Never in the history of the vampires had daywalkers gathered alongside their sun-affected kin for a cause, but as Max had said, desperate times sometimes require desperate measures. Bennett had made only one phone call, and from that, more were made to all who were near. From hidden luggage, clothing rarely worn was worn again, and weaponry carefully concealed behind secret panels was secret no more. They piled into their cars, trucks, and vans, and following the GPS coordinates, they drove to where they were told and did what had to be done. They asked no questions and demanded no reasons for they all would die for Bennett Archer because she had protected them for centuries.

Around the room, the five women once again held their heads high, gripping their swords in fists of iron with attitudes to match. Above them, the posture of those once confident and courageous seemed to wilt almost instantly, as did Napoleon’s exaggerated simper. He took a half-step backward, and a few seconds passed before his imperiousness returned, and he puffed up his chest. “Well, what are you bloody fools waiting for?” he screeched at those gathered around him. “Kill them. Kill them all.”

Napoleon’s flock rushed down the stairs, and while Bennett took the stance to fight again, her eyes remained glued on the two men who had descended the steps but then ran in the opposite direction.

“And what are you waiting for,” the ninja said, jumping in front of Bennett to drive his sword through the heart of the nearest attacker. “We’ve got this, and where I come from, we don’t let the bad guys get away.”

Bennett was about to argue the point when she saw what the other daywalkers had done. In battle, the front-line comprises those closest to the conflict, and the ninja-armored daywalkers had stationed themselves in front of Polly, Angelique, Lisa, and Ruby. The women had no choice but to step back, and by doing so, they were out of the fray…and a fray it was.

The daywalkers had easily bested the stragglers of Napoleon’s starving army while they’d trekked from the west through the forest, and they were neither winded nor drained, for the ordeal was, at best, prosaic. Even though none had fought in decades, that didn’t mean they didn’t practice…and practice makes perfect.

In the ruin of red covering the floor, more was added as the daywalkers buried their blades into skulls, and as the contents of brains began to leak, heads disappeared in geysers of carmine mist. Several vanished into dust when their hearts were punctured, and those who tried to flee were brought down as well. In a fury, swift and deadly, their lives ended in a melee that was as brutal as it was deserved.

***