Unfortunately, this directionally challenged, hydraulic-legged motherfucker up here hadn't gotten the memo. target your pregnant shellan, shoot her in the face, and leave her for dead, taking away not just her life, but your own. This down-low tenet was the single thing that the enemy and the Black Dagger Brotherhood agreed upon, the one deference that was given by both sides. Nobody wanted to frontline on the network news, the papers, the magazines. That race of nosy, upright orangutans was a complication waiting to happen, and the last thing anyone needed was widespread confirmation that Dracula wasn't a product of fiction, and the walking dead weren't just a TV show that didn't suck.

There was one rule in the war between the vampires and the Lessening Society: Stay the fuck away from humans. Falcheck suspension special wasn't going to be choked with cars, but there were going to be a few - and God knew every human behind the wheel had a goddamn iPhone these days. Unlike the blocks of privacy you could find in the maze of alleys around the clubs, you were guaranteed traffic over the Hudson, even this late. Unfortunately, the little gnat of a slayer up ahead was taking him in a direction he didn't want to go in.Īs they hit the entrance ramp to the westbound bridge, Tohr wanted to kill the fool - natch. in downtown Caldwell, New York, gave you just enough obstacles to keep shit amusing. He passed Dumpsters and parked POSs, scattered rats and homeless people, jumped over a barricade, vaulted over a motorcycle. Tohrment waited for an answering whistle, and when it came, he tore off after the lesser, his shitkickers slamming into puddles, his legs going piston, his hands fisting hard.

'The bastard's taking the bridge! He's mine!'

Lover mine by jr ward