*Short chapter teaser for yet another Blade fiction. More to come!
The slew of ashes scattered only from the drop of human bodies; familiars losing their loyalty contracts early. Blood pooled the tile floor, ghosting around the soles of heavy black boots that carried a lone Daywalker forward, searching with hooded eyes for signs of retreat in the dim expanse. He held no advantage here, the battlefield even save for the silver rounds in the chamber of his automatic.
Not that it truly mattered anymore; he knew he was here alone.
The woman he'd come to claim the life of had no presence in the complex after all, perhaps not even before the slaughter that littered remains all around. Either Whistler's lead had been false, or she'd slipped away even before he'd cleared the foyer.
Dropping his firearm away into its respective holster, he knelt in a ribbon of blood mingled with sodden dust. Grasping a slip between his fingers, he pulled it from beneath a familiar—the one who'd ran at him with magnum drawn, only to be taken by suckhead fire—unfolding the crumpled surface.
Attack, it read in smeared black ink, at all costs, engage him.