Shadow Guardians: The Key

Zachiel loosed rapid-fire bullets at the three khad charging towards Draven, who was wrestling on the wet tarmac with a sinewy demonic monstrosity. They darted out of the way with impressive speed, one sending a slug right at Zachiel. He evaded, but not quite fast enough. The slug grazed his right bicep. He swiveled and loosed more shots, managing to hit one in the chest and the other in the arm. The one he hit in the arm fell, and he used the opportunity to finish him off. Light went up.

The third one charged Zachiel and overwhelmed him. They fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Zachiel got punched in the face over and over again by a bald, human-looking zombie. He rolled him over, punched him back, and heard the crack of his jaw. The thing flinched, and it gave him a second to unsheathe his dagger and plunge it into the khad’s chest. It exploded beneath him.

Draven cried out as the creature’s long canines fixed in his shoulder and took a hunk right out of him, flesh and bone. It writhed underneath his weight. They rolled so the demon was on top. Then rolled back. His dagger lay four feet away, he’d lost it during the wrestling.

He couldn’t risk loosening his grip on the demon and having it overwhelm him. He fought through the burning pain in his shoulder, brought his hand up to its head, canines flashing for his flesh. He fixed his hand underneath the creature’s jaw and pushed up and sideways, trying to tear the head off the body. His arm shook from the pain radiating down his shoulder.

Fuck it, this wasn’t working. With an inward sigh, he put his hands right in the thing’s mouth, ignored the canines that were slicing through his fingers, and tore the jaws open in opposite directions. With claws writhing and scratching at his back, he snapped the demon’s jaws open. It shrieked in agony.

“Draven!” Zachiel threw his gun at his brother. He reached for the gun and held it right against the creature’s torso. He popped a slug, and the thing exploded. The impact landed Draven right on his ass three meters away.

Zachiel ran to him. “You alright?”

Draven coughed. He was dirty as hell, his shoulder had a gaping hole in it, his ears were ringing, and his vision temporarily went awoll. “Yeah. I’m good.” He mumbled. Man, he was really dizzy suddenly.

“Shit, you’re bleeding out. He must’ve taken a chunk out of your main artery.” Zachiel sat Draven up.

“Is it Yankee season yet?” Draven asked, wanting a nap. But there was something he had to do first. Oh yeah. Healing. Man, his head was pounding.

What a chore.

“You’re not even into that kind of sports, my brother. You have to focus on the vein. Seal it up.” Zachiel took his torn-up hand. “Come on, focus.”

He scanned the area. Standard dirty alley. They went through here after the scene at the club, evading the cops that were called in. That was a mess. Dancers lay dead on the floor. They killed the demon, and people were yelling, screaming, and mobbing. They had to get rid of the bodies, wipe the memories of all of them. Which was one hell of a mental strain. And then they were ambushed here. Thomas’ hospital wasn’t too far from here.

He took out his phone, called Magnus.

“Hey.”

“Hey my brother, listen, we got a situation here.”

There was silence on the other end, and he knew Magnus was zoning in on them.

“I gotcha. I’m on my way.”

Draven’s head lolled.

“Damn it, Draven, focus on the vein!” Zachiel hated doing this, but... He pressed his finger right into the point Draven had to seal up. Of course he cried out, which broke Z’s heart, but it was better than him dying.

“Focus here!”

Draven gritted his teeth, shut his eyes. And when Z lifted his finger, he saw the vein close up, and a little of the flesh around it. But Draven had lost too much blood to have the mental strength to fix the rest. And Zachiel couldn’t do it on his own. They both had to work together if he wanted to help him heal.

Damn it, his shoulder was a mess. The chunk out of his flesh was the size of two baseballs.

“Can’t,” Draven said, breaking out in a cold sweat.

“Yeah, I know. We’re taking you to Thomas, get you some vitamin P. He’ll stitch you up.”

The Corvette speeded around the corner, slowed, and stopped feet before them. Zachiel lifted Draven up.

“I’m good, I’m fine,” he said, weaving like a drunk as his brother carried him.

“Don’t bullshit me, D. You’re looking like you’ve downed nine bottles of brandy. Let me take your weight.”

Katherine got out of the Corvette and opened the back door. She helped Z, and they laid him down in the back.

“I’ll just dematerialize there,” Zachiel said. “There’s not enough room for both of us back there.”

“Sure, see you there.” Katherine said. She got back into the car, and they drove off. Z focused on Thomas’ place and disappeared in a cloud of blue.

At Thomas’ hospital, with a brother at each shoulder, they dragged Draven through reception. Two waiting nosferi women, one with a female youngling on her lap of no more than five, watched them nervously.

The vampire warriors’ reputation suited their appearance, large and fearsome. And some nosferi civilians thought it best to avoid them if they could. The warriors got preference at the hospital when it was possible, however.

“Procedure Room 7!” The nurse called to the men.

“Already got that,” Magnus called back.

They went into the procedure room and parked Draven on the gurney.

“You okay, bro?” Magnus asked.

“I swear if you don’t stop asking me, I’m going to smash your balls in, Magnus.”

He flashed his teeth. “Cause you think that’ll hurt me?”

Draven slanted him a look. His brother was a blurry mess, but whatever. “Cause I know that’ll render you infertile...”

Magnus’ smile vanished, and he cleared his throat, then straightened. “He’s fine,” he told Z.

“Clearly.”

Besides, Draven kind of liked the pain. Pain was good. It gave him some sort of sensation in his body. It was the only thing he was capable of feeling right now. He focused his eyes on the poster of the vampire anatomy on the wall to try and change the direction of his thoughts. But since that reminded him of his own faults, he shifted his gaze to the gray metal waiting chair in the corner.

Thomas came in, the nosferi doctor. He looked very much like a khad, bald and black-eyed, but that was unfortunate genetics. The small glasses, the white lab coat, and the educated behavior redeemed him.

“Gods of the Light, look at you.”

“He needs blood,” Z said outright. “Bastard gnawed his vein off. He lost a lot.”

Thomas went over to the fridge and took out a bag, then handed it to Draven. “That explains why you’re in here at all. I’ll be quick so you can make it home before dawn.”

Draven fed, stopping now and then to focus on healing the torn flesh, so Thomas had less to stitch up. He bent the gurney while he white-knuckled it through.

At the end of it, they went home, and Draven just had a few stitches to the skin, which would be removed the next day.

They made it back to Grandfall Manor just thirty minutes before dawn.