Page 10 of Bullets and Blood (Hunting Hearts #1)

Chapter Eight

Nix draped the towel around his shoulders and watched the waves roll in. The surf was good, but there was a chill in the air he couldn’t ignore. If he was going to keep surfing at night as winter closed in, he was going to need to acquire a wetsuit.

He lit the joint and inhaled, pretending he was sixteen again and had nothing more pressing to worry about than his exam results.

Why he’d even given a shit about his grades, he didn’t know.

It hadn’t mattered how good his results were; he’d been going nowhere fast. He just hadn’t known it at the time.

He exhaled. Eleven years later and not much had changed, but he knew the reasons and understood the consequences.

He hadn’t changed, not since being turned.

However, he understood why his brothers had become mad keen gym junkies in the months before they’d been turned.

He possibly should’ve listened to them, but there’d been a few years where things had been changing, and he thought he might slip the family noose. He took another drag.

It really wasn’t worth stealing a wetsuit for thirteen days.

Bitterness surged.

He still had no fucking plan.

He was going to die slowly and painfully just so the Orlans could claim victory.

He stared at the joint. Either this was poor quality, or no amount of dope could take the edge away tonight. He closed his eyes and filled his lungs, holding his breath as he willed time to stop and unwind.

His mother had been going to buy a large winery.

A way to move into entertainment. Weddings, alcohol.

Legit businesses. He’d put his hand up to do the winemaking course when he finished school.

It was just science, and he was good at that.

He’d been seventeen when the peace talks had turned into murder.

His lungs burned, but he didn’t exhale. Not yet.

A year later, he’d been turned and joined the war, taking out targets and trying not to get hit himself while he finished his last year at school.

He shouldn’t have bothered finishing year 12.

His education didn’t matter. The winery became a forgotten plan.

Only survival mattered. Then, the war had gone to the streets, with the Orlans making a mess that couldn’t be hidden from the humans.

‘Rival gangs,’ the cops called it, and the media had lapped up the lie.

While vampire wars were usually fought at night, this one had spilled into daylight. It lasted years. Picking through their numbers, decimating both families. And he’d played his part like an obedient soldier.

He exhaled and coughed. His eyes watered. It was all so pointless.

He opened his eyes to stare at the stars.

Behind him, someone was coming down the track to the beach.

Their footsteps knocked rocks off the path, so they bounced down the slope.

It wasn’t the most accessible place. His bike was nestled in the shrubs and would hopefully still be there when he went back up, or it would be a long walk home.

He listened more intently to the footsteps, blocking out the sound of the waves hitting the beach and the crackle of the burning paper and weed. One set, not kids hiding from parents or dealers doing business.

He smiled and took a drag, enjoying the burn at the back of his throat.

“What do you want…Lance?” Oops, almost called him Orlan, but they were pretending that they weren’t filled with poisoned blood. He smothered a giggle.

“Just checking up on my favorite enemy.” He was still several meters away.

Nix’s head felt as expansive as the sky. Maybe this stuff wasn’t too bad. “You got others I don’t know about. Should I be jealous?”

Lance dropped down next to him. Nix offered him what was left of the joint.

“Nah.”

Nix shrugged. “Whatever.”

The waves rolled onto the beach and dragged the sand back into the dark ocean. They sat in silence. Nix took another drag, needing something to do so he didn’t think about how delicious Lance tasted and how he owed him a bite. “I’m going back in the water.”

Lance shuddered. “Don’t you worry about sharks?”

He blew out the smoke slowly. “Sharks are the least of my problems.” He glanced at Lance. Even in the moonlight, he was pretty and golden. “Might be a nice way to go.”

Lance reached out and took the joint. “I’ll wait here.”

“I’ll make good on my threat if you are.” It wasn’t a promise…

“I know. You keep your word.” Lance smiled. His heartbeat was fast and tempting.

It had been five weeks since Nix had tasted human blood. Lance wasn’t human, but he wasn’t quite vampire either, and he was delicious. The pressure in the roof of his mouth built, and he fought to keep his fangs flat. He studied the man who was his enemy, but all he wanted to do was kiss him again.

Sharks were definitely less dangerous.

Nix shrugged off the towel, picked up his surfboard, and went to lose himself in the ink and silver of the ocean at night.

His focus was only on the water and board.

He’d had to give up so many things he loved when he’d been turned, and this was something he’d refused to let go of.

He didn’t care how unsuitable his mother thought it.

He couldn’t think of her without hearing bullets cut through the air.

Not even the Indian Ocean could drown the sound.

When he got out of the water, his skin was cold, and his bones were solid ice.

Nix hoped Lance had left, but he was lying on the beach, watching him as he walked closer.

The sand coated his feet, and the breeze made his skin prickle to attention.

His blood warmed under Lance’s gaze. His night vision would be almost as good as his.

“I can’t turn you,” Nix called up the beach. And even if he could, that would make Lance a Hadley, and Nix doubted Lance would want that.

“I know.”

Only women could turn males into full vampires, and only the women were fertile. He was nothing; it was Zinnia the Orlans wanted. Yet they couldn’t let him go.

Nix shoved his board into the sand and wrapped his towel around himself like a cape. Trying to warm up. It was really getting too cold for these nighttime jaunts. “I thought you weren’t supposed to get bitten until you were turned.”

“Bit late for that.”

“You should’ve stopped me.”

“I didn’t want to.” Lance fiddled with a shell. “I’ve begun to wonder if I’ll ever get turned.”

“I’m sure when you swan in with me at gunpoint, they’ll blood you in a heartbeat.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his words.

“You aren’t going to let me do that.”

“What gave you that idea?”

Lance smiled up at him. “Because you are a survivor, a fighter.” The smile faded. “And I’m not sure I can.”

“That’s your problem and my good luck.” That didn’t mean Lance wouldn’t call someone to bag and tag him. He squatted down and pulled a bottle of red out of his bag to warm himself up. He twisted off the cap and took a drink before offering the bottle.

“Do you ever have beer?”

“I work at a winery. Do you want it or not?”

Lance took a swig and handed it back. “Is this what you do? Get high and drink and surf?”

“Got a better idea about how I should be spending my evenings? Beats the hell out of hunting down some bastard and slotting one between his eyebrows.”

“But you did it twenty-eight times.”

“Twenty-one. The others were garotte, and you missed three.”

“They were unconfirmed so not on your bio.”

“Now, when you call home, you can confirm them.” Nix took another swig, the alcohol blooming in his stomach.

“You didn’t want to do it.”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about our families. Thirteen days to be something more than them. More than what they wanted for us.” He offered Lance the bottle. “More what we want for ourselves. Thirteen days to live the rest of my life.”

Lance had a drink. His throat moved as he swallowed. He shuddered as though it were some cheap vintage, not a well-aged shiraz, and handed the wine back. “And then what?”

“I’ll think of something. Lead you on a chase around the world.

” He flopped back into the soft, fine sand.

He might be able to take a few cases of expensive wine, sell them, and get a passport with a new name.

He’d leave a message for Zinnia, and they could meet in Prague.

Or Rome. Or fucking Ibiza—he didn’t care.

Lance leaned over him. “Do you not want to bite me?”

Nix reached up and ran his fingers through Lance’s hair. “I do. Very much.” He pushed up onto his elbow and kissed him. His lips were warm and tasted like dope. Lance had finished the joint. “I just don’t know why you want it so bad.”

“Might be my only chance? You said two weeks?—”

“Thirteen days.”

“Fine. Thirteen days to do whatever we want.”

“Whatever we want.” He trailed his fingers along Lance’s jaw. “You aren’t scared I’ll take too much. Solve my problem and have a decent feed in one pleasant evening?”

“Am I a problem to solve?” Lance moved over him, his knee dropping between Nix’s thighs.

“Yes. A very pretty one, but you have upset my tiny little life.”

“Where you sit on the beach and drink and smoke alone?

He wasn’t alone now. Lance was very, very close. “I didn’t say it was perfect, but it’s more than I’ve had for the previous five months.”

“What would your new life look like if I wasn’t here and no one was coming?”

Nix laughed. “You don’t get to know in case you use that against me in the future. What does yours look like if you don’t get turned?”

Lance looked away. “I don’t know.”

“I can tell you. More of the same. Honestly, mine would’ve been more of the same, too. The broken peace talks derailed everything.”

“Then why shoot first?”