Samhain Publishing

Byron watched the woman disappear into the crowd, too stunned to move. For years he’d dismissed the myth of predestined mates as a bunch of mumbo jumbo his uncle told him to keep him from screwing anything with a pulse.

Then he inhaled her scent.

Sweet Jesus, it was intoxicating, like sex and smooth single-malt whiskey rolled into one. And he couldn’t complain about the package wrapped around it, either. Dark brown hair, stormy blue-grey eyes and legs that went on forever. He could almost see them wrapped around his waist as he plunged his cock into her over and over again.

Speaking of which, his cock was already straining against the zipper of his jeans. If he wanted to follow her, he needed to get his mind out of the gutter while he could still walk. Even though he’d lost sight of her in the crowd, her scent tugged at him like a leash. He grimaced. Who’d have thought one woman could almost bring him to his knees? He had to at least know her name.

The fog in his mind had slowly lifted by the time he reached the lobby. What the hell was a woman like her doing with a wooden stake? The Buffy convention wasn’t in town. He wondered if he hadn’t fallen head over tail for a real nut-job.

She dashed toward a closing elevator and wedged her hand in the doorway. Her scent wafted over him, along with another all-too-familiar stench. A growl rose in the back of his throat. Vampire.

The elevator had already begun its ascent. He punched the up button several times while he watched the numbers above the door. It stopped on the twenty-second floor. He reached inside his blazer for his gun. His mouth watered. He couldn’t wait to catch the vampire and beat the crap out it until he found out who killed his uncle. They’d violated the treaty, and now there’d be hell to pay.

Another elevator opened and he jumped in and pressed the floor. Can this thing move any slower? He compulsively checked the chamber of his 9mm, making sure the clip was fully loaded with wooden-tipped bullets. An image of the woman with her throat torn out flashed in front of his eyes, and his heart skipped a beat. Please don’t let me be too late.

As soon as the door opened, he ran out with this gun cocked and ready to fire. The sight that greeted him, though, jerked him to a standstill.

An old woman screamed and brought her hand to her chest. “Don’t shoot! I didn’t do anything.” A cascade of sobs followed.

He peered past her at the pile of dust on the floor and cursed. So much for getting any leads from him. He released the cocking mechanism and slid the gun back in his holster.

The old lady dug her fingers into his arms. “I swear I didn’t know he was some kind of monster.” She was trembling worse than a building in an earthquake.

He placed his hands on her shoulders to calm her. “What happened?”

“I just wanted to feel sexy again. We were going up to my room, and then this girl said something to him, and then—” Her eyes widened, hiding her tattooed eyeliner in the drooping folds of her lids. “He had fangs. Large ones. And he tried to bite her neck.”

He nodded and tried to keep his face calm. “Did he have a German accent?”

She shook her head. “She stabbed him and he turned into dust.” More sobs racked her body and she buried her face against his shirt, soaking it.

Byron awkwardly wrapped his arms around her and let her cry. Whoever his mystery woman was, she knew how to kill vampires. His jaw tightened. He just hoped he’d have a chance to find her before they did.

Lana collapsed on the couch in her apartment and kicked off her high-heeled sandals. The only problem with patrolling the nicer casinos in town was having to dress the part, even if it made her job ten times more painful. Why couldn’t she have been assigned to Maui, where she could wear flip-flops every day and no one would bat an eyelash?

Her mind recounted the evening’s events so she could accurately report them to the Foundation. Three newly born vampires killed. One startled old lady. And one man who still made her sex ache when she thought of him.

Well, maybe she’d leave him out of her report. She just wished she could get him out of her thoughts. People like her had no right to dream about naughty interludes with perfect strangers, but damn, it felt good to have a man look at her that way.

Lana closed her eyes and sighed. Maybe it was time to consider retirement. As if that were even possible. Every time she’d feel the hair on her neck stand up, she’d reach for a wooden stake. Hunters like her didn’t retire; they hunted until a vampire killed them. She’d already outlived everyone she trained with. It was just a matter of time before her number came up. Occupational hazard.

The screen of her laptop flickered to life and she slid her Kavanaugh Foundation CAC card into the slot. A few taps of the keyboard later, she entered the secure website and filled out her report. A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. Something strange was happening here in Vegas—definitely something that shouldn’t stay in Vegas. Fifteen new vamps killed this week alone. If she didn’t know better, she’d say someone had a bloodsucker factory operating here in town. The question was why?

She mentioned her suspicions in her report and submitted it. Someone would scan the local hospitals to see if the cougar had a nervous breakdown from what she witnessed, and if she did, one of the Foundation’s witches would come into town and alter her memory. Thankfully, most people refused to believe what they’d seen after a vampire attack. Gladys, on the other hand, looked like she might’ve suffered a bout of angina from the brief ordeal. Lana chewed her bottom lip. Maybe she should’ve sent someone up to check on her before she left Caesars.

Her guilt over the old lady subsided the second she clicked her laptop closed. Maybe that’d teach her to stick to men her own age. The only thing that nagged her was the fear she’d end up like the old lady—alone, on the prowl, and willing to gamble with whatever piece of ass came her way. Would she have jumped the stranger in the casino if she hadn’t been on the job? Would a one-night stand with a passing tourist relieve the ache building between her legs or just remind her of what she could never have?

Something about the way he looked at her had seemed hungry and possessive, like the moment she entered his bed he’d never let her go. Her pulse raced at the thought of it. What would it feel like to be loved, cherished, desired?

Bitterness choked her throat. She’d made her choice long ago. The life of a hunter was a lonely one, but someone needed to do it. Better to be alone and not have to deal with losing someone she cared about. Or worse, causing them pain when she finally met her grisly end.

The sun peeked over the horizon, signaling the start of a new day. The bloodsuckers wouldn’t be prowling the Strip any more tonight. Time to get some sleep before starting the next hunt. She retreated to the cool blue hues of her bedroom, pulled the blackout curtains shut and crawled into bed. The last thing she remembered as she drifted off to sleep was the stranger’s face.

Bright sunlight streamed through the opening between the curtains when Lana opened her eyes. She rolled over and checked her alarm clock. 3:23 p.m. Lovely. Waking up seven minutes before her alarm and so horny she doubted anything in her toy box could satisfy her. Maybe she’d have to make a detour past one of the many adult stores that lined the Strip and find something new.

Or maybe she’d take a night off from hunting and track down that stranger.

She snorted. Take a night off. How comical. Like the bloodsuckers ever took a night off, and it was her against an entire city of them. She yawned and set about her normal morning routine: thirty minutes of yoga poses, a hot shower and back to the laptop.

The first email in her inbox didn’t surprise her. Wade Pemberly, head of the Foundation, acknowledging her concerns about the recent influx of new vampires. As one of the oldest active hunters, he usually respected her opinion. He dropped her a brief line letting her know that he’d discuss it with the board and consider sending her some temporary reinforcements.

The next email—time-stamped three hours later—pissed her off. Instead of sending her seasoned reinforcements, they decided to send a rookie fresh out of training to gain more on-the-job experience.

A string of curse words flew from her mouth, almost every other one of them an F-bomb. Yes, newborn vamps were easier to kill than the older ones, but she didn’t need to play nanny to some wet-behind-the-ears kid.

She opened the dossier and reached in her desk drawer for her hidden stash of chocolate. Three pieces of dark cocoa bliss later, she’d finally calmed down enough to read past the name on the first line. Esperanza (Espe) Casañas. Age nineteen. A few more four-letter words exploded from her mouth. How the hell did they expect this kid to patrol the casino floors when she wasn’t even old enough to buy a beer? Lana ground her teeth together. The Foundation had better send Espe with a decent fake ID if they wanted her to get anything out of her time in Vegas.

Her dossier seemed unremarkable. Born in Miami. Parents were Cuban immigrants who were killed by a vamp when she was only seven. Grew up at the Kavanaugh Academy. Same story as the rest of the hunters out there.

Well, most of the hunters, anyway. Losing a family member to a bloodsucker at a young age seemed to awaken all those revenge urges, but Lana was different. She’d never spent time at the Academy, the Foundation’s orphanage for kids who’d escaped a feeding frenzy. She’d grown up a relatively normal life, if she left out the part that certain people occasionally gave her a major case of the heebie-jeebies. It wasn’t until Max died that she learned these “people” were really vampires, and she had a built-in radar system for them.

Max. Twelve years later, and he still managed to tug at her heart. They’d both been so young and stupid. Unlike most of the kids at the Academy, he didn’t remember his parents, who’d been slaughtered when he was two. But he still became a hunter and earned his first solo assignment in Charlotte. She was a student at UNC and fell head over heels for the roguish young man who seemed to draw women to him like flies. He never paid attention to any of them—only her. Three months after they met, she moved in with him and began planning her happily ever after.

Then, one morning Max didn’t return from his job. He worked nights, but he never told her where or what he did. She spent the entire day calling his cell, leaving voice mails, and curled up on the couch with a bag of Hershey’s miniatures. It wasn’t until nightfall that she received the knock that changed her life.

Her eyes stung at the memory, and her throat constricted. She never had a chance to kill the vampires that took Max away from her; Morwen, the Head Witch of the Foundation, had robbed her of her revenge. But she’d killed hundreds of vampires since then. And she’d managed to encase her heart in ice. No one would ever cry over her when she died. No one would ever lose her to a vampire’s fangs. Being alone let her concentrate on her job and not mess around with the distraction of a relationship, even if it left her an empty shell of a human.

She shoved the lid of her laptop closed. As much as the past still hurt, it helped her push the stranger out of her mind and get her game face on. She scanned the map of the Strip, trying to decide where to start her patrols tonight. The Bellagio seemed good enough. Vampires seemed to like the more affluent casinos. The only downside: high heels again.

With a shrug, she searched her closet for something to wear. When would fashion designers learn to include pockets for her stake?

Byron left Caesars more frustrated than ever. He ran his hand through his hair and frowned when it drifted down to his stubble-covered cheek. Ever since he’d run into that woman, he couldn’t get her off his mind. Couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t do damn near anything. If anyone back at the ranch noticed it, they didn’t say anything. They probably thought he was still grieving for his uncle.

He turned up the Strip and glanced at the sky. A quarter moon hung low on the horizon. Great. He had a week left before he sprouted fangs and fur and fought it out with Alan over who would replace Uncle Eddie as the Alpha. Pack politics pissed him off. Why couldn’t they do the civilized thing and hold elections? Why the need to beat his rival to a bloody pulp to prove who had the best leadership potential?

In front of the Bellagio fountains a crowd clogged up the sidewalk, oohing and ahhing at the choreographed water show. Their half-witted mob mentality irritated him even more as he shoved past them. Lemmings, all of them.

Then something tickled his nose. Her scent. He jerked to a stop and inhaled. It still smelled like sex and whiskey, but now he noticed a slightly floral note to it. His cock hardened. He turned and followed it, forgetting everything else at that moment.

He marched through the lobby, ignoring the massive Chihuly chandelier that usually drew his attention. As he came closer to her, he identified the particular facets of her scent: orchids, lemongrass, sandalwood and jasmine. If someone could bottle it up, they’d make a million selling it. No man would be able to resist it.

Her scent grew stronger as he neared the main casino, overpowering the odors of cigarettes, cheap perfume and even cheaper booze. The wolf inside him growled at the hunt, but instead of food, it wanted to satisfy a more primitive need—one as essential to life as warmth and shelter. It writhed against the restraints of the human body around him and threatened to seize control.

He paused and took a deep breath, waiting for his throbbing erection to calm down. That would’ve made a great impression on her. Hi, I’m Byron. Please excuse the raging hard-on I’ve had since I bumped into you last night. Sweet Jesus, he’d never been affected by a woman in this way before. Aroused, definitely. But wanting to throw her on top of a poker table and make love to her in front of everyone in the casino until he passed out from exhaustion? Never.

Once he managed to contain the beast within, he strolled down the aisles. Just how would he introduce himself to her? Should he nearly knock her over again? How about, Nice stake; you should see the one in my pants? He rolled his eyes. His one-track mind seemed to be out of control.

He found her sitting by a slot machine with a cell phone in her hands. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, typing out a text message. Then she set it on top of the machine and played a few coins. Jackpot. The bells and flashing lights almost made him feel like he’d won the prize, not her. At least he knew how to start up a conversation with her. Too bad he hadn’t had time to shave or iron his clothes this morning, but maybe she’d go for the rugged look.

She was printing out the receipt of her winnings when he approached. Her shoulders tensed and her hand drifted to her purse. In a smooth motion, she spun around on her stool. Her lips parted when she saw him, and a new wave of her scent washed over him.

“Hi,” he managed to get out before his mind clouded over with lust. He didn’t believe she could be more beautiful than last night, but he was wrong. Her dark hair fell softly around her shoulders, contrasting with her ivory skin. The loose folds of the neckline on her dress gave him an ample view of her cleavage. Her eyes widened and turned a deeper blue, her pupils dilated and her plump pink lips called to him like an oasis in a desert. How would they feel wrapped around his cock? He tucked his hands into his pockets to keep from grabbing her and tasting her flesh.

“Hi,” she replied with a faint smile.

“Get lucky tonight?” He nodded at the machine.

The corners of her lush mouth rose higher. “So far.”

All the blood rushed to his pants again. Maybe if he played his cards right, he’d get lucky, too. But he had to be careful. She wasn’t like most of the women here—half-drunk and looking to have a little fun. She killed a vampire last night, and he didn’t want to end up on the wrong side of her stake. It wouldn’t kill him, but it would sure hurt like hell.

With caution tempering some of his lust, he gathered his courage. “I was wondering if you’d like to join me for a drink.” Why did such a simple question unnerve him? He’d asked out plenty of women, but none of them had been his true-mate. That would be a fun concept to explain to her if things ever progressed that far. Of course, he needed to come to terms with it himself first.

Her smile faded. “I’m sorry. I can’t drink while I’m working.”

“Not even a soda?”

She stared at him for a full ten seconds while she made up her mind. Usually women agreed. She, on the other hand, looked like she was analyzing him for any weaknesses, any secrets, anything she could use against him. He felt like a fly under a microscope. His gut tightened. What if she knows what I am?