turned to look, only to find herself staring at a raised blade and the crazed face of a bearded man. She ducked to the left, and moved to counter with her sword, but a silver-tipped arrow embedded itself in his back with a dull thunk.
Andrew was crouched on the roof of Bree’s home, expertly sending arrows into the chaos, his arm moving in a steady rhythm—up and back to his sheath, forward to string the bow, and back again to draw it. His quiver was nearly out, but the bodies of werewolves littered the street. Bree stood behind him on the roof, beckoning the wind to do her bidding with her hands. Each time a vampire flew toward them, she sent it spinning backward end over end with a powerful gust of air.
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