• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

The French door behind them smashed open, the wood frame splintering, the glass shattering.

Zsadist took the whole thing out with his back as he was pushed through the thing by some tremendous force. As he landed on the kitchen floor, his skull jacked back and hit the tile so hard it sounded like another gun had gone off. Then, with a horrible yell, the lesser that had thrown him through the door leaped on his chest and the two of them slid across the room, heading right for the cellar stairs.

Zsadist was rock-still under the slayer. Dazed? Dead?

Bella screamed as Butch yanked her out of the way. The only place to go was against the stove, and he shoved her in that direction, shielding her with his body. Only now they were trapped in the kitchen.

Phury and Butch both leveled guns at the tangle of arms and legs on the floor, but the slayer didn’t care. The undead lifted his fist and punched Zsadist in the head.

“No!” she roared.

Except, strangely, the hit seemed to wake Zsadist up. Or maybe her voice had done the trick. His black eyes flipped open and an evil expression came over his face. With a quick thrust he clamped his hands under the lesser’s armpits and twisted so hard, the slayer’s torso contorted into a vicious arch.

In a flash Zsadist was on top, straddling the lesser. He grabbed hold of the slayer’s right arm and stretched it into a bone-cracking bad angle. Then he jammed his thumb under the undead’s chin so far you couldn’t see half the finger and bared long fangs that glistened white and deadly. He bit the lesser in the neck, right through the esophageal column.

The slayer hollered in pain, thrashing wildly between his legs. And that was only the beginning. Zsadist tore his prey apart. When the thing no longer moved, he paused while panting and pushed his fingers into the lesser’s dark hair, splitting a section wide, clearly looking for white roots.

But she could have told him it wasn’t David. Assuming she could find her voice.

Zsadist cursed and caught his breath, but stayed crouched over his kill, looking for signs of life. As if he wanted to keep going.

And then he frowned and glanced up, clearly realizing the battle was over and there had been witnesses.

Oh…Jesus. His face was marked with the black blood of the lesser, and more of the stain covered his chest and hands.

His black eyes shifted to hers. They were bright. Shiny. Just like the blood he’d spilled to defend her. And he quickly looked away, as if he wanted to hide the satisfaction he’d gotten from the kill.

“The other two are finished,” he said, still breathing hard. He pulled out the bottom of his shirt and wiped his face.

Phury headed for the hallway. “Where are they? Front lawn?”

“Try the Omega’s front door. I stabbed them both.” Zsadist looked at Butch. “Take her home. Now. She’s too shocked out to dematerialize. And Phury, you go with them. I want a call the moment she puts a foot in the foyer, we clear?”

“What about you?” Butch said, even as he was moving her around the dead lesser.

Zsadist stood up and unsheathed a dagger. “I’ll poof this one and wait for others to come. When these fuckers don’t check in, there’ll be more.”

“We’ll be back.”

“I don’t care what you do as long as you get her home. So quit talking and start driving.”

Bella reached out to him, though she wasn’t sure why. She was horrified by what he had done and by what he looked like now, all bruised and beaten, his own blood running down his clothes along with the slayers’.

Zsadist slashed a hand through the air, dismissing her. “Get her the hell out of here.”

John leaped from the bus, so damned relieved to be home he almost fell all over himself. Man, if the first two days of training were anything to go by, the next couple years were going to be hell.

As he came in the front door, he whistled.

Wellsie’s voice drifted out of her study. “Hi! How’d it go today?”

While he took off his coat, he blew two quick whistles, which was kind of an okay, fine, all righty type of thing.

“Good.