Anna Hackett - Vampire Hunter - Shadow Hunter

Once she caught her breath she didn’t quite know what to say. Finally she managed to whisper the only words she could manage. “What’s your name?”

“Damon Brock.” His voice was cold and distant, no different from before.

Tiffany sat on the floor, completely stunned. Just like that, she’d had her first kiss ever, and from a tall handsome stranger.

Damon didn’t know what the hell had happened or why the fuck he’d chosen to kiss her… .

He glanced down at Tiffany as she sat on the crimson carpeting, and his heart jumped. Her gorgeous hair was slightly ruffled from where his hand had cradled her head, and her bottom lip was flushed a brighter shade of pink where he’d gently suckled it. Shit, he had never intended the night to go this way.

When he’d heard the approaching footsteps and covering her mouth wouldn’t shut her up, well…he’d done the first thing that had come to mind. And damn if that hadn’t been a huge freaking mistake. If he’d wanted her before, now he wanted her tenfold. His body was begging for him to take her, to press her up against the wall and make love to her until she screamed. His thoughts raced. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d never lost his head like this before. This was Mark’s baby sister!

He fought the temptation to curse under his breath. He needed to knock some sense into himself. But he wouldn’t lose his cool. Before he’d sworn himself to the Execution Underground, if there was one thing his father had taught him about being a hunter it was not to lose his cool. And he’d never had a hard time with that until tonight.

He hadn’t even been with Tiffany more than half an hour and she was already unraveling him, but he sure as hell wouldn’t let that get in the way of his job. He couldn’t.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his fingers in slow circles over his temples. There were six missing women out there, all probably dead, and who knew how many murdered and drained of their blood on the streets. It was his job to protect the future victims. The weight fell on his shoulders alone. He wouldn’t neglect his job, his sworn oath, for any woman, even Tiffany.

Not sure of what he was doing, he picked up his Desert Eagle and holstered the piece behind his back again.

Tiffany grabbed her Smith & Wesson from the floor, reloaded the magazine clip and stood.

He glanced at her, and his heart jumped into his throat. He had to get out of here, but he sure as hell couldn’t leave her behind.

She opened her mouth to speak. “I—”

He shook his head and cut her off. “You shouldn’t be dealing with these vampires. I won’t allow you to place yourself in danger like this.”

Her jaw dropped. She crossed her arms and fixed him with a hard stare. “Who do you think you are? Last time I checked, I didn’t wake up in the morning with the goal of pleasing random strangers. I’ll do whatever I damn well please.”

He should have expected her reaction. He just wasn’t used to dealing with women.

Damon fought the urge to throw her over his shoulder; he didn’t care if she kicked and screamed the whole way, nothing would stop him from protecting her. He exhaled a long breath. “This city isn’t safe for you. Six women are missing, and more have been murdered. I won’t have another death on my conscience because I let you waltz back into that club and play with murderers.”

Tiffany strode across the room to stand straight in front of him. The top of her head barely reached his pecs, but she glared at him as if she were seven foot two. She jabbed a finger into his chest. “Look, buddy, I’ve handled myself perfectly well for twenty-two years without any help from you, so I don’t care who you are, I’m not taking orders from you unless I damn well choose.” She jabbed at him with her finger again. “I’m a vampire hunter, not some tutu-wearing princess who needs to be rescued.”

Pushing past him, she stomped off toward the dance floor.

Just as stubborn as her older brother. Mark had always refused help when he’d needed it most.

Damon followed her. His eyes locked on to her figure as she nudged her way through the sweat-covered bodies on the dance floor. The pulsing red lights cast shadows on her hair, tinting it gorgeous shades of red and purple. Even from behind she was gorgeous. He pushed through the crowd until he reached her.

Before she knew he was there, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her against his body. Using his leather jacket as a cover, he placed the Desert Eagle against her spine, leaned down and growled into her ear, “Walk toward the back door quietly and we won’t have a problem.”

“This is how you try to protect me?” she seethed.

Damon nudged her with his gun, and she walked forward. He battled the urge to suck on the delicate skin of her earlobe, to kiss his way down the length of her neck and collarbone. The smell of her skin was intoxicating. “I’d rather take you to the E.R. for a bullet wound than scrape your insides off the pavement because some demented vampire attacked you. At least with the gun you’d have a chance of survival.”

He forced her to march ahead of them until they reached the back of the club. He pushed open the door and corralled her into the dimly lit street alley. A burst of cold air hit his face, giving him the wake-up call he needed.

“Are you going to take the gun off me now?”

Without a word, Damon patted down the sides of her jacket and confiscated her Smith & Wesson. His hand slid over the stake inside her coat pocket.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? I thought you wanted to protect me.” The pitch of her voice dropped as her impatience rose.

He tucked the gun into his inside coat pocket. “I’ll let you keep the stake for protection, but I can’t have you wielding a gun at me.” He patted down her jacket again. “Any other weapons I should know about, or can I trust you?”

She didn’t answer. Her jaw clenched, and he could tell from her body language that she was seriously ticked off. Her expression made it very clear that she didn’t like being stripped of her weapons.

Damon lowered his gun.

She spun to face him. “You know—”

Before she could finish speaking he slung her over his shoulder as if she weighed no more than a feather from a very pissed-off eagle and jogged toward his gunmetal colored BMW Z4.

She kicked her feet and slammed her fists into his back, but he barely noticed. She yelled profanities at him the entire way to the car, but he didn’t care. He just needed to get her out of there. With the way Caius had been fixated on her, it wouldn’t be long before he questioned where she was, and he wasn’t going to be too happy about his dead bodyguard, either.

When they reached the Z4, Damon quickly hit the unlock button on his remote, wrenched open the door and dropped Tiffany, still kicking and screaming, into the passenger seat. He slammed the door. She shoved herself against it and beat against the window as he slid into the driver’s seat. Thank God for automatic locks and bulletproof glass. Standard issue from headquarters.

Within seconds he was shifting into Drive and stomping on the pedal. They zipped out of the alley at sixty miles per hour.

“What’s wrong with you?” Tiffany yelled. “Stripping me of my weapon and then throwing me over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes? What are you? A caveman?”

He tried to tune her out, but it was no use. Damn him, he’d just sucked face with Mark’s little sister. But if he admitted it to himself, how many times had his thoughts wandered in that direction as he’d read Tiffany’s letters? Not while she’d been a teenager, but later, once she entered college, when the handful of years separating them hadn’t been as big a deal. Yeah, he’d wondered, all right.