The man took a single step back and blinked.

“Hmmm . . .” Franks didn’t like that one bit. He could feel the man’s body heat, so he wasn’t a vampire, and he certainly didn’t fight with the disorganized savagery expected of a lycanthrope, but since he’d heard Strayhorn picking up the Colt Commando, this mystery could wait until the autopsy. Franks stepped to the side. “Shoot.”

Strayhorn opened up. The Colt was still on full auto. The thirty-round magazine was only half full but he put almost all of those into his target’s upper chest before the last few climbed up and to the right to shatter the far windows. The attacker stumbled back as his torso erupted into bloody chunks, but he still wouldn’t fall over. Instead he crashed against a desk and used that to steady himself. Even with around a dozen gaping wounds, he snarled defiantly at Franks.

“There’s more mags in the wall,” Franks said as he started toward the creature that had dared to trash his office. Apparently whatever it was did require blood pressure to continue operating, because the attack was slower this time, and Franks leaned back as a fist zipped past his chin. Franks slammed a massive hook into the side of the man’s skull. The impact reverberated across the room, but he still didn’t go down. Franks went to work on him, fists hammering like pistons, each impact hard enough to rupture organs. Blood flew from the bullet holes each time Franks hit him.

The man closed, trying to stop the pummeling. He tried to lock up on Franks’ arms, and for several seconds they went back and forth, blocking and twisting, trying for a hold or enough leverage to break a limb. There were massive exit wounds in the man’s back. Blood was everywhere, which was making it difficult to get a good grip. The level of dedication was impressive, but when he clutched the man’s ear and ripped it off the side of his head, that finally broke his concentration. Franks knew from personal experience having an ear pulled off really messed with your balance, so he capitalized on the momentary weakness.

Franks took hold of the man’s head and slammed it into the top of a desk. Wood splintered. Franks jerked his head up and slammed it down again and again and again. Blood and teeth flew, but the skull didn’t come apart like it should have. It had to be artificially hardened. The desk broke in half, but Franks still had a bloody handful of hair, so he pulled back hard, exposing the man’s neck, and then slugged him right in the throat hard enough to smash his trachea flat.

That finally dropped him.

Franks stood there, breathing heavily. He wasn’t used to having to work that hard to win a fight.