Deathstalker 01 - Deathstalker

blood, Deathstalker; she drank mine. Only a few drops at a time, but a little of my artificial blood goes a long way. I take human blood in and refine it into something else. They tell me it's the most potent drug imaginable; a high so intense it's like living and dying all at once. Isn't that right, Hazel?"
    "That was a long time ago, Abbott," said Hazel, and her voice was firm and very steady. "I broke free of you. It took everything I had and then some, but I beat you. You're nothing to me anymore."
    "You belong to me," said the Wampyr. "Just like the rest of my children. Come back to me. Taste my blood again, and I'll let you live."
    "I'd rather kiss a cockroach," said Hazel.
    The Wampyr smiled coldly. "Kill them both. See that they suffer first."
    Owen brought his gun up quickly and fired at Abbott, but the Wampyr melted instantly back into the crowd, and the energy beam tore through one of the ragged men and set fire to several others behind him. They died in silence.
    Incredibly, the crowd didn't falter, hands steady, eyes unwavering. And the Wampyr stepped back into the light, still smiling.
    "I thought that would provoke you into using your disrupter. Now it's useless till the energy crystal has recharged. I won't let them have you, Deathstalker.

    I want you for myself. Not for the price on your head. Money means little to me anymore. No, I want to break you, humble you, cripple you. I shall enjoy that.
    And then I'll let you drink a little of my blood, and you'll belong to me, body and soul."
    Owen put away his gun and swept his sword back and forth before him. "You talk too much, Wampyr. Let's do it."
    The Wampyr surged forward, arms outstretched, moving impossibly fast. Owen braced himself and stepped forward in a perfect lunge, sword extended, and Abbott impaled himself on the long blade. It entered just below the heart and punched out his back in a flurry of black, viscous blood. Abbott grunted once, and then stepped forward, forcing himself along the blade so that he could reach the Deathstalker. Owen pirouetted on one foot, brought the other up to slam against Abbott's belly, and jerked his sword free again. He backed away, watching incredulously as the wound in the Wampyr's chest healed itself in seconds.
    Right, thought Owen. Fast, strong, regenerates. Wonder what else he isn't telling me…
    He cut at the Wampyr's throat, and Abbott slapped the blade aside with his bare hand. Owen backed away again, and Abbott came after him. Hazel was suddenly there behind the Wampyr, aiming her disrupter. A dozen of the crowd piled onto her, ripping the gun from her hand and holding her down. She struggled fiercely, but their weight was too much for her. Owen scowled and sub vocalized the trigger word boost. He'd been using it far too often just recently, and he hated to think what the long-term effects were going to be, but it wasn't as if he had any choice in the matter. The world seemed to slow down as the boost took hold,
    supercharging his system and buying him time to think. The Wampyr was fast, but so was he, now. If he could just get past the Wampyr's defenses, one good cut to the neck would decapitate him. Regenerate from that, you bastard.
    He danced around the Wampyr, cutting and drawing back, spilling the black blood, only to see the cuts heal in a moment. The Wampyr moved with him, his hands reaching out to tear and hurt, the two men moving too quickly for the unaided eye to follow. Owen thrust and stamped, cutting where he could, going always for the throat, but never even getting close, while Abbott's grasping hands came closer every time. Owen licked his dry lips and panted for breath. The boost gave him some regeneration, but he didn't think it would be enough to repair what Abbott intended to do to him.
    And then he moved too slowly, anticipated too late, and Abbott's hand closed around his wrist like a vise. The Wampyr's hand tightened, and all the feeling went out of Owen's hand. The sword fell from his numb fingers, and Abbott laughed softly. Owen dropped his free hand to his boot, pulled out the dagger he kept there and rammed it between the Wampyr's ribs. Black blood ran for a moment, and then stopped. The Wampyr smiled, and threw Owen twenty feet. The crowd scrambled to avoid him, and he hit the packed snow hard, driving the breath from his lungs. He rolled over slowly, biting back a groan. His hand was completely numb. Abbott was walking unhurriedly toward him, still smiling, the knife