Page 69 of Bane of Hate and Silver (Primordial Inheritance #1)

Several Months After That

The stunning specimen of a human woman beneath him screamed, out of fear or pleasure, was no concern of his.

Regardless, he pounded his cock into her and drained blood from her carotid artery simultaneously.

The high of blood and sex mixed with the thrill of the kill, as her life drained before his eyes.

A meek knock on the ornate wooden door pounded in his ears. Who dared disturb him without an invitation?

Ignoring the attempt at an intrusion he continued his rhythm.

His body coiling tighter with every ounce of her blood and thrust of his hips.

As the screaming weakened his pace quickened.

Perfecting the practice over the last thousand years had this act down to a flawless euphoria.

He drank the last drop in tandem with the release that crashed over him.

He gripped her red hair in his hand and twisted her neck, to ensure there would be no rising from the dead.

Her nose was too big anyway. The knock came again.

A little harder this time. Scowling, he rose, unstrapped the dead woman from her restraints, and pulled a velvet robe over his sleek, chiseled, body.

Walking to his ornate drink cart, he poured himself a glass of a perfect vintage bourbon.

Vintage to the world. Vintage to him was nonexistent.

“Yes,” he called to the knocker as he sat in one of his ridged armchairs.

Giving the person on the other side of the door permission to enter but not necessarily permission to leave.

“My Lord,” said a loyal werewolf slave named Jameson as he opened the door tentatively. Werewolves generally didn’t enter his place of rest, unless it was to clean his fireplace or make his bed.

“My Lord, she is back…”

“Who?” He was annoyed.

“The one you instructed us to watch for,” Jameson added. He could almost feel his dead heart beating with excitement.

“Are you sure it’s her?” he asked, rising to stand threateningly over the man before him.

“Yes, My Lord. I saw Lady Juliana myself.” The wolf trembled.

“Thank you, Jameson.” He placed his hands on either side of the wolf’s neck. “Does anyone else know of this?”

“No… no, My Lord.” Jameson shook slightly.

“Good.” He kissed the man’s forehead and then twisted harshly. The body slumped to the ground, his neck broken.

“Damn,” he said aloud to himself as he walked over to his desk and slid open a drawer.

He’d forgotten to ask Jameson if he had acquired the scotch that he’d been sent out for.

“Oh well,” he said, pulling out the gun he kept stashed there for moments like these.

Aiming at the back of Jameson’s head, he squeezed the trigger.

The wound smoked where the silver bullet penetrated his brain.

“Juliana Bristow. Come back home, have you?” He turned the image of the girl who got away over in his mind.

Her soft auburn hair and delicate frame had eluded him long enough.

The dead woman on his bed was a pour substitute.

They all were. “You will be mine once more,” Hector declared and then walked from the room to find someone to dispose of the bodies.