these creatures coming closer and closer. They were fearsome, even to me. Each standing well over seven feet tall, some as tall as eight feet. Their heads were huge, as big as a lion’s. Their shoulders and arms were thick enough to drag a car behind them. Thick tufts of hair covered each, especially over their chests.
“What’s happening?” the girl asked, and just as she asked it, another werewolf charged, one of the smaller ones. I fired and hit him in the neck, and still, he came. I fired again, and hit him just below the heart. Not a direct hit. I fired again and again, until I finally got the fucker in the heart.
He pitched forward, skidding on his face, and when he transformed back to human, I saw that it was Gunther.
Except now, I was out of bullets and we were out of time. To make matters worse, the remaining five werewolves charged at once.
* * *
They moved fast.
Faster than I could probably run, and certainly faster than I could pull Elise along. There was going to be blood, and it wasn’t looking good for either of us.
I had just decided to target the werewolves’ eyes—they might be immortal, but they needed to see—when I heard the familiar popping sound.
The man I knew to be Dracula—a man who wasn’t really a man, but something else entirely, the first vampire, in fact—appeared before me, brandishing a silver dagger.
Before the closest werewolf could react, Vlad Tepes plunged the blade deep into its chest. As the werewolf pitched forward, Dracula disappeared again with a pop.
The remaining four werewolves appeared confused, although hard to tell through all the fur and the general rage in their eyes. They did, however, pause, and I used that chance to pull Elise away, deeper into the valley.
Behind me, I heard another pop, and turned in time to see Dracula appear behind another werewolf, and drive the silver dagger into its heart from behind.
As it dropped dead, Dracula disappeared again.
Three left, and one of them was gaining on us rapidly, its long stride covering the ground much faster than I could pull Elise along. So, I stopped and did the only rational thing a five-foot, three-inch mother of two would do.
I ran at it as fast as I could, my legs whooshing the air as I built up speed.
Somewhere behind me, I heard another pop as another werewolf howled and thudded to the ground, courtesy of Dracula’s blade. Three were left, but I only saw the shaggy beast directly before me. I leaped off my feet, just as it did the same.
Chapter Forty-three
Its huge, fur-covered hand caught my fist in mid-strike.
Never had I encountered something so powerful...and this werewolf wasn’t even close to being as big as Kingsley was. Its grip was unreal, and its sheer force brought immediate tears to my eyes. It crushed down on my hand, and I felt the bones breaking. It lifted me off the ground and studied me curiously.
Meanwhile, I heard more popping sounds, and another death growl. Two left, including the one currently holding me up by my broken hand.
I whimpered through the pain and fought his grip to no avail. It brought me closer and I thought that it might look at me more closely, or even smell me, but its mouth opened instead. It was going to take the mother of all bites out of me.
His jaws came at me quickly, rushing at me—and I reverted back to my original plan.
I drove my two fingers deep into his eyes. Hell, I drove them all the way through his eyes and to the back of his skull. The creature howled in pain and tossed me to the side and as it dug its palms into its face, turning in circles, Dracula appeared before him...and drove his dagger deep into his chest. The creature dropped his hands, then dropped to his knees, and pitched forward. A moment later, it reverted back to a middle-aged man with love handles.
This time Vlad didn’t disappear, and for good reason. The werewolves were dead, as evidenced by the eight naked men with wounds to their chests. Apparently, Dracula had killed another while I had been dangling like a fish on a line.
“Are you okay, Samantha Moon?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I think.”
He wiped the blade in the tall grass, then sheathed it and came over to me, examining my hand. “Nothing that won’t heal itself in a few hours. Did he bite you?”
“No, I don’t think so.”