Page 1 of The Huntress (The Blood of Legends #1)

Chapter One

brAVERY VS. STUPIDITY

C allie trembled in the darkness, unable to hide, not when they could hear her heart pound and scent her fear on this blustery night, not when she clung to the side of a building twenty levels up. Focusing on her breathing, keeping it shallow and as silent as possible, she tried not to hyperventilate. To them, she had to sound like a wheezing geriatric. She should have stayed away, but stubbornness was one of her many faults.

On top of it, she’d lost her gun when she’d first stepped onto the building’s ledge. Her purse as well. Shoving the gun down the front of her gown to nestle between her breasts might have been a better option. The image of her captain lambasting her for losing her weapon again was enough to consider suicide. Thoughts of impending doom niggled her, tempting her to leap onto the moonlit balcony, throw herself at their feet and demand they end her life now.

She shrugged. Despite the paperwork losing her gun would entail, it didn’t matter . Not at the moment. Therein lay her fear.

Balancing on her bare heels on a narrow ledge to eavesdrop? Insanity at its finest. She inched toward the balcony, rethinking her genius plan to climb onto the ledge and cling to the glass facade as if her fingertips were octopus tentacles. She wasn’t that desperate for leads, was she?

Something suspicious was happening tonight, which explained why she was at Mayor Duhamel’s ball, dressed like a sequined mannequin with enough make-up on to disguise a rhino. She stared at her manicured toes hanging over the edge. The chilly wind plucked at her burgundy gown, trying to rip her away from the building’s embrace. She tightened her grip on the glass as if she could resist the wind’s incessant nagging. Her cheeks stung, and if these bastards didn’t hurry, she’d suffer from frostbite, or at the very least, she’d look like a happy cherub for days. Typical selfish suckbloods. Her fellow officers would show her no mercy. She grimaced—they’d torture her for sure.

“The drop-off is happening tomorrow evening,” a sexy voice rumbled.

It was smooth like decadent dark chocolate. So sex-on-a-stick sexy he had to be a suckblood.

Drop-off?

“I want no surprises,” said the suckblood.

“I don’t expect any. They know better than to disappoint you,” yet another sexy male voice reached her.

Shit! How many were there? She could take one, and only if she was properly armed, which she wasn’t. The dagger strapped to her thigh was all this disguise allowed. Much good a single weapon would do her now.

“Good,” said Suckblood One.

“Are you sure you want to do this alone? It doesn’t sit right with me.” Concern was clear in Suckblood Two’s voice.

“I’ll take a few guards with me, but I need you to hold the fort, so to speak.” The first one’s chuckle was deep, husky…alluring. “It’s not as if I can’t defend myself.”

Callie nodded. They were excellent fighters, able to resist human weapons with ease. She’d developed her personal arsenal after years of dealing with suckbloods and beasts. The boys at the precinct mocked her for it but, in truth, her battle-readiness had spared many lives, including her own.

If Dad saw her now, though. She winced, imagining the shake of his head and the silly smile he donned when she’d done something brave or idiotic.

“Fine. Should I assist the woman off the ledge?” asked Suckblood Two.

She snorted at his question, confirming their awareness of her presence, and she didn’t like the eagerness in his voice. He sounded ravenous.

“Her scent is delicious, but I need a drink, not nourishment. Do as you see fit.”

“She does smell good,” said Suckblood Two, as if the bouquet of her blood mattered.

Oh, fuck!

Suckblood Two’s appearance at the balcony’s railing made her grip on the glass slip. Tall, at least six-foot-four, with blond locks falling below his collar gave off a Viking-of-old vibe. His broad shoulders with matching biceps strained his sleeves in his expensive-but-struggling tux barely containing the visceral magnetism pouring off him.

His face was another matter—square jaw to a pointy chin with a dimple for added effect. An unnecessary effect. He was a stunner without it. How did they recruit converts? One look at him made her believe they trawled the fashion runways. To be beautiful forever would tempt Narcissus himself.

“Admiring the view?” he said.

A smirk curled his upper lip, yet she sensed no hostility, leaving her to stare into his entrancing blue eyes.

The wind whipped at her again, snatching her from the mesmerizing depths of his seductive eyes. She hadn’t admired the view until now.

“Yes, stunning,” she said, proud of herself for managing to string two words together.

“I could join you…?”

“It’s a free world last time I checked,” she said, her hair blowing around her face.

She wouldn’t flick it out of her eyes, unwilling to remove her fingers from the glass.

“Or you could join me?” His voice cut through the wind.

Unable to see him, she huffed like an asthmatic hippo, trying to shift her hair. With the help of another gust of wind, she cleared her vision.

“For a scotch?”

She scowled. How did he know her preferred drink? She hadn’t indulged tonight, so the scent of it didn’t cling to her.

“Have we met?” She snorted at the na?ve question.

Such a face wasn’t easy to forget.

Said face burst into a charming smile she didn’t appreciate. He offered his manicured hand as if beckoning her to trust him. Since the jig was up, she should accept his assistance. Besides, he might—and that was a humongous might—reveal more about this drop-off.

She slid her bare feet from heel to heel until her fingertips could brush his. He extended his arm and grasped her hand, his grip warm, firm. With a sharp tug, she tumbled into his arms.

Sprawled across the front of him, with her fingers curled over his tuxedoed shoulders, she drew in a shuddering breath. Despite having her feet back on something solid, she wasn’t grateful. Concern furrowed her brow, instead. Her responses to men were never this instantaneous, but she expected it from a suckblood. She hoped he wasn’t one. It would be nice to meet an attractive human man for a change. One who couldn’t manipulate her with his pheromones.

“Your name?” He glided his hands up her bare back, drawing her into the warmth he emanated.

She shivered, goosebumps rippling from her spine to her thighs. After burrowing his nose in her neck, he inhaled her scent, shameless in his appreciation.

“Callista,” she said.

“Ah, beautiful beloved huntress of Zeus.” He chuckled.

Of course he knew what her name meant. Damn suckbloods. Overeducated arrogant bastards. Was that supposed to impress her? Okay, it did! But that didn’t mean she had to succumb to his seductive ways.

“Yes.” Her instincts screamed, demanding she flee.

She ignored them for now. This man had information about the package. Not that she had any idea what it was.

Disappointment dampened her mood. She should’ve known crashing this event wouldn’t garner evidence—only raise more questions and create new crimes to investigate. Her compiled files on the various patrons attending tonight needed a few secrets to unlock the investigations further. She was desperate for closure.

He gathered her hand in his distracting her from her thoughts and brushed his lips across the pulse at her inner wrist. The sensation was too good to be natural.

His head shot up. He scowled, but it didn’t detract from his dazzling handsomeness—it made him brooding, which was downright breathtaking.

“I must abandon you, sweet Callista. Rest assured, I will find you.”

“Why?” She claimed her hand back.

She fought the urge to rub her wrist along her outer thigh to erase the memory of his kiss. He was too close for her senses or her instincts to handle, not to mention for her peace of mind.

Smothered by his presence, she raised her hands palm up, placed them on his chest, and pushed. He didn’t budge, but she did, stumbling backward from the force she applied. She suspected she’d surprised him and thus gained her freedom. She’d felt his strength—iron-like and indomitable—beneath his tuxedo. He could have held her against him for as long as he pleased, and there wouldn’t have been a damn thing she could do about it.

“Because you smell delicious.” He smiled.

What had she expected? Typical suckblood, thinking with his stomach. The poor man was hungry, like she gave a damn. “So?”

He blinked, tilting his head to the side. “Don’t I smell good too?”

She arched a brow, her suspicions confirmed. He was using his pheromones on her. His sheer beauty swayed her more than his cologne. Since he waited for her to respond, she leaned in to sniff him, her nose brushing along his Adam’s apple, which bobbed at the contact. Citrus, bonfire, and earthy undertones combined to form a mind-numbing enticement, yet her knees remained unaffected.

She stepped back, resisting the temptation to place an open-mouthed kiss to his throat. Her knees were fine, but her lips weren’t. They tingled, made demands of her, needing his skin’s warmth. She forced a shrug, and his horrified expression was worth it. But when it morphed into a fascinated one, she sighed. It was official. Her evening wasn’t going as planned. She should leave now and chalk it up as bad luck.

“You smell good. Your cologne suits you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see scotch in my future.”

Spinning on her bare toes, she made a beeline for her pumps she’d left in the back corner of the balcony. If only she’d thought to leave her purse there. What the hell had she been thinking? Climbing the side of a building while clutching her purse—idiotic. Not to mention, she couldn’t bring herself to leave her gun unattended. Well, it sure lay unattended now, wherever it had landed. Hopefully, it hadn’t hit someone on the head when it fell.

She sensed his gaze caressing her as she slipped on each shoe. At least he missed her wince as she squished her toes into unnatural shapes. Nerves had her fluffing her hair and sliding her damp palms down her velvet-covered thighs before entering the crowded, unbearably hot hall, vowing never to do something so stupid again. She hadn’t gotten much for her crazy death-defying balancing trick.

There was a drop-off tomorrow? Hell, there was always a drop-off. What she needed was a location. Inner City was huge, so she’d appreciate any clue. This wasn’t the movies. This was real life where information didn’t magically fall into her eager hands—she had to fight for every morsel, every titillating secret.

Her targets had taken their champagne glasses to the balcony’s seductive privacy. She’d raced here in the hopes of hiding behind a potted plant or in the shadows. There’d been neither with the balcony illuminated by Chinese lanterns. No one would speak of sensitive matters with her leaning against the railing admiring the cityscape. Now, while she hesitated at the door, a few men assessed her. None were panty-dropping gorgeous enough to match the first suckblood’s voice.

Not that she could sweet-talk him into revealing the drop-off’s location. If she guessed his current position, he was amid a group of desperate women, their body language blatant with intention. Lust’s stench emanated from that side of the hall—oily, wicked…tempting.

Callie spun on her steel-tipped heels to weave through the dancing couples to the bar. She claimed a barstool with a deep groan, relief instant with her weight off her toes. Her killer heels were doing just that, killing her. Smothering a borderline hysterical giggle, she flicked her hair off her face, hating the frustration that pounded at her patience. Disappointment ate at her, at the disastrous outcome of a promising evening.

“Scotch, neat,” she said to the bartender, not bothering to meet his gaze.

A tumbler of the burnished liquid glided across the glass counter and into her line of vision. She scooped it up and threw back the finest malt she’d tasted in a while. Peppery, smoky, and smooth, it flowed down her throat, bursting her innards into flames of false courage. She should’ve started the evening with this.

“Are you acquainted with Leonardo?” a gentleman asked. “You seemed cozy.”

She stiffened, assessing the man…Devlin Carter. Needing the time to compose her thoughts and a poker face, she took a careful sip from her refilled glass.

He was tall, cresting six feet, and filled out a tux like no forty-year-old should be able to. Gray streaked his temples, adding to his distinguished appearance and his sensual appeal. Not that he tempted her—his nefarious deeds were well documented. Okay, only by her, and she never made it official. The very-much-human senator had a thick case file of his own. She’d been investigating him for years.

“Leonardo, Senator?” She opted for ignorance, arching a brow in query.

“That answers my question.” He grinned.

His cold blue gaze traveled her bared leg and settled on her adorned foot. Oh, yes, the foot fetish. She fought the urge to twitch her toes under his unashamed depravity.

“You don’t strike me as his type.”

“Their type is human.” She twirled the amber liquid in her glass before raising it to her lips again.

“Touché. Does he know you’re in law enforcement?”

Knowing who she was, or at least, what she did, didn’t bode well. Her instincts skittered along her nerves, worse than when she’d stepped onto the ledge. Something about Carter had her skin crawling. That something was slimy and dangerous.

“He didn’t ask. I didn’t offer.” Her reply was sharp.

She sighed. Her miserable mood called forth her worst manners. Not to mention, he had her at a disadvantage. Somehow he had known she was police. She must have given herself away. Maybe her shifty gaze, distrusting everyone, her stiff shoulders and over-vigilant stance screaming she didn’t belong here. She’d ruined the evening with her subconscious behavior.

She tried not to grimace at his delighted smile. He was enjoying their conversation, very much aware of how he put her on the defensive.

“So why crash James’s party?” Carter gestured to the bartender, who served him a tall blonde beer with a thick head.

Beer? An interesting choice at a ball.

“I felt like dressing up.” She tapped her unpolished fingernails on the glass countertop. “Listen, Senator, you’re not one to waste time, nor to beat around the bush. Mind telling me the purpose of this conversation?”

Her bluntness made him chuckle. Thankfully she hadn’t pissed him off. If that happened and her captain found out, she would be issuing parking tickets for a year.

“He’s enamored with you,” Carter said, not answering her question.

She shook her head. “Ah, so if we were on a first-name basis, I could spy for you?”

“Spy is such a nasty word, and I didn’t ask you to,” he said, licking the beer foam off his lips.

“My apologies, Senator.” She flicked her hair back in an exaggerated manner and giggled, batting her eyelashes hard enough to hurt. “What I meant to say was that we could discuss over coffee the merits of suckblood-feeder relationships and the impact of this on the psyche.”

If he found her sass offensive, he didn’t show it. A consummate diplomat, he gave a deep belly laugh that sounded authentic. “Yes, something like that. I’ve heard horrendous stories of their sexual prowess. It’s enough to harm my ego.”

“Yours?” She admired his form, stopping to study the pin on his lapel—a large, winged bird embedded in flames.

It was solid gold and crafted by a master jeweler, she didn’t doubt. She couldn’t imagine him shopping at the local stores.

“Can anything harm your ego, Senator?”

“He’s interested, mark my words, my girl.” Carter shifted closer as if intending to share something for her ears only. “When he comes for you, pay attention to anything unusual. I don’t trust these…suckbloods. Never have and never will.” He flicked his two fingers, his business card pinched between them. “Here’s my private number. Call me if you find anything useful.”

She took the card and slipped it into her cleavage. She didn’t want to accept it, but she sensed he’d stay with her until she did. He sauntered away to bombard other guests with his bombastic personality. Goosebumps prickled her skin in an instinctual warning that he wasn’t a man to trust.

She didn’t intend to have another scotch, but the interlude with Carter and his false happiness highlighted the sadness staining her heart. No matter the circumstances, the distractions, the environment, or the company, her sister’s terminal illness circled the edges of her mind. Scotch wouldn’t solve her problems, despite its aged smoothness. Her bed beckoned, and she planned on flopping onto it in a most unladylike manner.

Facing the hall, she caught a glimpse of her scowling captain bearing down on her.

So much for her best-laid plans…