Free Obsidian Flame by Caris Roane Page B

listening to their breathing and their whispers. When he turned, he raised his sword. It was game on.
    These were big motherfuckers but fairly new in death vamp years. They still had leftover Hispanic attributes. Though the unification of features had already begun, as had the bulking-up of muscles, there was definitely a paling of all that fine brown skin.
    He folded behind the group and took out the hamstrings of the bastard on the far left, cutting through the kidneys of the middle asshole and turning to meet the sword of the last pretty-boy high in the air. The sound was loud in the night air, a heavy clash of metal against metal. He half expected ascenders to come running from their homes. Instead lights went out one by one.
    The villagers were well trained.
    He spun and folded, then from behind took the last pretty-boy’s head straight off. The heavy thunk on the hard earth was a familiar sound.
    He crouched and turned in a circle hunting for more death vamp sign. Nothing.
    He moved at a dead run, adding a burst of preternatural speed, in Arthur’s direction. He could hear the fighting but the battle had shifted behind a cabin, near the stream.
    He rounded the corner and stopped in his tracks. He would have joined the fray but there were two bodies on the ground and Arthur was fully engaged battling the remaining three death vamps.
    The young man moved like lightning, just like Kerrick with a little of Jean-Pierre’s loose style thrown in. His sword skills were mesmerizing. He could use some practice with the warriors, but goddam he was good.
    One of the death vamps fell. The bastard to the left moved in as if for the kill and Thorne almost folded to intercept but instead, Arthur disappeared then reappeared behind him, grabbed the pretty-boy’s long straight black hair, pulled his head back, and drove the short knife on the hilt into his neck then jerked.
    The last death vamp didn’t seem discouraged at all.
    He matched Arthur in height but outweighed him no doubt by eighty pounds of sheer bulk and muscle.
    Thorne backed away to gain a better visual of the street. To the north he could see bodies on the ground, none of them moving. To the south, the village was quiet and dark. Yep, the population was well trained. Diallo’s doing? Shit, there was something to be learned here.
    He extended his hearing beyond the grunts of the death vamp as Arthur put him through his paces. The ground sloped in the direction of the stream, but none of that seemed to matter to Arthur’s quick feet.
    Once more, Thorne scanned the dark forest beyond, but nothing returned to him. His hearing would definitely have picked up on another death vamp.
    Whatever this attack was, Arthur had the last death vamp engaged in battle.
    After half a minute passed, Thorne frowned. Why the hell was it taking Arthur so long to finish this guy off? The bastard was licked, moving sluggishly, and sweating like crazy.
    “Need help there?” he offered. Maybe Arthur was tired.
    But that familiar off-the-side-of-the-mouth smile appeared. The pretty-boy’s sword scraped awkwardly all the way down Arthur’s blade.
    Arthur backed up, whirled, and at the same time flipped Thorne off. Then he got back to business and kept on fighting. He engaged over and over, thrust and parry, fending off the habitual straight-on attacks with ease, with agility.
    When the death vampire finally fell to his knees, sucking in every breath like he was drowning, Arthur raised his blade high.
    Shit, a rookie mistake.
    The death vamp shifted position, brought his sword in a swift arc in the direction of Arthur’s legs, and caught some skin as Arthur moved just a hair too late.
    But at the same moment Arthur brought the sword down and took off the pretty-boy’s head.
    He hopped around on one foot for a moment. “Shit” came from between compressed lips.
    When he finally stopped the hopping and put his foot down flat, Thorne smiled. The wound was hardly anything, maybe four inches