Free Real Vampires Don't Sparkle by Amy Fecteau Page B

going,” Matheus said. He pried the rock and a couple of its compatriots out of the ground, sticking them into his jacket pockets. They banged against his hips as he scrambled to his feet. “Don’t growl at me, I’m going.”
    As he grabbed the lowest branch, Matheus tried to remember the last time he’d climbed a tree. Close to twenty years, at least. His legs shook as he reached for the next branch. Pale green lichen grew over the wet bark. Matheus flailed, wrapping his arms around the trunk. Muddy sneakers did not provide the grip required for tree climbing. He dug his nails into the bark, silently thankful Quin did not pick a pine tree. A face full of candle-scented needles from the porcupines of the arboreal word did not appeal to Matheus.
    “Stop fooling around!” Quin hissed from the ground.
    Matheus almost beaned him with a rock right then and there. With a grunt, he hauled himself up to the next branch, digging rivulets into the lichen as the tree shimmied.
Nature is evil
, Matheus thought.
Trees are evil
. He made a face at the moss clinging to his palms.
Moss is evil.
The litany of evil things grew, the higher Matheus climbed. Finally, he reached a solid branch about halfway up the tree. Straddling the branch, he inched out as far as he dared.
    From his position, he could see Quin standing, loose-limbed, about twenty feet from the base of the tree.
    Three men approached, surrounding him. All wore night-vision goggles and carried crossbows. The one nearest to Quin had a broadsword strapped to his back. He looked big enough to wield it, too, with arms thicker than Matheus’ waist. Aside from the goggles, the men could have been on their way to the local Renaissance Fair. Not one of them had a weapon designed after the Middle Ages. Then again, maybe the hunters didn’t consider a 30.06 semi–automatic rifle sporting.
    “This is too easy,” said the big man as they circled around Quin. “What happened to your boyfriend?”
    “I killed him already,” Quin said easily. He matched the man’s movement, rising slightly on the balls of his feet. He smiled. “Sorry to take away your fun.”
    The big man shrugged. The other two edged closer, loaded crossbows aimed at Quin’s chest.
    Quin appeared not to notice them. He focused his attention on the big man.
    “Ah, he was just the warm-up anyway. You’re the real game,” said the hunter.
    “I’m flattered,” said Quin. The hunter to his right took another step forward, a stick cracking beneath his foot. Quin feinted towards him, spinning at the last second toward the big man with unnatural speed. All three fired at once, the hunter to Quin’s right jumping at the twang of his bow. His bolt went wide, embedding into the trunk of an oak. The other two hit home, one in Quin’s calf, the other in his chest. He collapsed as the hunters reloaded with smooth practice.
    Matheus crammed a fist in his mouth, struggling not to cry out.
    Get up
, he thought.
Get up, you stupid bastard.
    The big man waved the other two back, drawing his sword as he approached Quin’s body. He nudged Quin’s shoulder with the toe of his combat boot, then delivered a solid kick to Quin’s ribs.
    Matheus winced as he heard the bones crack.
    “Pathetic,” said the hunter. He raised the sword. The blade hovered in the air before swinging downward, but the tip never completed its arc.
    Quin shot up, yanking the bolt from his chest and burying it in the hunter’s gut.
    “You missed,” he said.
    The other hunters fired. Quin twisted around with the wounded hunter, using him as a shield as he dug his fangs into the man’s thick neck. The hunter’s eyes bugged wide as he choked, blood bubbling out of his mouth. Quin’s throat worked furiously as he swallowed all he could.
    “Fuck,” gasped one of the hunters, slapping another bolt into his crossbow.
    Quin raised his head, a manic grin plastered across his face. Blood smeared over his mouth, down his chin. As Matheus watched,