Walter reached the front door just in time to dodge a wooden bullet which zinged past his head.

“Oh dear!” he muttered, peering cautiously out. But he was too late to do anything except watch Tomás vanish in a fountain of blood.

Charla, gun gone, empty hands at her sides watched from behind the swarm with empty eyes as Walter started calming the vampires, calling them back to the yard where they were home. But they were blood crazed, and their heads turned, swiveling in unison between the lure of the garden and the tempting woman behind them. Most of them lunged at Charla.

He was just wondering whether to wade into the swarm when a news helicopter zipped down like a deus ex machina and a pair of hands grabbed Charla just before she collapsed. She was pulled from the pallid soup, two vampires still clinging for an instant before they dropped, and the copter zipped away into the night like it hadn’t even been there.

The rest of the unwounded vampires suddenly rushed into the garden and there was only a street full of gunned-down bodies left. The news copter shot back for a few minutes while the cameraman got footage of this new development, then the throbbing faded for good and the silence rang.

Walter walked slowly back up the stairs and to the bedroom. “Buttercup? We’ve had a disas—”

A hard hand grabbed his and yanked. He tumbled with an “ooooff” into the room and Jeremy threw his full weight onto him, pinned him to the floor.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Jeremy raised his left hand to stab down. He watched the murderer struggle and then freeze.

Jeremy had no energy to stab.

He’d dreamed of this moment for five years but he’d spent his anger in that shrieking rage of hatred a moment ago.

Why didn’t the vampire struggle? Why did he just stare with horror?

The tip of the stake was coated with dripping, reeking coppery gore.

“Oh no no nooooo!” Walter cried. He surged to his feet, throwing Jeremy back to where he cracked into the edge of the half open door and sank stunned to the floor. With dream helplessness, he groped for strength to fight off the attack that would come.

But Walter had no attention for him. He knelt by Jesse’s side howling with anguish. “I did it, I killed you, oh my love, my Buttercup, come back!”

In his daze, Jeremy was back at KerriAnne’s side, crying “Come back, oh baby, baby, come back, I killed you, I didn’t know!”

He started sobbing again. He was crying with his brother’s killer!

But the vampire wept too.

Jeremy knew at last he was no mercenary of vengeance. The vampire wept for his lost love and Jeremy cried with him. He tried to remember that this was a brutal killer and that he had finally managed to hurt him back. But he was too soft hearted; the last five years had been a sham.

He pushed himself up on wobbling legs. The vampire froze, his broad back totally vulnerable as he bent over his husband.

Then he turned slowly like a very old man. On the floor beside him, dark blood caught the lamplight in dull gleaming pools.

Like an electric shock, Jeremy saw Jesse’s throat ragged with torn flesh and chunks of windpipe cartilage.

Jeremy’s hands dropped to his side. The deadly stake thudded uselessly to the floor. He turned away, filled with horror and despair, knowing the old vampire had no spirit to fight.

And then the cold hand closed on his throat.