Vampire Hunter: Shadow Hunter. Anna Hackett
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real, that’s all.”
He tugged back the skin.
“Ugh.” She gagged. “Do you have to do it so…forcefully?”
“Yes.”
She turned away and walked to the other side of the apartment. His eyes locked on to the sway of her hips, but he forced himself to look away. She would need to get used to dealing with gore if she was going to stick around for long. Damon paused.
Shit. She would not be sticking around for long. Only long enough for him to ensure that she wasn’t chasing vamps anymore, that she was safe.
He’d already done enough to Tiffany. If she stuck around, things would only end with him ruining her life even more.
He glanced in her direction. She was staring out the window at the city lights. Her lips had tasted like warm brown sugar when they’d kissed. His gaze lowered to her sweet behind, and the thought of cupping her ass in his hands before he trailed kisses over the porcelain skin of her neck sent a shiver down his spine.
Damn. He ripped his eyes away from her. He would not think about her no matter how deliciously round her ass was or how perfectly ample her breasts were.
Dead body. Dead body. Dead body.
He looked at the corpse lying on his counter. That was enough to act as a cold bucket of water for anyone. Pushing Tiffany from his mind, he stared down at the dead man’s insides. What was it about the latest victims that caused vampires to act like zombies, going for flesh and not just blood? Why were they eating these people? And the way the new vampire in the alley had guarded this man’s body screamed of a predator protecting its prey.
No. Leeches were leeches.
Once a human was drained, they moved on. Wham, bam, thank you, human. Aside from Hosts, leeches didn’t stick around and play with their food. As much as he hated the relationship, at least Hosts served a purpose. Better a couple pints low than dead, though most Hosts drove themselves to that, anyway. But in all his years of hunting them, he’d never seen a single vampire interested in anything but blood—until now.
From the look of the man’s insides, there was nothing unusual about his blood or his organs. Damon pulled latex gloves from one of the kitchen drawers and slipped them over his hands. He reached inside the open cavity of the man’s midsection and moved around several organs, searching for anything even remotely unusual that would cause a vampire to behave uncharacteristically.
Nothing. No tumors or anything out of the ordinary.
Damon removed his hands from the chest cavity. He pulled at the edge of his glove, ready to be done with his examination, then paused. Something in his gut told him it was worth checking inside the man’s organs, as well.
He reached deep into the man’s body and began to palpate the organs. He bit his lip as his hands squished against the soft tissue. How the hell did morticians and coroners manage to do this for a living? Then again, how did he manage to kill for his?
When he finally reached the man’s kidneys he used the scalpel to extract one. The organ was already cold. Carefully, he slid the scalpel through the spongy tissue.
A loud hiss filled the room. Something vile poured from the kidney, and heat like liquid fire washed over his hand. He ripped the glove off just in time for the greenish liquid to eat through the latex like acid. A putrid smell hit his nose, and bile burned at the back of his throat. Drawn by the noise and the stink, Tiffany came running over from the window.
The damn mess was like a sixth grade science fair project gone wrong, one of those spewing volcanoes every kid built at least once. He hardly noticed Tiffany running off and rummaging in the fridge. A second later, white powder clouded the air as she dumped an entire box of baking soda on top of the acid.
“What the hell was that?” she demanded.
Coughing from the soda cloud, he tossed his gloves in the kitchen garbage can, chuckling. “Overkill on the baking soda much?”
She frowned. “For all you know that could have exploded and I saved your sorry ass. Now, what the hell happened?”
He dusted baking soda from his clothing, not that it did much good with all the blood already there. “There’s something wrong with the kidney fluids.”
“Ya think?” She stared at the rest of the green acid oozing from the dead man’s kidney.
A smile crossed his face. He had to give her credit. Even though he knew she was probably fighting not to toss her cookies, she was standing there like a champ.
He appreciated a strong woman.
She wrinkled her nose. “That’s just disgusting. What is that? Maybe you should check the other organs, too.”
Putting on a new pair of gloves, he held the man’s heart carefully, preparing to jab it with the scalpel. Just as he got ready to slice, the corpse lurched.
Shit!
Damon jumped back as the now newly turned vampire sat upright, hissing and reaching for Damon’s neck. How the hell had the thing changed so quickly? Before he could respond, Tiffany plunged her stake deep into the monster’s exposed heart. One high-pitched screech pierced his ears before the vampire exploded like the blood sack it was.
Blood splashed onto his face and throughout his kitchen.
He looked at Tiffany, who smiled despite all the blood she was covered in. “I told you I could hold my own.”
Damon narrowed his stare. “Sometimes.” He pointed to the stairs. “You can use the shower upstairs. Toss your clothes over the balcony and I’ll throw them in the washer.”
“You don’t need to ask me twice.”
Stake still in hand, she trudged up the stairs. A minute later a large pile of bloody clothes flew over the balcony rail and landed on his hardwood floor with a splat. He quickly threw them in the washer, trying not to think about how deliciously naked she was, about the hot shower water running over the curves of her body. He pushed the thoughts aside.
Down, boy. Focus.
With any luck, he would at least be able to get most of the blood out of their clothes. He glanced down at his own threads. He was covered in blood and dirt, but there was no point in changing before he finished cleaning up.
He reached under his kitchen sink and removed a mop and bucket, a sponge and a gallon of bleach. It was times like these when he wished he wasn’t too paranoid to employ a maid.
Not that your average housecleaner could handle a kitchen resembling a horror movie.
An hour later he’d thoroughly scrubbed down the kitchen, returning it to a near sparkling clean. He would give it another going over later. Right now he needed a shower. Using the downstairs bathroom, he scrubbed all the blood, guts and debris from his body. When he finished, he wrapped his hips in a towel, threw his own clothes in the washer and padded up the stairs to his bedroom.
Water from the shower pummeled the tiled floor, sounding like heavy rain. He didn’t blame Tiffany for the extra-long shower. When you washed the blood off, no matter how clean you got, sometimes you still felt dirty.
He finished drying off and threw the white towel into the laundry bin. He slipped on a pair of old loose-fitting jeans, zipped and buttoned the fly, then reached into the top of his closet for a black shirt. Tiffany cleared her throat from behind him.
Still shirtless, he turned around. The breath caught in his throat, and every inch of him stiffened. His erection was immediate. She was standing in the middle of his bedroom, still slightly damp from the shower, one of his towels wrapped around her. It took all the strength in him not to rip the towel from