There was no time to savor the victory, and Amaia didn’t want to. She simply wanted to move on to the next kill. She rose in time to see another vampire run at her. She swung the head, knocking her attacker off balance. The young man recovered quickly, and Amaia threw the woman’s head to the ground. It would only hinder her now. Her new opponent seemed so young, but in his eyes she saw at least a century’s worth of age. His black hair and pale skin no doubt drew in any number of female victims. He lunged toward her again, but Amaia was quicker. She easily sidestepped his attack and then jumped onto his back, anchoring her legs around his waist. Both of her hands circled his neck and squeezed while she simultaneously pulled upward. She could feel as much as hear the tendons snap. The boy’s body still fought, trying desperately to keep her from disconnecting his head. He played the only card he had left and fell backward. Amaia scrambled from underneath him, but there was no need to hurry. The head was already disconnected enough that he would never fight again. Amaia placed her foot on his chest and bent down, grasped the boy’s head around the ears, and almost effortlessly severed it the rest of the way.
On and on she fought, moving from one vampire to the next, mainly attacking the stragglers who stood no chance of winning without an army to back them up but who still fought with everything they had. She lost count of how many she killed. She bathed in their blood, relishing this part of herself, this part that Michelle would never understand, that she would never possess. She would never belong to Amaia, and Amaia would never belong to her. They were too different. She was a killer, and Michelle was a lover. They had no place in each other’s lives.
Pressure built within her as she fought. Amaia felt it against her chest, but she didn’t stop to analyze it. Everything in the world disappeared except for her next victim, her next kill. The rain cleansed her, made her feel alive and new. She welcomed the challenge of wet rocks and thick mud that clung to her legs as she moved forward. Blood soaked her in equal measure with the rain. It swirled with the water and mud, forming a mix of color unique to the battlefield. This field was home. This was her element. If only she could continue to kill forever.
A man easily twice her size advanced toward her. It was plain to see how he had survived the battle this long. Amaia wanted him. She wanted to stand over his body with his head in her hands, triumphant. The only advantage he had was his size. She was betting she could outwit him. He ran toward her, and Amaia ducked down, grasping a rock on the ground. He would pick her up on his next pass. She was counting on it.
An arm around her waist lifted her into the air. She knew his other hand would descend any second to remove her head. She needed to rely on her speed to save her. Her left elbow jabbed at his ribs, doing nothing more than letting him know she struggled. Meanwhile, her right hand darted up over his shoulder, clasping the rock so that its sharp end pointed out, away from her. Her aim would need to be true; she would only get one shot at this. If she missed, she would die. The thought didn’t scare her but came matter-of-factly. She was gambling. One of two things would happen: she would either die, or she would live, and her attacker would die. At the moment, she didn’t really care which one happened. Self-preservation receded.
Her hand swung back and connected with his eye. Immediately, he released her. She hooked her left arm around his neck and swung onto his back. She dug her fangs into the left side of his neck while her right hand jabbed the rock into the right side. It was messy work, and she loved it. Blood poured out over her mouth and down her chest. The rock was too dull to cut and instead tore at the skin and then muscle of his neck. It took almost a full minute, but eventually his head fell free.
When the body crashed to the ground, an eerie calm came over her. The fighting waged on, but Amaia didn’t hear any of it. It was as if the fight happened on a different plane. The tension in her chest tightened, and in the back of her consciousness, she felt Michelle’s energy spike. Throughout the fighting she had moved her awareness of the date to the background. Now it was the only thing she was alert to. The energy surged and retreated. The time neared. It would only be a few seconds. Amaia stood with the rain pouring down on her, head tilted to the sky, waiting. The feeling built inside her, as if all her strength struggled to hold down a tight coil wrapped around her insides. She heard a rushing in her ears, and then it stopped.
Michelle’s energy was gone.
The tension inside of her snapped, and the sound of the battle rushed back in. She couldn’t let herself feel this, not now. There was no time to think about the fact that Michelle was dead, that she would come back, that Amaia would never be with her. All she could do was fight. It was mindless. How she survived, she would never know. A ferocious energy overtook her, and she simply fought and killed and won, her body working on instinct while her mind remained blank.
Instinct. This was what she was. She was an animal. A killer. A bloodthirsty demon who would kill anything given the chance. She was not a lover. That part of her had always been a charade. It was why she was so good at her work: it was a complete act. There were no real feelings to get tangled in because she was incapable of love.
It only took a few more minutes for the battle to end. She had just removed another head and still held it in her hand as she looked around for another victim, only to find that there were none. She stood alone in the middle of the field. She had been chasing the last of Ezekial’s clan as they’d tried to escape. There was no escaping her. She turned and saw the entirety of Zenas’s clan staring at her.
“What did you think you were doing?”
“Not now, Lawrence.”