Dreams of a Dark Warrior

facility’s entire framework shifted.
    Realization sank in. There was no containment, no retaking the installation. This structure was about to crumble to the ground. It was done. There’d be no self-destruct override.
    So how long until the sequence timed out? He squinted down at his watch.
    Less than half an hour left.
    Mere minutes to get Regin to safety, and only one shite option available to him.
    As soon as he’d lurched to his feet, nearby creaturesturned their heads in his direction, ears or noses twitching. Eyes zeroed in on him.
“Blademan,”
they whispered.
“It’s the magister.”
    They attacked in a wave. He reloaded the rifle and opened fire, burning through another clip.
    Too many of them. No time to reload. He shouldered the rifle and drew his sword, slashing his way toward Regin’s ward.
    In midstride he slowed, canting his head.
Regin’s scream.
    Over the pandemonium, the roars and explosions, somehow Declan had heard her.
    He pushed hard in that direction, evading opponents instead of engaging them. Sounds seemed to dim until all he could hear was his heart thundering.
    His body began to change. Blood pumped to his muscles—they drank it in as though starved for it, growing, strengthening.
    Finally he knew what to call this.
    Berserkrage. A beast stirs within me.
    For the first time in his life, he didn’t resist, gave himself up to it. Never had he felt the transformation like this.
Because I’ve never done what I was born to do.
    Protect her.
    Lothaire recoiled from the boy, spitting a mouthful of blood.
    Blood that was part vampire, yet masked by something else he couldn’t place. Lothaire wasn’t often surprised, but this had taken him unawares.
    Blyad’, we don’t drink our own!
He spun Thaddeusaround, clutching his upper arms. “What are you?” He gave him a shake. “What—are—you?”
    The boy turned owl eyes up at him. “Th-they told me I’m a vampire.”
    Lothaire spat once more. “Then they’ve only got half the story.” He released him with disgust, his fangs aching so badly they’d likely turn blue.
    “Are y-you gonna bite me again?” he asked, his gaze darting toward the frenzied combat ahead.
    Lothaire scanned for another victim. “Consider me immune to your charms.” He started forward, beings diving out of his way.
    “Uh, okay. I’m just gonna trail behind you, mister, if you don’t mind. Let you run interference.”
    Without slowing, Lothaire said, “You are as insignificant to me as a fly.”
    “I’ll take that as a yes. So where’re we headed?”
    Lothaire absently said, “To find the Blademan.”
And get my ring. Finally.
He stormed toward Chase’s office.
    When ghouls mindlessly rushed them, Lothaire dispatched them readily. Any creatures stupid enough to attack him paid with their lives.
    The boy had begun gazing up at him worshipfully.
    As he should.
    “Wait, Mr. Lothaire,” Thaddeus yelled from behind him. “Those’re my girls up ahead! Or they used to be. Might wanna kill me now that I’m a vampire and all. But they’re fighting with that gigantic horse thing. Can you take him out and save them?”
    Lothaire cast him a chilling glance over his shoulder. “Aid a Valkyrie and a fey?”
    The boy swallowed. “For that debt of gratitude?”
    Lothaire eyed the centaur. Volós had pledged no allegiance to him.
    If you’re not with me …
    Regin leapt back, narrowly avoiding Volós’s hooves, tripping over a headless body. Natalya was still ducking under Volós’s swords, but he was too fast.
Just a matter of time.
    Surveying the area, Regin spied another gun—this one attached to a downed guard’s hand. She clambered across the floor to it, but the man was still alive, barely. When she yanked on his rifle, he yanked back with one hand, holding in his entrails with the other.
    As she played gun tug-of-war, she saw Thad a short distance away. “Tiger! Ah, thank gods.”
    He turned to her with a wobbly smile, calling out, “You don’t wanna kill me?”
    “You’re such a douche!” she yelled in answer, which made him grin wider. Then she noticed who he was with.
    Thad was following
Lothaire
like a puppy; the kid hiked a thumb at the vampire, then gave her an okay signal.
    “No, Thad, get away from him!” She snatched the gun free, aiming at Lothaire.
    Click. Click.
Empty? Balls!
Hate guns.
    But as she watched in disbelief, Lothaire stole behind Volós, casually raking his claws across the centaur’s back legs, severing