Page 39 of Vampire's Choice

Ironically, not as difficult for her to pull off as it would have been for most vampires.

The shifting of the heavy hooves was settling, and the squeals weren’t happening as often. The agitated snorts continued, but more as an expression of annoyance. The sound reminded her of bulls. Some of the lore about centaurs suggested it originated from men who fought battles on bulls.

“We will speak of this transgression to Yvette.” The male she assumed was Pholos spoke. His voice could have competed with the rumble of a diesel engine. “It should not have happened.”

“Maybe. But you could also ask someone who they are before you try to kill them. Fucking hell, man. She’s a skinny vampire girl less than a hundred years old. Get a grip.”

Ruth choked on a very inappropriate laugh, fueled by a little hysteria. A little while ago she’d been congratulating herself on how well she was adapting to her security job. Then she’d stumbled into a situation where she needed protection. Great confidence builder.

She didn’t think the laugh had escaped, but the shudder as she contained it seemed to have an effect.

Pholos’s voice was gruff, but held a more mollified note. “Get off her, Merc. She is safe. Lift your head, girl.”

Ruth didn’t play damsel-in-distress unless it made it easier to get close to an enemy. But when Merc rose and lifted her to her feet, he kept her against him, her shoulder blades brushing his chest. His hand went back to her shoulder. The strategic pressure of his thumb against the base of her throat told her she’d better capitulate with grace, so she didn’t get them both shot. It was also damn distracting, but it had life-threatening competition.

If they showed their age the way humans did, Pholos looked in his forties. His hair was shaved on the sides, enhancing the horse’s mane look of the thick line of it down the middle of his skull to his nape, where it narrowed into a line of silken hair that ended at his lower back. That was where his upper torso expanded into the horse’s body, bearing a glossy black coat.

His hooves were silver tipped and sparked against roots and rocks as he shifted. Black tattoos on the bare sides of his skull and arms matched what was painted on his flanks. His tail was braided with ribbon and feathers. Having grown up well versed in Native American and Irish history, she recognized a tribal clan culture when she saw it.

She glanced up at Merc to make sure it was okay to speak. Though his gaze remained watchful on Pholos and his men, he gave her a slight nod.

Taking a measured half step forward, she executed a respectful half bow toward the centaur leader. “I apologize. I meant the children no harm. I was admiring their aim.”

While still well-shielded from Ruth, the trio peered at her from around powerful hindquarters. Her gaze landed on the one with the deformed arm. “Your stationary target practice might need work, but your aim at a moving one is sound. I had to use speed to avoid your arrow, and it still made contact.” She directed the boy’s attention to her neck. The graze was healing, but the bloodstain proved her words weren’t empty praise.

Pholos glanced at the youth, whose initial surprise at the compliment was quelled before the elder’s severe gaze. But when Pholos returned his attention to Ruth, the other boy and girl nudged their companion with hidden smirks. Kids were kids.

“Your name.” Pholos issued it as an order.

“Ruth,” she responded, with another slight bow.

“Learn our ways so you do not come to harm at our hands,” Pholos said. “You are lucky you are female. We would have killed a male without hesitation. Welcome to the Circus.”

Sexism had saved her life. She could accept that.

Pholos issued a short command, and the centaurs wheeled as one unit. Within an impressively short span of time, they’d disappeared, taking the children with them. The only evidence of their presence was the foliage crushed by their intimidating advance, and their horse-human scent. Ruth let out a breath and turned to speak to Merc.

She was alone.

Seriously?

It was his fault she’d wanted him to hang around longer. She still had that surplus of sexual energy he’d stirred up in her earlier, and since he’d landed on her like a wheelbarrow of bricks, she’d registered the imprint of every muscle group, his pelvis and cock pushed against her tense ass. And then there was the sensual clasp of his wings around her.

Yep, even under the threat of imminent death, her sex drive kept ticking like a Timex. Too bad a couple arrows hadn’t hit him. Nothing fatal. Just a shot or two lodged in his excellent ass.

Yes, it was a petty reaction. He had saved her life. But a sexually frustrated vampire could be a cranky vampire.

CHAPTER EIGHT

She retrieved her coat from the bush that had snagged it when she decided to leave it behind. Maybe Charlie could fix the five holes in it.

The arrows that had done the damage were gone. The centaurs had gathered them up, even the one the boy had shot. She wondered if they had unique feathering on them, so each archer knew which ones were his. She would have liked a closer look.

She’d also like to meet the female members of the clan. Find out how they handled their overbearing males.

As she emerged from the forest, she discovered the lake Medusa had been sailing upon had a shore here. Shedding her shoes, Ruth dug her toes into the cool mud. She’d return to the camp soon and explore her quarters, but she wanted to collect herself.

“‘My lady.’” Merc’s voice came from above her. “Gundar and Charlie both called you that. Vampire aristocracy.”

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