The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

I came to slowly, my head throbbing and the taste of blood in my mouth. I felt like someone just used me as a piñata at a toddler’s birthday party: beaten, but not quite broken.

I lay on my stomach, hands tied painfully behind my back. My face was smooshed into something not near so comfortable as carpet. I forced one eye open, glad the light was dim.

I was on the floorboard of a limo. Ian was before me, sandwiched between Tweedle-Wolf and Tweedle-Bitch. Though the woman held a knife to his juggler, he appeared otherwise fine. How the woman had survived the wounds I gave her, I had no clue. Her neck still oozed blood and her breathing was raspy. She was in some discomfort, at least.

“You’re alive,” I breathed thankfully to Ian.

“Unfortunately.”

I twisted my head to the other side, wincing at the stab of pain that induced. Modred and the traitorous Witch sat on the other seat, staring at me. The girl’s eyes were blank, apathetic. Modred glared with a contemptuous hatred that made me shiver.

He fingered his injured eye gingerly. The bleeding had stopped, but it was an angry red color, the lid swollen three times it’s normal. I doubted he could open the eye at all.

“I hope it hurts,” I ground out. He smiled at me, thin and evil. A grimace, really.

“I hope to return the favor,” he answered pleasantly. That made me shiver, too.

I turned back to Ian. My head exploded as a size ten boot plowed into my nose. I jerked back with a yelp. Hot blood streamed from my nostril to pool on the floor.

“Fuck!” It wasn’t broken, but it hurt like it should be.

Benny leaned over me, his face still purple and bloody from the beating I had given him earlier. “Payback’s a bitch, bitch,” he chanted.

“Witty,” I replied with a sarcastic eye roll. I just can’t help myself sometimes.

Benny snarled. I thought he was going to kick me again, but he held himself back. From the look he darted over my head, I bet his master had something to do with his self-control. If I was going to be used as a human punching bag any more tonight, it would be the big boss man who’d be doing the punching. Not a comforting thought, but at least it gave me time to recover from Benny’s un-sportsman-like kick to the face.

The motion of the limo stopped. The door at my feet was opened and Benny slid out. He grabbed my ankles and dragged me from the car. I got rug-burn on my left cheek and another circle of stars when I hit the pavement. Benny yanked me to my feet, wrenching my arm so hard, I gasped.

We had arrived at one of those Victorian style mansions that squatted like sentries among the smog and skyscrapers of founding cities. It was beautiful, with dozens of tall windows, a wrap-around porch and a widow’s walk. In the limited light, I can only tell that it was painted some dark color and well-taken care of. A brick wall with a wrought iron gate separated the house and it’s courtyard from the city outside. The drive continued on around the side of the house, making me wonder just how big the property was.

The gate was left standing open, inviting. I’m tempted to scream for help and attract the attention of a passing motorist. Benny jerks my arm again and the temptation fades.

Modred appeared at my side, bending down slightly to whisper in my ear, “You have not felt pain yet.”

“Is that a threat?” I am unimpressed. A glob of blood and saliva narrowly misses his pristine Converse. Damn. I’ve got to work on my aim.

Benny delivers an open-handed slap to the back of my head for my rudeness, doubling the pounding in my battered nose. He has just reached the top of my beat-down wish list.

The female scoots Ian out of the limo, holding him so close the knife, my knife which is still pressed to his throat, digs into his flesh. He is bleeding freely by the time their feet touch the ground. She’s definitely second on my list.

I turn to look at the new one, the chauffeur. He’s small, about 5’5 and slender with a childlike face. He won’t meet my eyes and is careful to keep his distance from the others. I feel his aura, the other that hovers about him, but discount him as a threat anyway. He’s trembling so hard, I bet he’d run like a rabbit if I said ‘boo’.

We move as one up the walk. Scaredy-Cat opens the double oak doors and steps aside. Modred enters first, followed by the female and Ian. Benny shoves me past the threshold like a good gentleman. The little one shuts the door behind us. He stayed outside. I envy him.

The inside of the house is just as beautiful as the outside. Spacious, with hard-wood floors, white trim and red damask wallpaper. The foyer has a long gilded mirror, cherry wood hall tables and an elegant floor rug. There is an entryway to the left that leads into a large and elegantly appointed living room. Velvet-covered chairs, Queen Anne couches, a black leather chaise lounge. A grand piano in front of a marble fireplace, antique card table nearby. Big screen plasma TV, X-Box, cabinet of movies and games. All in bas relief against a blood red carpet.

To the right of us is a wide red-carpeted staircase. Paintings line the wall. I wonder what’s up there, realizing I probably don’t want to know.

We walk straight ahead. There is another double door to the left, closed. On the right I could see into a dining room large enough to seat 50 people. A small sitting room. We pass finally through a left-hand door, following Modred into a sedate, well-stocked study.

All four walls were lined with floor to ceiling bookshelves. The far wall had a built in desk top that ran the length of the room, cluttered with candelabras, ledger books and taxidermied birds. Two leather easy chairs and a small round table were set to the right. A long royal blue velvet couch sat in the middle of the room.

A man lay on the couch, nose deep in a book. His black loafered feet were crossed at the ankle just centimeters from the arm of the couch, putting him at about 5’9 standing. He was looking sharp in a camel colored suede suit and black and red dress shirt. Auburn sausage curls tumbled about his head, somehow managing not to look feminine. I could only see his profile, but what I could see was achingly attractive. Full lips, patrician nose, high cheekbones, dark sensuous eyes, olive skin tone. If he had been human, I would have placed his age at around 26. I had a feeling, though, that he wouldn’t be human.

Modred walked directly passed the man as if he wasn’t there, heading for the end of the left wall. Nothing was there, so either he was going to read me a bedtime story or there was a secret doorway I couldn’t see. I was betting on the latter. The man didn’t even blink, oblivious to the five bruised and bloody people, two obviously there against their will, strolling past.

The man spoke when Modred reached parallel his head.

“Uh, Modred? Where do you think you are going?” The voice was smooth, breathy. The whisper of a lover. He didn’t move, didn’t set aside the book, didn’t even glance up. Yet, Modred halted as if he’d hit an invisible wall. I could see his shoulders tense and knew this was a man Modred both feared and hated. I watched in avid curiosity.

We had shuffled some on the walk. I was now sandwiched between Modred and Benny, Ian and his guard behind us. The Witch was last. I didn’t like being that close to Modred, no matter how good the view.

“Look who I found, alive and amazingly well,” Modred said, his voice trembling with barely suppressed anger. I was glad those killing eyes weren’t directed at me this time.

The man looked up then, at me. There was nothing in that look. His expression was one of total boredom, his tone flat. “Astonishing.”

Modred was pissed. Apathy was not the reaction he had been hoping for. I was suddenly on the new guy’s side. Anyone who pissed Modred off was an ally of mine. Enemy of my enemy, and all that.

“She tried to kill Benny,” Modred announced self-righteously.

I snorted very unladylike. I noticed he didn‘t mention that Benny had started it. “Tried would be the operative word,” I cut in. I would have loved to more than try. Modred back-handed me indifferently. By morning, my face was going to look like a Picasso.

“Insolent bitch! I will break you!”

I licked blood from the corner of my mouth, turning my head slowly to face him. I let the full weight of my anger spark from my jade eyes, what little effect it might have.

“You will try and you will fail,” I spat back. I had been pissed off for the last two hours and I was near the breaking point.

Modred’s face blanked, settling into a mask of cruel marble. His black eyes, with their strange burning darkness, bored into me. He stepped close, letting his proximity add to his threat.

“Oh, no,” he answered in a dry monotone. “I will succeed most admirably.”

We stared at each other in perfect understanding. He was going to show me bold new levels of pain, and he was going to enjoy it.

The man rose gracefully from his position, coming to stand before us in a fluid motion, the book forgotten on the couch. His face was still set in that beautiful blank, but his incredibly dark eyes held a fire that matched Modred’s.

“Modred. Behave.” Each word was precise, clipped, toneless. “Where are you going?”

“I caught her. She’s mine to do with as I please,” Modred said, rounding on him in a rage. The air fairly crackled around him. The hairs on my arms stood at attention. I shuffled closer to Benny.

“No. You know Ms. Williams and I have business to discuss. You may have her when I say you may.”

I blinked. This was the master Modred had vaguely alluded to? The one who would hand me over to Modred when he was ‘done with me’? Maybe I didn’t like him so much after all.

“You do not rule me,” Modred answered petulantly. He moved into the other’s personal space. His fists clenched at his sides while he stared down at the unflinching, unmoving man. I got the feeling he was supposed to be intimidated. “I will speak to the Empress about this.”

That threat had me a little worried. I was dealing with vampires, Witches and Shapeshifters. Anyone they respected enough to entitle Empress had to be daunting.

There was a noise behind me. We all turned as one as four beefcakes straight out of Studs ‘R’ Us wandered in. I recognized two of them as Wolf-Man and his partner from a few days ago. A third dark haired Lycan was obviously some close relation. The last was a golden idol of feminine lust, tall, handsome, blond, and a body Mr. Universe would envy.

“Hey, Mo-dred,” Wolf-Man greeted with an insolent salute. It was obvious this was one wolfie that didn’t bow to the boss man. “What’s shakin’?”

His partner nodded to Ian as he passed, staring at him warily. I remembered Ian had shot him with a silver bolt. If I was a werewolf, I’d be wary of him, too.

“Hey, brother,” he greeted. Ian stiffened, meeting the other’s eyes but said nothing. I cocked an eyebrow at Ian. He didn’t answer my gaze.

Wolf-Man and the two other dark Adonis’ sank onto the couch, languid and unconcerned. The blond perched on the arm, giving a good display of his muscled arms. Wolf-Man let his half-lidded eyes roam up and down my battered frame. There was nothing sexual in the stare, but it unnerved me anyway. I slid my eyes from his to stare at the little one. He jerked his head to the side quickly, avoiding my gaze like a frightened child.

“Watch her,” Wolf-Man drawled lazily, indicating me with a jerk of his head. “She’s a tricky one.”

Benny growled low and menacing. He was ignored.

“You! You were supposed to kill her,” Modred charged, pointing an accusing finger. Wolf-Man shrugged. Modred swung his gaze to the master, who raised his eyebrows in response.

“Viktor, Modred was just saying he’s going to tattle on me to our Mistress.” His voice held a certain note to it, mocking and daring at the same time. It dawned on me that they were in the middle of a power struggle. A Master and a Mistress playing tug-a-war with their underlings. The Mistress says ‘kill her’, the Master says ‘don’t’. Modred seemed confident the Mistress would let him torture me. The Master wouldn’t. Interesting.

“Oh?” Viktor asked, amused. He stared at Modred in a very unfriendly manner. “How un-brotherly of you.”

Interesting, and complicated.

“You push your boundaries,” Modred told the master. He gazed about the room, weighing his odds. But it was five against four, if you could count the petite Witch. And three of them weren’t exactly at 100%. The almost certainty that he would lose was the only thing that kept Modred from striking him then and there, I think. The master knew it, too.

“You’ve had your fun for the evening, Modred,” the master said, nodding at me. I raised my brows at the fun but wisely said nothing. “Take your whores and busy yourself elsewhere. Bother me no more tonight.”

I don’t think the girls appreciated being referred to as whores, but they were in no position to argue. Modred prudently backed away.

“One day, I will not have to take orders from you,” he snarled. He turned to leave, Benny, the girls, and Ian following.

“Benny and Mr. Barnett may stay.”

I released a sigh of relief. I did not want Ian going anywhere with Modred alone.

Modred whirled. “The bargain was for the girl, and Benny belongs to me,” he argued heatedly.

“Benny belongs to Viktor,” Mr. Attractive corrected mildly. “And I’m changing the bargain. In fact, as Master of this household, I forbid you to leave with Mr. Barnett.”

Modred’s eyes narrowed, but he obeyed. I was glad to watch them go. The Witch had set our weapons on the table on the way out, and the frizzy haired female had actually handed Ian my knife when she released him. He stood staring at it, idly rubbing his fingertips on the cut at his throat. His expression said he didn’t know why she had given it to him, and neither did I. Though, I suppose she thought in a room with five Lycans and a master vamp he wouldn’t be foolish enough to use it. I hoped she was right.

We stared at each other for a moment, the master and I. Blankness to my wariness. I wondered how many centuries it had taken him to perfect that mask-like look that gave away nothing. Everyone was silent. Waiting.

“May I present the Ramey brothers,” the master announced abruptly with an elegant sweep of his hand. “Viktor, Peter and Damien. The other is Trevor Burton.”

I stared hard at Viktor, letting him feel my dislike. “Yeah, I’ve met your little errand boy before.”

“Such hostility,” the master tsked. “It is not conducive to business.”

“What business could we possibly have, other than my stake through your heart?” I shot back. I just wanted this night over.

He placed a fine-boned hand to his chest. “You wound me. What have I ever done to warrant such treatment?”

“How about you siccing Fido on me? And Modred.”

“Viktor,” he corrected subtly, “was in a precarious situation. He hurt you as little as possible. As for Modred, you appear to have held your own.”

“Yeah. He’s real brave with his shifter buddies to do all the dirty work for him,” I scoffed, glaring at Benny. He glared back, but he had lost some of his terrifying aspect now that his back-up was gone.

“Benny?” the master inquired, turning to the Lycan. “Did you do this to Ms. Williams?”

Benny’s eyes darted back and forth between us. He couldn’t deny I looked like Hell rolled over me, but he didn’t want to admit he’d done it, either. Long moments stretched while the master’s question remained unanswered. Of course, sometimes, all you need to know can be heard in a moment of silence.

“Viktor,” the master said over his shoulder, keeping his eye on Benny. “Teach Benny what it means to stray from the Pack.”

Viktor and his crew rose and advanced on the nervously quivering Benny. I was glad someone could scare the little creep. They circled him like wolves on the kill, slowly with narrowed, intent eyes.

“Master, please,” Benny pleaded, backing away from his fellows. “Forgive me.”

“You have shown your preference for Modred over me far too many times,” the master replied. “Viktor has stayed your punishment over these last few weeks only at my request. But no more. You knew I did not want her harmed. You no longer have my protection, Benny.”

Viktor rested his hand on Benny’s shoulder, friendly in a threatening sort of way. Benny visibly deflated as the light of rebellion died in his eyes. He was resigned to his fate, whatever that was. I bet it wouldn’t be pleasant. They started to usher him out of the door.

“Take the young one with you,” the master added as an afterthought.

“No,” I blurted, a desperate tint to my voice. I couldn’t let them take Ian. There was no telling what they’d do to him.

“He will not be harmed,” the master assured me. It didn’t make me feel any better.

I turned to Ian, the fear for his safety plain on my face. I felt horrible getting him into this mess. He’d never had to have physical contact with the enemy before. Apparently, he was making up for lost time tonight.

Damien had his hand held out to Ian, inviting. There was a look in his eye. Expectant, without any malicious glee at all. Like it was important to him that Ian came of his own free will. I didn’t understand that look and that scared me. Ian looked at me and I knew he wasn’t going to fight it. He was going with them, willingly, fate uncertain.

“I’ll be alright, Paige,” Ian told me with a wavering smile. He sounded so sure of it. So brave. So stupid. He turned and followed them out the door. I was slightly comforted by the fact that he still had my knife.

I was alone with the master now. I didn’t know if that made me more comfortable or more uneasy.

The master wandered over to the table and picked up one of my slim knives. He handled it delicately, running a finger down the blade to test its sharpness. A thin line of blood welled up from the shallow cut that made. He placed the finger in his mouth, sucking gently. He started back towards me. I was definitely more uneasy.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he began. He was standing up close to me, almost touching. I caught a whiff of a faint, alluring cologne. Staring into those dark eyes from so close, feeling that same wave of power Modred had possessed, I was unnerved. The knife in his hand didn’t make me feel any better.

He reached behind me. I fought the urge to jerk away. He made a quick motion and my hands sprang apart, the cord that had bound them cut. I rubbed my wrists, encouraging circulation and trying to ease their ache.

“I am Vissarion, Master of this house and Prince of Chicago.”

“So, you’re the big boss man?” I asked in my usual pleasant manner. I glanced at my weapons, gauging my chances of reaching them before he snapped my neck. Not good. “Are you immune to Holy Water, like Modred? Did you make him?” Purely professional curiosity.

Vissarion smiled and turned away. He curled up on the couch again, looking so comfortable I wanted to scream at him. “All true vampires are immune to holy relics and prayer, Ms. Williams,” he answered with an amused smile.

“True vampires?” I was getting sarcastic again, but it was just my way of dealing with danger. “So what do you call those blood sucking corpses I fry for a living? Fake vampires?”

“They are Blood Fiends,” Vissarion clarified patiently. He was the most patient guy I had ever met. “Hell-Spawns. Their existence is blasphemous to God, which is why holy items hurt them. They are indeed animated corpses.”

“And good friends of yours,” I added impertinently.

Vissarion grimaced and looked away from me. He balled one hand into a fist and bit on his knuckles. The action was so vulnerable and human I almost forgot what he was.

“They are hardly friends. They are disgusting, crude, and draw far too much attention to themselves. But my hands are tied.” He turned back to me. “That is why you are here.”

“I don’t follow,” I said, completely confused. That’s been happening a lot lately. “You’re the leader here. If you don’t like them, why don’t you send your puppies out to get rid of them?”

“The Ramey Wolves would like nothing better than to rain a little mayhem on the Fiends,” he replied pleasantly. “But, alas, they are forbidden. You see, we are in the midst of a war. Vampire against Vampire, and everyone else is caught in the middle. My Mistress - oh, yes, I have a master of my own,” he said at my furrowed brows. “My Mistress has made an alliance with the Fiends. As her servant, I cannot harm them. You can. You are mortal, outside this war.”

“You don’t like your Mistress, do you?” I asked in sudden clarity. I had never been good at politics, but I think I understood where this was going.

“I am not strong enough to oppose her,” he answered with a nod. “But there are many of us who do not like her.”

“Not Modred, though,” I whispered, recalling how he had referred to their Mistress as the Empress.

Vissarion stared into blank space. “No. Not Modred.”

“I don’t think I understand this clearly,” I said, frowning as I concentrated. “If many of you don’t like your leader, why don’t you just kill her?”

“You don’t kill the President just because you disagree with him,” Vissarion answered wearily. “There are procedures to follow. Besides, with the Fiends at her beck and call, I doubt we would win anyway.”

“And you want me to eliminate the competition for you,” I added for him. “Why should I help you? Why are you better than this Mistress?”

“Because I represent the New Way,” Vissarion replied, giving me a look that said he thought it was obvious. “A truce between humans and ourselves. Living together, side by side.”

“Over my dead body,” I remarked coldly. “Werewolves. Fiends. Vampires. All just pretty names for Killer.”

“You don’t understand,” Vissarion whispered sadly. “You see everything un-human as evil. But it is so much more complicated than that. Nothing is black and white.”

“I understand when I see fangs sinking into an innocent,” I shot back. “I understand when someone finds a body ripped apart by teeth. It’s the only thing I need to understand.”

“That’s it?” Vissarion asked, showing the first signs of anger. “Anything not normal must obviously be a monster? Regardless of their morals, their character?”

I laughed. This was getting ridiculous. Theology at it’s most confounding. “Evil with a conscience. Charming.”

His face settled into that blank mask. A shiver of fear ran through me. I had pushed my luck this time.

“You have not met evil yet, Ms. Williams,” he intoned. It was a threat and a warning. He pushed off the couch, still full of that liquid grace. I was tempted to ask him if there were classes on supernatural grace. “My Mistress wanted you dead. She doesn’t like you killing her army. I do.” He paused, picking up my magnum, turning it over in his hands. He held it by the muzzle. Amateur. “Modred will tell her of my involvement with you. She will know I am using you to move against her. She will have you hunted.”

“That mean you’re letting me go?” I was hopeful but still distrusting. I wondered if this was some sort of catch and release program.

He smiled, gathering the rest of my arsenal. “I never had any intention of keeping you here against your will.”

He offered me my weapons. I hesitated, expecting a trick. He stood still, waiting, smiling mockingly at my unease. I took the gun from his hand.

“This game is fucked up,” I said, replacing my weapons to their proper places. I was missing only the knife Ian had. The rest of his gear I stuffed where I could.

“It is,” he agreed, laughing. He had a magical laugh. It sent delicious tingles down my spine. He sobered. “Think on what I said. In this, I am not your enemy. I hope you realize that. Soon.” He paused, shielding his thoughts from me with a drop of his head. He looked up, raising a hand as if to touch me. I tensed and his hand fell away. “Trust no one but my wolves,” he advised.

Silently, I vowed not even to trust them. After all, the big one tried to turn me into a midnight snack just days ago.

“I hope you kill each other in this war,” I told him honestly. “Save me the trouble.”

He smiled wanly, but didn’t answer. I wondered if, perversely, he hoped the same thing. Naw.





Viktor and Damien drove us back to the car and left us on the pavement. We were both armed again, I having given Ian his weapons back on the ride. The Madcap Café was still open, apparently recovered from this evening’s excitement. I wondered if Modred was in there, but I sure as Hell wasn’t going back in to find out. I hoped never to go in there again, ever. I didn’t even glance in the window as we passed.

I was more beaten than Ian, my nose swollen and aching. My whole face sore from the excessive abuse it had received. I drove anyway. I needed something to do to keep my mind off the pains of my body and the sinking feeling in my gut.

Ian was still whole. Quiet, but whole. Whatever they did to him it hadn’t been physical.

“You alright?” I asked, casting him worried glances. He had been really quiet.

“Yeah. I just have some things to think about,” was his despondent answer. It was curiously vague.

“What do you mean? What things?”

Ian grimaced. He didn’t want to talk about it and I wasn’t going to let it go. I wanted to know what had happened when he left the room.

“Ian? Give it up,” I pressed.

Reluctantly, he unfolded the tale of Benny’s punishment. They had taken him to the garage. In case there’s a mess, Peter had explained. There, they stripped him and made him kneel on the floor. Peter and Trevor held him still while Damien carved mystic runes into his chest with a silver knife. Benny had grunted and yelled in pain as his own blood pooled around him. Viktor had stood to the side, chanting a few choice rules of the Pack.

“Thou shalt not betray thy Brother. The words of thy Chief are law. Thy word of honor is sacred. To break the laws of the Pack and thy Chief is punishable by death. Mercy is for the weak.” Viktor bent over Benny, grabbing the lower half of his face in a vise-like grip and forcing him to meet his eyes. “Challenge me again, Brother, in any way, and I’ll kill you,” he swore. Turning away from the man in contempt, he ordered, “Break his arms.”

Ian shuddered, coming back the present. “And then Viktor offered to accept me into his Pack,” he concluded.

“What?” I demanded, still disturbed over his recounting of Benny’s torture. It could have been worse, but I’d never seen anyone tortured before. “Make you a werewolf? No fucking way.” I shook my head in disbelief.

“Paige.” Ian turned to me in frustrated agitation. I met his eyes briefly before returning my attention to the road. I didn’t like what I’d seen. “I’m already a werewolf.”

I slammed on the brakes, my body jerking against the seatbelt. Ian’s upper body was thrown forward violently and his head bounced off the dashboard. He grunted an ‘ow’ and rubbed his head. Nothing else. No concussion, no skull fracture. A normal person would have been unconscious. I decided to ignore that fact for the moment.

“What!? Since when?” I felt like I should have noticed something like that.

Ian sighed and pressed his hands to his face. I could hear the regret and anguish in his voice. “Since always, Paige.” he answered wearily. “I was born a werewolf.”

I stared as him, shocked, confused, in denial. I didn’t want it to be true. My best friend, one of the monsters I had sworn to kill? Impossible.

“No fucking way,” I denied. He stared at me, steady and unflinching. It was true. “No fucking way,” I repeated, this time in awe. I still hadn’t got the car moving again. Good thing this was a slow night for traffic. “Your parents? Do they know?”

“They’re werewolves, too, Paige,” he said patiently. “We were born that way.”

“But you’re my best friend,” I reasoned, grabbing at anything to support my disbelief. “And Diana and John. They’re so…nice.” My voice trailed off as the conversation I’d had earlier with Vissarion returned. My own words haunted me. Evil with a conscience.

This was a little too close to home. The monsters had always been snarling strangers. Nameless, with no life-story. Now, I find out the person I trust most in the world is one of them. I was supposed to kill the monsters. Could I kill Ian? Drive a silver blade through his heart as I stared into his trusting eyes? He had been my friend since I was ten years old. We had hunted evil together for years. He was my back-up. My partner. A werewolf.

“Get out,” I demanded, my eyes mirroring all my anger and pain as I clenched the steering wheel.

“What?” he replied, flabbergasted.

“Get out!” I couldn’t deal with this right now. I couldn’t even look at him.

“But it’s my car,” he argued logically.

“Fine.” I got out. I left him there in the middle of the street staring after me. He didn’t call me, he didn’t chase me. He knew better.

I patrolled the streets for nights without a single undead sighting. Highly unusual. My friend Hannah, a Witch of mostly telepathic ability, is on edge. She can feel an energy. A gathering.

A gathering of werewolves and vampires sounds like a party. My invitation better be in the mail.

I needed to find out what was going on. I called a contact of mine, Deacon Brodniak. He wasn’t exactly a friend; more of a business associate. I hunted on the outskirts of the Underdark. He lived it. I needed his knowledge.

He gave me the address of a local undead hangout. A coffee shop, of all places. Seemed like an odd choice of den for vampires, but what did I know? Some people hang at bowling alleys.

I asked him what to expect. I wasn’t about to go into unfamiliar, hostile territory with guns blazing. His answer?

“What do you know of the Ziggy Stardust era?”

Great. Noveau punk cross beatnik vampiric coffee café. Stranger and stranger.

I decided to go with the wasted intellectual look. Black pants, black camisole with lace trim, charcoal sweater coat. My hair was in its customary bun, but I had let two curly strands frame my face artfully. I thought I looked very poetic. A true follower of Poe. A person who liked nothing more than indie films, gallons of coffee, and endless discussions on the afterlife. However, I was also armed to the teeth. As I said, it was unfamiliar territory.

There was a knife sheath on each wrist, each equipped with a 5 inch silver blade. A belt sheath on my right hip held a longer, thicker blade, hidden by my coat. Not silver, but mean enough to cut off a hand or two. A .35 magnum was secured to the small of my back; the derringer strapped around my right ankle. I would have preferred more guns, but there are only so many places to hide them. On my other ankle were two silver-tipped ash wood stakes, and three vials of Holy Water in a mini belt made especially for me. In my left-hand pants pocket was a silver cross. Never leave home without a cross; another one of those Vampire Safety rules.

Ian was going with me. He had dressed in a navy button down with pinstripes, dark jeans, and a black leather motorcycle jacket. He had a shoulder holster underneath the jacket that held a .35 and a set of small throwing knives. There was another .35 on his right hip, barely concealed by the hem of his jacket. I knew he had at least three crosses on him somewhere, and definitely some Holy Water.

Ian was crap at hand to hand combat. His goal was to hurt the bastards without getting too up close and personal. He could shoot anything, but he punched like a girl.

The coffee shop was located in a popular bar district. No neon lights announced its presence, no bouncer herding an eager line of patrons, but it stood out anyway. A window that stretched nearly the whole length of the façade was lit with outside track lighting. The words Madcap Café were painted across the glass in swirling white letters. The dark curtains were drawn aside, allowing passersby a peek inside. From my place across the street, I peeked as well as my poor mortal eyes would allow.

It was well lit, homey looking. I could see small round tables with patrons huddled over coffee mugs against one wall. Indistinct heads bobbed and swirled just inside the glass, indicating the presence of a bench or couch. It looked friendly, welcoming. I was almost disappointed.

We had decided to split up. This was an intelligence mission. We stood a much better chance of learning something useful if we both worked the crowd. We would be playing the roles of vampire groupies. Yeah. They have groupies. Something akin to necrophilia, just not so…ick.

Ian was going in first. I had argued this at first but he had pointed out I had a much better chance of saving his ass than he had of saving mine. He slid out of the car, across the street, and slipped into the interior of the pleasant looking den of evil. I saw no reaction from the window and Ian didn’t come screaming out the door. Apparently, they welcomed strangers.

I waited 5 minutes, then got out of the car. I walked nonchalantly for the door, scanning the area in my peripheral. So far, so good.

A trio was walking opposite me. I caught the woodsy, primal scent of untouched nature. Two of them were Lycan. The taller, blond man and a woman with wild honey-colored hair. The lead man wasn’t Lycan, but he wasn’t entirely human, either.

Black curls hung to his shoulders. His body was lean and lithe like a dancer’s. He didn’t so much walk as glide. The face was narrow, angular, almost sallow. Two shiny points glimmered out from under the newsboy cap he wore. His eyes. He was looking at me as I was looking at him.

We met and stopped in front of the door. The woman looked bored, roaming her eyes idly around the scenery. Blondie looked at me with a bright smile, letting me know he was picturing me naked. The darker man simply stared. I stared back, meeting those shimmering eyes.

They were blue, with a fire deep inside that gave off actual heat. His whole body seemed to emanate a tangible heat, caressing over my skin like a comforting blanket. I wanted to cuddle into that delicious warmth.

I hadn’t thought he was handsome before, but I suddenly couldn’t think of anyone more attractive. He wasn’t sexy in the Brad Pitt way, or even the pretty boy way. I couldn’t explain it to myself. His angular features seemed flawless to me.

“What is your name?” he asked, his voice rolling over me like a touch. I shivered.

“Paige.” It didn’t even occur to me to lie. It should have.

“The name does not suit you.” He traced his eyes over me and I blushed. It was the kind of look that said he knew where each curve lay.

“What would?” I asked, my voice breathless.

He reached out, fingering one coppery curl. “Guenever,” he whispered. It was the whisper of a lover. A whisper that made you want him to touch you more. He dropped his hand away, staring at my hair in an expression close to hunger.

That snapped me out of it. Anything that looked at me with hunger, sexual or otherwise, puts me on instant guard. My training was too ingrained to ignore warning signs. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t use him to get what I wanted.

“Buy me a mug?” I asked, giving him a coquette smile. Hey, I was playing a groupie. I was supposed to flirt.

He agreed. Not with words or a nod, but I knew. It was in his expression. A look that said, if it would keep me close to him, he’d buy me anything. My insides fluttered nervously. I was wary of him now. He had bewitched me. How else could I explain the feelings of lust and adoration I had experienced? It certainly wasn’t something I would have done of my own accord.

Blondie rushed forward to open the door, standing to the side like a pageboy. My suitor didn’t try to take my arm. A good thing, considering he could weave enchantment around me with only his voice and eyes. Romeo turned and walked through, not bothering the check if I followed. Arrogant of him, and very ungentlemanly. It also hinted that he was a master, at least of the current company. He was powerful. Powerful meant dangerous. Dangerous meant he would know who else was master in this city.

I followed him in, the woman trailing behind. Blondie slipped in last. I fought the urge to glance behind me. Maybe it was the natural rivalry present between all women, but I was getting a really weird vibe off that girl. I don’t think she liked me. Or maybe she did like me, but only for dinner.

The left wall was lined with small round tables. The right was taken up entirely by a long wooden bar where a couple of employees served lattes and teas. The front wall did indeed have a large overstuffed couch under the window, flanked by square end tables. On the back wall was a small stage, good for small live acts and DJ’s. Tonight it was a live act. A slender man-boy with feathery light hair and an acoustic guitar crooned into the microphone. I didn’t recognize the language. Vaguely European.

The rest of the room was a mix of tables, couches and easy chairs. It was very comfortable, if you didn’t mind a room full of Lycans, vampires and Witches. Everywhere I looked was otherworldly grace and strange glowing eyes. Most of the mugs were filled with black or mocha-colored liquid, but some were rimmed in bright red. No java in those cups.

I spotted Ian at the bar, head bent towards a petite blonde beauty. Her movements as she emphasized her words were not any more fluid than Ian’s own. Not a vampire or Lycan, then. Witch, judging by the abundance of lace and jewelry.

Romeo led me to the last table on the left, at the corner of the stage. I chose the seat against the wall, giving me a good view of the rest of the room. If he noticed my strategic positioning, he didn’t show it. He sat to the right, facing the stage. The woman sunk into a nearby easy chair, close enough to touch Romeo if she so wished. Blondie stood to the side, waiting.

“Mocha latte,” Romeo ordered. I ordered the first thing that came to mind: honey mint tea. My favorite. Yum. Blondie scampered off the play fetch.

Romeo turned those eyes on me, but I knew better than to meet them now. Enchant me once, shame on me. Enchant me twice, I’m six feet under.

“My name is Modred,” he announced, the name rolling off his tongue like silk. His voice was something tangible. It had a power to it.

He was suddenly holding my hand. I hadn’t seen him move. I hadn’t felt my hand move. It was that fast. One moment, hands folding neatly in lap. The next, his fingers are curled around mine, our elbows resting on the table. His thumb rolled over my knuckles gently, caressing.

“I have not seen you here before.”

His thumb circled round and round, stoking a slow heat low in my belly. I couldn’t stop staring at our conjoined hands. I kept expecting mine to burst into flame at any second from the heat he was generating.

It dawned on me his comment was more question than observation. I tried to pull my muddled thoughts together.

“A friend of mine told me about this place.” I glanced up at his forehead, as close as I dared to his eyes. “Said it was a good place to meet interesting men.” I put an inflection on the key word to add an innuendo to it that would either be ignored or confirm his supernatural connections.

He didn’t believe me, as evidenced by the raising of his eyebrows. “Your friend’s name?” he asked, perhaps teasing me a little.

“Melissa,” I blurted. His eyebrows disappeared completely under his cap and his lips turned upwards. He was amused. My bluff was disintegrating rapidly. I had to make myself believable quick. It was very difficult to fool the undead, yet vital to success. I added a surname. “Melissa Jones.” Shit. That was almost as bad as claiming I was close personal friends with Jane Doe. Damn, I was having trouble thinking with his hand touching me.

He was prevented from denouncing my lie by the return of Blondie with a tray. Blondie passed the mugs around, leaving the tray on the edge of the table. He curled into the chair with the woman. She shifted her legs, laying them across his lap. He used her as a makeshift table for his mug, one hand absentmindedly stroking her bared calf. Cozy.

Modred removed his hand from mine to grasp his mug. The confusion lifted from my mind. I took a deep breath and wrapped my hands around my tea like a lifeline.

“What kind of interesting men did you hope to find?” he asked, putting the same twist on his words that I had.

I leaned in, smiling coyly. “I like dangerous men.” I looked him up and down suggestively. “Are you dangerous?”

“Without doubt, lass,” he answered lowly. He had an accent. Faint, only coming out in certain words. Something kin to English, but not quite. Scotland, maybe. Wales? Interesting.

“How dangerous?”

He leaned in to me, so close I lost sight of his features. Hot breath caressed my cheek. His lips touched my neck, warm and trailing.

“What do you want here, slayer?” he asked against the curve of my ear, his lips brushing my lobe. I opened my mouth in a silent moan.

It took me a good 5 seconds to realize what he had said. I opened my eyes, looking at him. “What are you talking about?” I feigned ignorance. He wasn’t fooled. His lips twisted up in a sardonic smile as he leaned away from me.

“Paige Williams, fearsome vampire slayer,” Modred stated, keeping a close eye on my expression. “Or, at least, you would like to think so.” He turned slightly, motioning to Ian at the bar. “Ian Barnett, your equally fearless companion.” He watched my face turn warily to Ian, reading my concern for him, my fear at having been recognized. I hadn’t quite perfected the stone cold look. I needed to work on that.

He was amused again. “Did you think you could kill so many of us and we would not learn your name? Tsk. Tsk. Near-sighted of you.”

“Are you going to kill me?” I inquired calmly, mentally berating myself for being so stupid. I met his eyes firmly. There was no bespelling me now. My life, and Ian’s, was at stake.

“Not yet,” he whispered, giving me the once over that meant he had a more devious plan in mind. I glanced over at his two companions. They were listening intently, not even trying to hide it. Enjoying the show.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Rape and torture first?” I let out a short, scathing laugh. If he thought I was going calmly, he didn’t know shit about me. He was about to learn.

“Sadly, no.” Scarily enough, he did sound disappointed. “Not until he’s done with you, anyway.”

“He?”

“My Master.” He spit the word out, like he’d choke on it if he didn’t get it out fast enough. Interesting. Whoever Modred followed, he didn’t do it out of loyalty. I stored that away for later.

He stared at me and I got that tingling sensation again. He was trying to enchant me. Trying to control me with lust. I wasn’t falling for it this time, though it took all my self control.

“What are you?” My voice was awestruck. I didn’t like that sound, but I couldn’t help it. He really was tripping me out.

He smiled widely for me, displaying perfectly wicked fangs.

“No way,” I breathed in disbelief. “You can’t be a vamp. You don’t feel like a vamp.”

“Not the kind you’re used to,” he answered. “But nonetheless….”

Did that mean there were different kinds of vampires? Ones that could take over your self-control with a mere thought? Holy shit.

I suddenly realized I was in over my head. I had cornered myself in a room full of enemies, the most powerful of them right in front of me. My future was not looking too bright. I was getting the fuck out of there.

I calmly pushed my mug away from me. I didn’t want to accidentally knock hot tea on myself if I got into a tussle, which was highly likely at this point. What I wouldn’t give for some back-up right about now. Like, say, the entire Marine Corp.

“I’m going to calmly get up and walk out of here,” I told him steadily, trying my best to stare him down. Maybe if I was bad-ass enough, they’d just let me go. Ya think? “Ian is coming with me.”

“Of course. We’ll all go together,” Modred said just as calmly. It gave me a bad feeling.

“No,” I corrected slowly, as if explaining it to a particularly dense person. “Ian and I are leaving alone. Anyone caught following us will get a silver bullet between the eyes.”

Modred looked at me in disbelief. “Do you really think you can get out that door before one of us kills you?” he asked incredulously, indicating the rest of the room.

I was confident we couldn’t. But we were sure as Hell going to try.

“Final warning,” I threatened, my hands itching in anticipation. My right hand slid slowly up my thigh. I sat up straighter under the pretense of intimidation, thus opening the way to my .35. My eyes stayed steadily on Modred’s. First time he blinked, I was blowing his head off.

His said one word. Quiet. Commanding.

“Benny.”

I reached for my gun the same time Blondie leaped for me, the woman rolling smoothly to the floor in a crouch. I shot, still seated, with no time to aim. Blondie‘s, I mean Benny’s, shoulder exploded in a spray of blood. He didn’t scream. He didn’t change course.

I threw myself to the floor and Benny bounced off the wall above me. Without pausing, I rolled to the side. Benny landed hard on my left arm, pinning it, but at least I wasn’t completely trapped.

I swung my arm around for another shot only to have my wrist grasped firmly by Benny. He rolled on top of me, casually tossing aside the table so he could straddle me. He snarled in my face, blue eyes gone feral, teeth longer and sharper than they should be. With my suddenly free left hand, I reached for the knife on my right wrist. Benny was too busy wresting the gun from one hand to notice what the other was doing. I let the gun go, then brought my left hand arcing across, the knife slashing a thin line across collarbone and chest as I moved.

Benny howled in pain as silver bit into his flesh. He slapped my hand away. The blow vibrated through my hand painfully, but I held on to the knife. I waved my arm wildly, trying to dodge Benny’s grasp. If he trapped both my hands, I was done for. His arm and hand were soon covered in bloody nicks from the many times he’d missed and been caught by the blade.

He managed to get a grip on my other wrist and I brought my knees into his back as hard as I could. It caught him off guard and he toppled over me, dragging us into a somersault. I pushed up from the floor, hunched over him as I stood as straight as I could with him still clinging to my wrists. I lifted my left leg and brought my foot crashing down on his twisted face. His nose flattened into a bloody mess as he screamed. He released my hands to cradle his face.

I drew my other knife as I spun, ready to face my new attacker. She was on me before I finished turning. It was the wild haired female, now with equally wild eyes.

I stumbled when her body smacked into mine. Only the wall saved me from falling on my face. I slashed at her with the knives, one hand arcing after the other and crossing back, leaving double X’s on her chest. Her shirt hung in tatters from her shoulders, blood dripping down her abdomen. I was keeping her back. I didn’t want to risk her getting too close to me, instinctively knowing she would be a lot more vicious than Benny.

I tried to sweep a leg under hers, but she jumped it easily. It left me in the precarious position of being on my knees, with the woman looming over me. I drove my left hand upwards, plunging the knife to the hilt in her stomach. Her eyes filled with pain, but she didn’t cry out. Blood spilled over my hand, hot and slick. Teeth bared, her weight pushed down on my arm painfully as she leaned closer and closer. If I didn’t do something quick, she’d have me on the floor with her teeth in my neck.

I pushed back, lunging up to bury the other knife in her neck. Her weight lifted off me immediately as she staggered back with a choked gurgling. My one hand was so slick with blood the knife just slid out of my hand. The other was buried so deep in tendon and muscle it was wrenched from my grip. I grabbed the dagger from my hip. I was running out of weapons fast.

“Pause,” Modred said from across the room. He didn’t raise his voice, yet it was commanding enough to carry. We all turned to him.

He was standing at the bar, one hand casually wrapped around Ian’s neck, the other pointing Ian’s gun to his temple. The pretty Witch who had been with Ian stood to the side, holding his other weapons. There was a darkening bruise on Ian’s cheek, but otherwise he seemed unhurt. Remarkably, no one else in the room had moved, though an eerie silence prevailed. Maybe they thought it was the floor show, or maybe they were waiting for their cue.

“Enough play, slayer,” Modred continued. His voice was not threatening in the least, but I wasn’t reassured. If I didn’t become a team player, he’d kill Ian without a second thought.

“What do you want?” My voice was harsh, tinged with anger and violence.

“Put down your weapons and come with me,” he replied, as if that was the reasonable thing to do. “After we have had our private conversation, you and your friend will be free to go.”

“Yeah, right,” I scoffed. Ian wiggled his fingers, subtle. If I hadn’t been looking at him, I’d have missed it. Something glinted in his palm. A vial of Holy Water. I understood immediately: he’d distract Modred with the Holy Water and I’d take the bastard out. I kept Modred’s attention on me while I waited for my cue.

“You’d let us go, just like that?” I glanced at the female. She wasn’t going anywhere, except maybe the afterlife. My eyes slid over to Benny. His nose had stopped bleeding and the bones had knitted back into place. He was bruised and tired, but I couldn’t count him out as a threat yet.

Modred smiled at me. I didn’t trust that smile. “Just like that.”

Sure. I also believed the tooth fairy was real.

“What’s so important that we have to have a private talk?” I asked. I was stalling, trying to give Ian his opportunity. I certainly didn’t want to go anywhere private with this bunch.

Modred hesitated, looking for the right words. Ian took his opportunity. Faster than I have ever seen him move before, Ian raised his hand over his shoulder, smashing the vial of Holy Water in his palm into Modred’s face. The vial broke, shards of glass embedded in both their skins, the water running harmlessly down Modred’s face.

I wasn’t expecting that. There should be smoke, sizzling, screaming. It should be eating at the bastard’s face like acid. The only reaction we were getting was anger. Extreme anger.

Modred calmly passed the gun to the Witch, his whole body trembling as waves of palpable rage rippled off him. I shivered at its intensity, the knife sliding from my hand, clattering at me feet, as my body numbed in shock. He reached up and, in agonizing slowness, gently pulled a long sliver of glass out from his left eye. Blood gushed from the wound like a broken dam, covering several minor rivulets from insignificant nicks. His lips curled in pain and rage as his eyelid swelled closed.

“Fuck!” he cursed, stomping his foot like a toddler. Modred grabbed Ian’s collar by one hand, lifting him several inches off the floor. He wasn’t even straining. He casually tossed Ian across the room. Ian smacked hard into the far wall, crumbling motionlessly at the silent musician’s feet. I screamed.

Someone grabbed me from behind, pinning my arms to my side. I reacted on sheer impulse. I lifted my heel and stamped down with all my weight onto my attacker’s foot. He cursed and straightened, making a perfect target for a hard elbow to the abs. His breath escaped in a rush, his arms relaxing enough for me to break free. I spun quickly, grabbed his hunched shoulders and drove my knee into his groin. Benny dropped like a rock.

I turned back to Modred, looking at him in hatred and pain. He had hurt Ian. If the damage was permanent, so help the sorry bastard. He stared back, frustration and annoyance plain on his face. Apparently, he wasn’t used to things not going his way.

“It’s one fucking slayer,” he yelled in exasperation, staring one-eyed around the room. “Get her!”

Almost as one, the crowd leaped out of their chairs and bum-rushed me. I was panting, covered in monster blood and had no chance of escape. I was tackled like the star quarterback at the 20 yard line.

It's close to 1 a.m. I'm sitting in one of those all night diners, my cold hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea, no sugar, extra cream. It is not a cold night; the air is thick and muggy. My hands are cold anyways. They are always cold, to match my heart, I guess.



The man sitting across from me is a vampire. He doesn't know I know he's a vampire. He's doing his best impression of human: pleasant smile; honest eyes; each movement slow and deliberate. No display of inhuman traits at all. The stench of death, however, clings to him like a cheap suit. That was my first clue. After that, I started to notice other things. Nails that were too long. Eyes glassy and too dark to be natural. Marble smooth skin, waxy and slightly yellowish, shimmering with an almost iridescent light of its own, like a ghost made solid.



He's trying to hide his unnatural pallor by wearing as much clothing as he can without looking like a vagrant. Neatly pressed khakis; long-sleeved dress shirt a pale blue ( an effort to counteract the yellow, I suppose); light brown sport's jacket; and an oh-so-stylish beanie in military green. Actually, I think it was the hat that gave him away. It clashed with the rest of him. Draws attention. It had drawn my attention when I had passed him in the street earlier.



Vampires. No fashion sense at all.



Across the table, he's giving me the eye. Trying to pretend to be any healthy male attracted to a beautiful female. But his eyes stray to the juncture in my neck just a little too frequently for me to be convinced. He wants something from me alright, but it has nothing to do with my attractiveness.



I give him my best flirtatious smile over the rim of my mug. Let him think his ploy is working. But I am careful not to make direct eye contact. It is a well-known fact that vampires bespell their victims with their eyes. He will think it is shyness or embarrassment, or some other weak trait. Demureness, maybe? I almost giggle aloud at the thought.



Vampires are bold hunters, and this one had been no different. He had come up to me on the street, pleasant as you please, and proceeded to hit on me in the all-American fashion. I pretended flattery and intrigue, following him to the diner at his invitation for coffee. Why they feel the need to woo their victims first, I don't know. All part of the game, I guess. If he wanted to play cat and mouse, that was fine with me. But make no mistake, I am no mouse.



I'm a bounty hunter. Assassin. Slayer. I make a living off of putting the dead back where they belong. And vampires are my specialty.



I have trained to be a vampire hunter since I was nine years old, when my mother was killed by one. By age 16, I was operating in the field, with my two best friends and fellow vamp haters. I spent my senior prom up to my elbows in undead gore. The thrill of the kill is quite elating, but all that blood is not exactly kind to watered silk.



"It's getting late. Perhaps I should walk you home," the vamp suggests pleasantly. On a less aware mortal, his voice would have been seductive. I found it annoying. "The streets are a dangerous place for such a beautiful girl."



"I don't know," I hesitate with a delicate shrug. "I really don't know you."



I turn large jade green eyes on him, channeling my best lost-little-girl aura. Knock it if you want, but it works. Every time. There is just something about a helpless, innocent female that monsters can't resist. Why do you think Dragons always demand maiden sacrifices?



I can pull off helpless and innocent pretty well. I can't help it, it's my looks. I'm petite. Five two, 103 pounds, small-boned and delicate looking. When loose, my hair flows down my back in coppery-blonde ringlets. My large eyes are slanted, like a cat's, and an enchanting blue-green that never fails to draw attention. I appear benign, angelic. I am not, but I make good bait anyway.



He reached out and caressed my fingertips with his. I resist the urge to shudder, just barely.



"You don't have to be afraid of me, Anne," he coos, intoning the name like a lover.



Anne is not my name, but I told him it was. It was the first rule of vampire hunting. Never give them a scrap of personal information. They could use it to control you. Vampires and voodoo priests.



I agree to let him walk me home, letting him assume it was his awesome powers of suggestion that has convinced me. I suddenly feel like Little Red Riding Hood, all innocent and naive before the monster. I wonder where my basket of goodies is.



We are out in the dark, deserted streets now, moving farther and farther away from the safety of the diner and people. There are few cars in this section of town, and no pedestrians. I am alone with an undead creep. Well, not totally alone. I can see Ian's red tempo parked a little ways down the street, looking dark and empty. Somewhere in the shadows, he is watching me.



For safety and the occasional what-ifs, my two partners and I had agreed on the buddy system. Whenever one of us went out hunting or investigating any supernatural beings, we were always sure to inform someone of our whereabouts first. If possible, one or the other would accompany whoever, keeping a safe but not too far distance. Tonight it was Ian, my best friend since 4th grade.



The vamp beside me twitched involuntarily. Anticipation of the moment, I guess. So gross.



The streetlight ahead of us is burnt out, and we are plunged into darkness. I regret the passing of that heartening little circle of light, but the undead prefer to attack in shadow.



No sooner has this thought passed my mind than I am pressed painfully against a brick wall, tepid foul breath caressing my cheek as the vampire leans into me familiarly. He was going for it, sudden, no warning. Just deep shadows and bloodlust. Unexpected, but I could deal. I was adaptable.



"Let me kiss you, love," he whispers eagerly. I shiver from the chill that washes over me. Vampire breath is not hot and soft. The dead give off no heat. It was cold and touched my skin like an icy wind.



My right hand strays to my tote bag as he nuzzles his face against my cheek. He takes in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the sweet smell of life. His nearness is revolting, but I have to play along if I don't want him to notice what my hand is doing.



I have succeeded in retrieving one of my special-made stakes: ash wood tipped with pure silver, the two most deadly things to a vampiric immune system. He has migrated to my neck, sharp fangs grazing across my flesh as he searches for the perfect spot to chomp down. I'm not going to give him the chance.



With my left hand, I push him from me, allowing for free movement of my right. His eyes light up in surprise, his mouth agape. It takes him a moment to realize his prey is defending itself. Like most vampires, it's not used to having to battle its food. Then he sees the stake in my other hand and his lips twist into an angry grimace. My strike opportunity is quickly vanishing.



I raise the stake and throw myself at him, using my momentum to drive the stake through shirt, flesh, cartilage, heart. I have perfected my aim over the years, quickly having learned that an inch to the left or right is the difference between victory and death.



He gasps in shock and pain, the air being pulled into his damaged lungs with an audible wheeze. Eyes bulge out of his head as the silver and ash start to take effect. Black blood bubbles up from his mouth, already congealed. Arms wave uselessly in front of him, trying desperately to scratch or grab or do whatever damage he may to his killer. But he is slowly falling backwards and I am out of reach.



"No necking on the first date," I taunt as he sinks to the ground. I stand over him, watching the effect of his death in satisfaction.



When a vampire dies, releasing whatever it is that keeps those suckers alive, the body degenerates. Essentially, I was watching a corpse decompose in fast forward. The skin graying, wrinkling and shrinking, eventually shedding off completely. The musculature rotting off in like manner. The skeleton aging, cracking, falling into dust. Soon, there is nothing left but the remnants of my stake, eroded by the vampiric blood, and the empty clothing. Red Riding Hood's revenge.



"Superb. Couldn't have done it better myself."



I spin around quickly, searching for the owner of the voice. Out of the shadows of the alley steps a devastatingly gorgeous male. 5'10, classic features, mop of curly dark tresses, chiseled body. He is dressed all in black, which is probably why I didn't notice him earlier. I reach for the silver knife strapped to the back of my jeans under my shirt, immediately on guard. I know what he is, can smell it. Werewolf.



My movement does not go unnoticed. He holds out a hand pleadingly.



"Please, no weapons. I have no wish to fight you."



"I thought wolves liked a challenge from their meals?" I return snidely. Okay, so I'm not the most diplomatic of people. Better rude than food, I always say.



He tosses me a wolfish grin, and I mean that literally. The only thing he's missing is the fur and the snout. Everything about him screams predator.



"I'm not going to eat you. Yet. I'm here to warn you."



Alright. That 'not going to eat you yet' crack has got me ticked. I'm considering stabbing the bastard just for that. But I'll wait until I hear what he has to say first.



"Warn me about what? The dangers of talking to strangers?"



"There are some who do not appreciate your...occupation." Cute choice of vocabulary, there. "You are being watched."



"That's your big warning?" I scoff. Annoyingly cryptic. I hate the supernatural. Why don't they ever just get to the point and stop being dramatic? "Thanks, pal, but I can handle myself."



To prove my point, I draw my knife and take a step forward, ready to rumble. Before my foot touches the ground, inhumanly strong arms wrap around my middle, pinning my arms to my sides and lifting me from the ground. Shit. There's two of them.



I kick and wiggle, but it is no use. Trying to break the hold of a supernatural being is like trying to bend steel bars with your bare hands. Unless you're Superman, don't even think about it. I try to twist my head so I can at least look at my captor's face, but the angle is wrong.



The first one advances on me, relaxed but with violence in his eyes. He leans close into my face and I can't help but breath in his masculine, woodsy scent. It is arousing and seductive, but I'm too worried about my neck to linger over lust.



"That warning was from my Master. This one is from my Mistress." His eyes shine yellow in the dark and he growls deep in his chest. I know that sound. The sound of a predator when he has cornered his prey. Shit.



He opens his mouth, displaying teeth growing longer by the second. His face elongates, inching outward into an imitation of a snout, skin stretching and bones popping. I stare at his half-mutated face, reminded of a 6' grizzly shaved bald. I don't know whether to laugh or scream, am too scared to do either. I don't dare look away, though. Don't want to make it easier for him.



He licks his chops with his big doggy tongue, obviously imaging what I'd taste like. Involuntarily, I close my eyes against that moist, smacking sound. He had superb control over his body to effect a half transformation, only his face and hands changed. I needed an escape plan in the next split second, or I was dog chow. Unfortunately, the best thing I could think of would be to kick desperately at my attacker's legs. When you are pinned tight against a werewolf 10 times stronger than you, your options are kind of limited.



The one behind me suddenly let out a howl and dropped me like I was hot. I let gravity do its thing and I sprawled on the ground. Anything to get those jaws out of reach. I rolled to my back, knife brandished before me as I groped blindly in my purse with my spare hand for the small derringer I carried. It wouldn't kill a damn thing, but I loaded silver bullets and it just might be enough to scare the bastards off.



The one who had held me was staggering around madly, both hands reaching down his back in a vain attempt to remove the silver cross-bow bolt that was lodged in his scapula. My partner Ian stood at the edge of the sidewalk, crossbow in hand. He had already reloaded, but hadn't decided which werewolf to aim at yet; he was waiting to see which one would notice him first.



Dog-boy had turned his attention from me at his partner's outburst. He spotted Ian immediately and growled threateningly. His body tensed and I knew he was preparing to charge. I abandoned my search for the gun and scrambled to my feet. I had to distract him before he made a leap for Ian. Ian was a good shot, but he'd be helpless in hand to hand.



Ian swung the bow to Dog-boy, making the mistake of meeting the wolf-man's eyes. He hesitated and Dog-boy jumped. Jumped, perhaps, is an unflattering and simplistic word for what he did. It was more graceful and stronger than any mere jump. Anyone who's seen the nature channel knows what I mean. You could see the muscles bunch beneath his skin, even through the black pants. >You could feel the tense energy emanating from him, the eager hunter and his prey.



I didn't think; I reacted. I pulled back and hurled my knife at the wolf-man's back. I didn't care where I hit him, as long as it made him miss Ian. The knife plunged into the back of his thigh at a wild angle, sliding all the way through the skin to peek out the other side like a macabre safety pin. He rolled to the side in mid-air with a yelp of pain, missing Ian by several feet. Now, however, his attention was on little ole' unarmed me. Oh, goody.



I dived my hand back into my purse after my derringer, but I wasn't going to find it before teeth and claws found me. But he didn't rush me. He passed so close to me I shivered, but he didn't touch me. He reached for his fallen comrade, who was now writhing on the ground. I got the feeling this was the first time he'd been shot by a silver bolt and wasn't adjusting well to the pain. Ian kept his bow trained on the pair, watching their every move, but didn't fire. Dog-boy grabbed his friend by the arm and hauled him to his feet. Holding him against his shoulder like a frightened and whimpering pup, Dog-boy reached over and yanked the bolt from the flesh. He was rewarded with a howl of pain.



I pulled the derringer from the folds of my purse and aimed for Dog-boy's head. He caught my movement out of the corner of his eye, turning faster than was humanly possible. I didn't even see his hand move, but suddenly the bolt was quivering and thrumming like a tuning fork beside my ear, buried three inches thick in the wall behind me. The shock of it froze me, finger half squeezing the trigger. My heart was in my throat, pounding hard and fast. Ian pulled the trigger on his bow, the bolt missing his head by centimeters as the werewolf ran past me with his friend over one shoulder, answering the question if werewolves were faster than a speeding bolt.



When he reached the far side of the street, he turned and flicked his wrist. My knife was suddenly trembling beside my other ear. We locked eyes, mine wide and green; his calm and shiny yellow. He was letting me know he'd missed on purpose, letting me know they weren't scared off but were letting me go. He could have killed me at any time. That scared me more than the two missiles on either side of my head.



Ian finished reloading and spun to face the werewolves. It was too late, of course. They were gone, melting into the night as only the supernatural can. He pivoted from side to side, scanning the darkness for more danger. We were alone. He relaxed, pointing the bow to the sky and strode towards me. I watched him walk, without grace, body still tense from adrenaline, eyes wide with fear. By the time he reached me, the panicked look had faded from his eyes.



I always wondered what Ian was doing following me on these suicide missions. He wasn't a killer, not like me. He was one of the gentlest people I knew. He was an even six feet, slender as a pole, the kind of person who didn't look intimidating even with a crossbow over one shoulder. A cap of mousy brown hair topped a boyish face that made him appear years younger than he was, and round soft brown eyes as innocent as a puppy's. None of it was illusion. He was innocent. Not in the virginal way, of course, but the way a child is before they learn what death is. He'd defended himself and me against the undead, but he'd never killed anything. He wouldn't. That was my job. That was why he hesitated in the face of a charging werewolf, and why he never aimed where it would count. He tried to detach himself from the violence of his job as much as possible, sometimes to the point of endangering himself. Still, there was no one I'd rather have at my back. He might not kill to save me, but he'd sure as Hell try his damndest to scare 'em off.



He stopped a couple of feet from me. "Are you alright?" he asked calmly.



I was not calm. I was shaking like a leaf in a monsoon. My nerves had all been shot to Hell, the adrenaline the only thing that kept me on my feet, and that fading fast. Almost having your brain pinned to a wall twice in less than a minute will kind of do that to you.



"I'll live," I answered, shoving the gun back in my purse. Cautiously, I pushed myself away from the wall. I took a trembling step and my knees gave out beneath me. I was breathing hard, on all fours, hating myself for this show of weakness. Ian knelt beside me but didn't touch me. He knew better.



"Werewolves only hunt on the full moon," he said, tone puzzled. It was a question, but I didn't have an answer either of us would understand.



"He said he had a message for me," I answered. "A warning to stop hunting vamps, I think."



"They don't know you very well if they think you'll just walk away because they said so."



"Threatening me just makes me want to kill them. Slowly." I meant it. They had cowed me, threatened my friend. It made me angry, and when I got angry I got violent. I wanted revenge.



I pushed myself slowly to my feet, standing with my legs slightly apart for better balance. Usually when I was this weak, I was in a monumentous amount of pain. But I wasn't even bruised. I was crippled from fear alone. That pissed me off more.



"He said something about his Master and Mistress," I said, working through the short conversation in my head, looking for clues. "Werewolves don't call their pack leaders Master. The only thing arrogant enough to be called Master is a vampire."



"Something stronger than the Casanova you wasted tonight," Ian added.



"Strong enough to boss around at least two werewolves. Not a comforting thought." I began walking for the car. I left the knife and bolt where they were. I knew I wasn't strong enough to pull them from the wall, so I didn't even try. I was feeling inadequate enough as it was. I opened the passenger side door and fell into the seat. I was smart enough to know it wasn't a good idea for me to drive right now.



Ian slid into the driver's seat, cranked the ignition but didn't move the car. I waited. Ian sometimes took a long time to say what was on his mind. It was something that was both annoying and endearing.



"So I'm guessing we start looking for these two Master vamps?" He didn't sound happy about it. He was never as excited as me when it came to hunting the enemy.



"Do you even have to ask?"



"But we've never come up against Master vamps before," Ian argued. "Maybe you're in over your head this time."



"You're saying I should do what they say and throw in the towel?" He winced at the anger in my voice, but I didn't back down. "Let the bloodsuckers feed off the innocent, knowing I could stop them? Let them make orphans out of another child? Is that what I should do?"



"Sometimes it's all you can do," Ian whispered, not looking at me. "But you're right. We'll hunt them down. And if we get killed, at least we'll die with a clear conscience."



"Being dramatic, aren't we?" I returned snidely. He was trying to make me feel guilty but it wouldn't work on me.



He turned a smile at me, his dramatic mood broken. You couldn't keep Ian down for long.



"You're right, okay? I should know better by now that you'll never quit. Not until you kill all of them, or they kill you. So, where do we start?"



I sighed, unsure myself. I didn't have a clue where to start. I had absolutely no information at all, didn't know where to get any. The best thing I could do was wait for them to fall in my lap. Not a promising plan.