The vampire screeched and leapt off her, one hand pressed to what was left of his eye.
Harper stood up and raised the stake. “Now, I don’t want to kill you, but I will if I have to. If you run away now, we can forget this whole thing ever happened.”
He whipped a wicked-looking hunting knife out of his jacket pocket. “You’re gonna die slow.”
Harper took a big step back. So much for diplomacy.
But before she could come up with any other bright ideas, someone moved up fast behind her and shoved her out of the way. She hit the ground again.
Being a hero certainly wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Very hard on the tush.
“Who the fuck are you?” the vamp yelled, clutching the knife in one hand and his eye with the other.
“Death,” the newcomer answered dryly.
Harper’s head shot up. She’d know that voice anywhere.
Standing a few feet away from her, presenting her with his impressive profile, was Mr. Congeniality himself: the gorgeous, potential serial-killer from table five.
On a happier note, Harper realized that Mr. Personality was at least a head taller than the vamp and seemed to have more muscle weight. That might even the odds a little for the home team, she decided.
The vamp took a step back and raised his hands, suddenly all friendly and peace-loving. “Look, man, I got no problem with you.”
Harper snorted. “Who’s the bitch now, you big pussy?”
She slapped a hand over her mouth. Damn it, she hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
Her savior glanced over at her and that was all the time the vamp needed. He swung out wildly, slicing neatly into Table Five’s stomach. Harper gasped as blood quickly dampened the fabric of his T-shirt.
But the wound didn’t even seem to faze Table Five. He caught the vamp’s fist when he took his next shot and used his momentum to pull him closer, then drove his knee into the vampire’s stomach. The vampire dropped to his knees, arms wrapped around his middle as he coughed and gagged. Table Five kicked out without hesitation, catching the vamp in the chin, knocking him flat on his back.
Table Five yanked him up by the hair and twisted his arm behind his back. A sound akin to a dry twig snapping was closely followed by another pained groan from the vampire.
Harper blinked. It took a hell of a lot of strength to break a vampire’s bones. An unnatural amount of strength. This guy did it without even trying. Who the hell was he?
“Quit whining,” Table Five growled at the now blubbering vampire, then gave him a good swift kick in the ass. “And get the hell out of here while I’m still in a good mood.”
Harper kept her eyes on the vamp until he’d stumbled out of view, then turned her attention to the man who’d saved her life. The man who’d just reduced a violent vampire to tears.
“Who are you?” she asked suspiciously. “And don’t say Death.”
He glanced at her and the street light allowed her to see his eyes were blue. Deep, deep blue. Gorgeous, she thought, then mentally slapped herself for noticing something so trivial after what had just happened.
He paused as if contemplating not telling her his name, but eventually said, “Call me Riddick.”
Harper realized she was still on the ground and slowly climbed to her feet. All her parts seemed to be in working order, and she hadn’t peed herself. She supposed she couldn’t really ask for more than that, given the circumstances.
“Riddick?” she repeated. “Like the Vin Diesel movies?”
He stared at her like she was deranged. Must not be a Vin Diesel fan.
Then it occurred to her where she’d heard the name before, and Vin Diesel had nothing to do with it. “Are you Noah Riddick? The slayer?”
He wadded up the fabric at the hem of his T-shirt and pressed it to his wound. “There aren’t any more slayers.”
She rolled her eyes. Slayers and seers hadn’t fallen off the face of the earth when Sentry disbanded and vamps earned human rights. They might be jobless, but they still existed. “I’m thinking the vamp with the broken arm still believes in slayers.”
Noah Riddick in Whispering Hope, Harper thought when he didn’t respond. What were the odds?
Whispering Hope had been settled largely by Italian, Polish and Irish immigrants who hadn’t enjoyed big city life, which accounted for the fact that there were a ton of great restaurants in her beloved town, but no industry to speak of. And it was too far away from the real city for convenience, so truly, the only reason Harper could think of for anyone who wasn’t born in Whispering Hope to settle here was the food.
But she’d just bet that Noah Riddick wasn’t in town for a kolache from Majesky’s on High Street.
Riddick adjusted his makeshift compress and she stared at his bare stomach, not sure if she was more fascinated by the wound—which was pumping out a surprising amount of blood—or by his perfect abs.
She cleared her throat. “We should probably get you to a hospital. That stomach looks hot…er, I mean it looks like it hurts.”
Sweet Christ, could she humiliate herself in front of this guy a few more times?
“I don’t do hospitals,” he said.
Great. A macho man. Just what she needed more of in her life. “Okay, so, if you don’t do hospitals, do you bleed to death in alleys? ‘Cause if that’s what you’re going for, you’re well on your way, dude.” She gave him a thumbs-up. “Way to go.”
His gaze moved over her and he shook his head. He shrugged out of his coat and tossed it to her, grimacing.
“Put it on,” he said. “I can’t even hear myself think over the sound of your teeth chattering.”
“Gee, and they say chivalry is dead,” she intoned dryly, shoving her arms into the sleeves of the black trench.
The coat was too long by nearly a foot, and the sleeves hung down well below her hands, but the fabric still held the warmth of his skin, and she was far too cold to be concerned with fit or fashion. The What Not to Wear folks could just kiss her warm, toasty ass.
He watched her fidget for a while before asking, “Who are you?”
“I’m Harper.” She shook the sleeves of the coat back, finally finding her hand and extending it to him. “Harper Hall.”
He stared at her hand, then raised his gaze to hers. “That explains a lot.”
Harper let her hand sink back into the coat’s depths and narrowed her eyes on him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You were Romeo Jones’ seer. That explains why you were willing to take off, alone, after a vamp three-times your size with a chair leg.” His gaze moved over her again, slowly. “In your underwear.”
She put her hand on her hip and cocked her head to one side. “Are you insulting me, or are you insulting Romeo? Because if you’re insulting me, you and I need to have a serious come-to-Jesus meeting.”
For a split second, he looked like he might smile, but just when she was deciding whether to go after him with her make-shift stake or chick-fight him with her fingernails, the smile died and pain flashed through his eyes.
“Let’s just say your reputation precedes you,” he said, hunching over almost imperceptibly.
Hmmpphh. Noah Riddick talking trash about her reputation. Wasn’t that just rich beyond belief?
“Well, hello there, Pot, they call me Kettle,” she said dryly. “I hear you’re black.”
He raised one eyebrow and took a step toward her, only to sway drunkenly before falling to his knees. “Fuck,” he muttered, one hand on the ground, one hand on his stomach.
Harper rushed to his side, but he stopped her with a fierce scowl. “I’m not Romeo,” he hissed. “I don’t need your help.”
She straightened and planted her hands on her hips again. “Look, I’ve taken about all the shit I intend to from you. So, as I see it, you’ve got two choices: you can lay there and bleed to death, or you can suck up your stupid male pride and let me help you.”
He looked at her like he’d rather rip
his heart out with his bare hands than accept her help, but after what must have been an exhausting battle of pride and necessity, he allowed her to ease her shoulder under his arm and help him stand.
Leaning heavily on her, he whispered, “No hospitals,” right before he passed out.
Harper staggered under his weight, but somehow managed to keep them both vertical. After a moment of struggling and cussing, she was able to lean him against the dumpster and hold him upright with her bodyweight while she mulled her options.
He didn’t want to go to the hospital, and probably rightfully so.
If there were any pro-vamp zealots out there looking for a little slayer-bashing action, he’d be a sitting duck in the hospital.
She couldn’t take him back into the Kitty Kat Palace. Bleeding men tended to draw attention there as well.
That really only left one viable option.
Boy, if Riddick thought she was reckless now, wait until he woke up in her bed.
Like it so far? You can buy it now, just about everywhere books are sold!
The complete Harper Hall Investigations series reading order:
Semi-Charmed
Semi-Human
Semi-Twisted
Semi-Broken
Semi-Sane
The Harper Hall Investigations complete series boxset
You Complicate Me Page 21
