Halo Hunter

by Michele Hauf

  “Not quite so grandiose. And why wish for an apocalypse? It would succeed in wiping out my race as well as the human race. No, we wish only to strengthen our bloodline.”

  “By drinking the Nephilim’s blood. Go, vampires.”

  “I find your humor distasteful, halo hunter.”

  I glanced to Vinny, but she no longer stood beneath the stained glass windows. She’d moved to the wall, where she fingered the switch. One wink from her told me all I needed to know.

  I lunged for the vampire. He stepped aside, moving so swiftly, it was as if he hadn’t even been there in the first place.

  “I don’t care what the hell you do with the angels and their halos,” I said. Another lunge, and I managed to skim the man’s shirt and the stake.

  Wood clattered onto the floor. We both eyed the stake. It was closer to me, but I figured the vamp could have it in hand with but a gesture.

  Vinny shouted.

  Antonio, alerted to her changed position, dropped his guard and sought out his fledging.

  In that moment, I charged the vampire, pushing him backward. He stumbled and landed sprawled on the floor.

  Vinny flipped the switch, which opened the stained glass windows. I felt the beam of warm sunlight on my cheek as I stepped away from Antonio. The vampire cringed at the bars of light surrounding him.

  Vinny grabbed my arm and tugged. “Come on, we have to get out of here.”

  “Can he open the cage himself?”

  “No, but his minions can.”

  “You are a fool, Vinny,” Antonio hissed. “You won’t get far. And even if you do escape you’ll never survive. Who will satisfy your hunger?”

  I slapped a hand to the door frame as Vinny attempted to pull me out and away from danger. I had to do it, though. I am a man, and we get in pissing contests just for the fun of it. I tugged aside my high sweater collar to reveal the bruised vampire bite from last night.

  Antonio gasped.

  “Right back at you, man. She’s on her own now. Stay the hell away from her.”

  “You don’t want this war, hunter!”

  No, I didn’t want a war between the vampires and myself. But I hadn’t much choice if I wanted to keep Vinny in my life.

  And I did.

  Epilogue

  We had to stake a few vampires on the way out of the lair. Vinny didn’t even blink when I tossed her the bloody stake and she slammed it into some punk vamp’s chest.

  We didn’t exactly surface, because a twist in the underground tunnel spat us out in the Metro. We hopped a train, which was blessedly empty.

  Vinny wrapped her arms about my shoulders and buried her face against my neck. “I was so afraid, Michael.”

  “It’s over.”

  “For now,” she said, leaning back to meet my eyes.

  I shuffled backward and pulled her onto my lap as I settled onto a seat against the wall of the rocking train. Breathing in her sweet scent took away the vicious smell of the staked vampires. I needed to forget that scene.

  “It’s never going to end,” she said, “as long as Antonio is alive.”

  “I know that.” I kissed her forehead and stroked my fingers through her hair. “I’m in for the ride.”

  “You are?”

  “If it means I get to keep you, I am.”

  “Keep me? So I’m to go from one overbearing vampire tribe leader to a possessive halo hunter? I don’t like the sound of that at all.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. If you’ll have me, is more what I meant. Would you have me, Vinny?”

  “Of course. But what if I bite?”

  “That was the sexiest thing last night. I like it when you bite me.”

  “But I can’t do it too often or eventually I’ll drain you. Maybe only once a month.”

  “Sounds good to me. You want to go back to the hotel and claim the rest of the cash I owe you?”

  “You trying to buy me now, Michael? Because you had me the moment I laid eyes on you in the train to Versailles.”

  “No, I’d never do that. I just want to spoil you. To give you everything you deserve.”

  “I like the sound of that.” She kissed me, and in the process managed to wrap her legs around my waist and unbutton my shirt. “The halo hunter and his vampire girlfriend. It’s got a weird kind of ring to it.”

  “This could be dangerous if we intend to elude vampires.”

  “Who would you rather see get to the halos first?”

  “Not anyone intent on breeding giant bloodsuckers, that’s for sure.”

  “Then it’s settled,” she said. “We have to keep the halos away from Antonio. And we’ve got to stop him from summoning more fallen angels.”

  “You have big plans, lover.”

  “I know you’re up for the challenge.”

  I slipped my hands over her thighs and lifted her dress in the back. Her bottom was smooth and warm. She wore no panties.

  “Say yes,” she whispered against my ear.

  “Yes, I want to make love to you.”

  “Michael, say yes to adventure.”

  “That too.”

  And we traveled beneath the city of lights, joined together in a slow and heady rhythm, and didn’t surface for air until the moon was high in the sky.

  Read the continuing adventures in the OF ANGELS AND DEMONS series available from Harlequin Nocturne. ANGEL SLAYER is available June 2010, and Michael Donovan makes an appearance as his quest to keep the haloes from the vampires continues.

  Continue reading for an excerpt of ANGEL SLAYER…

  Angel Slayer Excerpt

  All her life Eden Campbell had dreamed of angels…but none that she painted was like the fallen angel who attacked her. A muse, Eden was now to bear her attacker’s offspring—one who promised the apocalypse and foretold her death. Where else could she turn but into the arms of a mesmerizingly handsome angel slayer? But Ashur’s protection came with a price.

  The dark, dangerous and oh-so-sexy slayer tormented her, made her remember how long it’d been since she’d had a man. But Ashur was no man, and no angel. He was a demon. Called from Beneath to slay her attacker, he could commit every sin but couldn’t fall in love. And that was the one thing Eden wanted from him. How could she choose between a death sentence or a life without Ashur?

  Chapter One

  Eden Campbell worked the small corner art gallery across the street from Chelsea Park like a pro. Though she cautioned herself not to break into song or shout, “Hey! This is my first gallery showing and it means the world to me, and it’s going well!”

  No, that would be crass. Beyond the occasional eccentricity, she was known for her calm, collected demeanor—and her killer legs, which she’d decided to showcase as well as her artwork this afternoon.

  She was happiest in sweats and a T-shirt when painting, but she could do the sexy businesswoman look, too. A black leather skirt skimmed her thighs. A white long-sleeved silk blouse boasted a deep V-neckline and ruffles at wrist and waist. Diamond chandelier earrings added a necessary touch of romance. She’d pulled her waist-length wavy hair into a loose ponytail to keep it from tangling in her earrings. Sexy violet suede stilettos finished the look with a promise of things Eden usually only whispered, and only to men.

  She unbuttoned her left sleeve because her forearm tingled weirdly, much like getting hit in the funny bone. The thought to scratch it was put off when she caught the eye of a woman in black horn-rims who thrust her a discerning nod.

  “Act professional,” she coached inwardly. “You want them to take your work seriously.”

  As seriously as a woman with preternatural knowledge of the heavenly ranks could be taken. That was a detail she kept close to the cuff.

  The people milling about were all like her—rich, stylish, entitled—but not like her. Eden wondered if they had heartbreaks, dreams and obsessions. Or did they simply exist on the surface, decorating themselves to catch an approving nod from the right kind and class of person?<
br />
  Eden didn’t require approval. She wanted to exist in her world, even if it wasn’t like their world beneath the surface. She tried to fit in, and succeeded. Most saw her as a privileged society woman who attended charity balls and had once been a common fixture on Page Six.

  But this artistic side of her was the real Eden, no fake smiles allowed. This showing was her attempt to show them she needed to breathe her own air, as different as that may be.

  It was easier for her to walk behind people and listen in on conversations about her work than to boldly approach a visitor face-to-face. Control the urge to tell them what you know. It’s all there on the canvas; they can figure it out for themselves. Sure, a few friends were in the mix for support, but Todd, who worked part-time at the gallery, and Cammie, a friend since prep school, lingered somewhere off near the wine and cheese.

  Eden caught the middle of a conversation and frowned.

  “But angels are heavenly beings. Innately good,” the critic argued with a friend. “What the heck is that?”

  That was one of her favorite pieces.

  Eden painted only angels, but their variety was as vast as her imagination. Rarely did she paint a winged angel descending on a beam of light from the clouds. That image had been overdone.

  And really, she knew fluffy wings and white robes were all wrong.

  Hence, her titanium angel with steampunk-geared wings of binary code. Its face was hollow, exposing honeycomb bone, and silver filaments sprouted on the skull. A halo spun like the rings of Saturn at the back of its head. The angel’s grin was more seductive than some of the expressions Eden had seen on her lackluster dates of late.

  “It’s blasphemous,” the critic decided.

  Eden shrugged and walked on. Definitely not her sales base. Didn’t matter. She wasn’t showing her work to make a profit; she simply wanted to hear what others thought. And so far most of the feedback had been awesome.

  A particular man caught her eye. He stood before The Fall, her depiction of an angel falling from the heavens. The angel wore a devious smile on its glass face and its redwood wings blazed with blue fire. Steel rain extinguished some of the flame. Its halo, detached, cut through the rain, spattering it like oil stains. A single crystal tear dripped from the angel’s eye and stained the ground it had yet to touch.

  Though he was unusual in appearance, the man who studied her work didn’t shock Eden. All sorts crowded Manhattan; she loved the exercise in individuality. Silver-white hair punked about his head. He wore a black eye patch over his left eye, and a tight white T-shirt enhanced considerable abs. Gleaming silver hardware hung from his ears, nose, eyebrows and chin. Leather pants hugged his lanky legs like plastic wrap, rendering the belts buckled about his thighs and hips unnecessary. The entire look screamed anarchist raging for a fire to fan.

  Paralleling him, Eden waited to see if he would make the first comment. She didn’t like to influence her viewers one way or another.

  A familiar scent emanated from him. Sweet and subtle like fruit. He smelled enticing, which baffled her because she was not attracted to his type—it was Wall Street business suits all the way for her.

  Her forearm tingled again, like the pins and needles sensation she got when her arm or leg fell asleep. What could it be from? She hadn’t challenged Cammie to a match of tennis for weeks. She shrugged up her sleeve to scratch, then reminded herself to be cool.

  When finally the punk jerked a shoulder back and looked at her it was as if she had materialized beside him out of the blue.

  “Sorry,” Eden offered politely. “Didn’t mean to surprise you.”

  “My fault. I was lost in the painting. It’s interesting. You are very…” His one pale gold eye squinted as he studied her face. Rather, gold was the prominent color. Many colors glittered like a kaleidoscope in that single eye. A trace of blue curled out the bottom of the eye patch. Must be a tattoo.

  “Unremarkable,” he finally announced. “Your voice is green,” he continued. “Square. And your scent…” He sniffed. “Smooth. But those shoes. Violet. Yes. Nice. Short leather skirt. Hair…chestnut.”

  His weird inventory unsettled Eden. She didn’t judge people by their clothing choices, personal habits or even religion. Hell, she’d been judged far too many times.

  Intuition, on the other hand, had a tendency to knock a little too late on her skull.

  “Who are you?” He tilted his head and looked her up and down. It was the most uncomfortable dressing down Eden had ever experienced. She should politely dismiss herself.

  Yet what was with her arm? Eden’s divided attention pestered her. Something strange was going on beneath the silk sleeve. That was the last time she took her shirts to the dry cleaners on Fifth. She suspected they weren’t as green as their ads claimed to be.

  “I’m the artist,” she offered and thrust out her hand. The punk looked at it a few moments before shaking it. “Eden Campbell.”

  “Eden. How…sardonic. Means nothing. What I want to know is how you know all…this.”

  “This?”

  “That!” He gestured angrily toward the painting. “You’ve quite the talent. One could call it a preternatural talent.”

  “You think?” Heartbeats skipping, Eden beamed at the painting. No one had ever labeled her work that way. She was the only one who believed she had—

  Stop it, Eden. He hasn’t a clue. Do not make a fool of yourself.

  “If I were of the mind to purchase I’d buy them all,” he remarked, “but unfortunately I’ve no permanent residence. Bit of a world traveler.”

  “That must be exciting.”

  “There is something about you, Eden.” He leaned in close and his fruity scent enticed her to remain in place, despite the creepy stranger signals he was sparking out at her. “Do you by chance,” he whispered, “wear a sigil on your body?”

  “A sigil?” That was a weird question, but oddly intuitive.

  Could he also know what she knew?

  The man glanced about the crowded gallery, not appearing too interested in her response.

  No. What Eden knew about her paintings was private, personal. He hadn’t a clue, and she didn’t dare discuss it because she had a healthy fear for mental wards. Compelled to get away from the man, Eden slipped away while he studied the painting, insinuating herself behind a few tall men in business suits.

  Todd appeared and slipped a goblet of pinot noir into her grasp. “I thought you were taking off before six, Eden? I can close up shop and handle the stragglers.” He tugged at his pink tie; it clashed brilliantly with his purple shirt and his soft emerald eyes.

  “Thanks, Todd. Did you talk to the guy with the white hair and all the nose rings?”

  “Not yet. He just wandered in. Creepy?”

  “To the tenth degree. He makes me feel uncomfortable.” And yet, intrigued. Could a person be compelled and repelled at the same time?

  “Want me to go punch him for you?”

  She hugged Todd across the shoulders. “No. Save those valuable fingers for your IT work. I think I’m going to sneak out, though. I’ve been here six hours. Need to sit and put my feet up. See you tomorrow evening for part deux of Eden Campbell’s fabulous debut.”

  “I’ll be here. But it’ll be a close call. I’ve a shift at Cloud Nine until five.” He kissed her check. “Talk to you later, sweetie.”

  Eden tilted down the wine and claimed her purse from the office before deftly making her way toward the front door.

  Rolling up her left sleeve as she gained the door, she spied the top of the strange man’s white hair. He still stood before The Fall. His attention was rapt, so she was able to slip out without his notice.

  After hobnobbing in the stuffy gallery for hours, Eden welcomed the refreshing summer rain. She lifted her face to catch the light mist. She should have utilized her father’s limo, always at her disposal, but the driver’s son turned twelve today, so she’d given him the day off. She wasn’t one of those trust-fund babies w
ho thought they were entitled to everything. At least, she tried not to be.

  The July sun peeked through the clouds and glinted high on the windows of another trendy little gallery across the street. She examined her forearm. It had stopped tingling and the skin wasn’t red so it couldn’t be a rash.

  Tapping the birthmark below her inner elbow, she wondered at what the punk had asked her.

  Do you wear a sigil on your body?

  “How could he know?” Was it possible he knew things like she did?

  “No.” He must have seen her tug up her sleeve. Talk about a cheap pickup line at its strangest.

  Waving her arm, she sought a cab. The sidewalk was cluttered with people en route to the subway for the supper rush. Toeing the curb, Eden was distracted by the sudden appearance of the white-haired man charging toward her.

  A cab pulled up with a squeal.

  Startled by the man’s intent path toward her, Eden rushed for the cab’s back door and managed to open it just as the punk grabbed her by the wrist.

  “You were holding out on me, Eden.”

  The wild look in his eye cautioned her. His crooked grin freaked her. “Let go of me!”

  He stroked his fingers over her forearm. “A number. That’s an interesting one. Six,” he pronounced with a hiss.

  She struggled, but his grip pinched her skin.

  Then he did something so bizarre Eden could but stand, frozen like a scared alley cat, and watch. He licked her forearm, right below the weird birthmark that looked like a Roman numeral six. As if from a cat’s tongue, the contact abraded her skin.

  His exposed eye now glowed a brilliant blue as he drew his gaze up to hers.

  Survival impulse kicked in. Eden leaned against the cab and kicked high. The spike of her heel sunk into his gut. The man staggered backward with a yowl of pain.

  Eden bent and landed in the backseat of the cab butt-first.

  “Go!” she yelled. “There’s a creep after me.” She slammed the door shut as the cab spun away from the curb.