Page 5 of Fated In Blood

Of course, I didn’t know how old he was. If he was older than say, five hundred years, he might not be truly dead, since his head was still—barely—attached. Even with the silver, even with the lack of blood, he could rise again.

But not tonight.

When he stopped twitching, I pulled the big silver engraved hip flask from my coat pocket and set it carefully on the ground between Spencer and me, liquid sloshing quietly inside.

The blond vampire pitched forward, face skidding across the bricks, a font of blood spewing from his mouth, narrowly missing me. He pushed up sloppily then foundered, hatred simmering in his eyes. “You missed my heart, little bitch. You didn’t kill me.”

“Only because you and I are having a little chat.”

I had spent a lot of time rehearsing what I’d say to Spencer tonight.

Had spent three long, brutal months perfecting my vampire hunting technique and working out the kinks in my bloodsucker disposal system. But now came the moment of truth, and I was terrified of what was coming.

Whatever Spencer said next would either doom me…or save me.

I met his pale gaze steadily, flipping the knife between my fingers. His eyes flickered in time with every flash of moonlight reflected on the sharpened edge of the blade.

“I’ve been looking for you, Spencer. And now you’re going to answer a question. Lie to me, and I will filet the flesh from your ribs like a fish. Trust me, I will take my time and make you suffer as much as possible.”

Air sawed in and out of his mouth, his horrified gaze fixed on my expressionless face, blue-flecked eyes widening when he realized what he’d missed before.

He was dying tonight.

And this was going to hurt.

I felt delicate as a sheet of glass when I asked, “Eleven months ago, you snatched a human girl from an apartment on the west side of Cleveland. A blonde with a distinctive tattoo. Pink angel wings across her back. Her name was Angelique.” I could barely draw my next breath.

“Where is my sister and is she still alive?”

3

EVANGELINE

Spencer died badly, not that I expected anything different.

Unfortunately, the driving rain put out the fires before his carcass—and Ambrose’s—had a chance to fully burn down to ash, since even rocket fuel was no match for a New York thunderstorm. But there wasn’t enough of their charred faces to readily identify, which was good enough for me.

And their bodies were too damaged to regenerate, which was good for the rest of Thorndale.

I tucked the empty flask deeper into my pocket, then cut across the railroad tracks to my apartment, half tempted to go back and finish the job. I had more rocket fuel at home. But I was soaked to the skin, utterly exhausted, and…still bleeding from my earlier fight.

Besides, I doubted anyone in this shit hole would care about two more bodies showing up, considering this entire town thrived on death.

Most of the world didn’t even realize vampires existed. Humans thought vamps were romantic notions, fodder for books and movies and midnight fantasies.

But I knew better.

I’d been in Thorndale almost six months now, long enough to know that beneath this bucolic college-town surface lurked an underground network of depravity that nurtured that gluttonous species, like a web of veins supplying blood to a beating heart.

Prostitution, blood slaves, cage fighting, drugs, potions and divination, and thralls and dirty secrets all traded hands on a nightly basis in this corrupt town, and everything was funneled through one place.

Valentine’s.

Representing the human species—not well, I should point out—Vincent Valentine offered both species a neutral meeting ground, a sort of slime ball Switzerland, and because information was powerful collateral when you were a species whose very survival meant remaining in the shadows, he’d cornered the market on leverage.

I didn’t know how long ago Vincent went into business with the bloodsuckers.

Only that I—after a lucky tip—walked into his bar, gave him a fake name, and landed a waitressing gig. After a few weeks of schlepping drinks and keeping my eyes open, I’d gathered enough intel to approach Vincent with a picture of Angel and a demand.

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