Vampire P.I.

Chapter 9: You

*Claire*

I begin to reach for my firearm when I watch the three standing at my back and sides dart faster than I can blink.

The one currently being lit up with electricity catches me around the waist and throws me to the ground. The wind is instantly knocked out of me, but I recover quickly. I grab at the man's face as I pinch down on his pinkie, a well-known pressure point.

Nothing. What? Why?

I'm feeling panicked. My breath comes in quick, rapid breaths. I struggle, but I don't even move an inch. My arms and legs are suddenly grabbed and pulled taut.

I watch as one of them planks over me. I feel my core tense because I know what happens next. How was this possible? I tasered this guy! He should be writhing on the ground.

“Nice try," he growls sadistically. I gather saliva in my mouth to spit into his face when I watch the man's canine teeth lengthen with a flex of his jaw. They look like fangs and are inches away from my skin. “I think you'll taste sweet and spicy. Thanks for being easy."

He begins to lower by my neck. A shriek is somewhere in my throat, but it makes no appearance. Is this really how it ends for me?

I struggle against their grip with all of my strength, but something is wrong. I cannot even budge them; not even a little. Their grips are unwavering and I get to the point where I cannot even wiggle my wrist.

“Awww, nice try," one of them cackles.

“It is so precious when they think they can struggle," grins another. I glare up at him to watch in horror as he flexes his jaw and, like the other, his teeth elongate into sharp fangs.

“We could keep her. Have some fun?" suggests one. At this, I get a hold of myself again and spit, hitting the one that is holding my right wrist right in the eye. He flinches and makes some kind of hissing sound which is only accentuated by his fangs.

There is part of me that is trying to rationalize what I see before my eyes. There is no way those are actual fangs, right? It is a trick of the light. It has to be all in my head, right?

The other part of me, the present part, realizes immediately they are real. I feel them graze against my neck like sharp needles. I hear him inhale right by my ear.

“You should not have done that. An eye for an eye," says that filth hovering over me in a breathy, disgusting tone. I feel pressure on my neck followed by a pinch. Did he just bite me?

I open my mouth to scream when, from out of nowhere, I glimpse another hooded figure standing just over the shoulder of the one who is over me. I do not even get a good look at the features of this figure before the grasp on my ankles is ripped away.

My senses start to come back. Control over myself starts to come back. I begin kicking frantically in a partial panic as the figure seizes the man over top of me and yanks him with incredible force off me.

The one in the figure's grasp is thrown fifteen feet away at least before managing to roll into a tumble. I now see the back of this person.

The other two holding my wrists let go and back up upon seeing this newcomer enter the fray. I grasp at my neck, feeling immediate alarm as I retract my hand and see my palm smudged with my blood.

That guy actually bit me! Rage seethes in my heart as I retrieve my firearm and, staying crouched, begin to aim.

“Don't!" growls the new figure who, I can now hear, is a man. “You'll never hit him." Something is familiar about this guy's voice. What is it? It is deep and rolled around in his chest like thunder.

The creep who was holding me down hisses – actually hisses in a vicious snarl – and runs at us with an unnatural speed. The new figure seems ready. He crouches and lunges forward, catching the guy by the neck and throwing him over his head at the other two who are still debating what they want to do.

“Stay put," growls the new figure at me as he lunges toward the other two and catches them around their throats.

“Do not tell me what to do!" I growl back. I try to aim again, but watch as the one who was thrown runs faster than I have ever seen someone run before. An athlete would not beat this guy. One second, he is on the ground. The next, he is gone in the blink of an eye and rushing the newcomer.

The attention no longer seems to be on me, but on the new arrival.

“Who said you could interrupt our dinner? There are plenty of others. Go get your own!" howls the one who I was aiming at moments before.

The newcomer catches the flanking attack just in time and leaps ten feet into the air with no running start attack my assailant, using his descent to his advantage.

I cannot help but grin as the entire weight of my savior comes crashing down on the attacker, who lets out a massive cry of pain.

“Fools, you are too conspicuous," growls the new man. The two he had around the throat see what they believe is an opportunity and lunge toward him. A mistake I easily spot. He left himself open on purpose, and only too late do they notice too.

The newcomer swings his leg out like a professional baseball player and delivers a harsh kick directly to one of my attackers' faces with a roundhouse kick. The other is still mid-air when he is caught between the shoulder blades by my savior and thrown to the ground. There, he is pinned helplessly.

I wish for a moment that I could feel relief and joy. There is honestly a part of me that does feel these things. The other part of me, however, is completely dumbfounded. My head is spinning.

Why?

Because all of these attacks between my savior and my perpetrators happen in the blink of an eye. They move faster than the eye can practically see. It is thanks to my training that I force my eyes open to absorb the movements of these figures.

I watch with a nauseating mixture of fascination, awe, and utter disbelief. How is this happening? How is this possible? Why are they able to move so quickly? Why are they so strong?

The newcomer makes quick work of the four individuals who, most likely, intended to kill me. Between the throws, kicks, and harsh blows, the four make themselves scarce maybe two minutes from when I first spotted them.

In the fight, the figure lost the hood covering his head. I see he has dark hair. The length and the way it looks seem eerily familiar. Where have I seen this before?

I am still crouching on the ground. I feel woozy. Instinctually, I reach up and grasp the warm, throbbing area on my neck. It is slick with my blood. I can tell it is not a lot, but it is enough to make me worry.

The newcomer stands from his crouched position as he watches the figures vanish into the alleys with that unbelievable speed. I worry for a moment he is about to leave. I need to thank him for helping me – for saving my life.

I see him take a step away. I need to say something – anything – to make him stay for a moment longer.

“Wait!" I curse myself knowing that it is a horribly pathetic plea. It seems to work though. The figure stays still, head partially down. He does not turn to face me. “I… I just want to say thank you."

“You are welcome," he says softly. Why does he sound so familiar? He is still here. I need to keep him from leaving. My brain scrambles and latches onto the first and only thing going on in my head.

“What… what was that? Who were they? Do you know? Look, I'm a police officer. If I can get your statement, we can go after those pervs," I urge, daring to take a step forward.

I see the figure inhale and exhale, shoulders moving in a familiar way.

It all happens simultaneously.

I remember who the voice belongs to. I know who that mess of ebony hair belongs to. He turns toward me with a preciseness that can only be one person – Nathaniel Ballard.

“You…" I breathe.

“I can explain."