Vampire Hunter: Shadow Hunter. Anna Hackett
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crushed the bloodsucker’s esophagus.
“Stake it before I tear its head from its neck,” he growled.
She scrambled to her feet and with both hands drove the lacquered wood of her stake into the vampire’s heart. One last batlike screech ripped through the night before the monster exploded like a bursting sack. Blood splattered over her face and torso, and she thanked God she’d remembered to close her mouth.
Damon lowered his hands and unclenched his fists, and the last remnants of the creature’s flesh fell to the ground.
With her one semi-clean hand Tiffany wiped the vile liquid from her face. “I hate when they do that.”
Damon fixed his stare on her. The raw power that surged from him hit her full force. He was fierce, terrifying and beautiful all at once.
“You are not leaving my sight,” he said. “Understood?”
She nodded, at a total loss for words.
Drenched in vampire blood, he walked over to the dead man and hoisted him into his arms.
He resettled the weight of the dead man’s body over his shoulder before nodding for her to follow him. They needed to get out of there before the cops showed up, and fast. As they snaked down the back of the alley, the distant sound of sirens, followed by the red-and-blue lights casting into the alleyway, lit a fire under their feet. They moved faster. Tiffany sighed. Thank goodness help for the wounded officer had arrived.
They kept to the shadows all the way to the Temple Building before slipping up the fire escape. Two people soaking wet with blood, holding a mutilated corpse, was not a sight for civilian eyes. Damon hit a keypad beside the fire escape window and they climbed into the loft. Wow. Keypad on the fire escape? How paranoid was he?
Once they were safely inside the apartment, they positioned the body on the kitchen island. She stripped off her leather jacket, and Damon followed suit. He held out his arm, and she laid her coat across it. He placed both coats in his laundry room before returning to the kitchen. They both used the sink and washed the caked-on blood from their faces and hands.
Tiffany stared at the body as she used a dishrag to dry her face. “What the hell was wrong with that vampire?” They were the first words either of them had spoken since the alley.
Damon shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen a vampire guard a dead body, or leave so much leftover blood in its victim like that. And I’ve definitely never seen a baby vamp capable of stopping in the middle of a feeding to take a breather, and strong as it was, from the sloppy movements of that thing that was a baby vamp as sure as I live and breath.”
She attempted to wipe some of the blood off her shirt and failed miserably. “It was like it was an animal with a piece of food. Vampires are chickenshits. Every peon vamp feeding off the street runs like hell if their victim is already dead and someone approaches. And you’re right, what kind of bloodsucker leaves blood like that? I’ve learned at least that much from hunting.”
Damon shot her a look. “You shouldn’t be hunting vampires alone.”
She glared at him. “Oh, yeah, why’s that? I’ve been hunting vampires for years.”
“You’re not trained. If I hadn’t been there, that bloodsucker would have drained you.”
She turned away from him. Her jaw clenched, and frustration built up inside her.
“How many times have you come that close to death?” he asked.
She stared at the floor.
“How many times, Tiffany?”
“Lots, okay?” She spun to face him. “You’re just like my brother, acting as if I can’t handle myself. Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I’m incapable of fighting. Why do you act like I can’t hold my own?”
Something sparked behind Damon’s eyes, something she couldn’t interpret. “Because you can’t.”
“I am not weak. I’m not a victim.” Her hands balled into fists.
Damon walked toward her, his boots clomping against the hardwood floor. He towered over her, staring down into her eyes. If she’d been a weaker woman, she might have been intimidated, but she refused to back down.
His tone remained calm and even despite the clear frustration behind his words. “Vampires are stronger and faster than even the most powerful human. Being a woman has nothing to do with it. Being untrained on top of being a normal human is what makes you incapable of fighting, not your gender. The vampire in that alleyway was nothing compared to a vampire who has lived even twenty years, let alone thousands. The bloodsucker we fought tonight couldn’t have been a vampire for more than a few days, and still he would have bested you…”
She looked away from him.
He let out a long sigh and held her chin gently in his hands, forcing her to face him. Even when he was covered in blood and dirt, his touch sent electrifying waves through her, and as mad as she was, she wished she could kiss him again. She cursed herself. She didn’t know this man. She still wasn’t even sure why he was so intent on protecting her.
“Tiffany, look at me.”
She did as he asked, studying the contours of his face. He seemed so familiar, but she couldn’t place where she’d seen him before. Though she knew he wasn’t, it was as if he was an old friend she hadn’t seen in years. His presence was both tantalizing and comforting.
“Stop flirting with death. I can tell by looking at you that that’s why you’re doing this. Only someone with a suicide wish would try to fight something they know they can’t win.”
A lump blocked her throat, and she fought hard to keep her eyes from watering. She blinked to hold back the tears and prayed he wouldn’t notice. Damon cupped her cheek, his touch gentle for a man so gruff and strong. She swallowed the lump in her throat and turned away from him.
No one had ever said something so blunt to her. No one had ever seen straight through her before, been so right about her motivations—not even her brother. No one…
…except B.
Even though she’d never met him. She’d been asked to correspond with B to give him something to hold on to in tough times, but in those letters, he’d been her savior. Now, with no more letters cluttering her mailbox, B seemed like a distant dream.
Damon watched Tiffany step away from him. His fingers buzzed with electricity where their skin had connected. He bit his lower lip. He hadn’t meant to put her on the slab and expose her like that. The last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable. The look in her eyes said he’d seen right through her.
She cleared her throat, acting as if he hadn’t nearly made her cry, which seemed very her. From what he’d gathered, she wasn’t the type of person to show weakness.
“Tell me why you brought him back here.” She gestured toward the dead man.
“To examine him.” Time to focus. He ducked into the downstairs bathroom and returned with his scalpel. It had saved him a time or two, letting him avoid unnecessary trips to the emergency room. Nothing like explaining why you had a bullet wound in your shoulder to open up the kind of investigation he didn’t need.
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Do I even want to ask why you keep a scalpel in your bathroom?”
“Useful if you get something lodged in you. Glass, bullets, whatever.”
“That happens to you a lot?”
“Comes with the job.” He ran the scalpel from the dead man’s sternum to his navel before he glanced at Tiffany.
All the color drained from her face, leaving her skin with a slight greenish tinge. She gulped.
He nodded over his shoulder, trying to hide a smile. “Bathroom, if you need it.”