As I watch the captain, a fleeing student stumbles past me. I snatch her by the arm. She spins and pummels my chest, eyes wild with the fear of prey. Flame sparks from her fists. When her tear-filled eyes clock my face, her struggle becomes panic.

“You,” she screeches.

“It’s ok. It’s ok. I’m on your side.” I point to the gazebo. “Get to Mason. I’ll watch your back.”

She can’t get away fast enough, slipping in the mud as she scrambles up the rise. As I keep an eye out for her, I snag another student stumbling through the madness, a short guy with a floppy mess of hair.

“The gazebo,” I shout, kicking a Blood Servant who comes too close in the nuts. “Now. Run.”

I push farther through the chaos. Something sharp scrapes my back, and burning fire shoots through my skin. As I jerk away, a glancing sword slices my arm. For crying out loud, this is mental. I’m not dressed for a battle. I’ve got no weapon, no armor, and zilch experience. And fuck knows what I’m going to do when I reach the vampires.

But by the time I make it to the center of the maelstrom, I’m pumped with adrenaline and barely feel the wounds. The blood, the noise, the violence seems to stoke the Flame. The energy fires through my body, charging from the base of my spine to scorch along my veins, begging for release. I’m revved up for a fight. When two vamps land from the roof with a thunk into the thick of fighters, I head straight for them.

I catch the eye of the tallest, a pale, thin-faced blond with long hair and aristocratic features. He’s dressed in a thigh-length black tunic with a mandarin neck, edged with swirling silver lines and cinched by a sword belt. He breaks into a slow smile, showing long incisors.

Before I can get to him, I spot a young female student struggling with a burly Servant. Long black hair sweeps over determined green eyes as she kicks his shin and bites his finger. He thwacks her across the face with his gloved hand.

I come up behind him and ram a fist into his kidneys. Then, grabbing a chunk of hair, I kick the back of his knee and tug him to the ground.

“Mason. The gazebo,” I shout at her, pointing to a path through the scrum. She nods and makes a run for it.