Love Me to Death (Underveil) by Marissa Clarke

shooting. Vampires. They hissed like snakes and scattered to avoid the swing of his sword.
    “Hunted by my own people and now fucking parasites?” Nikolai growled. “Who sent you?”
    The tallest one answered. “Give us the woman.”
    Nikolai backed up several steps, putting Elena within reach of her suitcase. “How did you find me?”
    The three vampires closed in.
    She knew he was about to zap them out of there. She wrapped her fingers around the handle and gripped it tight. The cash could be useful, especially if she could escape from Nikolai.
    The vampires were only ten or so feet away now, just out of blade-striking distance, but they were eyeing one another as if they had a plan. Right when one reached for his waist, Nikolai swung. Elena closed her eyes. There was a grunt, then a crunch, and then a thud.
    “Who’s next?” Nikolai said.
    She opened her eyes and screamed when her eyes met the red ones staring up at her from the severed head on the floor. Blood oozed out, and she found herself no longer freaked, but transfixed, fighting the urge to run her fingers through the thick, crimson puddle. Hell, she wanted to roll in it. She shuddered and held tight to the suitcase. Holy shit. He had been right. She was turning into one of them.
    “I’ll ask again, and if you tell me, I’ll spare you.” Nikolai shot a quick glance over his shoulder at her and nodded when he saw she still clutched the luggage. He took a step toward the two remaining vampires, who didn’t look as cocky as they had before their buddy’s head had been lopped off. “Who sent you and how did you find me?”
    Elena peeked around Nikolai’s considerable mass and studied the vampires. She couldn’t allow herself to become one of those things.
    “Time’s up.” He lifted the sword over his head, and before the vampires could sufficiently react, he came down on one, hitting it in the shoulder, the blade cutting its torso almost in two vertically. Blood splattered out, nailing Nikolai all over and Elena in the face and arm. Blood. It was everywhere, and her body buzzed with need and hunger.
    No! She would not give in to this. She would not . She let go of the suitcase long enough to wipe her face off on the bottom of her skirt.
    “And then there was one,” Nikolai said. The last vampire backed toward the door. “No you don’t. Talk or die.”
    The man no sooner than reached for the door than Nikolai lunged, dragging Elena with him, stabbing his sword through the vampire’s neck, skewering him to the door.
    “Oh my God,” she said, covering her mouth. There was blood on her hand. The metallic, salty smell filled her nose. Irresistible. She could almost taste it. She wanted to taste it. “Oh my God,” she said again, running toward the bathroom only to be jerked to a stop by the cord on her wrist. “Help me. Please help me. Not this… Not them.”

    I t was painful for Nikolai to watch her battle. How horrible it must have been for her to have a soul in opposition to her reality.
    He moved near her so she could make it into the bathroom in time to throw up, which yielded nothing but dry heaves. She had no food in her at all.
    “Get it off me,” she screamed.
    She turned on the shower full force and stepped in, clothes and all—even his vest. She grabbed the bar of soap and frantically scrubbed her face, arms, and even the front of her dress. Then she ripped the dress from under his vest and off her body in one hard tug. “Get it off,” she cried, this time more a whimper than a scream.
    A foreign part of Nikolai wanted to take her in his arms and hold her. To tell her it was okay, but it wasn’t okay. She was simply becoming aware of what she was, and even if she didn’t know it yet, it was inevitable. Like a fatal cancer, her vampirism lurked, waiting for the opportunity to consume her.
    She slumped down into the tub, water still pounding down on her. She tucked her knees in and rocked. He took the hand towel from the sink