Part of her hated him for the role he’d played in Mark’s death. The other part missed him like hell. She could have used a friend these past three months.
The steel-reinforced door was yanked out from under her ear, and she toppled into Damon’s chest. “What the hell?”
Holy guacamole!
Looking past him, she spotted what he was hiding: a control room that wouldn’t have been out of place at NASA.
Damon slammed the door shut behind him, helped her regain her balance and then hurried past her in a full-on jog. She heard his steel-toed boots clomp up the staircase. What in the world was going on?
She raced after him.
When she reached the top of the stairs, she watched as he threw open the doors of a walk-in closet lined with weapons.
Whoa. Mr. Tall, Dark and Scary sure packed a whole lot of heat.
He shoved various weapons into the military loops on his belt before he slammed the closet doors shut and thundered down the stairs again as if she weren’t even there.
She followed. “What’s going on?”
He grabbed his jacket and gun from the counter, slipping the jacket on and tucking the gun into place before she could blink.
He wrenched open his front door. “If you’re coming, then haul ass. If not, stay here and keep this door locked no matter what.”
He nearly closed the door on her as she rushed after him.
She stayed at his heels as he ran out to the street. She grabbed his shoulder. “What’s going on?”
“Dead body nearby. The vamp probably ghosted it by now, but to be safe, hold your stake at the ready and follow my lead.”
A shot of adrenaline raced through her, and her brain switched to hunting mode.
They jogged to the nearest alleyway, but stopped before moving forward. Tiffany’s eyes widened as she caught sight of the uniformed police officer on the ground. He slumped against the wall behind him. A trickle of blood ran from the crest of his hair. The man groaned.
Damon knelt beside him. “You the informant?”
The cop nodded. Man, the poor guy had taken a beating.
“Were you bitten?”
The officer coughed, blood spewing from his mouth. He spit out a tooth, and then shook his head.
Damon placed a hand on his shoulder. “Good. Are you alright?”
The cop gulped as if trying not to spit more blood, before he managed to say, “Yeah. Hurry. Called patrol, thought I’d lose consciousness. Fifteen minutes till they’re here.” His last several words came out in a slurred mess. Slowly, he lifted his hand and pointed toward the alleyway. “Go.”
Damon gave his shoulder a light, reassuring squeeze. “Thank you.”
Standing, Damon slipped into the alleyway and blended into the shadows at its mouth. Tiffany remained close at his heels. Moving at a slow steady pace, she snaked around the corner right behind Damon. She followed each careful step he took with equal care.
Halfway through she bumped into his shoulders as he came to a sudden halt.
In the middle of the alley, half-hidden by shadows, lay a limp and bloodied body. A pool of dark blood, black against the barely lit pavement, formed in the shape of a halo around...
his
head?
Tiffany covered her mouth. Her head spun, and she steadied herself on the brick wall of the building that formed one side of the alley. Most vampires preyed on the weak, on those they thought were the easiest targets—not because they couldn’t handle it, but because they liked an easy snack. The only exception was the most ancient bloodsuckers, whose strength was legendary. They barely had to lift a finger. Nausea hit her stomach. The last time she’d seen a young, strong, capable man killed by a vampire was when she and Mark found their father lifeless on their living room floor as their mother clawed uselessly at the monster’s arms. He’d sucked the life from her throat, deaf to Mark’s and Tiffany’s screams. Though she hadn’t yet found him, she would never forget his face.
“He’s not drained completely,” Damon said, his words barely above a whisper.
Tiffany shuddered. There was something not right about this.
Vamps didn’t leave leftovers, yet a puddle of blood surrounded the man’s head. A newborn vamp wasn’t capable of that kind of self-control, but an ancient vamp would lick his dinner plate clean and leave. Near invincible or not, vampires chowed down, drank every last drop of their victim, then they beat feet. They weren’t about to make themselves known to the human population. They were greedy arrogant bastards, but they weren’t stupid. Modern man packed an arsenal of weapons, and an all-out attack from the human race would lead to their demise. Tiffany often wondered if the world would be better off knowing what monsters crawled out after dark. But humanity couldn’t cope with the existence of anything “other,” anything different. They couldn’t handle the truth. They would panic.
Numb, Tiffany stepped out of the shadows and slowly walked over to stand near the corpse, a young guy of around thirty-five who looked as if he’d been healthy and fit before the vamp got him. Now the man’s arm was detached from his body, gnawed to shreds. Exactly the way the young girl’s face had been. His eyes were wide-open, staring toward the night sky, the stars drowned by the lights of the city. Bending down, she carefully brushed her hand over his eyelids, closing them for the final time. She stood.
“Tiffany!” Damon roared.
Before she could comprehend what was going on, he tackled her full force and knocked her to the ground. A loud hiss pierced the darkness, and her mind snapped to attention. A fierce, red-eyed vampire stepped forward from the shadows, its fangs already extended and blood ringing its mouth.
Damon crouched in front of her, blocking her from the vampire’s attack. As the creature lunged, Damon ripped the Desert Eagle from his waistband and fired a round into the bloodsucker’s gut. With such a high-caliber bullet, the vamp’s midsection blew to pieces. Blood and guts splattered over the alleyway, but that wasn’t enough to kill it. Only a severed spine, decapitation or a stake straight through the heart would destroy a bloodsucker for good. The vampire screeched and staggered. It held its internal organs in as the damaged flesh knitted over, healing the bullet wound. It lifted its head. Glowing red eyes pierced through the darkness.
“You will die, hunter.” It crouched in front of the body, guarding the corpse as a lion guards its prey.
Suddenly it ran at Damon, barely visible thanks to its intense speed. It clawed at Damon’s throat, but he kicked his steel-toed boot straight into its still-healing wound. A feral growl escaped the monster’s throat. Damon fought the vampire blow for blow, matching its supernatural strength with a power she’d never seen in a human being before.
For several seconds she stared, completely frozen. She watched their killing dance as the vampire’s blood spilled in all directions, yet each time it lunged, Damon emerged unscathed.
Holy hell. She couldn’t sit there. She had to help. She ripped her own stake from her belt and rushed into the fight.
She lunged at the vampire from behind and stabbed the meaty flesh of his shoulder. Not enough to kill, but enough to injure. In an angry fury, the vampire spun and grabbed at her. She dropped to her knees and sucker punched the bloodsucker straight in the groin.
Take that, sucker.
Human or vampire, getting hit in the crotch hurt like hell.
The creature doubled over in pain, falling on top of her. They rolled across the pavement, each trying to gain the upper hand. Though she was stronger than the average man, the vampire’s supernatural strength overpowered hers. With all its weight it pinned her to the ground. If it sank its fangs into her neck she would be done for. Like a snake, it hissed and threw back its head to attack. A growl, deep and full of anger, sounded in her ears.
It wasn’t the vampire.
CHAPTER 5
Suddenly the weight of the vampire’s body disappeared. Tiffany’s chest heaved from adrenaline and fear. She stared upward and saw the vampire’s feet dangling above her as the creature struggled helplessly. Damon clenched the monster by the throat. His whole body shook with uncontrollable rage as he 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.”
She frowned. “Don’t get haughty. It’s different seeing it for 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.