A Horde of undead

Ben's talking had gained us about twenty feet, and the vampires' charge came with astonishing speed. I hit the ground. The first vamp sailed over me.

I rolled onto my back. Another vamp leaped over me. My blade slid into the flesh of its withdrawn gut. A black gush of its blood drenched the floor an inch away from my head. The vamp aimed for Ben, oblivious to the wound. The Beast Lord roared. Happy hunting.

I leaped to my feet and launched myself toward Olathe. She spun, a small sickle knife in her hand. The curved blade slit her forearm. The power of her blood slammed into me, and I rocked back, dizzy.

She whirled, her hair flying, her eyes wild and bulging. The blood from the cut sprayed around her, falling to the ground in a wide circle. The red drops ignited, and a wall of carmine flames rushed upward, enclosing her in a protective circle of magic.

A blood ward. The only way to penetrate it was with the blood of a relative or with overpowering magic. Shit.