I pass the Reaper and meet the next wolf before he has the chance to jump. My shoulders roll as I sweep the sword in a seamless arc. The edge of the blade splits the vertebrae apart, severs tendon and flesh. The wolf's head slips free of his body. The heart pumps a spray of blood across my face.

I lick my lips and look over my shoulder at Ashen with a joyous smile. A crease appears between his brows as he gives me a dark and thoughtful frown. When I turn back to the wolves, they are no longer holding their ranks back.

They send everyone.

They surround us. Ashen and I position ourselves to fight back-to-back. Some of the werewolves push into one another as they close ranks. Two of them snap and snarl as they bump shoulders. Predictable. Werewolves are always jostling for position. But the Reaper and I, our blood is liquid patience. We wait. We wait for the wolves to make the first move.

I still and listen to the cadence of my breath. I hear the slow thrum of my heart. I feel the heat of the Reaper behind me and see flashes of the hellfire on his blade as it cuts through the air, swinging like a pendulum from one side to the next.

The first wolves surge ahead. These ones are bigger, stronger. But I don't see the distinctive, electric blue eyes of an Alpha among them. Time seems to speed up as Ashen and I cut and slash and stab and spin. We dance. Our swords never touch. We're like strings of the same instrument, meant to play a melody together.

I shake my head. A melody? ... For fucksakes. You know what? It's true. We vampires have a problem separating danger and desire.

I refocus on the task at hand, namely slicing werewolves and hissing venomously while I can. I should have kept a tally of kills; I'd like to shove it in the Reaper's face once this battle is done. But then, I might not get the chance. I think he's going to figure it out. He's going to realize that I'm not just any vampire.

I'm starting to think about what's going to happen at the end of all this bloodshed and that's when I let myself get distracted. It's been like...decades...since I fought a battle. I'm out of practice, okay? And as soon as I let my guard down, a werewolf clamps its slimy teeth around my arm.

I howl in pain and hiss in fury. I let the blade drop from my ruined arm. With my left hand, I withdraw a silver dagger hidden on my belt. I drive it through the top of the werewolf's skull and pull my arm free as his jaws go slack.

I grit out a growl of pain just as a warm palm slides over my hip and halts low against my stomach. A surge of heat coils across my spine. My breath hitches and burns in my lungs at the unexpected touch. The Reaper spins us to position himself in the worst of the fight.

"All right, vampire?" he asks, glancing down over his shoulder at me. I don't answer, and he twists further to catch a glimpse of the thick black blood rolling down my arm. When he meets my eyes again I swallow and give a nod. "Good," he says as his hand slips away. My skin gives an unwelcome tingle at the absence of his warmth. Ashen doesn't seem to notice the tension it renders in my muscle and bone as he refocuses on the fight in front of him. "Now retrieve your sword."

I sheath my dagger and pick up the sword with my good hand. This is the first time I realize that Ashen might not be as confident about the outcome of our battle as it seems. He needs me in this fight with him. No matter how many wolves we fell, there just seem to be more.

We keep pushing them back, and I'm so busy slashing that I could have missed it. One blink, one turn, one distraction. But I catch a glimpse of them, a line of eyes in shadow. Werewolves in their human forms. Something metallic catches the light of the moon and I'm already dropping through the mist when the Reaper pushes me down.

There's a pop, and then a whooshing, whirling sound. Something scrapes and clatters against the brick wall behind us. Beneath the mist, I meet the Reaper's fiery eyes, and when the next pop fires he pushes me away from the net of silver that spirals between us.

"Stay down," he whispers, and I keep low. I shelter my glowing red gaze with my hand, but I still watch through the slits in my fingers. Ashen closes his eyes and draws his body away from mine, his movement slow and soundless as he crawls in the direction of the wolves. Beneath the cover of mist there is an empty space where I can see their legs and the disintegrating bodies of their brethren. They are stalking us, and Ashen is stalking them.

He fells the werewolf with the weapon first, cutting the man's legs off below the knees and then kicking the metal tube out of the path of the pack. He takes two more before I scramble beneath the fog and join him, cutting down three with my left hand as I clutch my throbbing right arm to my chest. Between us, we kill eight, and when the last one falls the mist starts to dispel.

We kneel facing one another, both heaving for breath. I wonder for the first time what this mist is made of. Aerosol werewolf juices? So gross. I try to convince my lungs to slow down, but they rebel, and I suck those juices right in like air candy.

Holy fuck my arm hurts. 

Don't get me wrong, I've been injured before. But like I said, it's been a while. I forgot how painful a werewolf bite is. The venom in their saliva won't kill me, but I'll be hurting, and if I want to keep my arm I'll have to treat it. I grip the handle of the blade at my hip so tightly I might crush it within my palm. I've got my injured arm clutched to my hammering heart when I feel a set of warm fingers curl around my wrist, guiding the ruin of flesh into the moonlight.

The Reaper takes my elbow in his other hand and twists it carefully under his scrutiny. Blood as dark as the midnight sky curls across my skin. "You need to feed or the venom will take hold," he says, pressing his fingers close to an oozing puncture. I nod when he meets my eyes, and his own narrow in question.

Here it is. Here's the moment I've been either dreading or hoping for. Maybe it's for the best that all this running comes to an end. Or maybe, just maybe, another Reaper can pay for the family they stole from me. Either way, it seems like I can't lose. So why do I feel the sting of disappointment in my chest?

"Who are you, vampire?"

As an obsidian blade pierces above the Reaper's heart and his demon blood sizzles hot across my neck, I think of an unexpected refrain for the second time tonight:

Thank fuck for werewolves.

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Chapter 4

A woman leans over the Reaper's shoulder. Her eyes dance as she pushes her blade further into Ashen's body. The polished black point glints like it's whispering to me in the night.

I meet the Reaper's eyes. They are fixed on mine, their flame rippling as he tries to control his breath and pain.

"Attraction yields distraction. Distraction yields destruction," she says into the Reaper's ear.

Well that's fucking ridiculous. 

I keep my eyes on the Reaper as I throw my dagger at a werewolf in the periphery. He drops the net gun he had silently picked up. My dagger twitches with the last beat of his heart.

I want to quip something cool, like Arrogance yields annihilation. But I don't. I yank the Reaper forward off the obsidian blade and launch myself at the shewolf. Her back smacks onto the grimy asphalt. I tear the tendons from her wrist and she howls as the blade falls from her limp hand. I bring my face close to hers and smile so she can see her blood on my teeth. Her eyes are wide, full of both fear and fury. My arm throbs and the Reaper's words ring through my mind. You need to feed.