Page 6

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D ead was an awful smell to get used to. The scent of formaldehyde hit Damon’s nose as he and Tiffany slipped into the morgue. He had to admit, Tiffany had proved helpful. After picking a few locks and then batting her eyes a few times to clear things with security, they were able to enter the morgue with relative ease. More than he could have managed alone.

The reflective silver surfaces and sharp, sterilized instruments laid out on tray tables made the room as cold as the chilled air around them. Tiffany coughed and covered her face with her sleeve. Damon may have been new to town, but he was used to the smells and sights of the morgue like this. He’d shadowed some of the world’s most elite vampire slayers for the past several years. The smell of dead bodies no longer churned his stomach, though the thought of all the children in the silver drawers lining the walls did.

There was nothing worse than working on a case involving kids. The fact that Jane Doe was on the older side of childhood didn’t make it any easier. So much for sweet sixteen.

Tiffany was about to learn that the hard way.

He walked to the small coroner’s desk in the corner and riffled through the files. In a city as big as Rochester, there was bound to be more than one Jane Doe in the morgue, but only one with the type of extensive damage they were looking for.

Tiffany cleared her throat, still wiping desperately at her nose as if she were trying to erase the smell. “Do you know who we’re looking for?”

He still couldn’t believe she was standing here, beside him.

Dropping that hint about knowing Mark had worked liked a dream.

But now that he had her trust, he needed to do what was necessary to scare her straight. No matter his own feelings.

He continued searching through the stacks of papers without answering. The victim’s file likely had to be somewhere near the top. He noticed a freshly printed page sticking out of a manila folder and pulled at the edge. The header of the report identified Jane Doe by her extensive mutilation. Bingo. This was not going to be pleasant.

“Damon,” she said again.

Fuck, he would never get used to hearing his name on her lips.

He turned toward her with the paper in hand.

Reading over the IDs, he matched the number on the report to the corresponding label on a drawer. He placed his hand on the cold metal handle as Tiffany walked to his side.

He nodded toward the drawer. “Don’t watch this, Shortcake.”

She frowned at the nickname, but still shook her head at him. “I’m fine. I don’t have a weak stomach.”

Reverse psychology for the win.

He shook his head. “There are some things nobody should have to see.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and planted her feet firmly.

Obviously, she wasn’t going to let this go.

He let out a long sigh. “Suit yourself.” He pulled open the drawer and fought not to gag.

Immediately Tiffany ran to the small wastebasket near the coroner’s desk and hurled. Damon wrinkled his nose, torn between giving her some space and a strange desire to take care of her, to hold back her hair. He didn’t blame her one bit.

“Still want to fuck around with vampires, Shortcake?” he called over his shoulder toward her.

Tiffany didn’t respond, only let out another audible heave.

A pang of guilt shot through him.

It was messed up for him to bring her along on this. He knew it, but better this than allow her to risk her own safety. All he could do is hope this would be enough.

He stared down at the unidentifiable body as anger slowly built inside his chest. Even if they’d found an ID, it would have been next to impossible to identify this girl, and no parent deserved to see their child like this. A large, gaping hole took the place of her face. Her lips, eyes and mouth simply gone, like some gruesome figure in a haunted house or a Japanese horror film.

As if the facial mutilation wasn’t enough, several sets of fang-sized holes marred her neck and collarbone. From the heavy, purpled bruising, they were evidence of the M.O.D.—method of death: exsanguination. Damon sighed. He’d stopped hoping for the existence of a higher power long ago, but, damn, he prayed the mutilation had occurred after she’d already been drained. The thought of her suffering from the injuries to her face as a vampire slowly bled her out was more than even he could handle.

He’d kill the sick bastard who’d done this. The worthless piece of shit deserved to die a slow, painful and torturous death.

The sounds of Tiffany still emptying her stomach came from the corner.

He tried not to look in her direction, to give her at least a small bit of dignity.

She’d change her tune after this alright.

Carefully, he examined the holes on the victim’s neck. There was no mistaking it. The victim’s wounds were definitely fang marks, the exact shape and width of the average vampire’s canine teeth. Walking to the coroner’s cabinet, he searched until he found three cotton swabs and the containers used for sending away samples for DNA analysis. He traced one around the edge of her fang bites, another near the edges of her facial wounds and the third over a small speck of dried blood on her cheek. He capped all three samples and glanced down at the body.

A feeling of disgust hit him. Desecrating the poor girl’s corpse was the last thing he wanted to do at that moment, but he couldn’t risk her turning into a vampire within one month’s time. He needed to take preemptive measures to ensure she wouldn’t turn, the measures he should have taken with Mark. Pulling his stake from inside his coat, he placed it over her heart. He closed his eyes, inhaled a deep breath and thrust the stake downward.

Tiffany hurled into the trash bin once more.

Damon opened his eyes again. Dry bloodless flesh, but otherwise there was no reaction. He let out a long sigh of relief. It was bad enough she’d been murdered by a vampire but thank God she hadn’t turned in the process. Bile rose in his throat as he thought of Mark being one of those bloodsuckers. Of Mark killing humans to fuel his own immortality. Because once turned, there was no fighting the change, and for the first year a vampire’s blood thirst raged so hard that all the self-control in the world wouldn’t aid him.

His eyes darted toward Tiffany.

What would she say if she knew Mark’s death was his fault?

He removed the stake from the victim’s heart and pulled his cleaning rag from his pocket. He wiped off the lacquered wood, placing the stake inside his jacket again, then closed the drawer, sealing the corpse inside, before he walked to Tiffany’s side.

She lifted her head from the trash bin. Shoving her hair away from her face, she inclined her head toward the drawer. “Is it closed now?”

Damon nodded. “Yeah, let’s go, Shortcake.”

She shot out of the morgue and toward the car as if someone had lit a fire under her ass. Judging by her pale white face, she was more than a little spooked. She didn’t speak again until he slid into the passenger seat beside her.

“I thought you had a strong stomach,” he said taking hold of the wheel.

She shook her head. “I thought so, too.”

Damon wasn’t surprised. Regular people thought being immune to motion sickness constituted a strong stomach. Dealing with the dead was different.

She would need to toughen up for med school, if that was still her plan. She’d been prepping for her studies when they’d last communicated several months ago. He opened his mouth to comment but then promptly caught himself.

Do not go there, Damon.

He couldn’t let her know who he was. Not if he wanted to ensure her safety.

No, he needed to take her home. Drop her off at her apartment, then turn and never look back. He shifted the car into drive and paused to plan out his next move. Getting the samples into Headquarters’ database before the evidence could be comprised needed to be his priority.

Within a few seconds they were back on the street, speeding away from the hospital.

Tiffany slumped against the headrest, closing her eyes. “Where are we going?”

“Your place. I’m taking you home. Give me the address, Shortcake.”

She shook her head. “I can’t go home after this.”

He lifted a brow. “Why the hell not?”

“Did you see that girl in there?” She gestured toward the morgue and shuddered. “I’ll never sleep.”

He shook his head, moving to shift the car into gear. “How you sleep isn’t my problem.”

“I’ll feel safer,” she blurted out, causing him to stop suddenly.

His gaze slid toward her.

“I’ll feel safer if I’m with you,” she whispered. “Damon, please.” Those doe eyes softened as she stared up at him.

Damon swallowed, hard.

Why did he have the distinct feeling she was playing him like a fiddle? And with complete ease, no less. He was a fool.

As if she could see the crack in his armor, the fissure she’d created, she drove the nail in further. “Just let me tag along with you. Just for one night. Let me be close to Mark’s memory. That’s all I ask,” she pleaded.

Damon felt himself hesitate. His next move was sending off the samples, and that meant taking her to his place. What the hell would Mark say if he knew he’d not only kissed his baby sister, but now he was considering taking her home with him? His hands tightened on the steering wheel. He didn’t even need to ask that question.

He already knew exactly what Mark would say.

His friend’s imagined voice sounded inside his head.

Hands off my sister, Brock.

Message received. Loud and clear. He started the car, pulling out onto the street. Though that wouldn’t stop her from running back to Caius the first chance she got. Apparently, the morgue visit hadn’t done the trick, not if the way she was playing him was any indication, and that also didn’t stop the image of Tiffany lying across the black cotton sheets of his bed from settling into his mind.

“Fuck me. I can’t do this.” He pulled the car over onto the shoulder.

“Do what?” Tiffany asked, her expression all innocence. “Drive or keep me captive anymore?”

He raked a hand over his face. “Both.”

He could feel her watching him from the passenger seat, like his exasperation amused her. “Look, Shortcake,” he said, releasing a long sigh. “I’m not going to keep you here if you want to go. I can’t do this.”

Better to leave Tiffany to fend for herself than be the monster to take advantage of her, and if he spent much more time alone with her, he wasn’t certain he could make himself behave.

Already she had him wrapped around her finger.

That much was clear.

“So that’s it?” she said, throwing up her hands like she was exasperated with him. “First you abduct me from the club, dangle the knowledge that you know my brother in front of me like a piece of meat, and now you’re just going to drop me off here ? At the side of the road?” She waved a hand, gesturing to the sidewalk. “What the fuck, Damon?”

He shook his head. “Don’t call me that right now.”

“What the hell else am I supposed to call you?”

“Fuck if I know.” He slammed his fist into the steering wheel. “Just…anything but that.”

She gaped at him. “What changed between the morgue and here?”

Damon closed his eyes, resting his head back against the head rest. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t take advantage of her trust this way. Nothing good would result from her being in his home, near his bed. He owed Mark that.

“I just…can’t take you back to my apartment, Tiffany.”

She stared at him for a long beat, as if she were trying to analyze him until suddenly her expression cleared. “This is about you kissing me, isn’t it?”

What? How had she—?

“Don’t give me that ridiculous guilt-stricken look,” she stabbed an accusing finger at him. “Mark may be dead, but don’t forget I was his little sister for years . I know exactly what’s going on here.”

Damon couldn’t stop himself from chuckling at that. If only she knew the half of it. He lifted a brow. “Do you?” There were so many more layers to this situation than it appeared.

“I do,” she said, straightening her posture with that characteristic defiance that drove him all kinds of crazy. “You think because you knew my brother you have some weird obligation to protect me, and now that we’re going back to your apartment after we kissed, you think things are about to get weird.”

“I—”

“Well newsflash, buddy,” she said, jabbing him in the chest with her finger once more. “ I get to decide who I do and don’t allow into my life, friend of my brother’s or not, and who says I’d even want to sleep with you?”

“Tiffany.” His voice dropped low.

“I don’t even know you. I—”

“ Tiffany ,” he growled, catching her off guard as he cupped her cheek in his hand.

Instantly, she went still in his arms as he forced her to look at him.

“Would you?” he whispered, his eyes searching hers. “Would you want that with me?” he asked. “Because God help me, Shortcake, that’s all I’ve been thinking about ever since I held you in my arms.” He brushed his thumb across her cheek, amazed at how that one small gesture made her shiver beneath his touch. “So sweet. So responsive,” he purred, unable to stop himself as she melted into him. “I can’t promise I’ll behave like a gentleman if we continue like this, Tiffany.”

Not with her.

With anyone else, it’d be easy.

But with her…

How could he control himself?

He’d wanted her to be his for years. So bad he craved it. Even if she didn’t know it. Even if he was a tool for deceiving her like this.

Her gaze fell to his lips, her mouth parting before she closed her eyes as if she were fighting back tears. Fuck, if he’d said something to make her cry, he’d never forgive himself.

He stroked his thumb over her cheek again, bringing her back to him. “Please don’t leave me hanging here.”

She opened her eyes once more, leaning closer. “If I said yes, what would change?”

The question caught him off guard. “Tiffany—”

“Would you leave whatever guilt or duty you think you owe to my brother here?” She lifted her chin toward him, challenging him again.

He chuckled. How could he? Even if he wanted to, he’d made the choice to stand by his word a long time ago. “Not by a long shot.”

“Mmmh,” she hummed a little in response, leaning closer until she whispered against his ear. “And what if I don’t want you to be a gentleman?” she said, her words dancing over him like a caress. “What if you’re not the only one affected here?”

He turned his head, their lips brushing for only a moment. “Then that’s exactly why I should take you home.”

They stayed like that for a long beat, neither of them willing to be the first to close the gap.

Tiffany nodded then, her understanding clear as she leaned back in her seat, her eyes filled with disappointment, but still, she said, “Cut the bullshit and drive, Damon.”

He nodded. Whatever had passed between them they were leaving it here.

It was better this way. Or so he’d keep telling himself.

Maybe if he did, he’d start to believe it somewhere between their destination and here.

“This is your apartment?”

The door behind them had already swung closed, leaving them painfully alone.

And with his bed far too near, at least for his cock’s sake.

But it was one night. What harm could it do?

He could keep his hands to himself for one goddamn night. He wasn’t a monster.

Tiffany followed him into the two-story loft, her eyes growing wide as she took in the twenty-five-foot-high ceiling along with the iron staircase leading up to his second-floor bedroom. “Impressive.” She walked to the skyline window and studied the night-time lights of the city. “It’s…bigger than I anticipated. Roomier.”

“What did you expect?” he asked, more than a little curious to hear her answer.

Since the moment they’d arrived here and he’d parked the Monte Carlo in the apartment complex’s garage, he’d tried hard not to think about the conversation they’d had on the way over. But he was failing miserably. Her sharp whispered words still thrilled him.

What if I don’t want you to be a gentleman?

The question had been enough to make his cock throb.

It wasn’t exactly verbal confirmation, but the desire in her eyes had been clear.

She wanted him. Maybe as badly as he wanted her.

So, what the hell were they doing here? Both of them pretending otherwise…

And for what? Mark’s memory?

“I guess I just expected something a little more…rough around the edges that’s all.” Her gaze swept over him, indicating exactly why she’d gotten that idea.

He huffed in amusement, drawing the Desert Eagle from his coat and placing it on the counter. The large silver gun thunked as it hit the countertop. Rough around the edges, huh? Try jagged on every corner. Though he was softer whenever she was near. No surprise there.

He was crazy about her. It wasn’t hard to see it.

Though she seemed to have chalked his attention up to some instantaneous lust.

He watched as she ran her hand over the banister of the staircase, the nearby sounds of the city breaking the silence between them. In the distance, the shrill siren of a police car drew near.

“If you’re a member of the Execution Underground, what are you doing in Rochester?” she asked suddenly.

Damon froze for a moment, then forced himself to relax. If he kept his back to her, maybe he could manage to speak evenly. He still wasn’t exactly prepared to reveal who he really was, and if she knew he was responsible for her brother’s death, she’d never trust him. Sure, there were other reasons for hunting Caius, but he knew how sharp Tiffany was. He’d need a damn good excuse to make her think he had absolutely no connection to her brother, beyond a simple acquaintance, much less any knowledge of his death.

Keeping his mouth shut was the best option.

He still hadn’t given up complete hope on keeping her safe, not entirely.

He walked to the refrigerator and pretended to search for something to drink. “Who said I was a member of anything?” He grabbed a bottle of water and closed the fridge. After chugging down the water in a few quick swigs, he turned to her again.

She rolled her eyes. “Look, my brother was one of you, okay? I understand how you guys are with keeping your secrets, never admitting your true occupation to anyone, blah, blah, blah, but there’s nothing to hide here.” She shrugged as if secret international networks of lethal hunters chasing the supernatural were no big deal. “I already know the Execution Underground exists, so why the tight lip?”

He recapped the now-empty plastic bottle and placed it on his countertop. “Organization or not, I don’t make a habit of sharing my personal life—with anyone.”

She gestured to the large open space around them. “I’m in your apartment. How’s that for personal?”

He smashed the empty water bottle with his palm. “Which is exactly why I didn’t want to bring you here. Remember that, Shortcake?”

Unsurprisingly, she prickled at the nickname, her lips pulling into a frown.

Man, what wouldn’t he give to throw her over his shoulder and carry her up to his bedroom. Give them both of taste of where he feared this was headed. Maybe in another life.

The thought instantly sobered him. Another life where he wasn’t a worthless excuse for a hunting partner, where his mistakes didn’t cause innocent people to get killed. One where the deaths of more than one person didn’t rest on his shoulders. Mark could have gone after Caius without the need for a transfer, closing in much sooner than Damon could. And any extra time meant bodies piling higher. Which meant those deaths were on him too.

Tiffany deserved better.

“There’s no division of the Execution Underground in Rochester,” she continued, unaware of how her questions were affecting him. “I know because otherwise my brother would have worked here. So why are you here?”

He took the samples from his coat pocket and walked toward the tech room. It had been meant as nothing more than a bedroom, but it hadn’t even taken him two days to hardwire everything in place. His own personal contact with headquarters. “Stay here. Then we’ll talk.”

He may have made the mistake of changing plans and bringing her back here, but he couldn’t allow himself to get distracted. Not completely. Not on a case like this.

She shot him a scathing look before she marched to the other side of the room and flopped onto the white leather couch.

Certain she was firmly planted in place, he slipped down the short hall to the tech room. He punched in several series of codes to unlock the door and stepped inside. The wall was lined with monitors of all shapes and sizes. The highest-end technology headquarters could supply him with was all contained within this one room. It was a tech nerd’s wet dream.

Damon dropped into the desk chair and typed several numbers on the keyboard. The monitor rang like a telephone until a small beep confirmed that Chris had answered the other line. Seconds later his face appeared on one of the monitors.

Chris’s expression was one of concern. “Hey, Damon. How you holding up?”

Ignoring the question, Damon held up the three samples. “I need these processed as fast as possible. If I load them into the DNA analysis machine, can you connect with my database and look them over?”

“Yeah, sure. Though...want to trade jobs? I’d rather be the assassin.”

Damon fought back a small smirk as he rolled his chair to the opposite wall and carefully loaded the specimens into the scanner, which processed the data instantly, locking the genetic code into Damon’s control system. Only the technological abilities of the Pentagon and the CIA rivaled those of the Execution Underground, and even they sometimes fell short.

“The samples are from the latest victim. One blood culture, one saliva analysis and one unknown.” He fixed Chris with a hard look. “Looked like the killer ate the body. Ate it. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the bloodsucker took a true bite out of her.”

Chris raised an eyebrow. “Like a zombie?”

“Sure, whatever you want to call it. But vampire, zombie or who knows what, I don’t care what it is. I just want to know who and where it is so I can stake it straight through the heart.”

Chris focused on one of his monitors and typed at full speed. “The blood looks normal, nothing unusual about it. But the saliva and the unknown, I’m going to have to get back to you on those. There’s something off about them.”

“Off like how?”

“Like there’s a different genetic marker that’s screwing up the whole code. They don’t look anything like normal.” Chris pounded away at his keys. “Are all these from the victim on the far side of Franklin Street?”

Damon gripped the arms of his chair like a vice. “What do you mean, the far side of Franklin Street?”

Chris stopped typing and looked at Damon through the screen. “Didn’t you get my text? Another victim was called in ten minutes ago on the far side of Franklin Street. A P.D informant tipped us off. He said he’d call you. He saw it on patrol, and he’s been holding off on calling the cops. I thought you said this was the most recent—”

“I have to go.” Damon stood and jabbed at the keys, beginning to shut down his system. “And Chris, F.Y.I., I live on Franklin Street.”

Tiffany pressed her ear against the door, straining to hear even the smallest sound, but the door was apparently soundproofed. She sighed. Just her luck.

She missed her brother every second of every day, and, as pathetic as she knew it was, she’d told herself that she was only here because she wanted to know everything there was about Mark and his role in the Execution Underground, about how to avenge her family. But after that little conversation in Damon’s car, who was she kidding?

That wasn’t the only reason she was here. Not entirely.

Sure, she did want to know everything about Mark, and being near Damon, well it…felt like a brand-new lifeline to Mark and his world, among other things, and anything that would help her hold onto her brother’s memory was worth fighting for. But she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit there was something more than that happening here.

Even if she wasn’t fully certain what it was yet.

She pressed her ear even closer to the door.

What in the world was she doing, chasing after a hunter like this?

It was bad enough that she’d lost Mark.

But then she had to lose B, too...

She stiffened. Is that what this was about? Reconnecting with B?

He’d been so much more to her than a pen pal. More than Mark had ever recognized.

Part of her hated him for the role he’d played in her brother’s death. The other part, the part that was drawn to Damon like he was a newfound addiction, missed him like hell. She could have used a friend these past three months.

Suddenly, the steel-reinforced door was yanked out from under her ear, causing her to nearly topple into Damon’s chest. She stared up at him, her hands bracing his chest, fully aware that he’d caught her with her heart in her eyes. Boy, she was into this guy something fierce.

Fiercer than she’d ever experienced.

His eyes softened momentarily. “As much as I love the sight of you there, Shortcake, we need to leave.” He brushed past her.

Looking into the room behind him, she spotted what he was hiding: a control room that wouldn’t have been out of place at NASA. “What the hell?”

Damon slammed the door shut, his eyes darting toward her briefly as if to check that she’d regained her balance. Confident she was okay, he hurried past her in a full-on jog. A moment later she heard his steel-toed boots clomp up the staircase.

What the hell was going on?

She raced after him.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she watched as he threw open the doors of a walk-in closet lined with weapons.

Whoa. Mr. Tall, Dark and Scary sure packed a whole lot of heat.

He shoved various weapons into the military loops on his belt before he slammed the closet doors shut, thundering down the stairs again as if she weren’t even there.

She followed. “What’s going on?”

He grabbed his jacket and gun from the counter, slipping the jacket on and tucking the gun into place before she could blink.

“You wanted to play vampire hunter for a night. Now’s your chance.” He wrenched open his front door. “So, if you’re coming along, then haul ass. If not, stay here and keep this door locked no matter what.”

He nearly closed the door on her as she rushed after him.

She stayed at his heels as he ran out to the street before she grabbed his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“There’s another victim nearby. The vamp probably ghosted it by now, but to be safe, hold your stake at the ready and follow my lead.”

A shot of adrenaline raced through her, and her brain switched to hunting mode.

Naturally, she’d heard about the recent killings, but that was too big of a case for her to get near. Not while she still had her sights on Caius. Yet he was treating her like a colleague.

Like she belonged here.

With him.

Pushing any concerns and questions, aside for later, she raced after him.

They jogged to the nearest alleyway but suddenly Damon stopped, pausing before moving forward. Tiffany’s eyes widened as she caught sight of the uniformed police officer on the ground. He slumped against the wall behind him. A trickle of blood ran from the crest of his hair. The man groaned.

Damon knelt beside him. “You the informant?”

Tiffany’s eyes widened. What informant?

The cop nodded. Man, the poor guy had taken a beating.

“Were you bitten?” Damon asked, cutting straight to the point.

The officer coughed, blood spewing from his mouth. He spit out a tooth, and then shook his head. Damon placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Good. Are you alright?”

The cop gulped as if trying not to spit more blood, before he managed to say, “Yeah. Hurry. Called patrol, thought I’d lose consciousness. F-fifteen minutes out.” His last several words came out in a slurred mess. Slowly, he lifted his hand and pointed toward the alleyway. “Go.”

Damon gave his shoulder a light, reassuring squeeze. “Thank you.”

Standing, Damon slipped into the alleyway and blended into the shadows at its mouth. Tiffany followed his lead, close at his heels. Moving at a slow, steady pace, she snaked around the corner right behind Damon, following each step he took with equal care.

Halfway through she bumped into his shoulders as he came to a sudden halt.

In the middle of the alley, half-hidden by shadows, lay a limp and bloodied body. A pool of dark blood, black against the barely lit pavement, formed in the shape of a halo around...his head?

Tiffany covered her mouth. Her head spun as she steadied herself on the brick wall of the building that formed one side of the alley. Nausea hit her stomach. The last time she’d seen a man this desecrated by a vampire was when she and Mark had found their father lifeless on their living room floor as their mother clawed uselessly at the monster’s arms. He’d sucked the life from her throat, deaf to Mark and Tiffany’s screams.

Though she hadn’t yet found the culprit, she’d never forget his face.

“He’s not drained completely,” Damon said, his words barely above a whisper.

Tiffany shuddered. There was something not right about this.

Vamps didn’t leave leftovers, yet a puddle of blood surrounded the man’s head. A newborn vamp wasn’t capable of that kind of self-control, but an ancient vamp would lick his dinner plate clean and leave. Near invincible or not, vampires chowed down, drank every last drop of their victim, then beat feet. They weren’t about to make themselves known to the human population. They were greedy, arrogant bastards, but they weren’t stupid.

Modern man packed an arsenal of weapons, and an all-out attack from the human race would lead to their demise. Tiffany often wondered if the world would be better off knowing what monsters crawled out after dark. But humanity couldn’t cope with the existence of anything “other,” anything different. They couldn’t handle the truth.

They would panic.

Numb, Tiffany stepped out of the shadows and slowly walked over to stand near the corpse, a young guy of around thirty-five who looked as if he’d been healthy and fit before the vamp got him. Now the man’s arm was detached from his body, gnawed to shreds. Exactly the way the young girl’s face had been. His eyes were wide open, staring toward the night sky, the stars drowned by the lights of the city. Bending down, she carefully brushed her hand over his eyelids, closing them for the final time, before she stood.

“Tiffany!” Damon roared.

Before she could comprehend what was going on, Damon tackled her full force, knocking her to the ground. A loud hiss pierced the darkness, and her mind snapped to attention. A fierce, red-eyed vampire stepped forward from the shadows, its fangs already extended and blood ringing its mouth.

Damon crouched in front of her, blocking her from the vampire’s attack. As the creature lunged, Damon ripped the Desert Eagle from his waistband and fired a round into the bloodsucker’s gut. With such a high caliber bullet, the vamp’s midsection blew to pieces. Blood and guts splattered over the alleyway, but that wasn’t enough to kill it.

The vampire screeched and staggered. It held its internal organs in as the damaged flesh knitted over, healing the bullet wound. It lifted its head.

Glowing red eyes pierced through the darkness.

“You will die, hunter.” It crouched in front of the body, guarding the corpse like a lion guarding its prey.

Suddenly it ran at Damon, barely visible thanks to its intense speed. A feral growl escaped the monster’s throat, but Damon fought the vampire blow for blow, matching its supernatural strength.

For several seconds Tiffany stared, completely frozen. She watched their killing dance as the vampire’s blood spilled in all directions, yet each time it lunged, Damon emerged unscathed.

Holy hell. She couldn't just sit there. She had to help. Had to do something.

She ripped her own stake from her belt and rushed into the fight.

She lunged at the vampire from behind and stabbed the meaty flesh of his shoulder. Not enough to kill, but enough to injure. In an angry fury, the vampire spun and grabbed at her. She dropped to her knees and sucker punched the bloodsucker straight in the groin.

Take that, asshole.

Human or vampire, getting hit in the crotch hurt like hell.

The creature doubled over in pain, falling on top of her. They rolled across the pavement, each trying to gain the upper hand. Though she was strong, the vampire’s supernatural strength overpowered hers, easily. With all its weight, it pinned her to the ground. If it sank its fangs into her neck, she’d be done for. Like a snake, it hissed and threw back its head to attack, but a harsh growl, deep and full of anger, sounded in her ears.

It wasn’t the vampire.