A Rush of Wings 1 by Phoenix Adrian

Author:Phoenix, Adrian [Phoenix, Adrian]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9781416541448
Publisher: Bill
Published: 0101-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

Heather squeezed the .38’s trigger again. The shot tore through empty space, the sound exploding in the room. She whirled, trying to track Ronin, and caught him hitting Dante with a flurry of blows, pummeling him down to all fours on the concrete floor. Before she could even blink, Ronin landed a vicious kick into Dante’s ribs, knocking him halfway across the room.

Heather fired two more rounds. A pained grunt told her that at least one bullet hit the mark. She circled the room, .38 clasped in her white-knuckled hands. Edged ever closer to Dante.

Dante coughed, then spat.

Silence.

Heather lowered the .38. Ronin was gone. Drawing in a deep breath of blood- and candle-wax-scented air, she stepped over to Étienne’s Raggedy Andy–sprawled body.

“Dante,” she called over her shoulder. “You okay?” She realized how inane that sounded—of course he wasn’t okay; his friend was dead and he’d had the crap beaten out of him—but she needed to hear his voice, to gauge how much he’d been hurt.

“Lucien…no!” he said, voice husky, alarmed.

Lucien? De Noir was nowhere in sight. But Dante had told her what she needed to know. He was hurt. Maybe bad. Heather crouched beside Étienne. She risked a quick glance over her shoulder at Dante. He knelt on the floor, head bowed, black hair hiding his face. His fingers touched the floor on either side of him as though for balance.

“Sanctus, sanctus, sanctus.” He swayed.

“Hold on,” she said. “Hear me? We’re walking out of here together.”

A healing hole marred Étienne’s pale forehead. Blood streaked his face, trickled from one nostril. His eyes were half-lidded. Heather touched a hand to the vampire’s throat. Blood pulsed beneath her fingers. Guess he has a heart after all.

She shoved the .38’s muzzle against Étienne’s chest, right above that theoretical heart. This is an execution. You do this, you might as well leave that badge and all it stands for in the dirt outside.

Sweat trickled along her temples, between her breasts. Her muscles trembled. And how would I bring this bastard before a court? He’s a vampire, she thought, realizing she finally believed it. He’s a killer.

So is Dante.

That’s the way of it, Pumpkin. Some you bring to justice. Some you silence. Some you let walk away.

No and no and no. Her finger tightened on the trigger. Her breath rasped in her throat.

“Mine.”

Startled, Heather yanked the .38 away from Étienne’s chest, her finger easing off the trigger. She looked up into Dante’s dark, pain-dilated eyes. No glimmer of recognition lit his face.

He doesn’t know who I am. That the realization stung so sharply surprised her. Like Annie, when she was lost to migraine pain, booze, and madness: Who the fuck are you? Like Annie—pissed. Hurting. Feeling.

Heather rose to her feet, her gaze on Dante. He was definitely feeling. It burned in his eyes, fevered his pale face, coiled through his taut-muscled body. He straddled the head-shot vampire, twisted a handful of Étienne’s blood-spattered shirt around his fingers, and jerked his torso up.

“Let this go,” she said.

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