effect of the silver would be coursing throughout his body and he wouldn’t be able to hang on. Like hell if he’d let this one get away. It’d only be a matter of time before this blood-dealing loser was back to work on the streets of Seattle, enticing vampires to revert. Ply a susceptible vampire with enough blood and the old cravings of their ancestors—the uncontrollable kind, the blood-sucking, energy-slogging kind—would be too strong to ignore.
With a final surge of adrenaline, Jackson gripped the handle with both hands and angled the point upward.
“Eat this, you son of a bitch.”
And in one mighty, satisfying jerk, the blade found its mark.
Footsteps pounded on the cobblestones just as Jackson rolled away, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to avoid the charcoaling body. A thin layer of ash covered the toes of his Lucchese ostrich-skin boots and he tried to brush it off. He wasn’t picky about a lot of things, but these boots set him back almost a thousand bucks. He’d bought them to impress his parents when he showed up at the ranch wearing them—they were the only kind of boots his father wore—but they hadn’t even noticed. Still, he loved them and didn’t want them covered with Darkblood stink.
“Holy shit, are you okay, man?”
“Good timing,” he growled, ignoring his partner’s outstretched hand as he pushed himself to his feet.
“The little one elbowed me right in the gut. Couldn’t breathe for a minute. Damn, you worked these guys over fast.”
With his back turned, Jackson examined his injury. It was more like a scratch, really. He was weak, yes, but like carb loading before a marathon, all the human energy he’d slogged tonight should prevent the effects of the silver from being too serious. Or at least he hoped it would. The pain had made its way to his shoulder now and he grimaced.
Mitch’s eyes widened. “Are you okay? He got you, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, with my blade.”
“I’m sorry, man. I should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve anticipated something like that happening. I heard the noise, saw shit flying, and I must’ve gotten distracted for a split second.”
“Don’t worry about it. Darkbloods on Sweet are unpredictable.”
Mitch pulled out his cell phone.
“Who the hell are you calling?” Jackson asked, though he was pretty damn sure he knew the answer.
“A medico team.”
“No, you’re not. This is nothing.” He couldn’t let the medical staff see him in this weakened state and do any testing. Who knew what the results would show.
Mitch eyed him skeptically. “You don’t look so good. Are you sure?”
“Yep. I’m fine.”
He tried not to reveal just how much pain he was in as he turned toward the nondescript back door of the club. Mitch already thought he was a stud when it came to women and fighting the bad guys. Might as well make it a hat trick, let him think this didn’t hurt like a motherfucker. “Now, come on, let’s get inside and take care of those reverts.”
“Reverts? You mean those guys at the table with the humans?”
Jackson rolled his eyes. “No, Cinderella and her evil stepsisters.”
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