energy into the fingertips of her left hand and hurled a swirling violet energy ball at the sprinting feline. It impacted the creature’s side, making the tiger yowl in pain, but did little to slow its progress.
“Fuck!”
If she could just make it over the fence and onto neutral ground, she could teleport to safety. Massive paws pounded the snow behind her. The tiger was gaining on her. She judged the distance between her feet and the fence and realized that she was at least twenty yards from it. There was no way she could vault over from this distance. She had plenty of supernatural gifts, but flying wasn’t among them.
As she reached for her gun, a bone-rattling roar split the night, the infrasound waves penetrating her body, vibrating her organs and momentarily paralyzing her muscles. Feet stuttering, Celia tumbled to the packed powder with such force that snow slid underneath her glasses and found its way into her nostrils, shocking the sensitive passages. She scrambled to her feet, throwing the glasses aside and roughly wiping the snow from her face.
Within four steps, the beast tackled her. Head swimming, Celia tried to breathe, to regain control of her limbs. Balling up her left fist, she punched the tiger on its nose before landing a right hook against its neck, the scabbard of the blade clamped between her fingers slicing the tiger slightly. A paw swatted at her face but the nanotech fibers of her mask prevented the claws from doing any damage.
Mustering her full strength, Celia jammed her knee into the beast’s stomach, causing it to lift away just long enough for her to place the heels of both feet against its chest, forcing it off her.
She took advantage of the miniscule window of freedom and rolled onto her hands and knees, crawling a short span before finally scuttling to her feet. Making a run for it, Celia prepared to vault, close enough or not. Hoping she could make it at least halfway up the fence. She could climb the rest of the way.
Just as Celia lunged, the tiger swiped at her thigh, throwing her off balance. Unable to stop the inertia behind her jump, she slammed into the fence, the impact jarring her jaw and neck. With a thud, Celia landed flat on her back in the snow. She fought to hold onto consciousness, but it was impossible.
“Bianca…” she whispered helplessly.
The moonlight slipped away, and darkness ensued.
Chapter Three
Still in tiger form, Evgeni pushed the sheathed blade between the thief’s vest and chest. He gingerly bit the collar of the vest so as not to pierce the tender flesh beneath and dragged the limp body through the snow and back to the mansion. From its size and shape, he could tell that it was a woman. Even so, he afforded her the same treatment he would have a male intruder, showing little concern for the small bumps along their path.
When were they going to learn?
How many thieves who had attempted to steal the blade throughout the ages had escaped with their lives?
None.
Over the centuries, the blade had become an entity within the family, with each generation inexplicably connected to it. Whenever it was in danger, Evi, as the last Leshnikov scion, experienced an overpowering sense of urgency. If he failed to protect it, one of his many male cousins would have come after it and the thief. Without mates and families, the entire Leshnikov line had little else to do…
Because there was no chance of a thief succeeding, he left the vault relatively unprotected but ensured that escaping the grounds was most difficult. Like his shapeshifting ancestors, Evi, more than anything, enjoyed the chase. He rarely permitted himself to unleash his feral side, but when he did, the bloodlust to hunt and subdue his prey was intoxicating.
Sheltered by the marble pillars forming the portico, Evi finally caught a whiff of the thief’s scent. It seemed familiar. His heightened senses separated the hints of vampire and werewolf blood mingled with the overwhelming
“Fuck!”
If she could just make it over the fence and onto neutral ground, she could teleport to safety. Massive paws pounded the snow behind her. The tiger was gaining on her. She judged the distance between her feet and the fence and realized that she was at least twenty yards from it. There was no way she could vault over from this distance. She had plenty of supernatural gifts, but flying wasn’t among them.
As she reached for her gun, a bone-rattling roar split the night, the infrasound waves penetrating her body, vibrating her organs and momentarily paralyzing her muscles. Feet stuttering, Celia tumbled to the packed powder with such force that snow slid underneath her glasses and found its way into her nostrils, shocking the sensitive passages. She scrambled to her feet, throwing the glasses aside and roughly wiping the snow from her face.
Within four steps, the beast tackled her. Head swimming, Celia tried to breathe, to regain control of her limbs. Balling up her left fist, she punched the tiger on its nose before landing a right hook against its neck, the scabbard of the blade clamped between her fingers slicing the tiger slightly. A paw swatted at her face but the nanotech fibers of her mask prevented the claws from doing any damage.
Mustering her full strength, Celia jammed her knee into the beast’s stomach, causing it to lift away just long enough for her to place the heels of both feet against its chest, forcing it off her.
She took advantage of the miniscule window of freedom and rolled onto her hands and knees, crawling a short span before finally scuttling to her feet. Making a run for it, Celia prepared to vault, close enough or not. Hoping she could make it at least halfway up the fence. She could climb the rest of the way.
Just as Celia lunged, the tiger swiped at her thigh, throwing her off balance. Unable to stop the inertia behind her jump, she slammed into the fence, the impact jarring her jaw and neck. With a thud, Celia landed flat on her back in the snow. She fought to hold onto consciousness, but it was impossible.
“Bianca…” she whispered helplessly.
The moonlight slipped away, and darkness ensued.
Chapter Three
Still in tiger form, Evgeni pushed the sheathed blade between the thief’s vest and chest. He gingerly bit the collar of the vest so as not to pierce the tender flesh beneath and dragged the limp body through the snow and back to the mansion. From its size and shape, he could tell that it was a woman. Even so, he afforded her the same treatment he would have a male intruder, showing little concern for the small bumps along their path.
When were they going to learn?
How many thieves who had attempted to steal the blade throughout the ages had escaped with their lives?
None.
Over the centuries, the blade had become an entity within the family, with each generation inexplicably connected to it. Whenever it was in danger, Evi, as the last Leshnikov scion, experienced an overpowering sense of urgency. If he failed to protect it, one of his many male cousins would have come after it and the thief. Without mates and families, the entire Leshnikov line had little else to do…
Because there was no chance of a thief succeeding, he left the vault relatively unprotected but ensured that escaping the grounds was most difficult. Like his shapeshifting ancestors, Evi, more than anything, enjoyed the chase. He rarely permitted himself to unleash his feral side, but when he did, the bloodlust to hunt and subdue his prey was intoxicating.
Sheltered by the marble pillars forming the portico, Evi finally caught a whiff of the thief’s scent. It seemed familiar. His heightened senses separated the hints of vampire and werewolf blood mingled with the overwhelming
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