Forbidden Drink by Nicola Claire

up their street fighting techniques and quickly mastering them too. Even without my Nosferatin mojo, I am formidable. I can switch from one form of fighting to another, mid stride, if an opponent thinks they can find my style easily, they are mistaken. The best part about being able to master so many different forms of fighting, is mixing it up a bit.
    So, her first pounce was met with a lightning fast roundhouse kick, which she dodged but which also made her forgo her attack and move to defence. And I followed that with a front kick and an overhand punch, landing the first blow. I quickly rolled out of the way of the responding swipe of her arm, ending crouched some distance away facing her.
    She paused, seemed to consider the last and nodded. I guess the test was over and we were onto the real deal now. She wouldn't hold back.
    We circled for a moment, trying to find a weakness, but I knew from experience that finding a weakness on a vampire was damn near impossible. It was just a waste of time and only good if I needed a delay tactic, to catch my breath or something like that. I wasn't puffed yet, so I didn't give her time to consider my next move and just came at her with a jab, which she countered and then I followed it with a foot sweep, which she nimbly jumped. So far, she had been on the defensive, but I knew that wouldn't last.
    I fingered my stake, letting the weight and feel of it settle me, centre me, bring me further into the zone. I don't know what she saw in my eyes, but she picked up on the change in my mood, she knew I was taking this seriously and her eyes flashed briefly, turquoise in amongst the blue. The next time she came at full vampire speed and there was nothing I could do stop her. I managed to raise the stake, but only partly and it just grazed the side of her arm as her fist landed a punch on my cheek, spinning me away from her body and her arms wrapped around me, crushing my back to her chest.
    “Too easy,” she breathed against me, only to feel me twist against her, obviously stronger than she had anticipated and manoeuvre in for a body drop, literally throwing her over my shoulder onto her back. See, cocky vampires equal flat-on-their-back vampires. Never lower your guard.
    She was on her feet in an instant, but I had moved and countered her blow with my stake, scraping again, this time more deeply into her forearm. She growled, that nasty vampire growl they do when getting a little hot under the collar and didn't hesitate to come at me, this time her fangs were down and her eyes were glowing. She'd shifted from that sassy smart ass vampire I'd seen in the club upstairs, to a deadly accurate predator and my inner monologue chose that moment to pipe up and say, oh fuck!
    I couldn't stop the body hit, there was simply no time to brace or block, so instead I let my body go with the force of her momentum and we went head over heels in a Nosferatu-Nosferatin jumble of legs and arms and long brown and blonde hair. By luck, hers not mine, she had ended up on top of me, pinning me to the floor. Her goal was my throat, her fangs glinting in the light, her eyes only for my jugular. She didn't expect me to come towards her, she expected me to pull away, to shift to the side, anything to get away from those sharp and menacing incisors, so when I thrust my head against her nose, putting myself so close to those fangs, so close to losing the battle, to giving her the victory she desired, she didn't fight me. She just let me come full force against her face, smashing my forehead into the bridge of her nose and breaking it instantly. I never said I'd play nice.
    Blood poured out all over me and her and she screeched, loosening her hold, pulling back slightly and allowing me to raise my stake and press it against her chest, just above the thumping of her heart.
    Breathless, I said, “Do you concede, Blondie?”
    She froze, looking down at me, then slowly lifted her gaze to Michel. There was shame in her eyes