ave you been good little boys and girls? No? Well, have some mayhem and a YouTube video, anyways. (Psst, in the following bit, it’s in the middle of a big-ass fight, possibly the first one in the book.)

Samantha (Working Title)

     Samantha flung her arm up to block, the way she’d been taught, taking the brunt of the blow down near the elbow. She felt the bruise form, and her hand went numb. She ignored it, jerking her left back and driving it forward like a piston, straight from center mass with all her weight behind it. The vampire’s head snapped back, and she stepped forward, bringing her left foot up and around in a perfect crescent kick. When I get home, so help me, I’m dusting off all my karate trophies, she thought gleefully. She planted her left foot and pivoted on it, snapping out with her right. The sole of her shoe connected solidly with the vampire’s chest, booting him back several steps. She planted the right and spun up with her left in one fluid move.
     The vampire caught her by the ankle and with a motion like poetry she launched off her right foot, spinning up and around, clipping the vampire across the face while throwing out her left hand to catch herself on the way down. His head snapped back again, but he didn’t let her go and she landed hard on her shoulder, dangling by one leg. “Fuck!” She grunted, shoulder aching, and slammed her free foot up into the vampire’s crotch. That made him let go. She scrambled up, grabbing two big handfuls of dirt on her way up. She whirled around, flinging the dirt up into her opponent’s face. She was panting for breath, heart slamming, and grinning. Her right hand still tingled and she shook it as she jogged back a couple steps and scooped up her crowbar. All around her there were gunshots and chaos, but right here she was winning. They were stronger and faster, but she knew what she was doing, and they didn’t.
     Sam danced forward with the crowbar while the vampire was still blowing and snorting dirt out of his face. She swung the crowbar up, standing the vampire up straight as she caught his chin with the curve of the bar. She brought the hook back down, planting it firmly in his shoulder and jerking him forward into her left-hand haymaker. Feeling her fist connect was possibly the most satisfying thing she’d ever experienced.
     That was when the second vampire grabbed her in a bear hug from behind. She struggled, arms pinned, snarling her anger, but he picked her up off her feet. She snapped her head back and heard him grunt with pain as she connected. Her head hurt immediately but she snapped it back again, teeth ground tight, screaming through them while she thrashed. Her assailant moved his head out of her range, squeezing her tighter, crushing the air out of her. “Goddammit, Benedict,“ he snarled at the other vampire.
     Benedict was still wiping the dirt out of his eyes. “I’m trying not to hurt her, asshole,” he snapped back.
     Sam kicked, driving her heel solidly into the second vampire’s knee. His grip loosened and she jerked in a hard breath. She hooked her left foot behind the vampire’s knee and brought her other leg up, planting her right foot firmly in Benedict’s chest and shoving. The second vampire’s knee buckled as Benedict reeled back a step from her thrust. She went down in a rough spill, the vampire losing his grip. She lunged away, rolling through the dirt, gasping for breath.
     Get up, she thought, scrambling. She made her feet as Benedict snagged her by the hair, jerking her back. She was flung backwards, amazed by the amount of pain a little pulled hair could cause. She lost her balance, falling on her ass and scraping backwards from the momentum.
     “What do you mean, not hurting her?” The nameless vampire, back on his feet, advanced on her.
     “Randall wants her.”
     “Oh, one of those,” he said.
     Sam got to her knees, scalp aching, planting one foot. She threw her hands up as the blow from the nameless vampire approached at light speed, but she was too slow. The open-handed slap rocked her head to the side and lights burst behind her eyes. She slumped, throwing a hand out to catch herself. The world went foggy and gray.
     “Damn.” Said the nameless one. “She’s tough.”
     She heard the second blow whistling through the air and let herself hit the dirt, the second slap flying harmlessly over her. Get up, get up, she moaned to herself, face pulsing where the first blow had landed.
     “That’s why he wants her.”
     Sam flung a foot out, hooking one of the vampires behind the ankle and jerking. Someone hit the ground with a curse and she shoved herself up, the world revolving lazily as her head spun. She got a knee under her. It was worse than a dream, feeling like she was moving in slow motion as she pushed away from the dirt and turned. The nameless one snagged her by the shoulder and she saw the hand coming. She felt her arm moving, trying to block, and the second slap connected with a brilliant burst of light. Her knees went to water and she collapsed, vision going dark and fuzzy around the edges.
     Don’t pass out. She clawed weakly at the dirt, muscles like limp rags. Her mouth tasted like copper, and her chin was hot and slick. Get up. Can’t. Benedict kicked her over, staring down at her. “You bruised her all up, Corvair.”
     Corvair shrugged. “She’ll live.” He reached down and grabbed the front of her shirt, hauling her up like a rag doll and hoisting her over his shoulder. Blood and pain rushed to her head, pounding. Don’t pass out, she thought, and then passed out.
     
* * *

     She was laying on cold concrete, in the dark. It wasn’t pitch dark, but the lighting was quite dim. When she realized that, she realized that her eyes were open and she was awake, and the pain rushed in. She groaned, trying to roll and get up. Her arms were stuck behind her back. Wait – tied. She pulled, feeling rough rope dig at her wrists. She struggled against it, pain arcing up through her shoulders. With a frustrated snarl, she let herself go limp.
     Okay, okay, think. You’re hurt, you’re tied up, but you’re alive. They said they wanted you. What do they want you for?
     She went cold all over. All the vampires she’d seen so far had been men, and there was generally only one thing men did with female prisoners. Her heart skipped a beat and sped up.
     Relax, relax, she told herself as her chest filled up with ice. You can survive that. Women survive that every day. She couldn’t make herself believe it. Her heart was hammering so hard she couldn’t get breath. She thought she might vomit. She strained against the ropes, kicking her ankles, which were also tied.
     Stop.
     She stopped. Her heart throbbed. She was covered in a cold sweat and she ached from crown to toes, the worst pain in her face, along the right side, where she’d been hit. She could still see, but her eye felt all puffy on that side. Her stomach rolled.
     Don’t panic. Panic doesn’t help. Breathe.
     She drew in a shaking breath, held it, let it out slowly. She did it again, then again, concentrating on the pull of breath, the swell of her lungs, until she felt her heart calming.
     Good girl. She blinked slowly, carefully working her wrists in the ropes. It felt like she was pretty solidly tied – she couldn’t get a lot of movement going. Her fingers felt tingly, too, which told her she’d been laying there a little while. She wondered if she could get her hands in front of her. If she could get her hands up front, and untie her feet . . .
     Samantha rolled over on her back, sitting up. Her head pounded sullenly and her vision fuzzed. She put her head down against her knees until the faint feeling passed. After a minute or two, she straightened up again, swinging her legs around until she was on her knees. She stopped, glancing around. The light was coming from a lantern across the room, which looked suspiciously like a basement. She looked up, and saw rafters, pipes, and wires. Yeah, basement. House basement. In the shadows she could make out a water heater, possibly a furnace, a few piles of boxes – the usual basement debris. There was a wall with a wide, arced opening, but she couldn’t see beyond that. It was too dark.
     Don’t worry about that. She arced her back, scooting her wrists down below her butt, then let herself fall back, momentum dragging her hands up along the backs of her thighs. She grunted and pushed, dragging her hands up to her knees. Shit, my reach sucks. She rocked back on her shoulders, head thumping from the strain, straightening her legs and wrenching her hands up around mid-calf. For a moment, she was caught, until she managed to lock her elbows and drag her knees up into her chest, the muscles in her shoulders stretching with pain. With a snarled grunt, she jerked her feet, wedging them between her wrists. Then, she really was stuck.
     Fuck. Good job, retard. She wrestled with herself, spinning around on the concrete, until, with a mighty heave that made the muscles all down her back groan in sharp pain, she jerked her hands out from under her feet. She collapsed back on the concrete, gasping with triumphant exertion. Her wrists were hot now, and felt slick. She glanced down. She’d torn the skin up pretty good, but she wasn’t bleeding much.
     There was a scrape on the concrete from the other room. Her muscles went rigid and her heart burst into her mouth. She waited. There was only silence. Sweat trickled down her face. Nothing. It’s nothing. Mice. No, wait, there was a shadow in the darkness, in the mouth of the archway. She scrambled frantically back against the wall, trying to get sat up again as a figure stepped into the room. The light hit him, showing her a tall, strongly-built man in a t-shirt and jeans, with longer dark hair and a knife in one hand.
     She drew in one long breath with the possible intention of screaming her fool head off, but the man quickly put a finger up to his lips. She froze, half sat up, against the rough block wall, breath trapped in her lungs. He looked back over his shoulder, head cocked as though he were listening, and then slowly approached her, the knife at his side and one hand up palm out as though to indicate he meant no harm. He was quiet as a cat when he moved.
     He knelt down next to her, making the quiet gesture a second time, glancing over his shoulder again. He looked back down, catching her wrists, slipping the knife between her skin and the ropes. Sam realized two things at once. One, his hands were ice cold, and two, he wasn’t breathing. She bit down on her lip to keep the scream in her mouth. He was one of them.

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