and rosy. Sexy.”
Ignoring his comment about the pounds she’d shed, Kela stepped toward him. “You once respected life. Now you kill without remorse.”
He glanced at the stake in her hand. “Both of us have changed .”
Kela had quit her accounting job and focused her energy on stopping Roland. “I don’t relish doing what’s necessary. You kill for pleasure.”
Roland’s lips twisted in a cruel smile. “And here you are all alone.”
A trickle of doubt swirled in Kela’s brain. Had she finally cornered Roland or had he drawn her here? Forty feet behind her was the street, but now the clubs were closed and the late-night traffic was dwindling. If she tried to run, he’d take her down in seconds. Kela had no choice but to stand and fight.
She touched the silver cross hanging around her neck, stroking the ruby at its center. The ruby flashed and a sense of purpose, perhaps righteousness, swelled in her chest.
Dangling the cross, Kela edged closer to Roland. One deep strike to the heart and the horror would end.
Roland flinched, his eyes flashing red. “Take that thing off.”
“Never.” She lifted the wooden stake.
Roland hissed, the sound a cruel reminder of the thing he’d become. “You still love me. You can’t destroy me.”
Attacking, Kela lunged forward. Roland leaped to one side, taking a glancing blow to his shoulder. She pulled another sharp stake from the holster on her belt and prepared to strike again.
“Drop the weapons, Kela, and join me.”
“Go to hell.”
His eyes turned a darker red. “I’ve seen hell. It’s exhilarating.”
Aiming for his heart, she launched a second attack.
Roland dodged the assault. “I’m too quick for you, Kela. Always was, always will be.”
Kela feared he spoke the truth, but she had to stop him. Too many young women had died.
She lunged again, missing with the stake in her right hand, but tearing through his sleeve with the stake in her left. He’d easily deflected her blows.
“I’m getting stronger,” he said. “The day will come when that fancy cross won’t protect you.”
“Today’s not that day,” she said, taking a jab at him.
He feinted to the left, avoiding the pointed end of the stake. “One day I will possess you and your cross.”
“Then what will you do? Kill me?”
“Eventually, after I fuck you. You liked it, remember?”
Kela adjusted the angle of her stakes. “That was when you were a human.”
“Take off the cross, Kela. Come to me.” He stroked the front of his pants. “You’ll like it more than ever.”
“Is a massive ego a side effect of drinking blood?” she asked, thrusting out with her right and jabbing with the left.
Roland jumped backward, the pointed stakes barely missing him. “Catch me if you can,” he said, circling around her.
Kela spun on her heel and froze.
Oh crap!
Roland had positioned himself between her and the street. Standing behind him were a dozen young females with fangs protruding from their blood-red mouths. Ghostly pale, the women wore short dresses that clung to their bodies and emphasized their cleavage. Roland had always favored women with flesh on their bones—now he liked them dead and full figured.
“Take off the cross and no harm will come to you.”
Trapped, Kela planted her feet. “Never. I’d rather burn you.”
Roland pulled back his lips, displaying his fangs. “Meet my sweet darlings. My creations.”
Kela’s heart twisted. He’d created them, destroyed their souls and turned them into these hideous creatures.
“The cross,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Bring it to me.”
The women hissed and snarled, baring their fangs. He’d set her up.
The vampires lunged at Kela. Using both stakes she slashed, striking arms and lacerating hands. Their attack came in waves of four. Wounded, the first group retreated. Hissing, the second group flew at Kela. One grabbed her cross and shrieked, releasing it as black smoke streamed from her
Barbara Corcoran, Bruce Littlefield