Page 48 of The Vampire's Thirst
“Wrong. Arisen Dawn biz. You have to share.”
Roark snapped a kick toward his opponent, taking him off his feet and smack onto the mat. He threw an elbow to the guy’s throat. “No. I don’t. All I have to do is beat your ass. Done.”
He rose and backed away, his predatory gaze searching for another challenger. This was turning out to be a great day. He’d top it off with a few shots of whiskey and a soft female later tonight. Not too soft.
A big-ass demon shoved two front-line gawkers out of the way. “You want a piece of me?”
“Not my type. I’m hetero all the way. Unless you want to drop to your knees and suck me. I’m down with that.”
The demon sputtered, snarled, and turned red. As he lumbered forward, flames shot from his hands and ears.
Okay. Maybe I shouldn’t have pissed off an animus demon.
Roark rotated to deliver a roundhouse kick. Too angry to block the move, the demon took one to the head. When he staggered backward, Roark laid it on strong while avoiding blasts of fire. He targeted the male’s solar plexus, groin, and throat. When the massive beast dropped like an anchor and stayed put, Roark backed off the mat.
A vampire stepped from the shadows where he’d been eyeing the fights.
Glaring, Roark used his deepest, growliest voice. “What the fuck are you looking at? You want to try your luck or are you in love with my ass? If it’s my ass, you should know I don’t give it away.”
A hungry smile curled the vampire’s lips, the tips of his sharp fangs glistening. “You might be what I’m looking for.”
“Drink, fuck, or fight?” asked Roark.
“Fight.” The vamp swaggered into the light. “I’m the general here. Name’s Lort. Now answer the ylve’s question.”
“Which one? He asked a couple.”
“What kind of shifter are you?”
“You can’t get a bead on me because I’m one of those rare mixes. Generations of my family bred with different kinds. Coyotes, lions, bears, ravens. For all I know, a few hummingbirds.”
Must have made sense to the vamp because he nodded. Mixed shifters were rare but possible, their auras confusing.
“A bastard.” The general brushed his dishwater-blond hair over his shoulder. “Don’t advertise. Cerberus abhors mixed heritage.”
No condemnation in his tone. Just a warning.
“Yeah. That’s what they call us. Bastard shifters. I’ll be sure to keep quiet about it. Nothing to brag about anyway.”
“Can you handle weapons?”
“Name it.”
Lort glanced around the room. He jerked his head toward the wall with tactical knives.
Roark snatched a couple from the rack, tossing one to the general. “Blade up.”
The vampire licked his lips, stepped onto the mat, and crouched. He waved Roark forward.
Obliging, he fronted the general, spreading his legs into a wide stance.
His first move was to size up his opponent with a quick head-to-toe. Lort was all about power, but Roark was an equal opportunity killer. Win by any means necessary. He could dance like a prima ballerina or come out like a tank rolling over a stalled Prius.
Lort tossed his blade from fist to fist.
Roark smiled.Okay. The general wasn’t only about power. He was into deception. Trying to catch his opponent off guard. Suck him in.
Watch the eyes, though. They never lie.
