Michele Hauf - The Vampire Hunter

The only thing Zoë knew about Kaz was that his mouth knew exactly how to fit against hers for maximum pleasure.

And that the heat of his body felt like a fantasy in which she was granted everything she had ever desired.

It never worked like that in real life. Not even with a healthy dose of magic tossed in for good measure.

But never in her life had Zoë felt so connected to a man she didn’t even know.

Sighing into the kiss, she tilted her body towards Kaz’s aggressive stance, and as their hips met, he drew his fingers down her spine, coaxing her even closer with his touch. Chest to chest, she melted against his heat and strength. He made her feel delicate and pretty and so, so desirable.

A girl could become bewitched by such a kiss. And a bewitched witch was a rare thing.

MICHELE HAUFhas been writing romance, action-adventure and fantasy stories for more than twenty years. Her first published novel was Dark Rapture. France, musketeers, vampires and faeries populate her stories. And if she followed the adage “write what you know,” all her stories would have snow in them. Fortunately, she steps beyond her comfort zone and writes about countries she has never visited and of creatures she has never seen.

Michele can be found on Facebook and Twitter and at www.michelehauf.com. You can also write to Michele at PO Box 23, Anoka, MN 55303, USA.

The Vampire Hunter

Michele Hauf

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Excerpt

Prologue

The thing came at him so quickly, Kaspar had little time to react beyond putting up his arms to block the crazy long teeth that gnashed for his neck.

He’d been minding his own business, digging in the garbage behind Madame du Monde’s dance studio. He’d found a broken chair and had screwed off one of the wooden legs. If he whittled down the serrated edge he might use it as a weapon. Call it a sixteenth-birthday present. Living on the streets a guy needed all the protection he could get.

But after nearly two years of street life, he’d usually seen the attack coming. This maniac had lunged at him from out of nowhere, and it was as if he were on drugs because he growled and shoved Kaz to the winter-wet tarmac, then jumped on top of his chest, compressing his thin rib cage with a hard knee.

Twice as big as Kaz and dressed all in black, the attacker snarled, revealing teeth that belonged on a monster. Kaz yelped and swung the chair leg before him. The man batted it away.

“No way!” Kaz yelled. Using all his strength, he managed to kick the crazy guy off him, leaped to his feet and swung the weapon wildly. “Get away from me, you creep!”

“A tasty little boy,” the guy muttered like some kind of menacing villain a person only saw in the movies. “I can smell your blood. Starved for sustenance as you are, I’ll squeeze a few drops from your skinny neck.”

The man lunged for him, gripping Kaz’s shoulders and sinking sharp teeth into his neck. It hurt so bad, worse than all the times his dad had used him as a punching bag. Kaz kicked and yowled; he didn’t want to die. He was too young. He may not have much to live for, but—no, it wasn’t going to happen this way.

Pushing the thing off him tore the long, pointed teeth from his neck. Kaz whined at the pain, yet he didn’t take his eyes from the attacker. His blood dripped from the maniac’s mouth. With a hungry smirk, the thing again lunged.

Without second thought, Kaz swung around the chair leg, jamming the serrated end into the guy’s chest. The creep growled and swore at him, cursing him with all the bad words Kaz had learned to use to vent his anger, and then some.

And then a blast of ash formed where the guy had been speared with the end of the chair leg. Dark gray flakes formed the shape of a man, then sifted to the ground, leaving behind a pile of clothing—and no vicious attacker.

Swinging down the hand that still clutched the chair leg in a painful squeeze, Kaz stumbled backward, hitting the steel garbage can in a clatter, and slipping to land on his butt.

“What the—?”

Another man swung around the corner of the brick building, gripping the wall to stop his running pace. He wore a plaid vest over a fancy shirt and pants, and looked like one of those rich guys Kaz always saw escorting pretty girls in and out of shops on the Champs-Élysées. “You got him, kid?”

Got him? Got what? What was that thing? It...it had dissolved right before his eyes. There wasn’t even blood in the pile of ash. Human beings didn’t do that. And it had—Kaz slapped a hand over his neck—bitten him.

The man approached him carefully, hands held out in placation. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m one of the good guys.”

Kaz drew up his legs as the man squatted beside him. He was too scared to run, and he didn’t want to stab at him. One pile of ash was weird enough. Had he just murdered someone? He didn’t want to go to jail. He’d take the cold, tough streets of Paris over jail any day.

The man inspected Kaz’s neck with probing fingers that made him wince. “How old are you, boy?”

“Si-sixteen. Today’s...m-my birthday.” Kaz shivered because his windbreaker jacket was never warm enough for February. “Who are you?”

“You can call me Tor. Happy birthday, kid. Looks as if you got the grand prize. I didn’t expect to run into any action tonight. You’re lucky I was in the vicinity.”

“I’m luck— Really?” Kaz held up the bloody chair leg. “I’m the one who took him out. What...what was that thing?”

“You’re right. You took care of the longtooth all by yourself. That was some incredible work, kid. What’s your name?”

“Kaspar,” he murmured. His eyes scurried over the ash and clothing. He couldn’t process, didn’t want to listen, but the man’s next words pulled him into focus.

“Kaspar, you just slayed your first vampire. And here’s the good news. Even though you’ve been bitten, and normally a bite will transform a mortal into a bloodsucker, if you kill the one who bit you, then you’re in the clear. You won’t transform.”

A worried noise scratched at the back of Kaz’s throat. Transform?

Tor pointed over his shoulder to the pile of ash. Apparently, not transforming meant he wouldn’t turn into a vampire. Was that some kind of twisted birthday present?

“The bad news,” Tor continued, “is monsters exist.”

Ah, hell. Kaz had always liked monsters. They’d not slept under his bed when he was little because his mother had chased them away with the broom. But then she died, and his world had, as well.

Tor picked up something from the ground and studied it. He held the bloodied key before Kaz. “This fall out of your pocket?”

Kaz swiped the old brass key and nodded, shoving it deep in his jeans pocket.

“Key to your house?”

Kaz shook his head. “Don’t have a home anymore. I’m on my own and doing just fine.”

The man nodded, and stood. “Damn right, you are. You’re one tough kid.” Hands at his hips, he peered over the destruction, then began to shuffle the ash toward the garbage bin, spreading it out. He picked up the singed clothing and dropped it in the trash bin. “My job is to ensure others don’t start believing all the myth and legend that really does exist. No one will suspect those bits of ash were once a creature of the night. You going to tell anyone what you saw, Kaz?”