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S uddenly the weight of the vampire’s body disappeared. Tiffany’s chest heaved from adrenaline and fear. She stared upward and saw the vampire’s feet dangling above her as the creature struggled helplessly. Damon clenched the monster by the throat. His whole body shook with uncontrollable rage as he crushed the bloodsucker’s esophagus. “Stake it before I tear its head from its neck,” he growled.

She scrambled to her feet and with both hands drove the lacquered wood of her stake into the vampire’s heart. One last batlike screech ripped through the night before the monster exploded like a bursting sack. Blood splattered over her face and torso, and she thanked God she’d remembered to close her mouth.

Damon lowered his hands and unclenched his fists as the last remnants of the creature’s flesh fell to the ground.

With her one semi-clean hand Tiffany wiped the vile liquid from her face. “I hate when they do that.” She glanced toward him then, only to find Damon’s stare fixated on her.

The raw power that surged through him hit her full force. He was fierce, terrifying and beautiful all at once.

“You are not leaving my sight,” he growled. “Understood?”

She nodded, at a total loss for words.

Drenched in vampire blood, he walked over to the dead man and hoisted him into his arms. Shifting his balance, he resettled the weight of the man’s body over his shoulder before nodding for her to follow him. They needed to get out of there before the cops showed up, and fast. As they snaked down the back of the alley, the distant sound of sirens, followed by red and blue lights cast into the alleyway, lighting a fire under their feet. They moved faster. Tiffany sighed. Thank God help for the wounded officer had arrived.

Slipping through the darkness, they kept to the shadows all the way back to Damon’s apartment building before slipping up the fire escape. Two people soaking wet with blood, holding a mutilated corpse, was not a sight for civilian eyes. Half expecting him to break his own window, to Tiffany’s surprise, Damon hit a keypad beside the fire escape window, before he climbed into the loft, body in tow. Tiffany’s eyes went wide.

She had to admit it was almost…eerie how practiced he was at this.

Not to mention the whole having a keypad on his fire escape window thing.

How often did he make that his main entrance?

Once they were safely inside, Damon positioned the body on the kitchen island. She stripped off her leather jacket, and Damon followed suit. Silently, he held out his arm, and she laid her coat across it, placing both coats in his laundry room before returning to the kitchen. One at a time, they both used the sink and washed the caked-on blood from their faces and hands.

Tiffany stared at the body as she used a dishrag to dry her face. “What the hell was wrong with that vampire?” They were the first words either of them had spoken since that moment in the alley.

The moment he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her.

His stare had been so intense it’d felt as if the whole universe hinged upon her safety.

If only for a moment.

Damon shook his head, suddenly clearing his throat. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen a vampire guard a dead body or leave so much leftover blood in its victim like that. And I’ve never seen a baby vamp capable of stopping in the middle of a feeding to take a breather, and strong as it was, from the sloppy movements of that thing that was a baby vamp as sure as I live and breathe.”

She nodded in agreement, attempting to wipe some of the blood off her shirt, only to fail miserably. “It was like it was an animal with a piece of food.” Her thoughts wandered back to that wild look that’d been in the bloodsucker’s eyes and she couldn’t help but shiver. “Vampires are chickenshits. Every peon vamp feeding off the street runs like hell if their victim is already dead and someone approaches. And you’re right, what kind of bloodsucker leaves blood like that? I’ve learned at least that much from hunting.”

Damon shot her a look, a close imitation of the intensity he’d shown in the alley. “You shouldn’t be hunting vampires alone.”

She glared at him. “Why because I’m a woman?”

Even with as necessary of an organization as they were, the Execution Underground was notorious in its refusal to employ women. She’d given her brother endless flack about that, badgering him to the point of annoyance more than a time or two. Mark had always given her lame excuses about the serum injections the EU used not working on women, but she knew better. It was a good old boys club through and through, and there were plenty of women, unofficial hunters just like her, hoping to change that.

“Because you’re not trained, that’s why,” Damon answered, as if any alternative wasn’t even up for discussion. “If I hadn’t been there, that bloodsucker would have drained you.”

She turned away from him then, her jaw clenched.

Sure, it was because she was untrained. Right.

“How many times have you come that close to death?” he asked, the question causing her to go still.

She stared at the floor.

“How many times, Tiffany?”

For a moment, she debated whether to answer him, but something inside her told her he was safe. That whatever she told him, he’d treat her like she mattered.

“Lots, okay?” She spun to face him. “You’re just like my brother, acting as if I can’t handle myself.”

“I am nothing like your brother,” he said, his words taking on a new kind of heat.

Her breath quickened a little. “Then why do you act like I can’t hold my own?”

Something dark sparked behind Damon’s eyes, something she couldn’t interpret. “Because you can’t.”

“I’m not weak. I’m not a victim.” Her hands balled into fists.

“You’re right. You’re not. So stop acting like it.” Damon walked toward her, his boots clomping against the hardwood floor. He towered over her, staring down into her eyes. If she’d been a weaker woman, she might have been intimidated, but she refused to back down. “I see you for exactly what you are, Shortcake.”

His tone remained calm, even despite the clear frustration behind his words. “Vampires are stronger and faster than even the most powerful human. Being a woman has nothing to do with it. Being untrained on top of being a human is what makes you incapable of fighting, not your gender. The vampire in that alleyway was nothing compared to a vampire who has lived even twenty years, let alone hundreds, thousands. The bloodsucker we fought tonight couldn’t have been a vampire for more than a few days, and still he would have bested you...”

She looked away from him.

He let out a long sigh and held her chin gently in his hands, forcing her to face him. Even when he was covered in blood and dirt, his touch sent electrifying waves through her, and as mad as she was, she wished she could kiss him again. Internally, she cursed herself. She didn’t know this man. She still wasn’t even sure why he was so intent on protecting her.

“Tiffany, look at me.”

She did as he asked, studying the contours of his face. He seemed so familiar, and yet, she couldn’t place where she’d ever seen him before. Sometimes, the way his eyes met hers it…it felt like he was an old friend she hadn’t seen in years. His presence was both tantalizing and comforting. Enough it made her chest ache.

Enough to fill her with a longing for all the things she’d missed out on with B.

She felt herself start to break at the thought.

But Damon was there to catch her, steadying her with those intense eyes of his, even as she wished he’d pull her into his arms.

“Stop flirting with death, Shortcake. I can tell by looking at you that’s why you’re doing this. Only someone with a suicide wish would try to fight a battle they know they can’t win.”

A lump blocked her throat, and she fought hard to keep her eyes from watering. She blinked to hold back the tears, tearing her gaze from him in hope he wouldn’t notice. But Damon cupped her cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle for a man so gruff and strong.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and turned away from him.

No one had ever said something so blunt to her before. Had ever seen straight through to the heart of her, been so right about her motivations—not even her brother. No one...

...except B.

Even though she’d never met him.

She’d been asked to correspond with him to give him something to hold onto in tough times, but in those letters, he’d been her savior, but now, with no more letters cluttering her mailbox…he seemed like a distant dream.

And the man before her?

Well, he was nothing more than a beautiful distraction from the pain. Or so it seemed.

Even if looking at him made her chest ache.

“What are you thinking there, Shortcake?” he asked. “Talk to me.”

This time the ludicrousness of the nickname filled her with a cathartic sort of glee. Made her chuckle despite herself. Maybe, just maybe, if she gave into her desires, she could allow herself to hope once more.

She hadn’t felt so much as an ounce of that since Mark, since B.

And if all it took to reclaim that was a night with a handsome stranger.

Well, she was going to make the most of it, damn it.

“Damon,” she asked, stepping closer to him.

“Yeah, Shortcake?”

She placed a hand on his chest. “What would I say if I asked you to kiss me?”

Damon watched Tiffany step away from him, his fingers buzzing with that now familiar electricity that happened whenever their skin connected. He bit his lower lip, watching her slowly retreat. He hadn’t meant to put her on the slab and expose her like that. The last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable. But the look in her eyes said he’d seen right through her, exposed her thoroughly, and for the life of him, he couldn’t bring himself to apologize for fully understanding her. For seeing her, truly.

Not without revealing himself as B.

She cleared her throat, acting as if he hadn’t nearly made her cry, which seemed so very her. From what he’d gathered, she wasn’t the type of person to show any weakness.

That much was clear.

“I’d say that you promised to behave tonight,” he growled. “And so did I.”

“Did I?” she asked, a spark lighting in her eyes in the most wicked way.

He shook his head, reveling in the way she sighed a little. Their conversation had left her vulnerable, and while he wished there was a time and place for him to know her like that, it wasn’t here.

“Fine,” she said, accepting defeat. “Tell me why you brought him back here.” She gestured toward the dead man.

“To examine him.” The conversation was little more than a distraction, but he’d allow her this reprieve. She’d more than earned it with all he’d put her through tonight.

Ducking into his downstairs bathroom, he returned a moment later with his scalpel.

“That your idea of a fun evening?” Tiffany said, her eyes darting to the tool as she smirked.

“Not quite.” He grinned.

The medical grade instrument had saved his sorry ass a time or two, letting him avoid unnecessary trips to the E.R. Nothing like explaining why you had a bullet wound in your shoulder to open up exactly the kind of investigation he didn’t need.

“Okay, I’ll play.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Do I even want to ask why you keep a scalpel in your bathroom?”

He shrugged. “It’s useful if you get something lodged in you. Glass, bullets, whatever.”

“How about that colossal stick up your ass?” she teased, the humor in her voice instantly making him pleased.

“Okay, I’ll admit, I walked right into that one,” he said.

“That happen a lot to you?”

He glanced toward her, and she nodded toward the blade. “The bullet wounds I mean.”

“Comes with the job.” He ran the scalpel from the dead man’s sternum to his navel before he glanced at Tiffany.

All the color drained from her face, leaving her skin with a slight greenish tinge before she gulped.

He nodded over his shoulder, trying to hide a smile. “Bathroom, if you need it.”

She frowned. “Don’t get haughty. It’s different seeing it for real, that’s all.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Though he couldn’t help himself from tugging back the skin with a little more…vigor than usual.

“Ugh.” She gagged. “Do you have to do it so...forcefully?”

“Yes,” he lied, smirking at her devilishly.

“You’re trying to scare me off. You’re just as bad of a liar as my brother.”

“Trust me when I say I am nothing like your brother, Tiffany.” Not with the things he was thinking about her.

And as for being a bad liar? Well, he wasn’t sure he’d agree with her there. Not considering the massive invisible elephant in the room: the truth of his identity. Fuck, he really was an ass, keeping it from her.

But what other choice did he have really?

If she knew the truth, she’d never be standing here with him as she was now.

Safe. Protected. Far safer than she could ever be with Caius.

She turned away then and walked to the other side of the apartment, his eyes locking onto the sway of her hips, though he forced himself to look away quickly. He couldn’t allow himself to get distracted. Not when he was standing over a dead body at least.

She’d need to get used to dealing with gore if she was going to stick around for long. Damon paused.

Shit. No. No, no, no, no. no.

He could not allow his thoughts to go there.

She would not be sticking around for long. That was a given.

Only long enough for him to ensure she wasn’t chasing vamps anymore, that she was safe.

He’d already done enough to Tiffany. If she stuck around, things would only end with him ruining her life even more.

He glanced in her direction, watching as she stared out the window at the city lights. Her lips had tasted like sugar when they’d kissed, an addictive, tantalizing treat. His gaze lowered to her behind, and the thought of cupping her ass in his hands before he trailed kisses over the smooth skin of her neck nearly did him in.

Damn it. He ripped his eyes away from her. He would not think about her, no matter how deliciously round her ass was or how perfect her smile, or how much he wanted to run his tongue over her nipples until they were taut and needy like little blush cherries.

His own personal shortcake.

He shook himself, trying to rid himself of the thought.

Dead body. Dead body. Dead body.

He looked at the corpse lying on his counter. Yeah, that was enough to act as a cold bucket of water for anyone. Him, especially.

Pushing Tiffany from his mind, he stared down at the dead man’s insides. What was it about the latest victims that caused vampires to act like zombies, going for flesh and not just blood? Why were they eating these people? And the way the new vampire in the alley had guarded this man’s body screamed of a predator protecting its prey.

Something about that wasn’t right.

Leeches were leeches. Once a human was drained, they moved on. Wham, bam, thank you, human. Aside from Hosts, bloodsuckers didn’t stick around to play with their food. As much as he hated the relationship, at least Hosts served a purpose. Better a couple pints low than dead, though most Hosts ended up dead anyway.

But in all his years of hunting, he’d never seen a single vampire interested in anything but blood—until now.

From the look of the man’s insides, there was nothing unusual about his blood or his organs. Damon pulled a pair of latex gloves from one of the kitchen drawers, slipping them over his hands. He reached inside the open cavity of the man’s midsection and moved around several organs, searching for anything even remotely unusual that would cause a vampire to behave uncharacteristically.

Nothing. No tumors or anything out of the ordinary.

Damon removed his hands from the chest cavity. He pulled at the edge of his glove, ready to be done with his examination, then paused. Something in his gut told him it was worth checking inside the man’s organs as well.

He reached deep into the man’s body and began to palpate the organs. He bit his lip as his hands squished against the soft tissue. How the hell did morticians and coroners manage to do this for a living every day? Then again, how did he manage to kill for his?

When he finally reached the man’s kidneys, he used the scalpel to extract one. The organ was already cold. Carefully, he slid the scalpel through the spongy tissue.

A loud hiss filled the room. Something vile poured from the kidney, and heat like liquid fire washed over his hand. He ripped the glove off just in time for the greenish liquid to eat through the latex like acid as a putrid smell hit his nose. Bile burned at the back of his throat. Drawn by the noise and the stink, Tiffany came running over from the window.

The damn mess was like a sixth-grade science fair project gone wrong, one of those spewing volcanoes every kid built at least once. He hardly noticed Tiffany running off and rummaging in the fridge. A second later, white powder clouded the air as she dumped an entire box of baking soda on top of the acid.

“What the hell was that?” she demanded.

Coughing from the soda cloud, he tossed his gloves in the kitchen garbage can, chuckling. “Overkill on the baking soda much?”

She frowned. “For all you know that could have exploded and I saved your sorry ass. Now, what the hell happened?”

He dusted baking soda from his clothing, not that it did much good with all the blood already there. “There’s something wrong with his kidney fluids.”

“‘Ya think?” She stared at the rest of the green acid oozing from the dead man’s kidney.

A smile crossed his face. He had to give her credit. Even though he knew she was probably fighting not to hurl, she was standing there, helping him like a champ.

Though he’d always admired her bravery, hadn’t he?

She wrinkled her nose. “That’s just disgusting. What is that? Maybe you should check the other organs, too.”

Putting on a new pair of gloves, he held the man’s heart carefully, preparing to jab it with the scalpel. But just as he got ready to slice, the corpse lurched.

Shit!

Damon jumped back as the now newly turned vampire sat upright, hissing, and reaching for Damon’s neck. How the hell had the thing changed so quickly? Before he could respond, Tiffany plunged her stake deep into the monster’s exposed heart, reacting instantly. One high-pitched screech pierced his ears before the vampire exploded like the blood sack it was.

Blood splashed onto his face and throughout his kitchen, leaving them both drenched once more.

He looked at Tiffany, who smiled despite all the blood she was covered in. “I told you I could hold my own. That’s two bloodsuckers I’ve staked tonight.”

He snorted. “Don’t get cocky, Shortcake.” Damon narrowed his stare, pointing to the stairs. “You can use the shower upstairs. Toss your clothes over the balcony and I’ll throw them in the washer.”

Pulling a particularly stringy piece of flesh from her shoulder, Tiffany grimaced. “You don’t need to ask me twice.”

Stake still in hand, she trudged up the stairs. A minute later a large pile of bloody clothes flew over the balcony rail and landed on his hardwood floor with a splat. He quickly threw them in the washer, trying not to think about how deliciously naked she was, about the hot shower water running over the curves of her body. He pushed the thoughts aside.

Down, boy. Focus.

With any luck, he’d at least be able to get most of the blood out of their clothes. He was an old pro at that. He glanced down at his own threads. He was covered in blood and dirt, but there was no point in changing before he finished cleaning up.

He reached under his kitchen sink and removed a mop and bucket, a sponge and a gallon of bleach. It was times like these when he wished he wasn’t too paranoid to employ a maid.

Not that your average housecleaner could handle a kitchen resembling a horror movie.

He sighed, grabbing the mop and getting to work.

All the while trying to convince himself that she hadn’t meant to tempt him with how quickly she’d stripped out of her clothes.

What if I don’t want you to be gentlemanly?

Her questions echoed inside his skull.

Answered by the darkest part of his soul.

Believe me, Shortcake, I don’t want to be.