Мишель Роуэн - Tall, Dark & Fangsome

Since then, I’d aged. I’d matured. I would eternally look twenty-eight years old, but I’d been through enough stress in the past three months to give me gray hair. Metaphorically speaking, that is. Thankfully, I had no gray hair, and if I did I’d totally dye it back to normal.

But that was neither here nor there.

I began following the girl and her stalkers. Maybe it was just my overworked imagination that she was in danger. They were probably just heading in the same direction, was all.

Nothing to be concerned with. Paranoia was one of my closest pals lately, although normally I had it about myself, not somebody I didn’t even know.

It was a gut thing. I had to know. Something felt terribly off.

I’d check it out, make sure the girl was safe and sound, and then I’d go back to the club and pretend to have a good time.

And then I heard a shriek: female. And a laugh: male.

Shit.

I picked up my pace and my breathing increased. Damn that bouncer for not helping out. I was right. The girl was in trouble, and now what?

Save the fledgling, save the world. Did I look like a superhero?

As much as I’d like to think I was tough and able to bravely face off against those who’d harm others, I knew I didn’t have a chance in hell against the hunters. They were two big, muscular guys, and I was… well, me. And I’d be willing to bet each of them had done this many times before.

Unfortunately, there was no time for me to go back to the club and get reinforcements, and from the terrified whimpering I now heard just around the corner in the alleyway where the hunters had cornered the fledgling, I had only seconds to decide what to do next.

Maybe I should have turned my back and run away. There’d been plenty of vamps who’d found themselves on the sharp end of a stake since I’d been sired. But this… this was different. It was here, it was now, and I couldn’t simply walk away and pretend it never happened.

The girl let out another frightened scream and the decision was made. There was one way

I knew how to be a bit tougher than I naturally was. It wouldn’t hurt if I did it just once, would it?

I sure hoped not.

Cursing under my breath, I reached back and undid the clasp of my gold chain with shaking fingers. It slipped off my throat. I slid it into my purse for safekeeping.

It was a bit like Diana Prince spinning around three times to become Wonder Woman, only I wasn’t suddenly wearing a shiny red, white, and blue leotard with a magical golden lasso and tiara. My change was a little more subtle than that.

I’d tested taking off the gold chain a couple of times since I got it. In the beginning, my nightwalker symptoms took a while to completely manifest in all their nasty glory. But now they came on me almost immediately. It was dangerous—mostly for other people— so I didn’t play around with it much.

It started with my vision closing in on either side so I could keep my prey in sight. No distractions. Clear, predatory focus. My heartbeat came to a slow stop. Or almost a stop.

A vampire’s heart beats slower than a human’s, but now my heart, without the chain, would beat approximately four times an hour. Nightwalkers weren’t living beings like regular vampires. Nightwalkers were the reason regular vamps had the reputation of being undead. Barely a heartbeat and no real need to breathe.

Only a desire to feed.

Horror movie: table for one.

Being a nightwalker was scary as hell, but that was the rational Sarah talking. Without the chain I wasn’t all that rational. But I was still in control.

At least, for short periods of time.

Hopefully this wouldn’t take very long.

One of the hunters leered at the terrified fledgling. “You have a nice body for a bloodsucker.”

“Leave me alone!” Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“She is mighty pretty,” the other hunter agreed. “Fresh, too. I’d say the evil thing is less than a week old. She doesn’t even have her fangs yet.”

“Vampires aren’t evil! Please, you have to believe me.”

“Sure, we believe you.” The hunters exchanged a droll look. “She’s not even denying being a vamp. That makes it way simpler. No unfortunate mistakes.”

“Please, don’t hurt me,” she begged.

“Do you want to see my stake, honey? I’ll bet it’s the biggest you’ve ever seen.”

“I highly doubt that,” I said dryly from behind them.

They turned to look at me.

It was dark in the alley, but I could see them as clear as day. Nightwalker eyesight was better than night-vision goggles. One had a bald head and a precisely shaved goatee and the other had long shaggy hair that touched his shoulders and an angry-looking scar on his right cheekbone. They held no fear in their eyes as they looked me up and down.

“One for me and one for you,” Baldy said to his friend. “This is going to be a fun night.”

“Wouldn’t count on that.” My attention drifted from his ugly face to the subtle throb at the side of his throat. I sensed the blood racing through his veins just below the surface.

My senses were way more acute in nightwalker mode. It was as helpful as it was distracting.

“Check out her eyes,” the second hunter hissed, and I could finally detect a trace of fear in his voice. “They’re black. She must be really hungry. That’s not good.”

“Don’t be such a wimp,” Baldy scoffed. He pulled his allegedly monstrous-sized stake out of a holder on his belt—as expected, not all that impressive—and confidently approached me.

“See this?” He indicated the stake. “Do you know how many bloodsuckers I’ve killed with this thing? It’s my lucky stake. I whittled it myself.”

I rolled my pitch-black eyes. “You’re a regular Martha Stewart. Do you keep a scrapbook, too?”

“Shut up, bitch.”

“Please help me!” The fledgling’s voice shook, her attention now fully focused on her potential rescuer, aka: me.

“Just a minute.” I felt bad for her—this small, pale, shivering thing with really bad hair and supremely tacky shoes. A couple of months ago that was me. Except for the bad hair and shoes, of course.

The bald hunter laughed. “You’re going to help her? Is that why you’re here? To rescue one of your own kind? How sweet.”

“Why do hunters talk so much?” I asked. “All talk, no action. Yawn.”

“Dude,” the shaggier of the two said. “Didn’t you hear me? Her eyes are black. She’s dangerous. Don’t provoke her. Maybe we should take off. I don’t feel good about this.”

“Your friend is way smarter than he looks.” I couldn’t stop studying Baldy’s deliciously exposed throat above the line of his leather jacket. “Why don’t I give you a chance? Leave now with the promise to never kill another vampire and we won’t have a problem.”

Baldy laughed louder at that. “Who the hell do you think you are, bitch?”

“I’m the Slayer of Slayers, asshole. Ever heard of me?”

That stopped him for a moment as he recognized my well-known nickname. His eyes widened a fraction and he took a step back so he could study me from my low-heeled, knee-high black boots—fashionable yet easy to run in; an important combo for any female vamp—past my casual yet sparkly outfit of a short black skirt and silver lamé tank top, to my shoulder-length brown hair, currently tucked firmly behind my ears. Since the cold was only a minor annoyance for me now, I’d left my coat inside the club.

A slow, confident smile spread across his features. “I heard that rep of yours was only a rumor. So if you’re trying to scare me you’ve failed. The only question is, when I slay you, are you still young enough to leave a body behind for me to prove I was the one to do it, or are you more ancient than you look?”