Thana
Caradoch's attack on the child vampire was sudden and vicious. One second she was standing in front of him, her hands cupping his face and telling him to reject me and kneel before her, and the next she was flying through the air like she was a rag doll.
She landed in a heap, one arm bent at an impossible angle. And she laughed.
My heart stammered and then stopped. She should have been screaming in pain with an arm that mangled, but the child-faced killer was laughing instead.
Climbing slowly to her feet, she pushed her sandy hair away from her face. “You almost did it, Caradoch. That's how little that witch means to you. You see, I know you. I know what's in your cold dead heart and it isn't her. It has never been Thana.”
There was a wet popping sound as she righted the bone
