The Huntress

Huntress Eve Williams had a personal—and painful—reason to want Andre Vossimer dead. The professor was devastatingly handsome, dangerously charismatic…and a member of the Secret Vampire Society. He was also the man who killed her sister.

But when Andre unexpectedly kissed Eve, her need for revenge was replaced by desire…and the hope that Andre might not be a killer after all. Their passion was too strong to resist—even if being together put Eve in danger of being hunted by the very vampires she was trained to slay…

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Her fingers wound tight around the stake, slivers grinding into her palm. Eve Williams fought against the urge to wince because she could show no human weakness. She couldn’t show that she was at all…human. Or they would kill her…like she intended to kill them—every last one of the blood-sucking creatures of the night. But he had to be first.

He was the worst. He wasn’t just a cold-blooded killer. He was a charismatic con artist, as well: manipulative and brilliant. And that made him more dangerous than any of the others.

But that wasn’t the only reason Eve wanted to kill him first. She had another more personal—more painful—reason to want Professor Andre Vossimer dead.

Her eyes adjusting to the dim lights and smoke, she tracked him through the underground vampire club. His black hair flowing past his shoulders and his facial features aristocratically chiseled, he looked more poet than professor. His body was long and lean, and he moved with an athlete’s ease through the maze of tables and the crush of patrons as he left the crowded bar. He hadn’t stayed long, tossing back only one thick crimson drink before heading out again into the night. Maybe, like her, he had plans to do some hunting, too. But tonight, Eve would put a stop to whatever he intended; she would put a stop to Andre Vossimer.

Even more tightly she clasped the stake, which she hid deep in the pocket of her coat. Alone, it wouldn’t be enough to kill him. She’d have to bury the sharpened wood tip deep in his heart. And for that she had help, the special gun into which she would load the stake like a bullet. Then she’d fire the makeshift weapon into his heart—ending his miserable life and her pain.

Her pulse racing in anticipation, she hurried through the crowded bar. Jostled by bodies gyrating to the low bass of the live band, she stumbled back and momentarily lost sight of him. But there was only one way out of Club Underground—the cement stairwell that ascended to the busy street of downtown Zantrax, Michigan.

But when she hurried up the steps, she found the street deserted. No headlights of cars or street lamps penetrated the complete darkness of the industrial area. Fear raced over her with the cool night breeze, lifting her skin into goose bumps. She huddled inside her coat and reached inside her other pocket. The stake wasn’t the only thing she carried in the deep pockets of the long coat. She had the gun, and the flashlight that simulated sunshine.

She had been trained well to be a huntress. So how had she let him slip away?

Frustration, with her own incompetence, knotted the muscles of her stomach. She had worked so hard to find him and infiltrate his world. She dragged in a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She knew where he hung out; she would get another chance at him. And she wouldn’t let the next one slip through her fingers.

Loose stones skittered across asphalt, drawing her attention to the narrow alley between the tall brick building that housed Club Underground in the basement and the office building next to it. She was not alone out here. “It’s not him…”

He was gone. The creatures of the night had powers humans did not have at their disposal. They were immortal, and they could fly. He was probably long gone. But yet she turned toward that narrow alley. She could have brought out her flashlight, but then some of the patrons leaving the club might have seen it and figured out what she was: human and a huntress. So she skimmed her fingers across the brick as she headed in the direction from which the noise had come.

She had to investigate—just in case he hadn’t left. Maybe he’d gone into the alley to do whatever it was that had caused him to leave the club so quickly.

Rounding the corner of the building, she stepped inside a wider alley…and into the arms of the man who’d lured her into his trap. Muscles, stronger than those of a mere mortal, rippled in his biceps and his chest, as he dragged her tight against him. A scream burned in her throat, and she parted her lips to utter it.

But his mouth was there, covering hers. Anger and fear coursed through her, and she tried to pull back but his lips pressed tighter. She wriggled in his embrace, but his arms didn’t loosen. If anything, he pulled her more closely against his chest—so close her legs molded to his, her stomach rubbing against his. She gasped at the hardness of his heavily muscled body.