Мишель Роуэн: Stakes & Stilettos

Ten weeks ago

She wasn't wearing any shoes. That was his first impression.

His second impression was that the attractive brunette was completely insane. She had to be if she was approaching him.

He watched warily as she struggled through the narrow opening in the barrier and stared out at the sight before her. She was now perched alongside him on a support beam of a tall bridge high above a very dark, cold river.

Her eyes, wide with fear, finally landed fully on him.

"Hey!" she called out. The swift wind blew the bottom part of her thin, silky dress up above her knees to show off her long legs. Her leather coat, more fashionable than adequate as protection against the cool early winter chill, gaped open in the front.

Don't come any closer, he thought. She was going to get herself killed climbing out past the safety barrier of the bridge. Dying was his goal that night, but he'd rather not see anyone else suffer the same fate.

"Go away," he said simply.

She didn't go away. Instead her gaze moved around erratically. "Holy crap. This is high up, isn't it?"

A marvelous observation. He eyed her as she shuffled closer to him. Insane. Most definitely insane.

"Help me!"

He frowned. "Help yourself. Can't you see that I'm trying to kill myself here?"

Quelling any thoughts of empathy, he gazed down at the dark waters of the Don River hundreds of feet below them. Quite honestly, there could not be a worse time for him to have been interrupted. She was putting herself into extreme danger.

"Help me first and then kill yourself," the woman suggested.

Who was she? What was she doing there? Did she know who he was? Had she been sent to stop him from ending his already overlong life?

No. The young woman who'd chosen to climb out onto the bridge in bare feet at the very end of a particularly cold month of November hadn't sought him out in particular. He could see it in her eyes. He could taste her fear. This was merely a coincidence.

A very inconvenient coincidence indeed.

The woman bore unmistakable fang marks on her neck. She'd recently been bitten by a vampire.

There was fresh blood on her throat.

He ignored the dark hunger that swelled within him and the ache of his lengthening fangs.

He hadn't drunk blood in a hundred years. No need at his age, but the want was still there.

Every day. Every hour.

Long shadows appeared behind her as three men approached. His breathing hitched. Were they after him? Had he been followed to the bridge?

Tonight was to be the end of his long life. The end of a so-called master vampire. Thierry de Bennicoeur, dead after nearly seven hundred years. Had they followed him to witness his fate?

No, the men's gazes locked onto the woman instead. A tall blond man—a human—smiled as his eyes flicked to Thierry and then back to her.

"A friend of yours?" he asked.

"Yes," the woman said quickly, her troubled gaze moving to Thierry again. "A good friend. And he's going to kick your ass if you don't leave me alone."

Thierry raised an eyebrow. Kick his ass?

The blond man snorted. "That I'd like to see."

"Vampire hunter," Thierry said out loud. He had confronted so many hunters in his time that it was obvious to him what the fair-haired man was, and the wooden stake the hunter held tightly in his grasp was only one clue.

"Who wants to know?" The man's gaze slid from the woman's bare feet to her long lean legs. It was the gaze of a predator, and not one who wished only death for his victim.

Hunters enjoyed playing with their prey—especially helpless and attractive female fledglings—before killing them.

"Who I am is none of your concern." Thierry forced his voice to remain impartial. "You are invading my personal space. Kindly take your business elsewhere."

And leave the woman in peace or I will kill you.

"We've just come to claim this little piece of vampire ass," the hunter said, "and we'll be on our way, so you can get back to whatever it was you were doing."

The young woman drew closer with shaky steps and grabbed the hem of his coat.

"Don't let them hurt me," she implored. "Please."

He could feel the warmth from her body.

Walk away, Thierry told himself sternly. Leave them. Leave her. You don't know this woman. Where is her sire? This should be his responsibility.

Now on his hands and knees in an attempt to crawl through the crudely cut opening of the bridge's fenced barrier, the hunter grabbed her ankle. To Thierry's surprise, the woman kicked the hunter directly in his eye.

Good aim. One of the best self-defense targets on the human body—groin or eyes. The hunter screamed and clutched at his face.

The woman scrambled away and almost lost her footing. Thierry reached out and steadied her, pulling her against him.

She looked up at him with surprise. "Thank you. I thought you weren't going to help me."

"Reflex," Thierry said. And it had been. For the most part.

There were two other hunters who began to climb through the barrier. They both had sharp weapons. While Thierry didn't really care about his own fate that night, he had now made a stand when it came to the woman's. Her safety, at least for the next few minutes, was his only priority.

Unfortunately, there was only one choice of escape.

He looked down. "I suppose we'll have to jump."

The woman's grip tightened at his waist. "Wasn't that your original plan? And wasn't your original plan to kill yourself?"

He thought of the stake tucked into the back of his pants with which he had truly planned to kill himself before allowing his remains to be swept away by the river below.

It would have to wait for another time.

"With my luck the fall tonight won't kill me," he said with a sigh. "But you just might."

He tightened his arms protectively around her and without waiting for another protest, he jumped off the bridge. Her scream rang loud in his ears.

He couldn't remember the last time he had had a beautiful woman cling to him so fiercely.

For the briefest of moments it made him feel alive and wanted—very dangerous feelings for someone like him to have.

However, when they landed, the freezing cold water managed to douse those feelings and reality quickly set in.

He'd have to get rid of her as soon as possible. There was no other choice. Having a woman like this in his life—so young and fresh and filled with vitality—could only prove to be a deeply dangerous mistake.

For both of them.

My name is Sarah Dearly. Fledgling vampire and part-time bartender, at your service.

Welcome to my highly dysfunctional life.

Two and a half months ago I was bitten and turned into a vampire by my blind date from hell, chased across the city by vampire hunters, and managed to meet the handsome master vampire of my dreams right before we had to jump off a bridge together to escape getting killed. And that was all the very first night.

Since then things have been steadily… oh, insane would be a good word. But I've managed. Ten weeks as a vampire had changed a whole lot of things in my life, but I was still me. Still Sarah. Still not anyone to be afraid of in a dark alley. Ten weeks without my biting any necks or magically turning into a bat. "Evil" is definitely not my middle name.

I'd been damn lucky, all things considered. Although I do think changing into a bat would be a nice gift-with-purchase for this whole, unfortunate vampire deal.

"Sarah, are you ready to meet the man who'll change your life forever?"

I glanced up from the dirty martini I was shaking and looked across the top of the bar at the grinning redhead. Her name was Heather, a former waitress at Haven, and her enthusiasm was almost contagious. Almost.