She opened the dossier and reached in her desk drawer for her hidden stash of chocolate. Three pieces of dark cocoa bliss later, she’d finally calmed down enough to read past the name on the first line. Esperanza (Espe) Casañas. Age nineteen. A few more four-letter words exploded from her mouth. How the hell did they expect this kid to patrol the casino floors when she wasn’t even old enough to buy a beer? Lana ground her teeth together. The Foundation had better send Espe with a decent fake ID if they wanted her to get anything out of her time in Vegas.
Her dossier seemed unremarkable. Born in Miami. Parents were Cuban immigrants who were killed by a vamp when she was only seven. Grew up at the Kavanaugh Academy. Same story as the rest of the hunters out there.
Well, most of the hunters, anyway. Losing a family member to a bloodsucker at a young age seemed to awaken all those revenge urges, but Lana was different. She’d never spent time at the Academy, the Foundation’s orphanage for kids who’d escaped a feeding frenzy. She’d grown up a relatively normal life, if she left out the part that certain people occasionally gave her a major case of the heebie-jeebies. It wasn’t until Max died that she learned these “people” were really vampires, and she had a built-in radar system for them.
Max. Twelve years later, and he still managed to tug at her heart. They’d both been so young and stupid. Unlike most of the kids at the Academy, he didn’t remember his parents, who’d been slaughtered when he was two. But he still became a hunter and earned his first solo assignment in Charlotte. She was a student at UNC and fell head over heels for the roguish young man who seemed to draw women to him like flies. He never paid attention to any of them—only her. Three months after they met, she moved in with him and began planning her happily ever after.
Then, one morning Max didn’t return from his job. He worked nights, but he never told her where or what he did. She spent the entire day calling his cell, leaving voice mails, and curled up on the couch with a bag of Hershey’s miniatures. It wasn’t until nightfall that she received the knock that changed her life.
Her eyes stung at the memory, and her throat constricted. She never had a chance to kill the vampires that took Max away from her; Morwen, the Head Witch of the Foundation, had robbed her of her revenge. But she’d killed hundreds of vampires since then. And she’d managed to encase her heart in ice. No one would ever cry over her when she died. No one would ever lose her to a vampire’s fangs. Being alone let her concentrate on her job and not mess around with the distraction of a relationship, even if it left her an empty shell of a human.
She shoved the lid of her laptop closed. As much as the past still hurt, it helped her push the stranger out of her mind and get her game face on. She scanned the map of the Strip, trying to decide where to start her patrols tonight. The Bellagio seemed good enough. Vampires seemed to like the more affluent casinos. The only downside: high heels again.
With a shrug, she searched her closet for something to wear. When would fashion designers learn to include pockets for her stake?
***
Byron left Caesars more frustrated than ever. He ran his hand through his hair and frowned when it drifted down to his stubble-covered cheek. Ever since he’d run into that woman, he couldn’t get her off his mind. Couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t do damn near anything. If anyone back at the ranch noticed it, they didn’t say anything. They probably thought he was still grieving for his uncle.
He turned up the Strip and glanced at the sky. A quarter moon hung low on the horizon. Great. He had a week left before he sprouted fangs and fur and fought it out with Alan over who would replace Uncle Eddie as the Alpha. Pack politics pissed him off. Why couldn’t they do the civilized thing and hold elections? Why the need to beat his rival to a bloody pulp to prove who had the best leadership potential?
In front of the Bellagio fountains a crowd clogged up the sidewalk, oohing and ahhing at the choreographed water show. Their half-witted mob mentality irritated him even more as he shoved past them. Lemmings, all of them.
Then something tickled his nose. Her scent. He jerked to a stop and inhaled. It still smelled like sex and whiskey, but now he noticed a slightly floral note to it. His cock hardened. He turned and followed it, forgetting everything else at that moment.
He marched through the lobby, ignoring the massive Chihuly chandelier that usually drew his attention. As he came closer to her, he identified the particular facets of her scent: orchids, lemongrass, sandalwood and jasmine. If someone could bottle it up, they’d make a million selling it. No man would be able to resist it.
Her scent grew stronger as he neared the main casino, overpowering the odors of cigarettes, cheap perfume and even cheaper booze. The wolf inside him growled at the hunt, but instead of food, it wanted to satisfy a more primitive need—one as essential to life as warmth and shelter. It writhed against the restraints of the human body around him and threatened to seize control.
He paused and took a deep breath, waiting for his throbbing erection to calm down. That would’ve made a great impression on her. Hi, I’m Byron. Please excuse the raging hard-on I’ve had since I bumped into you last night. Sweet Jesus, he’d never been affected by a woman in this way before. Aroused, definitely. But wanting to throw her on top of a poker table and make love to her in front of everyone in the casino until he passed out from exhaustion? Never.
Once he managed to contain the beast within, he strolled down the aisles. Just how would he introduce himself to her? Should he nearly knock her over again? How about, Nice stake; you should see the one in my pants? He rolled his eyes. His one-track mind seemed to be out of control.
He found her sitting by a slot machine with a cell phone in her hands. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, typing out a text message. Then she set it on top of the machine and played a few coins. Jackpot. The bells and flashing lights almost made him feel like he’d won the prize, not her. At least he knew how to start up a conversation with her. Too bad he hadn’t had time to shave or iron his clothes this morning, but maybe she’d go for the rugged look.
She was printing out the receipt of her winnings when he approached. Her shoulders tensed and her hand drifted to her purse. In a smooth motion, she spun around on her stool. Her lips parted when she saw him, and a new wave of her scent washed over him.
“Hi,” he managed to get out before his mind clouded over with lust. He didn’t believe she could be more beautiful than last night, but he was wrong. Her dark hair fell softly around her shoulders, contrasting with her ivory skin. The loose folds of the neckline on her dress gave him an ample view of her cleavage. Her eyes widened and turned a deeper blue, her pupils dilated and her plump pink lips called to him like an oasis in a desert. How would they feel wrapped around his cock? He tucked his hands into his pockets to keep from grabbing her and tasting her flesh.
“Hi,” she replied with a faint smile.
“Get lucky tonight?” He nodded at the machine.
The corners of her lush mouth rose higher. “So far.”
All the blood rushed to his pants again. Maybe if he played his cards right, he’d get lucky, too. But he had to be careful. She wasn’t like most of the women here—half-drunk and looking to have a little fun. She killed a vampire last night, and he didn’t want to end up on the wrong side of her stake. It wouldn’t kill him, but it would sure hurt like hell.
With caution tempering some of his lust, he gathered his courage. “I was wondering if you’d like to join me for a drink.” Why did such a simple question unnerve him? He’d asked out plenty of women, but none of them had been his true-mate. That would be a fun concept to explain to her if things ever progressed that far. Of course, he needed to come to terms with it himself first.
Her smile faded. “I’m sorry. I can’t drink while I’m working.”
“Not even a soda?”
She stared at him for a full ten seconds while she made up her mind. Usually women agreed. She, on the other hand, looked like she was analyzing him for
any weaknesses, any secrets, anything she could use against him. He felt like a fly under a microscope. His gut tightened. What if she knows what I am?
She licked her lips and the simple gesture almost sent him over the edge again. “I suppose a Diet Coke would be okay.” She slid off the stool with the grace of a dancer and followed him to a nearby bar.
Even though she wasn’t going to have anything alcoholic, he needed a shot of something to soothe his nerves. Did she have any idea what being near her did to him? It reminded him of the time he hid in the girls’ locker room in high school. There he was, surrounded by all that naked flesh, and unable to do anything about it without revealing himself.
He placed his hand on her waist as they weaved through the crowd. Heat radiated through the thin material of her dress and made him think of how hot she’d be in other places. By the time he’d ordered their drinks, he needed to hide his throbbing erection behind the shield of the bar. He needed to get his mind off sex. “I’m Byron, by the way.”
Both of her brows rose. “Byron? As in Lord Byron, the poet?”
His laughter sounded slightly nervous. “Yeah. My mom was an English professor, loved the Romantic poets. It could have been worse. She could have written her thesis on Shelley.”
Now she laughed with him, and some of the tension eased from his body. “I’m Lana,” she said before sipping her soda through a straw.
“Funny, you don’t look like much of a sweater girl to me.” The metallic grey dress clung in all the right places and gave him an uninhibited view of her long legs.
She shrugged. “My parents liked the name. It was unusual for the time.”
Unique, just like her. She was quickly becoming an addiction he couldn’t get enough of. Maybe there was some truth to the old myths.
A silence settled between them. It seemed comfortable to sit next to her and study the curves of her face. Almost too comfortable. He could get used to this. And that’s when it morphed into something awkward. The collar of his shirt grew tight, and he searched for something to say. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt last night after your little run-in with the vampire.”
Shit! Did I really just say that?
Apparently so. Her hand held her glass in a white-knuckled vise so tight, he wondered why it didn’t shatter under the pressure. She stared at him with stormy grey eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Oh, he’d really landed in the shithouse now. “I followed you upstairs last night at Caesars and saw your handiwork.”
“Are you sure you saw what you saw?” she asked in a tense voice. Her gaze never wavered as she waited for his answer.
“Of course I know what I saw.” He leaned closer so no one could overhear their conversation. A whiff of her scent caught him off guard for a second. He closed his eyes and swallowed his desire before adding, “You’re not the only person in this town hunting vampires.”
Her glass hit the bar with a thud. “You’re a rogue, aren’t you?”
“A what?”
“You’re not with the Foundation.”
“Lana, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I do know what you are, and I want to join forces with you.” And maybe try some joining of a different nature afterwards.
“People like you shouldn’t mess around with thing like this. You could get killed.”
“So could you.”
“I know that, but at least I’ve had the benefit of some training.”
“And I’m not as vulnerable as you think.” The bites he’d received over twenty-five years ago had a few perks, despite the monthly hell he went through every full moon. Speed. Strength. Quick healing. A heightened sense of smell. Unless she was a wolfie too, he doubted she had those assets.
She sighed and stared at the rim of her glass. “Why are you doing this?”
He took a deep breath. How much of the truth should he tell her? Did she have a gun loaded with silver bullets hiding in her purse tonight, too? “They killed my uncle two weeks ago.”
When she lifted her eyes, grief swirled in their blue-grey depths. She understood the pain of his loss more than he’d first thought. Maybe she would help him capture the bastard who ripped out Eddie’s throat.
“I’m sorry for your loss, but that’s no reason to turn vigilante. Please, leave this job to the experts.”
“Like you?”
She stiffened and her gaze focused on something behind him. “I’m sorry, but I have to leave now.” Without another word, she stood and brushed past him.
He caught her arm and stopped her. “Did I say something wrong?”
The inner struggle in her mind played out on her face as she chewed her bottom lip and glanced between him and something in the distance. She shook her arm free and plunged into the crowd.
Byron finished his Jack and Coke in one shot. Like hell he’d let her get away from him now. He grabbed a twenty from his wallet, threw it on the counter and followed her.
Chapter Three
The hair on the back of Lana’s neck stood up as she drew closer to the group of bloodsuckers. Three young, impossibly pretty girls dressed in the latest designer fashions. These were the vamps she’d become accustomed to killing, not the desperate gigolo she encountered last night. But this also meant they probably had a few more years of experience over him. And three against one would take more effort and planning on her part.
Her arm still stung from where Byron had grabbed it, matching the sting of regret she felt from leaving him so abruptly. Why did these bloodsuckers have to show up right in the middle of her first semblance of a date in the last ten years? Never mind that Byron seemed intent on running smack into his own grave by acting like a rogue hunter. He was still cute, very attentive, and managed to turn her insides to goo with just a glance.
One of the vampires turned and stared directly at her. Lana’s stomach knotted. When the target issued a challenge, the huntress within seized control. Something didn’t feel right about this. Part of her wanted to tell her instincts to go fuck themselves, but duty called. They knew she was following them, and she couldn’t back down without looking like a coward. Her fingers wrapped around the stake in her purse as she pushed her way through the crowd.
They led her to the parking garage. Good. At least we don’t have to have this showdown in the middle of a crowd of onlookers. Every instinct inside her screamed “trap” as they disappeared behind a concrete barrier.
She dropped back a few paces and crouched between two cars, letting her sixth sense direct her instead of her eyes. Muted laughter echoed off the walls from the other side. They sounded so cocky, like catching a seasoned hunter was child’s play. Anger flared deep inside her. She’d show them.
“Where is she?” a male voice asked. “I thought you said she followed you.”
Her skin prickled. She hadn’t seen a man in their group. Make that four to one now.
“She was. I even taunted her. She’s here, somewhere.”
“Why can’t I smell her then?”
“The Foundation is very careful about who they choose to be hunters,” answered a smooth male voice with a German accent. “Perhaps they chose her because she is invisible to us.”
Lana silently cursed her luck. That made at least five vampires, and whoever Adolf was, he didn’t sound like a newborn. She mentally filed through the names of the older vampires and tried to remember if any were German. Two came to mind, and neither one of them had an innocent reputation.
“A phantom?” one of the girls asked.
She almost laughed. She’d never been called that before. Maybe when she sent her report to the Foundation in the morning, she’d inquire about the term.
“Phantom or not, I’d lay odds she’s somewhere in this garage,” the other man barked. “Find her.”
They were splitting up. The sound of stilettos clicked down the ramp, and she tightened into a ball, ready to pounce on the first one who came into view.
The one who’d challen
ged her back at the casino stalked the aisles, peering between the cars on the opposite side through the shiny veil of her over-bleached hair.
Lana held her breath and tightened her grip on the stake. Ambushing Blondie sounded too fun to pass up. She raced from her hiding spot. The vampire turned, fangs bared, but not in time to keep the stake from plunging into her heart.
“Be careful who you mess with,” Lana whispered right before Blondie disintegrated.
A flicker of sound alerted her to the location of another attacker just after the tingling on the back of her neck increased. She whipped around and dodged another one of the female vampires. The bloodsucker moved slowly, as if she was unsure how to manage her new powers—a sign of being a newborn. She tore after Lana like a starving beast, opening her chest up as the perfect target for the twelve-inch piece of oak.
Great. Two down, three more to go, and none of them in sight. That observation alone set her on edge and tensed every muscle in her body. She honed her sixth sense, searching for the other vampires the way a German shepherd sniffs out the cocaine hidden in bags at the airport.
One level down, bullets ricocheted off the concrete. Lana ducked between two more cars. Let’s have some lovely gang violence thrown in tonight, shall we?
The car next to her crunched and rocked, sending her heart up into her throat. “Gotcha,” the male vampire said above her.
She burst out from her hiding spot, but not before he caught her dress. The material tore in his hands, and her high-heel-clad ankle twisted from the jerk. Pain shot through her foot and up her leg. She hated those heels, but never like she did now. She struggled to her feet, ignoring the breeze that bathed her back and the throb that pulsated in her ankle.
He lunged at her and she fell to the side to avoid him. Her stake grazed his skin but missed its target. All of her weight landed on her injured ankle, bringing tears to her eyes.
His arm swung out and knocked her into the car on the opposite side. The air flew from her lungs. Glass shattered around her from what was once the rear window of a Prius. He definitely wasn’t a newborn, not with strength like that. She’d have some nasty bruises in the morning from the blow. That is, if she lived to see the morning.
Heart of a Huntress: The Kavanaugh Foundation Page 2
