Книга - The Vampire Hunter

The Vampire Hunter
Michele Hauf


Dangerous magicIn all his years battling the undead, Kaz has never seen bloodlust like this. As a Knight of the Stake, it’s up to him to put a stop to the mayhem sweeping the streets of Paris. Kaz’s task becomes infinitely more complicated when a very attractive witch wants to help.With her irresistibly kissable lips, Zoë just feels right to Kaz, the way no mortal woman ever has before. But, as a sworn enemy of the supernatural, can he really trust a witch with secrets of her own?







The only thing Zoë knew about Kaz was that his mouth knew exactly how to fit against hers for maximum pleasure.

And that the heat of his body felt like a fantasy in which she was granted everything she had ever desired.

It never worked like that in real life. Not even with a healthy dose of magic tossed in for good measure.

But never in her life had Zoë felt so connected to a man she didn’t even know.

Sighing into the kiss, she tilted her body towards Kaz’s aggressive stance, and as their hips met, he drew his fingers down her spine, coaxing her even closer with his touch. Chest to chest, she melted against his heat and strength. He made her feel delicate and pretty and so, so desirable.

A girl could become bewitched by such a kiss. And a bewitched witch was a rare thing.


MICHELE HAUF has been writing romance, action-adventure and fantasy stories for more than twenty years. Her first published novel was Dark Rapture. France, musketeers, vampires and faeries populate her stories. And if she followed the adage “write what you know,” all her stories would have snow in them. Fortunately, she steps beyond her comfort zone and writes about countries she has never visited and of creatures she has never seen.

Michele can be found on Facebook and Twitter and at www.michelehauf.com. You can also write to Michele at PO Box 23, Anoka, MN 55303, USA.


The Vampire Hunter

Michele Hauf




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Contents

Prologue (#ue2442e18-4d37-5d89-ac42-a78d5cbc0b12)

Chapter 1 (#u50992e47-d4b5-57d5-b040-463d9fd493ae)

Chapter 2 (#u151f972b-205b-5b53-b8f6-bd9a3ad5bbc5)

Chapter 3 (#u9e5cc1b5-df24-5b9c-9e1c-51166c79c66d)

Chapter 4 (#u4f02f5e4-bdc6-5cc1-b78c-0076f91bc591)

Chapter 5 (#u0e79f356-3a83-5299-931e-38b417824de8)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)


Prologue

The thing came at him so quickly, Kaspar had little time to react beyond putting up his arms to block the crazy long teeth that gnashed for his neck.

He’d been minding his own business, digging in the garbage behind Madame du Monde’s dance studio. He’d found a broken chair and had screwed off one of the wooden legs. If he whittled down the serrated edge he might use it as a weapon. Call it a sixteenth-birthday present. Living on the streets a guy needed all the protection he could get.

But after nearly two years of street life, he’d usually seen the attack coming. This maniac had lunged at him from out of nowhere, and it was as if he were on drugs because he growled and shoved Kaz to the winter-wet tarmac, then jumped on top of his chest, compressing his thin rib cage with a hard knee.

Twice as big as Kaz and dressed all in black, the attacker snarled, revealing teeth that belonged on a monster. Kaz yelped and swung the chair leg before him. The man batted it away.

“No way!” Kaz yelled. Using all his strength, he managed to kick the crazy guy off him, leaped to his feet and swung the weapon wildly. “Get away from me, you creep!”

“A tasty little boy,” the guy muttered like some kind of menacing villain a person only saw in the movies. “I can smell your blood. Starved for sustenance as you are, I’ll squeeze a few drops from your skinny neck.”

The man lunged for him, gripping Kaz’s shoulders and sinking sharp teeth into his neck. It hurt so bad, worse than all the times his dad had used him as a punching bag. Kaz kicked and yowled; he didn’t want to die. He was too young. He may not have much to live for, but—no, it wasn’t going to happen this way.

Pushing the thing off him tore the long, pointed teeth from his neck. Kaz whined at the pain, yet he didn’t take his eyes from the attacker. His blood dripped from the maniac’s mouth. With a hungry smirk, the thing again lunged.

Without second thought, Kaz swung around the chair leg, jamming the serrated end into the guy’s chest. The creep growled and swore at him, cursing him with all the bad words Kaz had learned to use to vent his anger, and then some.

And then a blast of ash formed where the guy had been speared with the end of the chair leg. Dark gray flakes formed the shape of a man, then sifted to the ground, leaving behind a pile of clothing—and no vicious attacker.

Swinging down the hand that still clutched the chair leg in a painful squeeze, Kaz stumbled backward, hitting the steel garbage can in a clatter, and slipping to land on his butt.

“What the—?”

Another man swung around the corner of the brick building, gripping the wall to stop his running pace. He wore a plaid vest over a fancy shirt and pants, and looked like one of those rich guys Kaz always saw escorting pretty girls in and out of shops on the Champs-Élysées. “You got him, kid?”

Got him? Got what? What was that thing? It...it had dissolved right before his eyes. There wasn’t even blood in the pile of ash. Human beings didn’t do that. And it had—Kaz slapped a hand over his neck—bitten him.

The man approached him carefully, hands held out in placation. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m one of the good guys.”

Kaz drew up his legs as the man squatted beside him. He was too scared to run, and he didn’t want to stab at him. One pile of ash was weird enough. Had he just murdered someone? He didn’t want to go to jail. He’d take the cold, tough streets of Paris over jail any day.

The man inspected Kaz’s neck with probing fingers that made him wince. “How old are you, boy?”

“Si-sixteen. Today’s...m-my birthday.” Kaz shivered because his windbreaker jacket was never warm enough for February. “Who are you?”

“You can call me Tor. Happy birthday, kid. Looks as if you got the grand prize. I didn’t expect to run into any action tonight. You’re lucky I was in the vicinity.”

“I’m luck— Really?” Kaz held up the bloody chair leg. “I’m the one who took him out. What...what was that thing?”

“You’re right. You took care of the longtooth all by yourself. That was some incredible work, kid. What’s your name?”

“Kaspar,” he murmured. His eyes scurried over the ash and clothing. He couldn’t process, didn’t want to listen, but the man’s next words pulled him into focus.

“Kaspar, you just slayed your first vampire. And here’s the good news. Even though you’ve been bitten, and normally a bite will transform a mortal into a bloodsucker, if you kill the one who bit you, then you’re in the clear. You won’t transform.”

A worried noise scratched at the back of Kaz’s throat. Transform?

Tor pointed over his shoulder to the pile of ash. Apparently, not transforming meant he wouldn’t turn into a vampire. Was that some kind of twisted birthday present?

“The bad news,” Tor continued, “is monsters exist.”

Ah, hell. Kaz had always liked monsters. They’d not slept under his bed when he was little because his mother had chased them away with the broom. But then she died, and his world had, as well.

Tor picked up something from the ground and studied it. He held the bloodied key before Kaz. “This fall out of your pocket?”

Kaz swiped the old brass key and nodded, shoving it deep in his jeans pocket.

“Key to your house?”

Kaz shook his head. “Don’t have a home anymore. I’m on my own and doing just fine.”

The man nodded, and stood. “Damn right, you are. You’re one tough kid.” Hands at his hips, he peered over the destruction, then began to shuffle the ash toward the garbage bin, spreading it out. He picked up the singed clothing and dropped it in the trash bin. “My job is to ensure others don’t start believing all the myth and legend that really does exist. No one will suspect those bits of ash were once a creature of the night. You going to tell anyone what you saw, Kaz?”

Kaz tucked his head against his elbow and closed his eyes. He shook his head. He wasn’t even sure what he’d seen. What he’d done. He’d killed a vampire?

“You have a talent with the stake,” Tor said. “Homeless, eh?”

Kaz nodded minutely but didn’t look up at him.

“Well, you’ll need the wound cleaned up so it doesn’t get infected. And...to be totally up front with you, I don’t have a home for you or a means to help you.”

“Don’t need your help.”

“Course not. But there is a man I know who would be interested in talking to you. His name is Rook, and he heads an organization of knights who protect humans from creatures like the one that attacked you.”

“Knights?”

Kaz looked up into Tor’s eyes, blinked and saw...the truth. Along with the truth, he also saw a deep and concerned kindness he’d not recognized for years. So without thinking it through, he grabbed Tor’s offered hand and stood up, wobbly, yet not out for the count by any means.

“You can trust me,” Tor said, “though I know you won’t. You’re a smart kid and know how to protect yourself and that’s how it should be. But do you want to learn how to use that thing the right way?”

Kaz looked at the bloody chair leg he still gripped. The man was offering him something he hadn’t known in a long time—trust. And he wanted it with every breath he inhaled.

“Come on,” Tor beckoned.

And Kaz took his first steps toward chivalry, something he wouldn’t comprehend until many years later.


Chapter 1

The vamps were fast, and he—well, he wasn’t much faster, but he was skilled. A human matched against a vampire must wield some mean martial-arts skills or he had better be a track star. Kaspar Rothstein possessed the former, but right now he was contemplating the run.

Yep, best to go for the run.

The sickening heat of a vampire’s breath skimmed the back of his neck as he raced down an alleyway in the eighteenth arrondissement near Paris’s shadowed Montmartre Cemetery. His goal: to lure the four vamps far away from humans and curious eyes. Rushing into an open cobbled courtyard behind closed businesses far from any tourists, Kaz stopped abruptly, planting his steel-toed boots.

With a confident grin teasing his mouth, he swung around, catching one of the vamps in the chest with a titanium stake. The vamp ashed before him, forming the shape of a person out of fried vampire flesh, bone and clothing.

“Happy birthday to me,” he muttered his victory claim. Wasn’t his birthday, but who needed cake to celebrate?

The three remaining vamps grinned at him. Kaz had expected the idiot longtooths to actually share a brain among them and run for their lives. But if they wanted to stick around for the party games...

“Come on,” Kaz encouraged. He tucked away the stake and put up his fists. He hadn’t gotten in a workout this morning. Time for some fun.

The first vampire charged him. Kaz managed to grab him by the scruff of the neck, and swung the gangly tormentor toward another of his rag-tag pack. Their skulls cracked, both swore, and they collapsed on the cobblestones.

The leader swung around with a punch that Kaz stopped with his open palm. “Nice to meet you. I’m Kaz. Vampire hunter. I’ll be ashing you this evening.”

“Wiseass,” the vampire cracked.

Kaz gripped the miscreant’s fist, twisted, and with a swing from the waist, rocketed up a high sidekick to his jaw. The heavy boots delivered damage by breaking jawbone. The attacker dropped, growling and spitting blood. The other two charged him with fists. Kaz immediately dropped the one on the left with a wince-inducing gut punch.

A female scream alerted him. A woman clung to the limestone wall not thirty feet from their little soiree.

“Get out of here!” he yelled at her, and caught a punch across the jaw. He tasted his own blood, and shook his head to chase away the bluebirds spinning about his skull. That one could have led to his death had it been a knockout.

Enough play. Best to stake them before they beat him to a pulp. But—hell, not in front of an innocent.

Frozen in fear, the woman watched their antics with wide eyes. Chills scurried up Kaz’s spine. He delivered another kick and landed a vamp at the hip, sending it stumbling backward. He had to keep the vampires busy and away from her until she grasped her senses and ran. Only then could he ash these idiots.

Out the corner of his eye, Kaz alternated his attention between fight and female. Was she scared—or interested? She leaned forward from her position against the wall, her bright eyes following the action. A vampire charged him; he landed a kick to a particularly vulnerable part of its anatomy, bringing it down.

Licking her lips, the woman seemed to marvel over the show.

“Go!” Kaz shouted at her, but too late he realized the command had alerted one of the vampires to their audience.

He swung a fist at an attacking vamp and took him out cleanly. The other vampire raced toward the woman and pinned her to the wall by her wrists. She didn’t scream. That was good and bad. A scream would call attention to this altercation and alert other innocents.

But why didn’t she scream?

Must be scared voiceless.

Wishing he could stake the attacker from behind, Kaz left the stake clipped at his hip. He ran toward the vamp, grabbed him by the head and shoulder and peeled him away from the woman.

“Wow,” he thought he heard her say, as he landed on his back on the cobbles, bringing the vamp down with him.

Twisting to straddle the vamp, Kaz punched him repeatedly until the longtooth’s lights went out, his hand sprawling across the toe of the woman’s lace-up boot.

Springing up to stand in the center of the fallen vamps, Kaz looked over his mayhem. Fists still coiled at his sides, brows drawn and serious, he was ready for another four, or even a whole gang.

But the vampires were only out, not dead. They wouldn’t stay down long. He had to get rid of the girl.

Lifting her chin, the woman looked up at Kaz with wide and wondering eyes. He had rescued her from a bite, surely. But the less she knew, the better. And if he could contain this slaying then he wouldn’t have to call in Tor to do spin.

“Impressive.” She stepped over the sprawled vampire and slowly approached him. Strangely, she clapped, giving him due reward. “Like a knight who fights for his mistress’s favor.”

Kaz arched a brow. He was a knight. But he couldn’t tell her that. Why hadn’t she screamed and run? That was the normal MO for unknowing humans who stumbled onto a slaying.

Something wrong with this chick?

As he looked her over, he took a long stroll over her black hair, streaked on one side with white. Her heart-shaped face was shadowed by the night. A soft gray blouse rippled with her movements, hugging a narrow figure. Black, high-waisted slacks emphasized long legs that ended in heeled boots. Sexy, in a business kind of way. If her lips hadn’t been thick and plush and so pink, Kaz would have marked her off as just another accountant or pencil pusher.

But that mouth. All pink and partly open and—he swallowed—kissable. That mouth distracted him.

“Generally,” she said, unaware of his distraction, “when the knight defeats the bad guys, his mistress grants him a favor, such as a ribbon or piece of her clothing for him to proudly display.”

He rubbed his jaw and chuckled softly. “I’m not much for ribbons.” But the moment jumped on him like a blood-hungry vampire and he went with the next move. “Guess that means I’ll have to take something more fitting.”

Kaz wrapped his hand about her neck and curved his fingers against her silken hair as he bent to kiss her distracting mouth there, in the mysterious shadows of a city he would never feel comfortable calling home. About them, the vampires showed no sign of coming to, yet he remained aware.

Two magnets, he thought, as their lips crushed, compelled to one another. Soft and wanting. The burn of her mouth against his flamed his tongue with the sweetest fire. The connection gushed through his veins and swirled in and out of his being. Made him feel alive, more so than even battling vamps did.

As well, this kiss claimed a certain void within him that suddenly breathed in, wanting to capture it all. To experience it all.

Really? Why had he suddenly started thinking like some kind of romance hero? It was just a kiss. He’d kissed lots of women. He’d admired many a pretty mouth, had shared breath with— Hell.

He’d never kissed a woman who felt quite so...right.

She wobbled on her tiptoes, and Kaz gripped her shoulder to steady her. And when he pulled from the kiss to dart a look back and forth between her blue eyes, he suddenly knew. He had never sensed such immediate connection before. Destined? No, he wasn’t tumbling completely over the edge. But there were no coincidences in this world. People didn’t just stumble into another person’s life randomly. He’d believed that since the night Tor had found him behind Madame du Monde’s.

Everything happened for a reason.

She fluttered her lashes and looked aside. “Nice.”

Nice? It had been more than nice. That kiss had been...transcendent. Yet maybe she was too shy to wax as poetically as his brain was right now. No, not shy, but flustered. Her cheeks had pinkened and her lashes fluttered as she tapped her mouth. Kaz liked that he’d disturbed her with a kiss.

“Once more?” he asked on an aching tone.

This time when she tilted up her face to meet him, he hooked his thumb along her jaw, his fingers spreading over her cheek. His calloused fingertips touched a raised line of skin. Felt like a scar. She didn’t flinch. Perhaps it was merely makeup or his rough fingers.

She moaned into the kiss and wrapped both hands about his waist beneath the long leather coat he wore. A greedy touch that he felt honored to receive. She wasn’t like any other woman who had selfishly clung and groped at him while seeking to satisfy her desires. Kaz pulled her tight against his body. This woman fit there as no other woman had fit before. She felt right. Felt different.

Felt dangerous.

Right, man. Don’t forget: vampires surround you. Get rid of her now if you want her to live long enough for another kiss.

Kaz broke the kiss. She nodded and smiled sweetly. Stepping back, she deftly navigated through the fallen men over to the backpack she’d dropped by the wall. She picked it up and hooked it over a shoulder. Kaz watched her, his lips parted, his eyes following her every move.

“I...” she began. A sweet smile struggled with uncertainty. She raked her fingers through her loose sweep of hair. “Suddenly, I don’t know how to walk away from you.” Her brows pulled together as she wondered about that confession.

The statement reached in and clutched Kaz’s gut. It was so intimate. She didn’t want to walk away? He could get behind that sentiment. He’d like to wrap her in his arms and take her home with him and leave the world behind. Unfortunately, the real world had begun to groan near his feet.

“Just put one foot in front of the other,” he said, regretting the dire need to send her off.

The woman chuckled and touched her lips, as if testing to see if his warmth was still there. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Kaspar Rothstein.” He walked around the circle of vampires starting to come to. “Kaz to friends and those I tend to kiss. And you?”

“Zoë. Uh, Zoë to friends and those who tend to kiss me.”

At that moment, he fell, right into her stunning blue eyes and lush pink smile. Once again, his life had changed.

“Where do you live, Zoë? In case I feel the calling to beat up a second pack of idiots in order to claim another kiss from you.”

She smiled at the suggestion.

Kaz really did know about this one. Mine.

“Down the street.” She pointed in the direction she was headed. “Cerulean door. Can’t miss it. But don’t follow me. You’ve already been granted spoils this night for your heroic act.”

“As my lady wishes.” He bowed grandly, sweeping out an arm as if a knight genuflecting before his mistress.

Yeah, so he had his goofy moments.

The broad grin curling her lips matched his own as Zoë turned and strolled away, casting a look back over her shoulder.

She walked with a sensuous sway to her hips that he could imagine shifting side to side between his roaming hands as he danced with her. Kaz learned a lot about a person when dancing with them. It was safe, too, when surrounded by others on the dance floor and not all alone. Alone was fine, but only after he got to know the girl. Which, unfortunately, happened rarely due to his job. Ash in his hair and bloody stakes littering his apartment tended to turn them off.

A few groans alerted Kaz. He tugged out a stake with his right hand, and reached for another with his left—missing. He patted his hip where the stake was holstered—

No stake? He swung his gaze about, sweeping the tarmac, even as the first vampire rose to his feet. Had it fallen out when he’d been fighting? Had one of the vamps grabbed if off him?

The only one who had been close enough...

“Is that so?”

He chuckled and swung toward the vampire, a direct hit dusting the air with a fog of dark vamp ash. Before the other two could even rise, Kaz jumped over each one, planted the stake over their heart and finished them in succession. Four kills.

“But no closer to the prize,” he muttered. For he was on a specific mission that required he locate a one-fanged vampire who had murdered innocents.

A glance down the street didn’t spy Zoë. Kaz patted his back pocket, ensuring his wallet was still there.

“Interesting.”

She hadn’t gone for the cash, but instead for the one thing he should never allow to fall into the hands of the uninitiated. She’d called him her rescuing knight? The woman had no idea she’d gotten his title correct.

And the distraction of that kiss wasn’t putting him any closer to the vamp he needed to get his hands on. He hadn’t much to go on, but how many one-fanged vampires could there be in Paris?

Once he found the culprit, he needed to go deeper, to the source behind the vampire’s attack. Someone was trafficking in a dangerously addictive substance in the city of Paris. Similar to faery dust but more like faery dust times ten. Humans were not safe from the addicted vampires who went after them.

“I will put a stop to it,” he muttered, and strode down the street in Zoë’s wake. “First I need to get that stake back. But not until I figure out what cerulean is.”

* * *

Sid sat on the marble worktable, his big green eyes intent on every move Zoë made beneath the glass cupola capping her little tower in the sky. Purrs filled the room; the cat’s resonance harmonized with Zoë’s work.

The seventeenth-century mansion she lived in was narrow, yet high, soaring three stories. The third-floor tower room had confirmed her decision to buy the place five years ago. Perfect for a spell room. The curved, paned-glass roof let in the moonlight and opened the room to receive from the elements of air, earth and water.

She practiced all elemental magic, save for fire, a witch’s worst enemy. Though some witches were talented with fire magic, Zoë had decided to focus on a more powerful magic that could alter the molecules of any object, even living, breathing flesh. Such magic was her father’s specialty, and he’d taught her the basics before he’d had to go into hiding a decade earlier.

Because of his chosen study, the witches of the Light had declared her father, Pierre Guillebeaux, warlock. The Light did not approve of molecular magic. Witches must not alter living beings in any way beyond using magic to speed up the body’s natural healing process. Only shapeshifters and demons were sanctioned to physically alter their bodies. But Zoë’s father believed in the healing capabilities of his magic—that someone could heal himself or herself or otherwise alter their very being—something no witch was able to do. Instead of sacrificing the study of it, he had willingly become warlock.

She missed him. Though she hadn’t seen him in ten years, she knew, wherever he was, he was well, yet that didn’t dispel the emptiness in her heart. Since her mother’s death when she was thirteen, her father was her only family, and though she had many friends, she craved an intimate relationship.

In the center of her spell room, before the round, marble-topped worktable, she carefully went about the process of alchemizing the faery ichor that was delivered once a week from an unnamed, but obnoxious source. Zoë didn’t have to like the delivery girl; she just had to take the ichor and in return hand over the finished product. It was a smooth system that had been working for the few weeks she’d been engaged in this endeavor.

The vampire Mauritius, leader of tribe Anière, had been buying her blend to distribute to his fellow vampires. He had seemed eager to spread it around, assuring her it would do well within the vampire community. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her blend—which was to be expected in this neighborhood that overlapped FaeryTown—so Zoë was kept fairly busy producing the concoction.

But it must be fresh, and only produced in small amounts. That ensured efficacy. The shelf life was about a week, she figured, though she hadn’t done field experiments to verify that, and had only her best friend’s usage report to judge how well it actually worked.

“I can’t wait to see Luc,” she whispered.

She leaned forward next to Sid to watch the ichor in the alembic dance and coruscate as if stars captured under glass.

It had been two weeks since her best friend, Luc, had been around for a visit. He had been her guinea pig for the dust blend. Luc mentioned her project to his tribe leader, and Mauritius had been very interested.

Zoë set the kitchen timer for four minutes. She had to let the dust formulate a short time before adding the key ingredient.

Noticing the backpack she’d hastily dropped beside the door, she spied the steel cylinder spilling out that she’d nicked from her rescuer. So she had a habit of snatching things. It was a better vice than drinking or practicing malefic magic, wasn’t it?

She retrieved the cylinder and looked it over. Was it some kind of weapon? On second thought, it might not be steel. It was light, almost like aluminum, but she suspected the metal was strong and wouldn’t dent. It didn’t have a product name or brand anywhere on it. On one end was impressed a symbol of four pointed bars crossed over one another in the center of a circle.

The opposite end showed a cross slit that might open if some kind of button were pushed. Narrow black pads about three inches long stretched each side of the cylinder, like grips, and when she squeezed—

A sharp tip pinioned out the end of the column with such force that Zoë let out a gasp and dropped it. The deadly thing skimmed her boots, cutting a scar in the aged black leather, and clattered onto the white tiled floor.

She bent to grab it—but didn’t touch it. Its apparent use grew obvious now that the tip was fully ejected.

“A stake?”

It looked like a weapon some kind of hunter might use to stake vampires. What other purpose would it serve?

“He had been a skilled fighter. Hmm...Kaz,” she whispered, her thoughts wandering.

He’d reminded her of an action-movie hero. He hadn’t looked vampire or werewolf, though she would expect as much only because of the crowd with whom she normally hung around. He must have been human, because the others who had fallen at his fist had looked like standard street thugs.

There were times Zoë preferred vampires to humans. At least with vampires she knew where she stood—either as a friend or lunch. Humans were a mixed bag of nothing but misplaced mischief and accidental danger. Humans generally didn’t appeal to her, yet never had one shown her such chivalry. In those moments after she had stumbled onto the fight, she had felt the damsel.

Standing amongst the men, Kaz had been outfitted in a sleek, black leather duster coat and dark clothing. Night shadows had concealed most of his face, save for bulletlike eyes that had homed in to Zoë as if there were no other place he could see. He’d tilted his head, catching the moonlight on his devastating smirk and then had shouted for her to leave. The hero protecting the damsel.

His voice had been rough and deep, yet had eased into Zoë’s pores with a soul-stirring tingle. He’d spoken English, though it had been accented with something other than her native French. German, to guess from his surname Rothstein. His brown eyes had moved over her face, landing on her lips, and then along the scar that curled across one cheek—yet hadn’t lingered there—till finally they’d locked onto her gaze.

If only the moonlight had been stronger, she may have seen much more, and might have gazed for endless hours at the sexy man who had defended her with muscle and might.

The timer dinged and Zoë shot upright, leaving the stake on the floor. The next part of the blend recipe must be enacted immediately.

“Now for the magic.”

She tapped the glass with her matte-black-polished fingernails that were tipped in white. A smidge of secret potion was added to the faery ichor from a long, narrow vial—tap, tap, the iridescent particles fluttered into the alembic—and then she recited the spell that she’d worked for months to perfect after dozens of hours studying the family grimoire.

“Feé substitutuary lente.”

This kind of molecular magic tended to zap her energy. All other magics barely taxed her system, though she did have difficulty wielding any magic in public. Call it a lack of confidence, or never having been taught to use her magic around others.

“Dissimulate,” was the final word.

The ichor in the alembic turned purple and she knew the process had been a success. Now she need only reduce the ichor to dust, package it in vials and hand it over to Mauritius’s courier, who always arrived on Sunday morning, bright and early, despite the fact she was a vampiress.

Reaching for a tray of glass vials, Zoë paused and tilted her head to listen. She eyed Sid. The cat’s ears also perked.

Someone knocking on her front door after midnight?

“Unusual. Absolutely unprecedented, actually.”

Leaving the spell room, she carefully locked it with a snap of her fingers. Sid pussyfooted in her wake down the iron spiral stairs that landed but a few paces from the front door, and assumed his protective stance behind her legs.

Confident of the protective barrier that shielded her threshold from vampires, werewolves and faeries, Zoë gripped the doorknob and opened it to reveal a sexy smile and beaming brown eyes.

Her rescuing knight said, “I’ve come for another kiss.”


Chapter 2

Leather coat draped over one arm, Kaspar—or rather, the man who allowed those he kissed to call him Kaz—stood in her doorway, not crossing the threshold. Zoë could usually feel her wards tingle when an unwanted visitor activated them. Not even a ting in the air. He was human; she was sure of it.

Yet it was well past midnight. She never received such late callers.

“You found me,” she stupidly said, glancing over her shoulder and up the stairs. The dust mix needed to sit for an hour before she reduced it, so she could manage a chat.

He rapped the bright door. “Figured out what cerulean looks like. It’s so bright it glows even in the dark. Nobody could miss it. You going to invite me in?”

“Depends on what you want.”

“I like a cautious woman. Smart. Especially this time of night. I’ve already said what I want. Another kiss. In fact, I figure I should get one kiss for every one of those bastards I laid flat. Four down. Four kisses.”

“You’ve already taken two kisses.”

He stepped up to the threshold, towering over her, but not making her feel small in any way. “Two left.”

And too many ways she imagined those kisses. Long and lush, deep and delving, hot and achy. But she hardly knew the guy.

Zoë leaned up and kissed him quickly. “There’s one.”

“That wasn’t a kiss!”

“You didn’t specify length.”

He beat the door frame with a fist, but as a sign of his own frustration, nothing threatening.

“We’ll call that one half a kiss,” Zoë conceded, because she wasn’t going to deny herself this man’s delicious kisses. She may be a bit of a recluse, but she wasn’t a hermit. And oh, but this felt like some kind of faery tale when the handsome prince showed up to woo the princess with glass slipper in hand.

Not that there was any slipper she could see. What girl could walk on glass, anyway, without breaking it? She preferred to keep bloodshed out of her faery tales.

Zoë crooked her finger, inviting him inside with a silent dare. Her normal cautionary inhibitions slipped away as she stood in Kaz’s intent brown gaze. Sort of brown and gold blended together, she decided of his eye color. Freckled eyes alive with expression. She could stare into them all night long.

Kaz walked her up against the wall, and braced a forearm against it, paralleling her head.

“Your hair is interesting,” he noted in a bemused tone. He swept his gaze down the white streak that spilled from roots to tips in an inch-wide swath.

“Does it bother you?”

“Not at all. It’s pretty to look at. Like your mouth. Your lips are soft and pink and when you dash out the tip of your tongue like that I want to taste it.”

“What’s stopping you?”

Kiss number three landed on her mouth with a sigh and a press of skin to skin, yet it encompassed things about her that felt needy and wanting. Kissing usually happened in the dark, and during a heated race to sex. She rarely enjoyed a kiss merely for the sake of it. And the thought of starting a race felt wrong.

Such luxury he gifted her. And wrapped in a dreamy kind of faery tale she wanted to read all night long.

Inviting him to taste her breaths, Zoë opened her mouth a little wider. Kaz’s tongue explored and caressed hers. Slow, lazy, he moaned as he placed his palm against her back, gently affirming his control.

And then suddenly the kiss was not there. Instead, Kaz beat the wall beside her head with a fist.

Rudely startled from the amazing fall into bliss, Zoë gaped up at the stranger she had foolishly allowed across her threshold.

“There’s another reason I’m here,” he said. Now his look admonished, yet curiously. “About a matter of something gone missing from my, er...person.”

Zoë flashed him her best innocent cat-burglar smile, and followed with a flutter of how-can-you-not-forgive-me lashes tossed in for good measure. “Something you were carrying before the fight?”

“Yes.”

“Whatever it was, you probably dropped it while beating on those idiots.”

“Possibly, but I looked around and couldn’t find the missing item. I’m inclined to believe this a case of sticky fingers.”

“Huh.” Zoë made a show of looking at her fingers. “My fingers are not at all sticky and—” Was that faery dust embedded in the whorls on her fingertips?

“Sparkly?” Kaz noted the shimmer despite the spare light in the hallway.

She rubbed her hands down her pants legs. “You know us women. Always putting sparkly stuff on our faces and skin. Just some glitter.”

“Give me back what you took, Zoë. Please?”

He said it so gently, and yet with a sure tone of command, she simply nodded and pointed over her shoulder.

“Up there?” he asked.

With a guilty shrug, she offered, “Sometimes I can’t help myself. It’s a habit.” It was also fun, daring and the only way she could find a thrill lately.

“I need it back. Can’t buy those things at the supermarket.”

“I’ll uh, go get it. You wait here.”

But he didn’t wait in the foyer, and instead, followed her up the spiral staircase. Zoë ran the steps, beating him to the fuchsia door and turning to put up her palm.

“This is my private—” She couldn’t call it her spell room. Kisses aside, she didn’t know him well enough for that yet. “Uh—study. You can’t go in there. You’ll mess up, uh...like my vibes and stuff. I’ll grab it and come right out.”

There was no belief in the doubting look he gave her. The things she did to protect the magic were very necessary.

She opened the door and slipped inside, locking it behind her as she did. “Just give me a minute to find it!”

The thing she had taken sat on the floor beside her backpack. Too bad she had to return it. Whatever it was, she liked it. And well—it was his. He had held it in his wide, strong hand. She stroked the column, imagining his grip about it, and then her thoughts strolled to Kaz’s fingers stroking her skin. Slow and soft, like his kiss. Yet also needy, as his kiss had proven.

She clutched the metal column to her chest. Could he be the rescuing knight she’d never known she needed? Did she need rescuing? Well, no. She was perfectly fine, not in any danger. But the idea of him, so masculine and take-charge—who would shove that out their front door?

A rap on the door spoke his impatience. If she were going to claim kiss number four, she’d better play nice and give him back his toy. Besides, the clock was ticking. She needed to tend the ichor blend soon.

Slipping out, without opening the door so wide he might glimpse her spell work, Zoë held out the thing with a sheepish grin.

“The tip popped out accidentally. Sorry. Is it some kind of weapon?”

He claimed it with a snatch, and compressing the side paddles, the stake part snapped back inside the column. “Something like that.”

“You always carry such an interesting weapon on you?”

“Always.”

“Have you...ever used it on anyone?”

“Many times.”

So he was more than an innocent stranger who had happened to pick a fight with four idiots. The man knew how to handle a dangerous situation. So much so, he was always armed.

“Are you like some kind of avenging angel who rescues those in need? Have you ever killed anyone with that thing? The point is very sharp. It’s less like a blade than something you would stab—”

He silenced her curiosity with a punishing yet much-desired kiss. Don’t mess with me, the kiss seemed to say, and don’t ask stupid questions. But do let me take what I want.

Zoë was cool with that. Very cool with that.

The man’s hand glided along her jaw, sending titters of heat down her neck and chest where her nipples tightened in a pleasurable squeeze. He dived deep inside her mouth with his tongue, tasting, touching and divining. She gave him all that he wanted, and he wanted a lot.

She knew nothing about Kaspar who liked to be called Kaz by friends and those who tended to kiss him. Save that his mouth knew exactly how to fit against hers for maximum pleasure. And that the heat of his body against hers, so wide, hard and strong, felt like some kind of ridiculous fantasy in which she was granted everything she had ever desired.

It never worked like that in real life. Not even with a healthy dose of magic tossed in for good measure.

But who was she to argue a moment of serendipity? Because truly, the stars had aligned above her home and the clouds were clearing. Never in her life had Zoë felt so connected to a man she didn’t even know. The thought should frighten her, but instead, it made her want to race to the end to get to the happily-ever-after part because she didn’t want to go through all that harrowing middle stuff.

It was always the middle stuff that screwed up the relationship. Secrets were revealed, bad habits discovered, kinky quirks—

Don’t move so quickly forward. Stay in the here and now, Zoë.

And so she would.

Sighing into the kiss, she tilted her body toward Kaz’s aggressive stance and as their hips met, he drew his fingers down her spine, coaxing her even closer with his touch. Chest to chest, she melted against his heat and strength. He made her feel delicate and pretty and so, so desirable.

A girl could become bewitched by such a kiss. And a bewitched witch was certainly a rare thing.

I want to know bewitchment.

Kaz slowly pulled away, holding her gaze as if the connection of their lips could continue in their eyes. As his thumb traced the scar on her cheek, he studied it, but didn’t say anything or ask the usual questions. She didn’t mind answering, but was impressed that he wasn’t so hung up on the outer surface. Or maybe he was being polite.

Finally, he exhaled, stepped back and tucked away the weapon inside his coat.

“Thanks for the kisses. I’ve work to do,” he declared in that deep, commanding tone that cued her to nod and touch her kiss-burnished lips.

He skipped down the stairs, leaving her floating on a euphoric cloud of desire and wonder, and stretching out a proverbial hand for him to return to her arms.

She was on her way to happily ever after. Her rescuing knight needed to get on the same page as her.

Once at the door, Kaz called up, “I’ll be back!”

“Uh...” What to say to make him stay?

After the front door shut, Zoë fisted the air and growled. Way to drop the ball. She’d had him, and then she had not. He’d wandered out as casually and as quickly as he had appeared.

She shifted her body against the spell-room door, bending her legs to squat, and sat with her legs sprawled out across the floor. Sid nuzzled against her thigh, rubbing a kitty hug along her black pants.

She touched her mouth, still warm from Kaz’s remarkable kisses. She could feel him there and imagined the sensation would not soon leave. Not if she fixed it to memory. Memory was a special kind of magic that anyone could access but few could master. The key was in sorting the good memories from the bad and never letting them intertwine.

She had her share of bad memories. A mother gone too soon, a father forced to leave her life, a friend who had once been a tormentor. But some new memories were forming, and those could only be filed under “spectacular.”

Standing on his back legs, Sid nudged his head along her jaw until Zoë patted him and pulled the fat ball of fur onto her lap to snuggle.

“That man certainly knows how to kiss, Sid. And he will be back, because he won’t be able to stop thinking about me. And that’s not magic, that’s just—” she sighed “—wishful thinking.”

Sid agreed with a meow.

And Zoë decided that the bewitchment had commenced.

* * *

Kaz double-stepped it down the sidewalk that paralleled the street before the Moulin Rouge. The red-and-gold neon lights spinning round the iconic mill wheel flashed across the faces of passersby. As he turned to walk along a row of buildings that reflected the pink, green and yellow neon, he spied the informant he had earlier in the day arranged to meet walking across the Boulevard de Clichy.

He knew he was late. He should count his luck the vamp was still in the area.

Hustling and turning the corner by the Magnum club, Kaz gained on the vampire, who strolled down the Rue Lepic, hands in his pockets, oblivious to the stares he received from the passing women dressed for a night of flirtation and fun. Kaz could have called out, but he wasn’t stupid. Shuffling around a couple walking hand in hand, he landed beside the vampire and slowed his stride.

“You’re late,” the vampire said, not glancing aside.

“Apologies. I got sidetracked.”

Sidetracked kissing a gorgeous kleptomaniac. She could roam those sticky fingers all over him so long as she didn’t steal the merchandise.

And why the hell hadn’t he turned tail and run from her arms? He never followed a woman he’d just met around like a puppy dog. That was not his MO. The job always came first.

“Don’t rush off,” he tried. “I need a few minutes of your time.”

The vampire stopped before a black Aston Martin. Kaz eyed the gorgeous vehicle and deeply regretted his decision to remain carless.

“V12 Zagato,” the vamp offered. “Hot off the production line less than a month ago.”

The curves were insane, not to mention the deep color inlaid with mica flecks that captured the glowing neon lights and flashed like some kind of supernatural conveyance.

“That is—was—a sweet ride,” Kaz corrected as his gaze landed on the smashed front quarter panel, and followed the scrape that arced over the wheel well to end in a crunched side mirror.

“Still is sweet,” the vampire offered. “Just a few dents.”

Dents? More like a major crash. Kaz couldn’t believe the tire was still attached to the axle, let alone in the shape of a circle.

“Get in before someone sees me talking to you, hunter.”

Thankful for the invite, Kaz slid inside the car and had to bend his knees and shift a hip to the side to fit properly. He almost reached to adjust the seat back, but a man never touched another man’s car unless he was directed to do so. Folding his hands across his knees and curling his shoulders slightly forward, he decided to mark this particular model off his wish list. Not that he needed a car to get around Paris. The Metro served him just fine. And a hunter who took the time to find a parking spot would never claim a kill.

Before he could ask a question, Kaz suddenly remembered an important detail about this particular vampire.

Twisting a frantic look over his shoulder, he scanned the backseat, down to the floor and then up along the center divider, and somehow managed to check near his feet, though it was difficult to bend too far forward.

“Green Snake is at home,” the vampire provided. “Chill out, man. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of reptiles?”

Kaz dropped his shoulders, yet they remained slightly curled forward in the cozy confines. “I don’t like surprise reptiles, is all.”

The first time he’d met the vampire, a green mamba snake had curled about his ankle as he’d unknowingly sat in the back of a limousine talking about local vampire tribes. Those things were poisonous. Apparently, though, not to vampires.

“So, Vail—”

“No names!”

He met the vampire’s blue gaze, and did not miss the warning glint of fang between his compressed lips.

“Fine. Sorry.”

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t talked to Vaillant before, and had once even had a drink with him at the Lizard Lounge, sans reptiles. Kaz made a premeditated choice to cater to this vampire’s quirks to stay on his good side. Besides, they weren’t all evil.

“So, Mysterious, Dark-Haired Man Who Has Never Taken A Driving Lesson And Who Wants to Give Me Information, what do you have for me?”

Vail tapped the steering wheel with fingers bejeweled in dark metal and diamonds. Black clothed him from boots to slicked-back hair. He was a vampire who had grown up in Faery (not by choice) and had returned to the mortal realm to claim a dysfunctional family (including a werewolf twin brother) and a faery dust addiction. He was supposedly clean now. If anyone had a finger on the pulse of what was going on with vampires and the dust connection, it was Vaillant.

“This dust blend you told me about is very new.”

“Weeks,” Kaz said. “Just hitting the market. Not many know about it.”

“Exactly. Not sure there even is a market for it yet. When I mention the purple stuff fellow vamps give me a wonky look. Though the one vamp who did know what it was called it Magic Dust. And he was anxious for more. Had to beat him off with a stick.”

Yep, that was the way it worked on vampires. Normal faery dust caused instant addiction. This new stuff compounded that addiction with an unreal craving for sparkly stuff. Only, sometimes the sparklies the dust freaks went after were pieces of jewelry attached to innocent humans.

“Magic Dust. Is that what they call it?”

“Yep.”

Kaz hated that the substance carried an appealing name. Of course, that’s how most drugs were named, to attract attention.

“You know it drives vampires crazy for anything that sparkles?”

Vail studied his knuckles, the diamonds glinting. “Nothing wrong with sparkly stuff.”

“Unless it’s wrapped around some human’s neck, and the vampire decides to tear through it—and skin and bones—in an attempt to feed their addiction.”

“You told me about your friends. I’m sorry, man. That’s rough.”

Robert and Ellen Horst had been murdered last week while in Paris on their honeymoon. They’d called the morning of their arrival, hoping to meet Kaz in a café to catch up. Kaz and Robert had both hung around Madame du Monde’s Dance Emporium a decade earlier for reasons they’d kept to themselves.

Kaz had only arrived at the hospital five minutes before Robert had died. His friend had told him the attacker had fangs and had been crazy for his wife’s diamonds and had growled about needing more dust to keep the high. As he’d exhaled his dying breath, Robert’s hand had fallen open to reveal the fang he’d knocked out of his attacker’s jaw as he’d fought for his and his wife’s lives.

That tooth now sat in Kaz’s front pocket.

“I have no clue where it’s coming from,” Vail offered. “None of the known dealers in FaeryTown, that’s for sure. They’re all sanctioned through the higher-ups, if you know what I mean.”

“What does that mean, exactly? Does someone control all sales of faery dust and ichor?”

Kaz hadn’t a clue about illicit drugs sold amongst the paranormal breeds, and the Order certainly hadn’t an interest in it, either.

“Dust and ichor are two different highs, man. Do you even know how it all works?”

“It’s a drug that makes my job a pain in the ass. What more do I need to know?”

Vail sighed and tapped the steering wheel, then turned to him. “So you’ve got faery dust and faery ichor. The dust is easy to obtain, and it gives a quick high. Very addictive. You get dust directly from the faery, but can also do something to the ichor to make it turn to dust. I’m not sure how that works. But it’s dust form. Right?”

Kaz nodded. He understood that much.

“Vamps deal dust. But not ichor. The Sidhe Cortège controls that.”

“Do I want to know what that is?”

“You should. They’re sort of faery mafia that exist only in the mortal realm.”

“Great.” Yet another wrench tossed into his investigation. “So all ichor goes through this cortège?”

Vail nodded. “A vampire can only get ichor by going to FaeryTown and checking into an ichor den. Or he can find a willing faery and bite her. Ichor straight from the vein is amazing. Or it was. I’m clean now, man. And then there’s the ultimate. The Neverland Fix.”

“Explain.”

“That’s when a vampire has sex with a faery—you know when a faery comes they sort of explode dust all over, right?”

He had not known that. Kaz wasn’t sure he’d ever get the image from his brain.

“So if you bite them and suck out their ichor while they are coming in a cloud of dust it’s like Neverland,” Vail said. “Except, you ain’t never coming back from that one. Total oblivion for the vamp. No chance of returning to sanity. But I’ve heard it’s worth it.”

“Is that so?” Kaz eyed his informant. He knew the vampire was a father and had many friends in the paranormal community. But how much was he keeping to himself? Did he have reason to protect those vamps who dealt dust?

“You going to some kind of AA, Dark One?”

Vail nodded. “Don’t worry about me. Addiction is tough. Since I’ve gotten clean, I fight it every day. Good thing I have Lyric. She’s a million times more appealing than ichor. But still...” He heaved out a sigh.

Kaz had never touched drugs or alcohol, himself. Too many bad memories harbored by those illicit substances. Vail’s sigh said so much that didn’t require words.

Kaz understood addiction because his father was an alcoholic. Okay, so he didn’t understand it, but he did know it when it hit him in the face. The bastard was always ready to punch him whenever he got wasted, which had been all the time. Kaz hadn’t seen him in almost fourteen years, and had no desire for a reunion anytime soon.

“Now that I let my mind wander,” Vail started, “there is a vamp chick who slinks about under the radar. Always into something new. Not attached to a particular tribe, though she does tend to date tribe leaders. She deals dust and has been known to do wet work, as well.”

Sex, drugs and murder? Sounded like a piece of work. “Name?”

Vail held up his palm between the two of them. “There are only two or three vamps who have permission to deal dust in this city. Give me your word that this information did not come from me.”

Kaz slapped his hand into Vail’s in a gentleman’s agreement. “You have my word. I know you supply me with information because you care about your breed. You don’t want to see any of them addicted to the stuff.”

“The vampire’s name is Switch,” Vail said. “I don’t know where to find her, only that she moves around. She’s tall and slender. Aggressive, but attractive in a hooker kind of way.”

“Great. That describes half the female vampires in Paris.”

“Yeah, but you should be able to pick her out by her hair. Half black, half pink, like some kind of cotton-candy machine gone over to the dark side.”

A distinguishing hairstyle? Perfect. It would give Kaz a place to start.

“So you know the names of those two or three who sell the dust? They would be the ones giving Switch the work, right?”

“Yes, but...I don’t have names. Isn’t what I’ve already told you enough?”

It would be a start. “Thanks, Vail—er, Dark Stranger. Give my regards to your wife.” He recalled the Order notes he’d reviewed before coming here tonight. “Did she just have a baby?”

“Our second,” Vail offered with a note of pride. “Sweet little girl. I love her, even when she wakes in the middle of the night yowling like a banshee. Yeah, I’ll tell Lyric you said hello. If you need me...I’ll find you.”

“Cool.”

At the thought of a vampire baby, Kaz quelled the shudder that wanted to give his bones a good shake. Then he prayed he wouldn’t have to stake the little flesh pricker someday.

After shaking Vail’s hand, Kaz got out of the car, stroked the smashed front panel and walked away, hands in his coat pockets, without giving the vampire a glance back.

He lived on the left bank, far from the eighteenth arrondissement. Hopping onto the Metro at the Blanche station, he settled in for the ride.

Once home, he activated the inner wards by closing the four sliding locks on his front door. The Order ensured all their knights’ homes were warded against vampires, werewolves and sometimes, if the knight requested it, witches. Between that and some personal wards he’d had tattooed on his body, Kaz felt relatively safe, even knowing the city of millions was populated with tens of thousands of paranormal critters.

Standing before the living room wall, plastered with a large Paris city map, he darted his gaze from the red pins, which indicated the location of tribal nests, to the white— individual vamps, to the few green pins—known wolf packs.

Plucking out a silver pin from the nearby pin box, he poked it in place in the eighteenth arrondissement.

“Zoë,” he muttered. A smile was unstoppable.

* * *

“Will you find the source of the Magic Dust, little one?”

Coyote flinched at Riské’s use of the possessive moniker. Yes, she was small. But she was anything but little.

“It’s tainting our supply,” Riské continued. The faery elder’s feather headdress listed in the summer breeze that always surrounded him, even on brisk winter nights. “The idiot bloodsuckers are selling on our turf. This mortal realm is convoluted with lacking intelligence and those who would sell their very souls for another coin in their pocket.”

“I’ve Whim sniffing out the trail,” she answered, preening her left wing over her shoulder. Living in the mortal realm zapped her vitality, and she was ever concerned about her faded wings. “He’s an excellent tracker.”

“And what about the other one who is often stumbling about in your wake? Ever? Sever?”

“His name is Never. And he does not stumble. He’s an ace marksman. My secret weapon.”

“I thought you were my secret weapon?”

“I am, mon Grand Sidhe,” she said, using the respectful title. Lately, Riské had been ignoring her for his many other consorts. She was fine with that. The sidhe lord was a fickle lover. She preferred those with a bit more devotion— and vita, which could restore the color to her wings that living in the mortal realm had drained. “I suspect the dealer is a vampire.”

“Of course.” He said it as if admonishing her for stating the obvious.

“I don’t want to unsettle the fragile balance we have with the vampire community,” she said.

“See that you do not. But do not allow this one who deems to step on my feet one moment longer of triumph. I will not accept failure from you, Coyote.”

Meaning, he’d strike her dead with a look that could stop her heart if she returned without the vampire’s head. Easy enough. Coyote always got her man. Or vampire. She just had to let loose her hounds, Whim and Never, and follow the trail.


Chapter 3

The knock at the front door was accompanied by a yelp.

Zoë smiled with self-satisfied glee. “I do love a well-tuned vampire ward.”

She grabbed the plastic kid’s lunchbox from the living room table and strode to the door with the usual spring in her step that the yelp always produced. The autumn sky was dark, promising imminent rain. Most vamps could handle the sunlight for a short time, though they did tend to grumble about it whenever anyone would listen.

A flash of pink swept before the narrow window that paralleled each side of her front door.

“Fashion nightmare,” Zoë muttered before she swung open the door to grant her visitor a Cheshire Cat greeting. “You again, and looking so bright and cheery.”

“Witch, your wards hurt.”

“That’s the purpose. You have my phone number. You can call when you’re walking up the sidewalk and I’d meet you at the door.”

The vampiress, tall and lanky, and built like a rock star with a permanent heroin hangover, cocked a hand to one hip, and swept back the pink half of her hair with a tilt of her head. Sunglasses concealed what Zoë guessed was a dagger gaze. She held out a waiting hand.

She was annoying, but also strong, and Zoë had no intention of pissing her off. The woman had visible muscles revealed by a sleeveless plaid shirt spattered with black ink and skulls. She wore enough silver jewelry to kill a werewolf just by being in his vicinity. And besides the head of hair that was half fluorescent pink and half Hell black, she sported a chain of earrings along each ear, henna tattoos all over her arms, a thick silver ring that looked like—and probably was—brass knuckles, and a visible knife blade sticking out her hip pocket.

Despite her many vampire friends, this one wasn’t a vampire Zoë wanted to meet in a dark alley anytime soon.

Passing the lunchbox over the threshold, far enough to cross over the wards, Zoë held it there until the vampiress snatched it. Then she reached behind her leg and wheeled around one of those small, hard case travel suitcases. It was black, save for the white outline of Hello Kitty with a bright pink bow cocked above one ear. The vampire was into the iconic cat for reasons Zoë would not question.

“What’s that for?” Zoë asked. “You going on vacation?”

“It’s for you. The big guy wants more next pickup.”

“More?”

“Dust. He said business is booming.”

“Business? Well, that’s...”

Awesome that her blend was being so well received. But that much more? The suitcase was six times the size of the lunchbox. She’d have to work on the blend every day until the next pickup.

Business? She’d thought Mauritius was distributing her blend free of charge. Well, perhaps he had to charge a small price to cover expenses. Ichor wasn’t free—at least not in the form she required—and he did pay her for her work.

“There’s cash inside to cover any additional expenses you might incur,” the vampiress said. “Can I tell him you’re on board?”

“Uh...” She’d hate to disappoint. And she had developed an amazing blend. It felt good to be in demand. For once in her life, Zoë had accomplished something important. Her father would be proud. “Certainly. I, uh, I’ve never made such a large batch. But I’ll give it a try.”

“You do that. Same time next week. I’d say it’s been a pleasure, witch, but that would be a lie.”

Lunchbox tucked under an arm, the vampiress strolled down the sidewalk and across the street toward the waiting car. She always arrived via the backseat of a fancy limo. Zoë didn’t know her name. Only that she truly needed a stylist, because with a little work—and heavy metal removal—the woman could be stunning.

“Vampires,” she muttered.

But she didn’t follow with a scathing remark. She had many vampire friends. The very reason she made these Sunday morning meetings was for vampires.

“They need me. And I won’t disappoint.”

* * *

The Order of the Stake headquarters was situated in an old cathedral that offered tours of the nave during the week to tourists who had no clue a secret order devoted to extinguishing vampires existed just beneath their footsteps. An Order employee had been hired specifically for the tours and to handle the affairs topside.

While the Order dated back four centuries to inception, this building had been in use for a little over two centuries, and they’d had no problems with civilians discovering the truth bustling about beneath the stone floors.

Kaz swiped his key card and entered a secret door a few buildings down from the cathedral. He descended the stairs to the underground passageway that led to the main Order rooms.

It always gave him a shiver as he passed through the limestone passageway. It was cold down here and smelled like death, always reminding him of the labyrinthine network that ran beneath all of Paris. Hundreds of miles of tunnels that plunged down as far as seven stories. So much took place beneath the city proper it would stun, bemuse and even frighten most mortals.

Here on the lower level were Rook’s office, a gym and training area and lockers. As well, the research lab offered computers that linked other worldwide Order posts with a massive database of the paranormal breeds. While vampires were their focus, they did like to keep tabs on other breeds, because interaction often led to discovery.

The lab was quiet today. Kaz usually only ran into Tor down here. The Order’s spin master did a lot of research because his job required he know the breeds inside and out—as well as how their legend and myth had been formed in the minds of the mortals. Turning truth back into myth was a tricky job, but someone had to do it to protect the integrity of the organization.

The Mac computer silently flashed a screensaver of circles raked into a Zen sand garden. Kaz entered his password and opened the database. He also connected his cell phone because the program would automatically update his mobile files and kill stats. He loved technology, and his phone was also hooked up to a funky security system for his home, and everything was Wi-Fi.

In seconds he found a file on Switch that had been updated within the past few years. A vampire created roughly eight years ago, give or take a few months. Pre-vampirism, Switch had been known to work odd jobs, such as auto mechanic, tour barge operator and even a stint at the Moulin Rouge as a burlesque dancer. Once inducted into the league of longtooths, she’d never officially joined a tribe, but preferred to hang with some of the local tribes for months at a time before going off on her own again.

Vail had mentioned something about her hooking up with tribe leaders.

“The chick goes for the guy in charge. She’s not stupid,” Kaz muttered as he read further.

She was a bruiser and known to cause problems. No human losses had been associated with her vampiric activity—a good thing. Kaz did not like to kill females, but he would, if necessary. Yet Vail had also mentioned she did wet work. Did she stalk her own breed? Maybe she had a thing for taking out werewolves? The two breeds, though supposedly in accord with one another, could never shrug off their ingrained hatreds.

Werewolves were a breed Kaz avoided with a passion. When they shifted to their werewolf shape, he ran in the opposite direction. Most smart—and still breathing—knights did.

A few final notes detailed her possible age at mid-twenties. Switch was most often found on the right bank, sixteenth through eighteenth arrondissements, so he assumed she must also live in that area.

Zoë lived in the eighteenth. Too close to the area he’d targeted for investigation.

Kaz sat back, closing his eyes from the screen strain, and smiled. “Cerulean,” he whispered. “Who’da thought I’d like that color?”

His thoughts wandered, and the memory of Zoë’s stunningly intense kisses broadened his smile. Zoë with the bright blue eyes that seemed to look for things inside him even he wasn’t aware existed. Zoë with the mysterious scar dashing her cheek, which didn’t lessen her appeal, but did make him want to learn how it had happened so he could crush the offender’s skull. Ex-boyfriend? He hoped not. Maybe it had been a car accident?

Scars were plenty in his world; that was for sure. Kaz bore his own inner scars, and a few on the surface. He could fight vampires fist to fist and win, but a well-matched fight usually ended in a new battle scar. And a pile of ash. His kill count was high, and would remain so, because the damned vamps kept making more.

He wondered if Zoë was aware of the paranormal world that existed around her, and then decided she was lucky to remain naive. Good thing he’d been able to avoid staking the vamps while she had been watching last night. He would have hated to introduce her to all things fanged and vicious in such an abrupt manner.

Despite every molecule in his being that warned how difficult it was for him to commit to any kind of relationship, he definitely wanted to see her again. Because man could not survive by the fight alone. He needed kisses, and skin contact and all that messy, exciting stuff involved with sex.

And how could the rescuing knight not return for the damsel?

Yet could he manage it without bringing along the danger of the world he lived in?

“Rothstein.”

He hadn’t heard Rook enter the lab, and stood quickly to face his supervisor. Initially his teacher, Rook had also become Kaz’s mentor over the years. The man had a way about him. Stealthy and silent as the wind, Rook was a master of all martial arts. After Kaz had earned his trust and a bed in the Order’s broom closet to sleep after a long, grueling day of training, Rook had trained Kaz for a year before he’d been knighted by the founder, King, and officially accepted into the Order. At seventeen, Kaz had been the youngest knight to take vows.

Live to serve. Serve until death. Die fighting. Words he lived by.

“Afternoon, Rook.” The name was a moniker, he knew, and Kaz had no curiosity about his real name. In a job like this, a man had to protect himself with every measure available.

Rook leaned in and read the computer screen. “What’s she up to? Is Switch involved in the faery-dust incident?”

“Possibly. It’s a lead my informant gave me.”

“She’s all sorts of suspicious, but I’d never task her with human murders. Werewolves, on the other hand...”

That answered Kaz’s suspicion about what sort of wet work the vampiress did.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about something since assigning you this job,” Rook said. “If this new blend of faery dust—”

“They’re calling it Magic Dust.”

“Is that so? Huh. Well, if it is making vampires go after one another, maybe we should stand back and let them at it. That solves our problem, doesn’t it?”

“But that’s the thing. The longtooths aren’t killing one another for this new blend. It’s different than the usual stuff. It—I don’t know—it won’t let them go. It’s as if it builds up in their system and never shuts off, which compels them to seek more of the dust.”

“Like meth,” Rook commented.

“Yes.” Kaz had researched methamphetamine just days ago. “The drug turns on the dopamine in the brain and never shuts it off. It’s like an overflowing faucet. Unfortunately, vampires on this stuff go ape-shit for anything sparkly, thinking it’s faery dust. They murdered my friends, Rook. I will make it stop.”

Rook crossed his arms over his chest, an uncharacteristic move. He was always on the alert, hands free at his sides, prepared. He shook his head. “Family and friends are never safe once ensconced in your world.”

He knew that. And that was the toughest pill to swallow.

“Don’t let sorrow for your friends jeopardize your focus out in the field, Kaspar.”

Kaz lifted his chin.

“You want revenge for the death of your friends? I gave it to you with this assignment. But first and foremost, we need to get to the core of the operation and find the origin of this insipid drug.”

“I will do that.”

“Not if you take out the vampire who killed your friends in a blind rage. Keep your wits about you, man. You’ll need him to lead you to the operation.”

“I’m aware of that, and intend to do just that.”

The knights vowed only to slay those vamps that presented a clear threat to humans. Of course, each knight had his own scale of gauging threat level. Kaz counted the vampire lethal when he killed, and not before then. The vampire who had killed his friends was still out there. And he had only one fang. That should go a long way in identifying his perp.

“Once this Magic Dust circulates and becomes easy to obtain,” Kaz said, “half the vampire population in Paris could flip out.”

Rook sighed and tapped the computer screen. “And you think Switch can lead you to the source? She’s a hard one.”

“So it seems. But it’s the best lead I’ve got.”

“Don’t let this become a war. The last thing the Order needs is a human to see the veil pulled aside and witness hunters staking vampires.”

As had almost happened the other night when Zoë had stumbled onto the slaying.

“Make it quick, clean and quiet, Rothstein.”

“I will.”

“Keep me apprised,” Rook said, and he walked out, leaving the lab door open.

Kaz reread the info on Switch. There were a few details that would aid him in overpowering her. One being that it was believed a vamp from the Anakim tribe had created her (though that information was only hearsay). That tribe of vampires was not immune to sunlight.

Sunset would be the optimal time to go looking for her.

* * *

Walking home from the grocery store, Zoë inhaled the evening air. She loved crisp, cool autumn. In this kind of weather she often wore ankle boots and tweed slacks and a snuggly, solid-colored sweater, along with her mother’s diamond pendant at her neck. Classic and cozy.

In her recyclable bag, fresh veggies nestled against a crusty baguette. The celery, leeks and potatoes would make a nice stew that should last her—and Sid—a few days. Now that she needed to increase production for her buyer, she would be working nights through the week.

Now, if only Luc would give her a call. She’d stopped by his apartment last week, but no one was home. She felt sure it was tough getting over a broken engagement, but to fall victim to such an addictive drug as faery dust? She’d thought Luc stronger than that, but then again, she knew he had a dark side that sometimes lured him to do things out of character. Best to give him the distance his very soul must require.

Turning the corner toward her house, she passed by the narrow alley that was heaped with the neighbor’s discarded, bent-iron bed frame. Kicking the fallen leaves, she delighted in the schushing chorus that responded.

Grunts echoed from down the cobbled alleyway, and she paused, stepping back beside a shed wall so as not to be seen as she peeked around the corner of the building.

About fifty yards away, three men and one woman stood over a fallen man. In seconds the man who had been prone leaped to his feet and swiped a threatening weapon toward his attackers. With each movement, the tails of his long, black leather coat dusted the air like bat wings.

Clinging to the rough brick, Zoë recognized one of the attackers. The vampiress with the bright pink hair—the very vampire she had hoped to never meet in a dark alley. She stood flanked by two others to her right and one to her left.

The other man, the object of the vampires’ scorn, was human. She recognized him, as well.

“Kaz,” she whispered, then checked herself to be sure she’d not spoken too loudly.

Why was he standing up to four vampires? And doing an excellent job of it, since he wasn’t bleeding or dead.

Yet.

Did the man pick a fight wherever he went? He’d easily taken down four men the previous night. But tonight’s opponents were vampires. They had double, or even triple the strength of the strongest human man, not to mention a supernatural agility and speed.

The vampiress chuckled and checked Kaz with an expert kick, which landed her high-heeled boot aside his jaw. Her henchmen followed closely with more brutal punishment. None went at Kaz alone; they attacked en masse. One wrenched Kaz’s arm around behind his back, which caused Kaz to cry out in pain.

Kaz fell to his knees. The guy was outnumbered.

“I just want to talk,” he managed, then spat blood to the side. “We don’t need to do this. I made no move to harm you or your buddies.”

Narrowing her gaze, Zoë saw that the weapon he held in his free hand was a stake. The very stake she’d stolen from him? How many people carried stakes on them unless they expected to get into a tussle with a vampire?

Why hadn’t she considered the possibility he was a hunter last night?

You were too googly-eyed at the time, remember?

Right. Rushing head-on into happily ever after and kicking her glass slippers aside with abandon.

A kick to Kaz’s back flattened him. His head was crunched under one of the vampiress’s boot heels, and blood sputtered from his mouth.

Zoë cringed. The urge to rush for him, to help him in some way, had her teetering on the balls of her feet—but she wasn’t stupid. If Kaz couldn’t stand against the vampires, what could one feeble witch do but make it ten times worse?

From where she stood, she could fling some magic at them, but again, that would draw unnecessary attention to her. And she couldn’t feel the magic that normally hummed at the tips of her fingers because right now she was anxious. She could never access her magic unless she was calm.

“Don’t kill him,” she muttered as the female bent and wrenched up Kaz’s head by a hank of his hair.

Fangs exposed, the vampiress lunged for Kaz’s neck, yet the tips of those fangs did not prick skin. Releasing Kaz as if electrocuted, the vampiress jumped back, cursed and smacked a fist into her palm as she again swore aggressively.

Spitting on the fallen man, whose eyelids fluttered, the vampiress hissed something Zoë could not hear. Then she marched off, her henchmen in tow.

They didn’t intend to kill him? Rarely did a vampire let a human go free without, at least, a bite. And all encounters were usually removed from the human’s mind with persuasion, a means to enthrall the memory from their minds. It hadn’t appeared as if any of the vampires had taken the time to enthrall Kaz.

Zoë waited until the vampires were out of sight, then dashed down the alley and squatted beside the fallen man. He bled from his mouth, ear and his split knuckles. Apparently, he’d gotten in a few good punches.

The stake he’d wielded lay beside his head. Acting on some sort of emergency autopilot, she shoved the stake inside his inner coat pocket, then lifted him by the shoulders. Her heel slipped on the leaf-strewn cobbles as her struggles nearly toppled her. He was heavy, and he wasn’t helping her much because he was bleary. Zoë noticed his coat collar was edged with blades. She hadn’t noticed them the other night. Strange fashion statement. She had to be careful not to get cut.

“You need to get out of here before they come back. I don’t know why she didn’t bite you. You’re one lucky guy. Come on. I’m going to help you to stand, but you’re a big guy. You gotta do some work, too. Kaz?”

With a mumbling grunt, he struggled to his feet as if drunk. She suspected that the bruise on his temple had him dancing in and out of consciousness. But he managed to hook an arm over her shoulder and stumbled along beside her. She had to abandon the grocery bag. With luck, she could run back to get it before someone nabbed it or a rat found the booty.

Zoë led him toward her home, maneuvered him through the door and deposited him on the couch in the living room. It took some delicate finessing to get the coat off his shoulders without cutting herself. His black T-shirt had torn to reveal a monstrous bruise below his ribs and along the side of his torso. A kidney shot. That one must have hurt like a mother.

“You’re going to need a magical touch,” she said. “Fortunate for you, I can help you with that.”

She stood over him, spread her feet and smacked her palms together. Rubbing them slowly to heat her palms, she recited a healing spell, closing her eyes and focusing on the resonation of her voice as it touched the air. The healing she performed went beyond herbs and potions that most Light witches used. Her father had taught her this magic, and she used it in all aspects of her magical needs.

Words fading, but sound rising, she hummed deep in her throat, centering the vibrations in her chest as she laid her hands over Kaz’s body.

At what she knew was an electrifying touch, Kaz’s chest pulsed upward and his arms flailed. Alert, he moaned, looked down over what she was doing, then, still discombobulated, settled back into the couch. Zoë spread her palms over his chest and shoulders and down his arms and hands, humming constantly to maintain the magic’s resonance. At his ribs, she concentrated the healing vibrations.

Sensing the shock of her magic as it permeated his skin, the man groaned again.

The healing had been laid upon flesh and bone. Now, to make it permeate. Rubbing her palms together again, she summoned a soothing numbness spell to tender his pains. Blowing the visible white mist toward his wounds, she noted that he blinked and opened his eyes.

The man saw the magic, and muttered, “Y-you’re a witch?”

“Yes.”

“Witches creep me out.” And he passed out.

“Is that so?” Zoë righted, hands on her hips. “Well, this creepy witch just reduced your healing time from a week to less than half a day. Ungrateful bit of...”

She sighed. It was bad karma to be angry with someone who hadn’t asked for it. He probably wasn’t aware of what he had said. Pain often blurred rationality. She was thankful he was here, and not in the alley bleeding out, an open buffet for another vampire to come and snack on him.

But now a new problem had arisen. She may very possibly be harboring a hunter in her home. And for a witch who was friends with vampires, that was not a good thing.


Chapter 4

Kaz came to with a snort. Blinking his eyes, he squinted. Hmm, the ceiling was too high. The cloying scent of oranges and cinnamon concerned him, as well. His apartment usually smelled like the fake pine stuff the cleaning lady used during her monthly visits. And the couch he laid on felt hard and militant, not soft and lumpy like his.

Where was he?

He sat up abruptly, slapping a palm to his side where an ache pulled at his muscles and prodded his ribs. Curiously, that didn’t hurt as much as he expected it should.

His shirt was off, and he poked at his side. One of the vamps had shanked him in the ribs with a steel-toed boot. The blow had battered his kidney, dizzied his senses and taken the fight from him. Yet why was he not doubled with pain right now?

Rarely was he bested by his opponents. Four vampires? No problem. And he’d thought he’d had an advantage over Switch, finding her as the sun was setting and catching her not at full strength. Not true at all. She hadn’t been weak or seemingly fearful of the sun. And she’d had her henchmen, who hadn’t fought fairly, going at him all at once.

Stroking his fingertips along his neck, he searched for the inevitable wound, but his skin was smooth, save for the two-day stubble that reminded him he needed to shave. No bites? He’d almost forgotten. He wore a ward against vampires behind his ear. Whew.

Suddenly, Kaz’s vision landed on something soft and blue. Ruffles. The blue fabric danced around the hem of a black, pleated, wool skirt that stopped just above a pair of shapely knees. And higher, the narrow waist of that same black wool led up to a tiny blue bow centered between breasts that rose in soft mounds from the low neckline.

Mmm, now that looked like something that would eradicate the pain, if only he could touch...

Zoë’s hair swished to one side as she tilted her head and flashed him a bright smile. “Rise and shine, Kaz. I have breakfast.”

Breakfast? He had just been fighting.... But the room was light. Had he slept here on Zoë’s couch all night?

“Chia pudding and blueberries.”

She placed a bright yellow pottery bowl in one of his hands and held out a spoon, which he took without averting his eyes from her too sunny smile. Plucking out a blueberry from the bowl, she held it to his lips and, still trapped in a worshipful daze, Kaz opened his mouth to accept the offering.

Sweetness gushed across his tongue, even as he puzzled over the situation. As well, sweetness stood over him like some kind of Nightingale nurse rocking the schoolgirl look. What a sight to wake to. Unexpected, but he’d take it over what might have happened had he been left to lie in the alley all night.

Had he walked here on his own? He couldn’t recall much after taking the kidney punch. Had there been white smoke and chanting involved?

“They’re fresh.” She tapped the bowl. “I picked them this morning.”

Zoë sat on the coffee table before the couch. Her eyes were brighter than the sky after a summer rain, and her pink smile looked almost sneaky. Or was she sizing him up, trying to figure what next she’d steal from him?

He wondered where his stake was, and if he should search her. Not a bad idea, running his hands over those soft swells, emphasized by that tiny blue ribbon. Her breasts looked so full and firm. Maybe if he sort of fell forward and collapsed against her and nuzzled his face against them...

Whew! Kaz shook his head. Apparently, he still didn’t have his wits about him.

His fingers conformed about the warm bowl but he had no appetite for food, only a strange spinning at the fore of his brain, and a growing curiosity. “How did I get here?”

“You don’t remember?” He liked the husky edge to her voice. Bedroom sexy, but smart at the same time. “You’ve slept all night. I watched the vampires attack you in the alley. Since my place was close, I helped you walk here. How’s your side?”

She’d witnessed him take that hellacious beating? Way to go, hunter. Good thing he hadn’t had the opportunity to stake any of them. He was slacking. And why was that?

Because a sexy mouth and a pair of enticing breasts kept luring him back to this woman who felt right. And what was wrong with that?

He eased a couple fingers along his torso. “Doesn’t hurt as much as I think it should. I took a punishing shot to the kidney. Normally, I could have held my own against four miserable—er...”

“Vampires?” she offered sweetly. “I’m sure you could have,” she said with a bit too much forced reassurance.

“Vampires? Come on. You’ve been watching too much TV.”

“You don’t have to put on an act for me, Kaz. I could plainly see they were vampires. The pink-haired one tried to bite you, but she stopped before sinking in her fangs. Weird. Most vamps would never pass up a free meal like they did you.”

Kaz’s jaw dropped open. Bloody hell, the woman knew too much. And he was damned if he didn’t wish for some kind of persuasion like the vampires used so he could take that memory from her mind.

“You can sit up with little pain because of the magic,” Zoë said. “It’s a healing spell. Speeds up the healing process remarkably. Another two or three hours and you should be good as new.”

Magic? Kaz now remembered bits and pieces of last night. Something about her chanting a spell as he’d groaned deliriously. Her hands had moved over his skin as if they were heated instruments designed to soothe and suck out the pain. He’d seen a white mist float before him, and had known it was magic, had just known.

“You’re a witch.”

“Aren’t you perceptive.”

Her snark didn’t rile him. He could deal with anything a female put to him. Except, apparently, three surprise henchmen. Damn, he should have had those vamps last night. But he hadn’t wanted to use the stake when his only intention had been to talk and get information. That decision may have proven a mistake.

Another blueberry plucked from the bowl was placed at his mouth, and Kaz dutifully ate the juicy offering.

“And you are some kind of vampire hunter, yes?” Zoë blinked sweetly, awaiting his answer with wondering blue eyes.

He hadn’t wanted to reveal himself like this. A knight was more discreet. But she couldn’t have pinned him as a knight from the Order of the Stake, so that important detail was still a secret.

“Something like that,” Kaz replied.

He glanced to the table. Beside Zoë’s thigh lay his leather coat, folded in half, and on top of that lay the titanium stake. Enough damning evidence right there. But she’d already held the stake in hand and she hadn’t seemed to figure him out then.

“What’s that?” She nodded toward his shoulder.

Kaz slapped a hand over the brand he’d received upon taking vows with the Order. “Just a teenage thing. You know, crazy dare. Something like that.”

“Uh-huh,” she uttered, tons of disbelief dripping from the nonwords.

“You know too much,” he said.

“I know as much as any other paranormal breed should know about the world and all its wonders.”

Kaz sighed and shook his head. She was a freaking witch. That put a new spin on the situation.

“You didn’t kill the vampires. Interesting,” she noted.

Kaz licked his lips. Her lips were the color of raspberries. Kissable, despite the fact she was a witch.

“From where I was standing, it appeared as if you didn’t even try to stake your opponents. You were defending yourself, yet were unwilling to make a kill.”

“There was no need to slay them. I only take out those who harm humans. And I only wanted to talk. Unfortunately, vamps don’t like talking to hunters. So you’re a witch?”

She placed a hand over his, which still clutched the spoon, on his thigh. “We’re talking about you now, Kaz. We’ll get to me later.”

Something about her touch baffled him. And then it did not. He couldn’t remember when he’d last been touched with such kindness. And that scared the hell out of him.

“So,” she said, “what did you want to talk to the vampires about?”

“Can’t tell you that.”

“Secret hunter stuff?” She winked and those long, dark lashes devastated his need to remain unaffected by her sensual allure. And that annoyed him. Because she was forcing business to merge with pleasure and he didn’t like to do that. It never ended well.

“I’ll give you that,” she said. “I suppose hunters have to be all secretive to get the job done. Like Batman.”

Batman? “I don’t have a cape.”

“Too bad. I bet you could work the cowl-and-cape look with that handsome square jaw. The stubble is sexy, you know.”

A flutter of those lashes and he wanted to grab the woman and kiss her soundly. Wrap her in his arms and crush her body against his. And taste her, lick her everywhere, until he memorized her flavor.

“So I creep you out, eh?” she asked suddenly.

“Huh?”

Zoë took the spoon from him, dipped it in the weird gray pudding stuff, and lifted it to his mouth. Kaz absently opened his mouth and let her feed him. A blueberry burst on his tongue.

“Last night when I was invoking the healing spell you said witches creep you out.” She spooned him another bite. “And I assume, since I am a witch, that included me.”

“No, you could never— I didn’t mean—” He pushed away another spoonful. Stuff was...weird. And he was sitting here, being fed by a witch. “Well, hell. You’re all kinds of surprises this morning, aren’t you?”

He wasn’t going to get into this argument with her. Witches were not his favorite creatures. Something about them did creep him out, but what was it? He couldn’t recall the exact reason for his heebie-jeebies.

Kaz grabbed the spoon from Zoë, dropped it in the bowl and shoved it toward her.

“You need to eat. Build up your strength.”

“I need to leave.”

“Not for another few hours. I want to keep you here until I know the spell has worked.”

“I’m fine.” He pushed up and swung his legs over the side of the couch. His brain wobbled inside his skull, and briefly, he saw two witches sitting before him. “Why do I feel so woozy?”

“The spell is rushing through your system, doing its thing. It’ll require all bits and pieces of you to work cohesively to heal the damaged parts. So you won’t feel right until it’s completed. Lie back.” She shoved the bowl into his hands. “And finish your pudding.”

She stood. Kaz’s eyes veered directly to those blue ruffles above her knees. A dash of his tongue—right there—would taste the curve behind her knee, and he knew the flavor would satisfy him like no bowl of goopy gray stuff ever could.

“When you feel less dizzy, I’ve set out some towels in the bathroom. I’m washing your shirt right now. It was spattered with blood—probably your own. I could clean your pants...?”

“They’re fine,” he said quickly of his leather pants.

“You sure? I won’t look.”

The situation was getting intimate. Fast. And what was wrong with that?

You don’t do the intimate with someone you hardly know. You screw them and leave. You know this woman. It’s too late for a quickie, never see you again, sweetie.

She’d already nestled her ribbons and raspberry lips into a place in his brain. Good luck getting her out, buddy.

She turned and strode out of the living room.

“You don’t creep me out, Zoë.” He whispered the words as his brain fogged and his heavy eyelids fell shut. His grip softened about the pottery bowl.

“Pretty...” was the last word he could manage before surrendering to his body’s need to shut down while the spell worked to heal his wounds.

* * *

Zoë smiled to herself as she moved the clothes from the washer into the dryer. Pretty, eh? The man hadn’t been all there in the head when he’d muttered that. As he hadn’t been in full grasp of his senses when he’d muttered about creepy witches.

She hoped.

The blood had come out of his black shirt thanks to her homemade herbal detergent with an extra touch of earth magic. She tossed it into the dryer and sprinkled in some cloves to imbue a pleasing scent into the fabric, though she was a little sad she’d washed away the leather-and-licorice scent from his shirt. It still lingered on his skin, though. Goddess, but the man smelled like a treat.

But she had much better things to do than household chores and tending the sick, no matter how delicious the patient smelled. A whole lot of faery ichor needed processing and her time was valuable. But she couldn’t work while the hunter was in her house because that might tempt him to climb the stairs to see what she was doing. Her work wasn’t a secret. She just liked to keep her spell room sacred and never allowed others inside.

“Protect the magic,” she muttered. “Always and ever.”

Her parents had taught her that. One slip on her father’s part had branded him warlock. It was a hard life to live in the shadows with few friends, but there were days Zoë suspected her father preferred such a life. He’d always been quiet, almost to the point of reclusive.

As she wandered into the kitchen, curiosity over Kaz’s encounter with the vampires last night crept up on her. If he’d no intention of killing them, and had only wanted to talk with them, she wanted to know why. Because the pink-haired vampiress was involved in her life in an important way.

Had Kaz’s curiosity anything to do with something “Pink” had done?

“Couldn’t be related to me,” she muttered, while setting the breakfast dishes in the sink. “I hope not.” She and Pink had no relationship whatsoever; only business connected them. “I’m doing nothing wrong,” she said with a lift of her chin. “And hunters don’t involve themselves in the kind of stuff I’m working on, anyway. Do they?”

There would be no need to. Why, the hunter should appreciate her efforts.

She heard the shower running. The image of Kaz in the buff popped into her thoughts. Now, that would be a beautiful sight to take in. The way his eyes had danced up her legs and to her breasts after he’d first woken had made her feel as if he were drawing his fingers along her skin. Slowly, lingering, feeling out the curves on her body. And she’d felt every long gaze seep through her pores.

She smiled at the delicious notion that he had been assessing her charms. In that moment of assessment, she had wanted to kiss him, but he’d been out of sorts. Probably she misunderstood his interest in her as woozy discombobulation produced by the spell surging through his system.

She was rushing toward happily ever after and wasn’t even sure the man was on the same page. Well, of course he wasn’t. They’d only just met. But his kisses had definitely turned a few of her pages.

She placed the clean plates on the drying rack. She couldn’t condone anyone causing harm to another living being. Not unless it was justified. If a vampire had harmed a human, or even killed them, then yes, she had no problem with a hunter ending their life. But not if the vamp was merely drinking from humans to survive—as they must do, for cold blood from blood bags did not sustain life. If they did only that, never taking too much, and leaving the victim enthralled in a sensual swoon, then hell no, she would never stand for a hunter thinking he had the right to end that vampire’s life.

Kaz was not the sort to irrationally take another’s life. She sensed that. He wore honor like a flag, though he didn’t wave it blatantly about as if he needed the accolades for his bravery. He’d only wanted to talk to the vampires last night. And she had plainly seen he had done his best not to harm them. To his detriment.

“I feel one hundred percent better.”

Kaz strolled into the kitchen, dark leather pants low on his hips and droplets of water still glistening on his broad, wide shoulders. His short, wet hair was tousled this way and that, and where there had been bruises last night on his chest, ribs, jaw and temple, now there were none, save the fading mark over his kidney.

She studied the raised scar on his shoulder. It looked like a brand, some sort of symbol. Where had she seen it before? Recently. He’d gotten it when he was a teenager? The things kids did when they were drunk.

“How does your side feel?” she asked. “That was an awful injury.”

“It’s still tender, but I’m good to go. You have my shirt?”

“Another half an hour for the dryer cycle to finish. Let’s sit.” She strolled into the living room and sat, patting the couch beside her. “If it’s still tender, I want you to relax until my magic has completed its work.”

“It was a healing spell, eh?” he asked. “You witches are into that kind of stuff? Healing?”

She noticed his gaze strayed to her cheek, and the scar, and could read his unspoken thoughts. “Witches are enlightened beings. We’re all about resonance, harmonics and frequency. As is the body both mortals and immortals inhabit.”

Zoë again patted the couch.

With a sigh, he sat next to her, stretching his arms across the back. Zoë wanted to snuggle against him and draw in his darkly sweet scent, but, sensing she may not have judged him correctly for his comment about creepy witches, she sat forward, elbows on her knees, and twisted her head to the side to eye him.

“The paranormal breeds tend to heal instantly,” she said, “or very close to that. Humans, on the other hand, take a lot longer. Without my magic you would have been swollen and groaning this morning.”

“Whatever you did, I appreciate it. You’re not at all creepy.”

She smiled and that summoned a smile on his lips, which were oh so thick, and his teeth gleamed like some kind of movie star.

Kissable was the word at the tip of her tongue, but Zoë feigned disinterest.

“You must have encountered a creepy witch at some time?” she asked.

“When I got this.” He tilted his head to reveal a curved tattoo behind his ear half covered by his hair.

Zoë inspected what looked like black tribal markings about an inch long and as wide as her finger. “Is that a spell tattoo?”

He nodded. “Keeps vamps from biting me. Not sure how it works, only that it does. Comes in handy in my line of work.”

“I imagine so. The only witch who does spell tattoos is—”

“Sayne,” he offered. “And if you don’t agree that dude is creepy, well then...”

Sayne, an ink witch who had no known home and traveled the world, inked spell tattoos. He was known to be quiet and respectful and very wise. But as for creepy? Yes, she had to concede he was, for the witch’s entire body was covered in tattoos. His face looked like a skull with black ink hollowing his eye sockets, and a partial brain exposed as if the top of his skull had been sawn off. The one time she’d met him, she’d been distracted by the inked image of a corpse worm crawling across that exposed brain.

“He is creepy, but kind,” Zoë said.

“Apparently, I’m only one of two humans the witch has ever agreed to do a tat for.”

“You must have charmed him.”

“Either that or the thick stack of cash I whipped out had something to do with it.”

“I’m glad you have the tattoo. Had one of them bitten you last night I might have had to rush out to save you. I wanted to fling some magic at them, but it tends to be less than reliable when I’m under stress.”

“That would not have been smart. I held my own. Mostly. I’m a little embarrassed you witnessed what is a rarity for me.”

“A rarity?”

“Getting my ass kicked.”

“Your ass is fine.” At least it looked well and fine in those snug jeans he wore. “It’s your kidney that took the licking. If I hadn’t been there you might have bled out in the alley.”

The man suddenly sat upright, puffing up his chest. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say bled out. I might have lain there in pain awhile, but eventually I would have pulled myself up and staggered home.”

“But you prefer that I decided to toss in a little magical intervention?”

“Can’t deny your touch made me feel better.” His fingers stroked her leg and landed on the ruffle above her knee. “Pretty.”

He’d said the same about her earlier. She threaded her fingers through his and he turned his up to clasp within hers. Zoë felt a grin start deep in her soul. Holding hands was so simple a connection. Yet it quickened her heartbeat and warmed her skin.

“Uh, I should...” She gripped his hand tighter when she sensed he wanted to tug away. “...get going soon.”

Why was he so insistent upon leaving? “Wait for your shirt to finish drying. Just a few more minutes.”

“Right.” He slapped a hand to his bare chest as if he’d forgotten he was half-naked.

Zoë had not.

She leaned across him to check his side. The bruising was almost gone. Take that, witches who daren’t dip into molecular magic. Their healing touch would take much longer.

“Looks better,” she said.

Their faces were close. She could feel his breath mingle with hers. And the only thing that could happen, did. They connected in a rush of need and desire. Spreading her hand across his chest, Zoë felt the steady pulse of his heartbeat as she deepened the kiss, wanting to take all of him into her being as if he were a new kind of magic she needed to study.

He pulled her closer, slipping a hand around the back of her head and into her hair. The possessive move sent a giddy thrill through Zoë’s system. She liked the way he took control, coaxing, as if the only place she belonged was against him.

Her body moved of its own volition, one leg sliding across his lap, until she straddled him. Nibbling his thick lower lip, she smiled against his mouth and his return smile made her giggle.

But he suddenly bracketed her face and pulled from the kiss, his eyes searching hers. “This changes things,” he said.

“What? This? You mean us this? Are we an us?”

“You. Being a witch. And me, being what I am.”

“No, it doesn’t. Why do things have to change? They’ve only just begun.” She kissed him again. He did not pull away. He wanted this connection as much as she did. She wouldn’t allow him to deny it. “I’m no danger to you.”

“No, you’re not, but whenever I think about you—and I think of you a lot—I thought you were human, like me.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Is being human so important to you?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” He leaned in for another kiss, but Zoë moved back, unsure now. “It’s not important. Hell, yes, it is. It’s just— I’ve never done this with anyone who was not human. Kissing, and...making out.”

Trying not to be offended only made her all the more offended. Zoë began to slide off his lap when Kaz gripped her by the shoulders and, hands gliding down her back, pulled her to him forcefully, and landed a kiss on her mouth that she could not escape.

And did not want to escape.

While she did not care for any man who would rule out another breed as a potential romantic partner, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. If he’d not ever had a partner out of his breed, then his leeriness was justified. She wasn’t different from the average human female, save that she could cast magic, press her body and mind beyond average mortal limitations and could have immortality if she chose it. She hadn’t made up her mind regarding that life-prolonging measure yet.

“I said that wrong,” he offered, his thumbs stroking her cheeks as his eyes flitted back and forth between hers. For a moment, his thumb stroked the scar and Zoë winced. Was it the scar? Did that turn him off? “I’ve been saying all the wrong things, and yet, you still want to kiss me?”

“Kaz, resisting your kisses is futile.”

“I could say the same. Your mouth is better than blueberries in chia pudding, that’s for sure.”

“Maybe I can teach you that witches are nothing to be afraid of.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

No, he wasn’t. But something about her made him stumble over his words and she suspected what it was. “Does the scar offend you?”

“What? No. Well—”

“It does bother you.” She pulled a strand of hair across her cheek, an involuntary action she’d developed after getting the scar a decade earlier. “I can’t heal myself.”

“Zoë, don’t hide it like that. It doesn’t bother me. You are—well, perfect would be boring. No one is perfect. What does bother me is that you obviously suffered to have received such an injury. I hate that someone did this to you, or something. Was it an accident?”

Zoë shrugged. “Kind of.”

Sighing heavily, he nodded. “I get that you don’t want to talk about it. I’m inexperienced with this conversation kind of stuff. I’m more of an action man.”

“More kisses, less talk? Your kisses are toe-curlers. And as a hunter, you must know about all the various breeds, so it’s not as if you’re a bumbling human who has no clue about witches.”

“True. You’re as close to human as any breed gets. Though I’m not sure how all the magic works. Let’s just say I’m much better at running away from things like this. Okay?”

Things like emotional stuff, she suspected. What guy was good about that kind of thing? But she wasn’t going to award him any prizes for such honesty. If she expected more of him, he would give it to her.

“You haven’t fled yet, so I’ll mark myself as lucky.”

“But I’m trying, trust me. I’d be at the door right now were you not sitting on me.”

“That creepy, huh?”

He shook his head and kissed her quickly on the mouth. “I like you, Zoë. But there are things going on in my life right now that could complicate the good stuff happening between the two of us. And believe me, this is very good.”

“Like things with vampires?”

“Always with vampires. I’m currently working a job that I don’t want you to get tangled up in.”

“I’ve no desire to tread the grounds a hunter walks. But...” She traced her fingers down his bare chest. “I do want to tread this. You can’t work all the time, can you? Daylight doesn’t seem the optimal time to track vampires.”

“It’s not, but—”

“Then kiss me again.”

“Sounds good, in theory.”

“You really are skittish.”

He heaved out a sigh.

Zoë sensed a distraction from his deeper thoughts was a necessity. Leaning in, she lingered before his mouth, not touching, waiting to see if he would take what she offered. She dusted her lashes and they fluttered against his cheek.

Kaz’s kisses touched her lips, her cheeks, the lobes of her ears. He explored down her neck and skimmed his tongue across her breasts’ exposed curves. The square neckline did not allow for further access, and Zoë bemoaned the prim dress style.

But no. She did and she did not want to tear off clothing. While rushing into kisses, and tastes and touches could lead to sex, that was an entirely different chapter she hadn’t even gotten to yet. Happily ever after would come with patience and a slower turn of the page.

She didn’t want to scare him off. Especially when he’d confessed an urgent need for escape. Slow and exploratory felt right. Because she knew little about him, and suspected she had only peeled back the first layer of Kaspar Rothstein. Beneath, he harbored many layers that she would be wise to cautiously seek out and carefully explore.

The dryer beeped that the cycle had finished. Kaz nuzzled his kisses between her breasts and then up along her neck.

“You smell good. Peaches?”

“And cinnamon. You like? Men usually do like the food scents.”

“Speaking of which, I’m starving.”

“You should have finished the chia pudding.”

“Yeah, I’m not so into all that healthy stuff.”

“You should be.” She bent to kiss his pectoral. “You want to keep these muscles hard as rocks, you should feed them properly.”

“I eat well. Protein and veggies. But chia? That doesn’t sound remotely foodlike.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that. It does require a certain palate. I can make you some lunch. Or how about I take you out for a bite?”

“Are you talking about vampires now, because I’m not sure...”

“The bites I have to offer don’t involve fangs.”

“A lunch date?”

She nodded, hopeful for his positive answer. “We can go Dutch. Come on, hunter. I dare you to be seen in public with a creepy witch.”

His smirk wasn’t so horrible; in fact, it was sexy shy as his mouth gradually caught up to the smile that already beamed in his eye. “Lunch, it is.”


Chapter 5

Seated at a tiny table for two beside a window that overlooked the streets crowded with tourists, Kaz felt as if he were being watched. And not by the gorgeous witch across the table, who was digging into her crème brûlée. Her blue eyes flashed up to his and she smiled before forking in a generous bite.

“Want a taste?” She tilted her head. “Kaz? You seem distracted.”

“Uh, sure, I’ll take a bite. Anything that makes you smile that big must be great.”

She served him a taste.

Kaz didn’t indulge. Didn’t have the time for it. Since joining the Order ten years ago, his life had become disciplined, and his diet militant. Picard’s grocery was his usual stop for frozen meals he could pop into the microwave. He rarely ate in restaurants, unless he was on a date, and dates were few and far between because he never had a day off to actually meet women. He was always on call, which meant he didn’t hang out in nightclubs or bars.

Instead, he had to beat up vampires to get the girl.

Apparently, that method worked for him.

Zoë devoured the dessert, and Kaz split his attention between her and his surroundings. It was difficult to completely let down his guard in public. No wonder his relationships never lasted long.

What was a relationship?

Whatever it was, it was beginning to appeal more and more. Had she been in many? Did he appeal to her as much as she did to him? Could a knight ever attract a woman looking for stability? Did she want stability?

Well hell, who didn’t?

It had been a long time since he’d thought about that night Tor had found him behind Madame du Monde’s Dance Emporium, bloody chair leg clutched in his white-knuckled grip. Man, had his life taken a one-eighty for the better since then. Though, most certainly a strange turn.

“Is it something outside?” she asked. “I’ve not had your full attention since the salad. I’m sorry to bore you—”

Dragging his gaze from the window, Kaz forced himself to pay attention to the only thing that he should have in focus. “It’s not you, Zoë.” She was all kinds of pretty to command his attention. “Do you know how exciting it is watching you eat? I’m trying not to stare at you so much you want to start calling me a creep.”

“I could never do that. You’re too handsome to be creepy.”

He wished he’d never said that about witches. It would remain a sore spot for her, he felt sure.

“Do you ever feel like you’re being watched?” he offered as a means to change the conversation. “I can’t put a finger to it. I usually can tell when vampires are nearby. This feeling I’m having is...out there. That’s not a good way to explain it, but it’s the only words I can summon.”

She nodded knowingly, and set down her fork. “You’re sensitive to the paranormal breeds. That’s why you can feel it.”

“It? Feel what?”

“FaeryTown, of course.”

“Faery—”

While the Order had only touched on faeries during training, Kaz did know FaeryTown existed within Paris. It was sort of a fourth dimension overlaid upon the mortal realm. A place where faeries lived amongst mortals, yet could not be seen by them. It was also where vampires in the know went to get their dust fixes.

“Why didn’t you tell me where we were?” He darted his gaze around the small restaurant and out the window, but wasn’t sure what he expected to see. Wings? “Right now?”

She nodded.

“I should have been told.”

“Wow. You hop right up that anger scale with little provocation, don’t you? I didn’t think it necessary because it’s not as if most people are aware of it. And you’re not a vampire, so—”

“So, it’s important to me to know these things, Zoë. Don’t keep significant information like that from me.”

She leaned back, toyed with her fork, but left her half-eaten dessert alone. He’d offended her, had spoken harshly when she could have no reason to understand his anxiety. It had been a bad idea to go out for lunch during a job. Did he want to hook up with her that badly?

Yes.

“Sorry.” Kaz turned his focus to her pouty pink mouth. “Once again, I said the wrong thing to you.”

“I’m not taking offense, but I am surprised at your reaction. So we’re in FaeryTown. What of it?”

A lot of it, actually. Especially since Kaz was tracking the source of the Magic Dust. Could it be in FaeryTown? Made a hell of a lot of sense. Why hadn’t he considered this angle of investigation until now?

Probably because he had no known way of accessing such a realm.

“Let’s say I’m curious about my surroundings and this very obvious feeling of unease I mentioned to you. I mean, can they see us?”

She nodded.

“But we can’t see them.”

“Not unless they want you to see them, which is rare. A faery could be standing right next to you, or even sitting in that very spot.”

Kaz jostled on his chair, but didn’t go so far as to stand up. The idea of someone sitting in the exact spot where he was right now... “You have to admit that’s disturbing.”

“Not if you don’t think about it.” She was so calm about the possibility their conversation was being observed.

Kaz propped a concealing hand along the side of his mouth and spoke quietly. “Isn’t there some way for a human being to see faeries?”





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