Things That Go Hump In The Night (38 page)

***

TEN

A noise woke me. The creak of a door opening.

I opened one eye, then the other. The room was unfamiliar. Where there should have been a pile of clothing and a large calico cat sprawled across the bed, there was only light streaming from a large picture window overlooking the forest, soft grey walls and a warm figure snoring beside me. It took me a few moments to remember where I was.

Phew, what a night.

I rolled over, rubbing my eyes to rid them of sleep. There was Ryan, his muscular arms curled around his pillow, one hand reaching lazily across the bed toward me. His chest moved up and down slowly, and he emitted an unattractive, wheezing snore. He was still asleep. Behind him, I saw the door to the room creak open slowly.

I reached behind me and pulled my phone from the dresser. The time read 7:29. "Is that you, Simon?" I called, wondering if Ryan's dutiful servant was bringing us breakfast in bed.
I could get used to this lifestyle.
I pulled at the laces on the front of my pyjama top, trying to stuff my breasts back inside. "I'm not sure we exactly decent at this moment."

"Nothing is ever decent in this room," a sultry voice replied.

I looked up again. A woman stood at the doorway, wearing a red silk gown with a plunging neckline that clung to every inch of her perfect body. Tawny red curls fell over her shapely shoulders, framing a porcelain, heart-shaped face and emerald eyes that sparkled with all kinds of wanton promises. She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. As I watched – too shocked to cry out – she lifted the small pouch from the doorknob, raised it to her bow-shaped lips, and sniffed delicately. Screwing up her face in disgust, she tossed the protective spell into the hall.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," she cooed at Ryan's sleeping form, stepping into the room, her red gown swishing around her shapely legs.

"Who are you? How did you get in? The house is locked up and protected by magic."

She narrowed her emerald eyes at me. "Who are
you?
What are you doing in this room?"

"I'm Alex Kline. I'm his…" I glanced over at Ryan, his face still. I kicked him with my foot, hoping to wake him up. But all he did was snort, and continue right on sleeping. What was I to him? I didn't know how to articulate it. "...I'm his art curator. Who are you?"

"I'm surprised he hasn't mentioned me," she smirked, tugging at the ruby choker around her thin, elegant neck. "My name is Melissa Sinclair. I am Ryan's mate."

TO BE CONTINUED

Steffanie Holmes:
http://www.amazon.com/Steffanie-Holmes/e/B00MI89LY8/

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Steffanie Holmes is the author of steamy historical and paranormal erotica and erotic romance. Her books feature clever, witty heroines, wild shifters, cunning witches and alpha males who get what they want.

Before becoming a writer, Steffanie worked as an archaeologist and museum curator. She loves to explore historical settings and ancient conceptions of love and possession. From Dark Age Europe to crumbling gothic estates, Steffanie is fascinated with how love can blossom between the most unlikely characters.

Steffanie lives in New Zealand with her husband and a horde of cantankerous cats.

Want to find out what happens next? Order your copy of PART 2 in the Crookshollow Foxes serial by Steffanie Holmes:
ART OF THE HUNT.
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Forbidden Bond

The Forbidden Series Book 1

Lily Marie

1

Rule Number Three: Carry silver knives at all times. You never know when a vamp is going to jump you.

~ Kat Riley’s Rules For Hunting

Kat Riley walked through the moonlit graveyard, and halted in front of a family buried together, her Nikon already moving up to snap the scene. The cloud-filtered light silvered the Victorian headstones, the rusted iron fences, giving the short grass, rocks, and tiny stream an almost ethereal glow.

She checked her shot, nodding. “Perfect.”

It was satisfying, since so little in her life came anywhere near perfect.

Her abrupt retirement after the last hunt startled everyone, especially her. She realized, once she walked away from what had become her life, that she needed this, a few months of peace and solitude. Needed them badly.

That assignment had gone sideways, and she escaped with her life only through dumb luck. It certainly wasn’t because of her skills. At this point, she wasn’t all that sure she would go back—or could go back.

With a sigh, she pushed the unruly ponytail over her shoulder and crouched to get a fresh perspective. “All right—one more. Maybe two,” she muttered, spying another angle she hadn’t captured yet. The storm that had been threatening all evening looked like it was about to make good on that threat, and she wanted to be at least on her way back to her car before the rain started. She was just far enough from home base that the streets were unfamiliar. “And—got it.”

She slipped her camera in the waterproof case, specially made for her. It was lightweight, small, and had a thick, padded strap she could wear across her body, leaving both hands free. Because she traveled so much, hunting the monsters that ordinary people didn’t believe in, she decided to indulge her favorite hobby when she could.

Thunder echoed through the trees surrounding the graveyard.

“Okay—I hear you.”

She made her way through this city of the dead, pausing at the more fanciful headstones that caught her eye. The artistry of the stonework always floored her, and she loved reading the inscriptions and dedications to people long dead.

A branch snapped right behind her. She spun, going for the knife under her jacket as she crouched, ready to spring toward any movement.

That movement turned her to the right, and she caught the glimpse of white before whoever wore it ducked behind a tall headstone topped by a weeping angel.

She eased the camera case around to her back. Her shoes hardly made a sound as she inched forward, knife gripped in her hand. She couldn’t hear any movement, but she knew something was on the other side of that marble slab. Her sensitive meter was buzzing, which meant a non-human was close by.

She let out a slow, quiet breath and rushed the creature, leading with her knife.

Cold fingers caught her knife hand and yanked her forward. The false charm of a vampire snaked through her, trying to calm her, draw her in. She snarled, shoving at the source.

“Let me—”

“Make another sound and they will find us.”

She didn’t want to—God save her she didn’t want to, but she looked up. Clear green eyes met hers, laid over with pain. Instead of the cold raptor stare of most vamps, his gaze was warm, and a little helpless. She was a sucker for helpless, especially when it came in a package of gorgeous, angular face, surprising muscle and enough height to make her feel short.

He wasn’t a vamp—she’d have smelled him a mile off if he was. But the edgy nerves she got near a vamp were there, just—off. The other possibility wasn’t possible. They didn’t exist.

She must have been staring, because his too-beautiful-to-be-human lips twitched, like he was fighting a smile, and he studied her with a thoroughness that made her want to slap him.

“Get your ice cube fingers off me.”

To her surprise he obliged, letting out a curse as he sank to his knees. Kat joined him, searching for the reason. She sucked in her breath when she saw the silver blade impaling his right hand. He couldn’t hurt her, not in this condition.

“Are they still on your trail?”

He looked up at her, surprise pushing aside the pain. “As I’m not dead yet, yes.” His eyes widened slightly when she sheathed her knife. “You may need that.”

“Who’s coming after you, Vlad?”

“Michael, but thank you for the obvious reference.”

He flashed her a grim smile. Moonlight caught the edge of his elongated canines. Probably because of the silver, since from what she read, half-bloods didn’t have permanent fangs.

Kat bit back her own smile. Most vampires lost their sense of humor early on, but since he wasn’t all vamp, that didn’t apply. The dry humor only made him more human, more appealing—

Stop it, Kat. Stop it right now.

Damn him—she didn’t want to care. She wanted to persuade whoever was stupid enough to injure him that they should just turn around and run home. Then she could do the same before this insta-attraction got her into trouble.

“Let me see your hand,” she said.

“There is nothing you can do, and you should go, before you’re hurt.”

Kat snorted. As if. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Stop flirting with me. Hunter.”

“In your dreams, Vlad.” So he knew who she was. Smart, funny, and sexy. Damn him. “How long do we have?”

Those clear green eyes studied her. “If you have a stake handy, not long at all.”

“I’m not—” He could have slapped her and she would have been less insulted. “I don’t kill the helpless.”

“I would see it as a favor, considering what my pursuers will—” The sound of more than a few people trampling through the woods cut him off. “Get out of here. I’ll not have them harm you.”

“And I won’t leave you here.” She didn’t give him any warning, just grabbed the hilt of the knife in his palm and yanked it free. To her surprise, he didn’t pass out. She pulled off her scarf and wrapped it around his hand. “Give me your arm, Vlad.”

He raised a dark eyebrow. “Only of you stop calling me Vlad.”

“Deal.” Her danger flares were firing. They had to get out of sight. Now. “Come on.”

He draped his arm over her shoulders, and she hauled him upright. For a half-blood, he had muscle. One hell of a lot of muscle. And as impossible as it was, he couldn’t be anything else—

Save it, Kat. Get the hell out of here first.

He managed to stumble only every few steps. They were too exposed here, with the shorter, spread out headstones. Once she got them back to the mausoleum section, they could hide in one of the roomy death houses.

They never made it that far.

The first threat came flying out of the trees. Literally.

Kat backpedaled, hauling the half-blood with her. The arrow shot past her, so close she felt the fletching brush her arm. He finally tripped, and dragged her down with him. His weakness saved her from the second arrow.

It bounced off the headstone behind them, landing in the grass. Kat cursed when she recognized the fletching.

“You have the damned Council after you?”

He shrugged. “I told you staking me would be a favor.”

“Oh, hell no. You’re not getting off that easy.” No way they could find a hiding place now. The graveyard was like a playground for the Council—and they’d find her in a heartbeat, with her human blood, all nice and warm, calling out to them. They probably had him marked. “My car is parked at the east gate. Think you can make it that far?”

He studied her. “Why are you helping me?”

She sighed, hauling him up as she explained. “Rule Number Twelve. I’ll elaborate later.”

They stumble-ran through the headstones, hunched over to create the smallest target possible. Kat suspected he didn’t have the energy left to run and keep himself straight. Being impaled with silver would be doing a number on the vamp blood in his system.

The east gate finally came into view. Kat shoved hair that had come loose from her ponytail off her cheek and braced herself for the final push. Her partially undead companion was stumbling more and running less with each step. She had a feeling she’d be dragging him the last few feet.

“We’re almost there.”

He lifted his head, his green eyes dark with pain. “Leave me.”

“Not on a bet, Vlad. I got you this far—” She let out a cry as fire scorched her left shoulder. He caught her when her knees buckled. “God—burns—”

He hauled her across the last few yards and through the gate.

“Where is your car?”

“Your left,” she whispered. “Red—mustang.”

“Flashy.”

“Gets me—where I need to be. God—” She doubled as the fire burned deeper.

When she could see straight, she found herself in the passenger seat, and the half-blood driving like all of Hell was after them. Close enough.

He swung into a parking garage, and finally stopped on the top level.

“Let me see, Kat.”

“Don’t touch—”

He ignored her, eased the jacket off her shoulder. Damn it—she loved this jacket. She let out a harsh gasp when he straightened her arm, resting it across his thigh. She wanted to punch him, but her shoulder hurt too damn much. His cool fingers gently moved aside torn cotton, and bloody, sweat soaked hair.

“Sweet Jesu,” he whispered. “Forgive me, but I have no choice.”

Before she could ask what the hell he meant, he sank his sharp teeth into her shoulder.