Everywhere she looked, she saw silver bullets raining down. She lost count of the slayers. Some crouched on rooftops, others stood in open sight brandishing modified shotguns; yet more hid behind parked cars or trash cans. Panic seized the werewolves. Outnumbered, they scattered in all directions. She watched them sprint for alleyways, only to be felled by slayers hidden in the shadows. Huge hairy bodies fell as human corpses, blood spurting from wounds ringed with silver. She saw the sorry remains of a lycanthrope captain, still twitching in the gutter. Moonlight bathed the downtown street, painting the bloodbath with a surreal, ethereal glow.

Macia felt torn. This ancient war between the slayers and werewolves had nothing to do with her. Yet she felt that if the slayers won, they would soon turn on the vampires. She owed it to the brethren to protect them.

Summoning all of her power, Macia threw herself from her hiding place. Quicker than the slayers and immune to their silver, she began to cut a swath through their attacking force.

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