Pain explodes through my back. I arch and yell out, my knee thudding soil. The shadow of something falling toward my head has me twisting to block. My forearm meets the Blood Servant’s wooden club. How the hell my bone survives the hit, I’ve no idea. The excruciating thud ricochets through my teeth. I swivel my arm to clutch the wood, grab it with both hands, and pull myself to a stand as I yank the man off his feet, then smash my fist into his grin.

Before he can recover, I follow with a volley of punches, not ceasing, even when the guy goes down. Blood splashes my eyes as I sit on his chest and bury my fists in his face again and again. I hear a banshee wail, the satisfying sound vibrating through my body. The man gurgles, and I dig my fingers into his throat and rip, yelping with triumph as a string of gristle comes away in my fist.

It’s only when I raise my gaze and catch the blond vampire’s face that my rage comes to an abrupt halt. His turquoise eyes are lit with what looks like pride.

The red fog recedes from my vision, and I stare at the dripping lump of cartilage in my hand, then at the bloody mess underneath me.

What. The. Fuck.

I throw the flesh away as though it might infect me and jump to my feet, staring down at my kill.

My kill. I just killed a man.

Bile hits the back of my throat, and my stomach clenches. I gawk, wide-eyed at the crimson gunk plastering my hands and arms.

I don’t see the blade coming in from my left.

The blond vampire blurs forward. Metal clashes. The point of a Servant’s sword stops millimeters from my left eye.

“Watch your blade,” the vampire barks.

“Yes, Lord Radomir.” The Servant lowers his sword, bows, and slinks away.

So the vampire’s a lord. That explains the aristocratic features.

“Be careful, youngling,” Radomir says to me, voice gentle. “If you lose your head, you will certainly die.”

I’m still riveted to the bloody mess on the ground. The face I’ve bashed to a pulp. My hands tremble. That unearthly scream I heard was me.

Warmth rests on my shoulder. Flame prickles from the vampire’s touch. “You did well. Your prince will be proud.”

I shake off his hand and step away. That was one of his Blood Servants I just killed. Vampires clearly don’t give a shit about their human soldiers. Figures. I point to an unconscious student on the shoulder of Radomir’s suit-clad companion climbing up the wall. “I’m taking the Channelers.”

Radomir smiles—a curve of his lips that reminds me of Alexei. “Then take them.”

He runs and leaps at the wall. And proceeds to crawl up the brick without hand or foot holds. How the…?