(Third Person).
Before Meredith could protest again, Draven turned and began striding toward the direction of the cars, the unconscious vampire over his shoulder like a dark prize.
"Draven!" she called after him, her voice echoing through the trees. But he didn't turn back.
Dennis stepped beside her, his grin unfazed. "Don't worry. He knows what he is doing."
Meredith shot him a glare. "You think I'm worried about him?"
Dennis chuckled, twirling one of his axes. "No. You are worried about yourself."
"I am not—"
"Just now," he teased, "your face said it all."
She lifted her hand to swat him, but the air behind her shifted sharply and coldly.
"Focus, Meredith!" Valmora's voice cut through her thoughts like a blade.
Immediately, Meredith let her instinct take over. She quickly unsheathed her sword and spun around as a pale figure lunged out of the dark with its claws gleaming.
She dropped low, the attack slicing through the air where her head had been a heartbeat ago.
