18
DAWN
I duck inside the house after Draynor, Silas at my heels, but as soon as I step over the threshold, I’m overcome by the urge to gag — sulfuric and acrid, a chemical residue that sticks to my tongue. “What the f**k is that?”
“Plastic,” Markula says. “Probably the resin he used to make those bullshit legs."
I cough. That stuff is toxic, but I guess vampires don’t have to worry about f*****g up their lungs. I tense as something skitters in the dark— maybe a rat or a squirrel — but I can’t see anything, just the glowing orbs of vampire eyes.
Where is he? Adrenaline tightens my belly, turning my ribs into a cage around my heart. I draw my blade from the holster at my hip — hot to the touch as it always is when there’s a vampire nearby. It’s a weird keepsake for a woman living in a
