Ray battled a
bruiser whose arms sported a multitude of colorful tattoos, as Linq squared off
against the sandy-haired businessman, whose neck perforations had long since
each other, seeking an opening. Linq waved his claws. “Are you sure you want to
test your luck again?”
scowled. “You and your friend might’ve taken down the lot of us, but it’s
nothing compared to how many of you we put down.” He spit on the ground at
Linq’s feet. “Or how many more we’ll put down.”
words struck home. Images and feelings crowded at the edge of Linq’s
perceptions, a tsunami of them—all of them related to the horrific events of
the last twenty-four hours, all of them clamoring and vying for attention. He
held them at bay, because distraction meant death, but their intrusion caused
his body to relax and his claws to retract.
opening, the væmpire attacked, coming straight at Linq in a full-frontal
ground, Linq swept the væmpire’s claws to the side with his left hand. With his
right, he clubbed the vaempire on the side of the head, a thunderous shot that
drove the businessman back three steps.
Linq moved in to
follow it up with a decisive blow, his senses already searching for new
threats. Claws stained black from spilling so much blood extended on impulse
and flashed toward the væmpire’s neck.
nothing but air as the sandy-haired man dropped into a forward roll.
Linq let him
roll by, and turned with a sigh. It was almost too easy. The man had obviously
received no instruction in hand-to-hand fighting, or else he’d know that you
never turn your back on an opponent.
The væmpire came
out of his roll and jumped to his feet. He realized his mistake—he had rolled
past Linq, but was facing the wrong direction—in time to flinch as Linq’s claws
separated his head from his neck.
spurted as the body and head fell in opposite directions. Hot væmpire blood
that smelled like rancid meat hit the sidewalk in uneven splatters, reminding
Linq of a drunken man urinating in a back alley.
Then two things
happened at once: he sensed a væmpire—yet another new arrival—drop in, while
Ray yelled, “Watch out!”
Before he could
react, Linq was grabbed from behind. Strong arms encircled him—hot, sweaty
væmpire arms that felt like steel pincers. Linq’s own arms were pinned to his
sides as his adversary squeezed him like a vise.
The pressure was
tremendous and Linq panicked, throwing his head back in an attempt to crush the
væmpire’s nose. He knew it was a mistake as he did it, but his reaction was
quicker than his thoughts.
dodged the blow, and then did the unthinkable: his head flashed forward and he
sunk his fangs into Linq’s exposed neck.
Every cell in
Linq’s body erupted in unmitigated pain. Nothing in his training, nothing in
his imagination—in his nightmares, perhaps, but not his imagination—nothing in
his experience or education had prepared him for such pain.
His eyes rolled
back in his head and his jaw snapped shut, his fangs slicing deep into his
tongue. He didn’t even notice.
Then the væmpire
About the Author
Thomas Winship lives in New York. He holds an MBA in
Management from St. Thomas Aquinas College, where he serves as MBA Director and
adjunct professor of courses in English Composition, Communications, and
Business. He also spent fifteen years working for a global pharmaceutical
company, specializing in organizational development, talent management, and
Tom writes in his spare time. His first novel, Temporary
Insanity, was a 2008 finalist in a national contest but failed to garner
industry attention. Væmpires: Revolution, his second novel (first in the
Væmpires series) was published in October and Væmpires: White Christmas followed
He is an avid collector of books, comic books, music,
and movies. His interests are diverse: on any given day, Tom is likely to be
found watching a horror movie, attending a hard rock concert, or enjoying a
He is currently working on the next installment of the
Væmpires series, which is scheduled for a 2013