EMILI
The first thing I did when I got out of the car was assess the damage.
The three armored trucks that had brought us here were, in technical terms, destroyed. The first had its hood crushed by the tree trunk Alaric had used as a projectile against a vampire. The second—ours—had a cracked windshield and a dented side door from Damián’s body slamming into it. The third was lying on its side with its wheels still spinning.
“Well,” I said, looking at the wreckage. “I guess we’re not continuing by car.”
Klaus, who was examining the engine of the first truck with the expression of a surgeon facing a terminal patient, lifted his head.
“The radiator’s punctured, the front axle’s snapped, and there’s a vampire fang lodged in the alternator. So no, we’re not continuing by car.”
“A fang in
