Sable Hart, Vampire Slayer (Book 3): Blood Hunger

by Megan Hawke

  BLOOD HUNGER

  A Sable Hart Vampire Slayer Novel

  By

  Megan Hawke

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Hawke Publishing

  Copyright 2013/2016 by Megan Hawke

  Cover by Najla Qamber Designs

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and locations within are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents:

  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

  Check out these other titles by Rowdy Rooster Publishing

  About the Author

  Blood Hunger

  A Sable Hart Vampire Slayer Novel

  "I want Mexican pizza, with sour cream this time," I said, flicking long black hair over my shoulder as I leaned back into my seat. "Make it two. I'm famished."

  We were at the Taco Bell at Washington and Lemmon, north of Deep Ellum.

  "Eww," Heidi said.

  I slanted a dark look over my shoulder at the blonde in the back seat.

  We'd enjoyed a rare girl's night out. Just me, Heidi, and Desiree. Okay, it was our first. My little vamp family was only me and Desiree until a couple weeks back. Heidi was still pissed at me for Changing her into a vampire. Desiree was a bit jealous.

  "Again? Come on, Sable, haven't you heard that variety is the spice of life?" Heidi said. She leaned over into the front seat and turned the volume up on the radio. It was a top 40 station, and they were playing a rap song she loved. "Get a beefy tostada. They're great."

  I turned the volume back down to a reasonable level, and she gave me a you're-no-fun look. I didn't care for rap that much. I liked romantic ballads, preferably sang by a woman, and bluesy rock, heavy on the guitar. But it was Desiree's car, so her radio station.

  "I have more spice in my life than is healthy," I said. I ducked and studied the drive-thru menu through the windshield. I was riding shotgun. Desiree was driving the red Charger, it being her car and all. "What are you talking about? There's no beefy tostada up there. You're thinking of a different place."

  "What? No way," Heidi said, scooting over to get a better view.

  "You two bicker worst than an old married couple," Desiree said, shaking her head.

  Desiree was my first minion. Okay, I only had two. But the beautiful African-American was a really good one, being very protective and supportive. I mean, how many self-respecting, vampire loving minions would help Dallas's top vampire slayer?

  "We're ready to order," Desiree said. We were? I was cool, but Heidi hadn't voiced her choice yet. "Three chili cheese burritos, three Mexican pizzas, and three Chalupa Bajas."

  That sounded like a reasonable compromise. I got my Mexican pizza, and I loved chili on anything, and I was willing to try this Chalupa Baja thing.

  "Anything to drink?"

  "Do you sell blood?" she asked.

  Heidi and I squealed in scandalized delight. Desiree was crazy.

  "Um, no," the hesitant voice said.

  "Three Pepsis, then," she said. "Final answer."

  Desiree didn't bother waiting for the total. She eased up behind the maroon pickup at the window. She laughed as Heidi whined in the back seat. Not many mortals were as fearless around vampires as Desiree.

  "Not what I wanted, so don't expect me to pay for any of it," Heidi said.

  The blue-eyed blonde beauty crossed her arms under her big silicone boobs and glared at the back of Desiree's head. I always wondered if a vampire's body would reject breast implants. Heidi proved they didn't. Of course, Heidi had only been a vampire a couple of weeks.

  Heidi Mainz knew how to show off her spectacular body. Her dancewear consisted of shimmering silver halter top, snug leather low-riders and silver strappy sandals. Everything she wore was outrageously expensive, with designer labels. Heidi was rich. Technically, she was an heiress in waiting, since her parents were still alive. They didn't know about her untimely death. Yet. I didn't think they would react well to it. My parents didn't.

  I handed Desiree a Visa check card. It wasn't mine originally. The vampire it belonged to was dead and not coming back this time. I knew, since I was the one that drove a wooden stake through his vile heart. The card was from an offshore bank run by vampires, and had around twenty thousand in the account when I got it. There was only about half that now. In another three days there would be nothing. All cash would be moved over to my new accounts, after yet another vampire robbed me of all of my money.

  Over the past two weeks I had staked five vampires, and got bank cards and credit cards off three of them. I drained their accounts as fast as I could. There were four cards in my wallet still with money in the accounts, not counting my own cards. A month ago I was a millionaire, now I had about thirty-two thousand in my personal accounts.

  I never said vampires were nice people. Some are. Most, not so nice. I could count the nice vamps I knew on one hand.

  "Are you really a vampire?" the high schooler at the window said, his eyes huge as he ducked to look inside at the rest of us.

  "If we show you fangs, do we get our order free?" Desiree said.

  Desiree Dyer gave Heidi a run for her money in the sexy department. The five foot six African-American with the sultry eyes and red-dyed, straightened hair could turn on the sex appeal like no other mortal I knew. Men drooled when she walked into the room.

  She was wearing a candy apple red, metallic looking abbreviated bustier top that displayed her generous bosom nicely and matching pants, with silver calf boots. And lots of silver necklaces, bangles, and chandelier earrings.

  Heidi threw her head back and laughed. The boy in the window saw her fangs perfectly. I felt his body changing, becoming excited. Not sexually excited like a minion, but scary excited. He had a story to tell his friends now.

  "I can't do that, ma'am," he said, unable to look away from Heidi for more than a second.

  Of course, Heidi was worth looking at. Ask any man. She was gorgeous. I mean, before I Changed her she was a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader. Apparent they have a rule against the undead being on the squad, so she was kicked off. Well, all those pesky day games would've been a problem for her anyway.

  “You’re no fun,” Desiree said.

  We put the bill on the card, and left. I divided everything up, handed Heidi her food and dug out my Mexican pizza. Yum. Desiree cranked up the volume. I didn't like it that loud, unless Christina or Mariah was singing, but her car. When the song ended, they had a news break.

  "Dallas Police have confirmed that a serial killer is operating in Dallas," the DJ said. We all frowned. Serial killers meant women being killed, usually. As a woman, you kinda dread hearing the term "serial killer" or "serial rapist." My festive mood kinda cooled. He continued, "A third SMU coed was discovered, completely drained of blood."

  "Oh," I said, frozen in place as I stared at the radio, Mexican pizza inches from my mouth. "Vampire?"

  "Police will neither confirm nor deny the killer is a vampire," he said, as if answering my question. "They only say the deaths are not consistent with normal vampire attacks. VAL p
resident, Valerie St. Clair, said that she believes it is a mortal trying to implicate vampires and thus keep the police off his trail."

  "What does that mean?" Heidi said. "What's a normal vampire attack?"

  "Kinky sex, a bare bottom spanking, then a bite in the neck," Desiree said. "Sounds like really hot vamp date to me. Hint. Hint."

  I didn't find it so amusing. For one, I despised rogue vampires. For another, my little sister was going to SMU. I pulled out my cell and called Sergeant Longhouse, the Dallas Police Department vampire crime guy. Yeah, the only one. I'm not sure who he pissed off, and he wasn't talking.

  “Longhouse, Sable here,” I said. “What’s up with the SMU vampire killer? Why haven’t you called me on this?”

  “Sable?" he said. "No one’s staked you yet?”

  “Not from lack of trying, but don’t change the subject,” I said, grinning. Was he actually starting to joke around with me? I was thrilled. Undead girls need all the friends they can get. “Do you really think a vampire is killing them?”

  “No doubt about it. We have the DNA,” he said. “It’s just the oddest case. If not for the DNA, I’d say it wasn’t a vamp.”

  “What can you tell me?”

  “Did you hear the news reports on TV and radio?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s what I can tell you,” he said. “This is an official police, don’t tell that undead vigilante Black Heart a damned thing, active case. Police business, Sable. That means, in layman’s terms, it is secret.”

  “That’s nice. You should do comedy,” I said, frowning. Why were cops so obsessed with procedures and keeping secrets? Then my phone beeped, and I groaned. “My cell battery is low. Can we have a face-to-face?”

  “It’ll have to be fast. My shift is over, and I’m heading home.”

  “Meet me at the corner of Central and Forest. At the Taco Bell,” I said. Maybe another Mexican Pizza? “Give me thirty minutes.”

  “Done,” he said. “But I can’t give you any privileged information.”

  “Thanks, Longhouse,” I said.

  Desiree gave me a dark look. “Does this mean I won’t be getting that spanking and kinky sex?”

  I slanted a disapproving look at her. She had the good grace to look abashed, then look away. Heidi snickered, until I cast a don't-go-there look at her.

  A minute later we were up on Central Expressway, heading north from Deep Ellum where we'd spent the better part of that night dancing with and teasing all the boys. Kale's house, my other minion, was south of Loop 635, called LBJ after the president, in a nice neighborhood. We'd all lived with him since the end of October.

  "Take the Royal exit," I said.

  "But Forest is just past it," Desiree said. "It'll only take an extra couple of minutes."

  "I don't want Longhouse seeing you or your car," I said. "I'll fly over."

  "Fine," she said, turning off at Royal.

  Desiree dropped me off beside the service road, then roared through a red light and onto west bound Royal. I could hear both of them laughing. It was amazing how fast and well Desiree and Heidi hit it off, despite their little give and takes. Was there a vampire Desiree couldn't charm?

  I stood in the evening chill for a few minutes, savoring a few moments alone time. I got so little of late. The chilled air didn't bother my vampiric body in the least, despite my skimpy attire. My dance clothes consisted of black lace bustier with red rose decorations I got at Frederick's of Hollywood, white spandex pants and black thigh boots with red roses embroidered up the outer seams. Even my black purse had red rose embroidery work. Did I mention the boots had spurs? The guys really liked the spurs.

  After a couple minutes of glorious solitude, a simple thought caused a pair of glorious black wings to sprout from between my shoulder blades. Which, truth be known, was the real reason I had taken to wearing bustiers recently. When I sprouted wings, they ripped through anything I was wearing. Bustiers left that part of my back exposed, so cut down on my wardrobe expenses.

  Some people saw my wings and thought "bat wings." Truth, they were more like demon wings. I could morph into a bat, so I knew bat wings. The wings were completely different in so many ways, but some similarities. I know, I researched the subject on the internet.

  Leaping into the air, I rose up a hundred feet with powerful, snapping strokes. Taking a great looping route, I zeroed in on the northeast corner of Central and Forest. There was a combination Taco Bell, KFC, and Pizza Hut there. Longhouse was pacing behind his car, giving his wristwatch frequent glances. I frowned down at him, since it hadn't even been fifteen minutes since we spoke.

  I swooped down behind him, timing it perfectly. He was alone in the parking lot. Taco Bell and her sister stores were closed. I went in as quietly as possible, braked briefly with my wings, and pulled them back into my back. I was just a few feet off the ground, so struck the hard concrete with a muted clatter of stilettos and jingle of spurs.

  "What the?" Longhouse cried, whirling around.

  I was standing there. Perfectly still. Head cocked and smiling at him. Yeah, I freaked him out. I could smell it. His mortal aura changed slightly. He looked up and around, trying to figure out how I got to within three feet of him in nothing flat.

  “Where’d you come from?” he said.

  "Looking good, Sarge," I said. Let him keep wondering. Having a little mystic was good. "How are the wife and kids?"

  Sergeant Steven Longhouse was fifty-two, with short graying hair, brown eyes, and a growing paunch. He wore a brown suit, brown tie, and white shirt. Longhouse had a friendly face, but was otherwise unremarkable. He looked like a million other soccer dads around the country.

  "The wife if surly, the kids all grown up, and moved out. They don't call much," he said. He looked my five foot ten inches up and down a couple times. I swept my wind-tousled, waist-length black hair back over my shoulders, and let my sweet smile turned into something more roguish. "New look?"

  "This is my 'let's dance and/or have sex' look," I said. That took him aback. Good, that was what I was going for. Don’t ask the question if you aren't prepared for the answer. "My black leather and latex look is more for an 'I'm going to kick your butt, and/or have really naughty sex with you' affect. You know?"

  I think I really shocked him. Sergeant Longhouse just gawked at me a moment. He wasn't sure if I was joking or not. Sometimes I'm not sure either.

  “Nice spurs,” he said.

  Yep. Everyone liked the spurs. One of the best decisions I made was buying those spurs. I’ll have to thank Gabe for suggesting them. Wait, I did thank him. For three hours with really wicked hospital bed sex.

  I stepped forward. The sound of my heels and spurs drew his eyes down again, and then they rose up to my chest. The bustier held my boobs firmly, so no unnecessary bouncing going on, but he still noticed. What man didn’t? And, to be honest, the bustier did push my boobs up and display them spectacularly. I really surprised him when I thrust my hand out to him.

  “I really appreciate you meeting me at this ungodly hour,” I said. He took my hand and gave it a brief shake, his eyes quickly leaving my chest to lock on my chin. I was pleased he knew enough not to look any vampire in the eye. I wasn’t the least bit offended, though maybe a bit sad it was necessary. “I know you’d rather be a thousand other places than here with me.”

  “Not necessarily true,” he said, grinning. “What middle-aged man wouldn’t want a chance to speak to a beautiful young woman?”

  “Ah, you’re turning into a charmer in your dotage,” I said, and laughed. I really was flattered. Most people won’t even speak with a vampire, which is just plain good sense. “So, what can you tell me about this vampire killer?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “I told you that on the phone.”

  “But you wouldn’t have met me here if that was true,” I said.

  “Wanna bet? Remember? I’m a dirty old man and you’re a hot vampire babe,” he said. His grin was more amused than leer,
so he was joking. I could feel his emotions, and he was not the least bit aroused by me despite anything he said.

  “Wow. Okay,” I said. Giving him a severe look wiped the smile off his face. “I’m worried about this killer. Any vampire acting out of character is scary. I don’t like unpredictable.” He grunted his agreement. “When was the first murder?”

  “October ninth,” he said. I think he surprised himself. Maybe he really wasn’t planning to tell me anything. “Hmm, yes, well, I guess that is public knowledge.”

  “Bring me up to date.”

  “The first victim, that we know about, was Angela Earnest of Plano, Texas. She was a senior at SMU, two weeks shy of her twenty-third birthday, blonde, hazel-eyed, and a plump five foot five.

  “The victim was raped repeatedly, then bound up tightly with red rope and hung from the ceiling, where the killer drained her blood with needles from her jugular vein and carotid artery. He didn’t spill a single drop that we could find.”

  I just gawked at him. Not exactly the response I was expecting. More than I expected, in fact.

  “Thank you,” I said, trying to absorb all of that.

  Then he continued.

  “The next victim was Denise Chamberlain, from Laredo, Texas. Let’s see, she was killed October thirty-first, still in her pirate girl costume. Her date, a young man named Billy Prescott, got his neck snapped and body tossed aside. The killer then proceeded to rape, hogtie, and finally suspend Miss Chamberlain from the ceiling like the first victim, again with red rope. He drained her blood the same way.

  “Sometimes serial killers go after women that all look the same, but not our killer. Miss Chamberlain was a slim beauty, with brown eyes, and short brown hair. She was a little taller at five eight, as well.”

  “What about Billy Prescott? Was his blood drained, too?”

  “No. Very odd,” he said, and I had to agree.

  “So harvesting blood wasn’t the killer’s primary objective,” I said. Billy would have more blood than the small woman. “Very odd indeed.”

  “The last victim, that I’m officially not discussing,” he said. “Is Whitney Washam. We believe she was an actual thrall. At least we know she’d been bitten before, according to the labs.”