Gabriel
My breath was heavy. My whole body ached.
It wasn't the kind of pain I was used to. Not like the beatings from the nuns in the monastery. Not like the cold of the nights when we fell asleep with empty stomachs.
This was a different kind of pain.
The pain of defeat.
I leaned against a damp wall as Raphael wiped the blood from a gash on his forehead and Michael silently slid his swords back into their sheaths.
None of us spoke.
Because we all knew.
We weren't strong enough.
Raphael
"That was pathetic."
I spat on the ground. Blood. My hands were still shaking.
"We're not ready," Michael said quietly.
I wanted to argue. Wanted to say that we were. That we just got unlucky. That those bastards had caught us off guard.
But it would have been a lie.
Gabriel pushed himself off the wall. "Whoever helped us… he could have just as easily killed us."
Michael nodded. "He was faster than us. Stronger. Silent."
"Was it Crowe?" I finally asked.
Gabriel didn't answer.
I knew that silence.
It meant he didn't know.
And I didn't like that.
Michael
We left the alley as quickly as we could.
I couldn't deny it—the mysterious figure that saved us wouldn't leave my mind. I hadn't seen him. Not really. Just a shadow, a movement.
But I had felt him.
He wasn't like the vampires we had fought. There was no darkness around him. No cold. No corruption.
He was like us.
But better.
Much better.
Gabriel
"What now?"
Raphael's voice was tired. I understood. We all were.
"We keep going," I said.
"Really?" Michael leaned against a lamppost. "Gabriel, we don't even know if Crowe is still alive. And if he is—why would he help us?"
I looked him in the eyes.
"Because we're the last ones."
Michael held my gaze.
Then he nodded.
And that was that.