Page 9 of The Huntress (The Blood of Legends #1)

Chapter Nine

SWAPPING A BOY FOR A MAN

C allie strained her ears. His tread reverberated through the dank room, sounding closer, but it was directionless, as if he intended to disorientate her. She breathed through her nose, forcing herself to control the rising panic.

“I will convert you, anyway. You made this fun for me.” He sounded pleased with himself. “I can smell your blood. I can hear your heart beating. Why do you hide from me, my sweet?”

Why? She frowned at his unexpected stupidity. Or was she being the obtuse one? After all, to attend a festival was to seek conversion. He had a right to expect she wanted that, and his offer to convert her should’ve pleased her.

Nope. That wasn’t going to happen. No way, no how. He made a slow and deep inhalation, followed by a fast whoosh. It came from the left of her, sounds—she suspected—he’d made on purpose. An elaborate show of sniffing her, not to locate her since he could see her.

Her heart cinched, and before she could control her legs, which had developed a mind of their own, she stood. It startled her to find herself now exposed, with the top of the stacked crates under her fingertips. Her suicidal courage reared its head when she least wanted it to.

He’d convert her? How kind of him. She suppressed a giggle. Now wasn’t the time to laugh, although imagining Carter’s expression when she told him she was a suckblood almost had her considering it.

Drawing in a shuddering breath and using her remaining willpower, she faced the direction of his voice. “My thanks for your generous offer, but I don’t want to be your meal or converted.”

She hoped telling him she wasn’t here for the festival might convince him to let her go. A futile hope, but she tried anyway.

He laughed, the sound coming not three feet from her left. “Nonsense. Why participate then, mm?”

Lamplight illuminated the room, and she shut her eyes against the brightness. “My sister is here. I wanted to stop her.”

She cracked open one eye, wincing as she faced him, his hand on the lamp chord, proving he was familiar with the hideout. He was handsome, in a boyish sort of way.

Eyes peered at her from the shadows behind him, snatching a gasp from her. She bit her lip, anger burning her cheeks as fear coursed through her blood. Damn it, she should’ve controlled herself better and not jeopardized someone else’s life.

She could barely discern the person in the shadows. They shifted, and the light revealed a masculine brow over his eyes before darkness consumed him again.

Another man. And the way he glared at the idiot—Darius, wasn’t it — was good news for her…she hoped.

Darius preened like he was God’s gift to man or suckblood, assuming her gasp meant she found him breathtaking. She smothered a smirk. Typical suckblood arrogance.

“Not running from me now?” he asked.

She focused on his face, searching for any nuance that would indicate he was aware of the man lurking in the darkness. With the preternatural gifts suckbloods had, he should have, but he didn’t pause in his determination to reach her. Unless the man was a suckblood too? If he was, she foresaw a Callista Devereaux smorgasbord situation served up for their pleasure.

On the off chance he was friendly, she tried not to look at him so she wouldn’t give away his presence, despite her initial faux pas. Her conversion or death at Darius’s hands was inevitable. The stranger didn’t need to suffer from the same fate.

“What’s the point?” She sidled to her right, ensuring Darius didn’t glance behind him, keeping his focus on her.

“Yes, indeed, although I enjoyed the hunt.”

“I can climb the ladder, and we can continue this for say, another half-hour, but we’ll be back to this point. I still don’t want you to feed from me, convert or kill me.”

“I can’t wait another thirty minutes. Your blood smells delicious.”

He licked his lips as he grabbed his crotch. She shuddered in disgust. He frowned with his focus narrowing on her face.

“You truly don’t want me.” Amazement warmed his husky voice.

“No, I don’t want you.” She fought a snort and kept her voice level. Now wasn’t the time for her sass.

Leo was the same—don’t I smell good?—what nonsense. Like the taste of blood was all that mattered.

Darius puffed up like a startled pigeon, slicing through his buttoned shirt with a sharp-looking fingernail to expose his rippling muscles and taut stomach. She’d have admired him had he been on the cover of a magazine.

A strange sickly-sweet scent washed over her, forcing her to see him in a more favorable light. She was aware of the change in her, as if she’d taken a weak drug that manipulated her idea of handsome. Still a forced attraction, not enough to tempt her.

“Now?” His voice deepened to gravel.

“What has changed since a minute ago?” Callie asked, her tone bored.

His eyes widened with delight. He was a sick bastard, this suckblood. He toyed with her like a little boy with many diversions. How different would her life have been if they didn’t exist?

“Indeed you are a surprise, my pet.” He chuckled, stepping closer to her.

The hidden man moved with him, bringing his body into the lamplight. Her mouth fell open. She inhaled a shuddering breath. Now this was gorgeous. He was six-foot-six she’d say, with broad shoulders and dark hair slashing across his forehead in thick waves. His ghost-gray eyes were sensual and lethal, dazzling her. He peered down his sharp nose, dragging her stunned gaze to his wide mouth with its fuller bottom lip. He’d pinched them together enough to whiten them. His carved angular jaw dominated his face. His barrel-wide chest tapered into a trim waist, and dark designer denims hugged his tree-trunk thighs.

Her panties dampened in reaction to the unadulterated image of him. He was such a visual delight; she couldn’t blame her traitorous hormones for blowing her revered self-control to smithereens. It wasn’t often a man devastated her senses. Oh, sweet justice, don’t let him be a suckblood.

Darius inhaled again, a grin flashing. “Your scent is stronger, more intoxicating. So a delayed reaction, mm?”

The idiot still thought it was him. She dipped her chin, a hysterical giggle bubbling up her throat, but her gaze unerringly returned to the stranger. He mesmerized her like a beautiful marble statue in a museum drew admiration. A statue that depicted the ideal man. Although, if mystery man was nude, she’d need to pick her tongue off the floor.

He looked familiar though, like Sylvester but more virile, if that was possible for a half-dead. What? She pinched her lips against a gasp. He was a suckblood? Fury and disappointment shattered her hopes.

When Darius darted for her, ending her internal pity party, the man lunged for Darius. She dived behind the crates—her previous sanctuary—making sure she didn’t bang her head this time. Nothing she did could help the other man. Coward .

What could she do? She had no weapons and no way of surviving this.

“Damn it, Gabriel, I followed her down here. I had to trespass to get her,” Darius whined, trying to negotiate with his attacker.

That they knew each other didn’t surprise her.

Despite her regret, she smiled, loving his name. Gabriel . It suited him. Avenging angel? She snorted at her thoughts, blaming them for the stressful situation.

As she peered over the top of the boxes, the altercation continued to play out. Gabriel wrapped his forearm around her hunter’s neck. Judging by the whine in Darius’s voice, his usual confidence had fled.

A suckblood feared by other suckbloods? A slimy feeling curled in her stomach. They fought over her like a meal. Shit, she was in a heap of trouble now. Had she swapped one hunter for a more lethal one?

“You know better.” Gabriel’s voice was deep gravel, calling forth a shiver of pleasure from her.

All her senses came alive, as if he had run a hand along her skin. Her panties saturated again. Damn, this was embarrassing. She clenched her thighs tight, praying for help. For the first time, she understood why they were considered sex gods among human women.

“Smell her. She’s mouthwatering.” Darius tried to break the chokehold.

With a flick of his wrist, Gabriel broke his neck. “Mine.”

She thought she heard him growl, but she couldn’t be certain. The sound he made was animalistic. He let the body slump to the floor before turning to where she peeped over the crate.

“Is he…dead?” she asked, unable to keep the curiosity or hope from her voice. She’d been shit scared and usually, nothing phased her. She studied the twisted body and released a drawn-out breath to calm her erratic heartbeat.

“Nope, just incapacitated.”

Dismay slumped her shoulders. Well, duh. She should’ve doubted Darius had died since bullets weren’t a known weapon to kill suckbloods. Experience had taught her a broken neck meant he had a few minutes before he’d heal himself, and then he’d be angry and arrogant again. She’d prefer not to be around when that happened.

“It’ll be a while before he heals.” Gabriel offered his hand—long-fingered with a squarish palm. It conveyed safety.

She reviewed her current predicament, wondering what her choices were? He had saved her, but she would be stupid to accept his assistance without giving it serious consideration. She chewed on her lip, weighing up her options. Something told her he wouldn’t let her climb out of here. Then again, he’d done nothing to alarm her. Her annoyingly vocal instincts weren’t screaming to save herself, either.

After sliding out from behind the boxes, she accepted his hand, and the warm calloused fingers wrapped around her small ones.

A bright burst of blood on his T-shirt snagged her attention. He was bleeding from his right side. “Shit, did he hurt you?”

An uncommon emotion rose to cloud her thoughts, one she didn’t often experience, not since Val’s diagnosis—panic. This had been a panicky sort of day. She searched for a cloth to stem the flow, her braid whipping around as her head did. Ripping off his torn shirt might give him ideas as if he was in a condition to follow through on her eager thoughts. Heat stained her cheeks. She yanked her shirt off, crunching it into a ball to press to his wound. He layered a gentle hand over hers, trapping it against the heated velvet of his skin.

“I can smell your injury.” His hoarse voice sent a shiver through her.

Dipping her head to hide her reaction to him, she shrugged off his observation and focused on his wound.

“I’m not as hurt as you. How can you stand? That’s a lot of blood.” She glanced up at his intense gaze, and as she drowned in ghost gray eyes, her breath hitched. “Lean on me if you need to,” she said, grateful her tongue worked under her dazed circumstances, despite the strangled quality of her voice.

He slipped his right arm around her and tugged her to his side. He gave off so much heat she shivered, making her aware of the cold, dark room they were in.

“Where can we go?” She grunted, carrying a little of his weight. He was a heavy bastard. “Are you trapped down here? We need to find help.”

“No help.” His words were an octave above a growl, causing her to shiver again, with heat of another sort coiling in her core. “There’s a door at the back.” He gestured to the dark shadows, where the light didn’t reach.

She stared at him and smiled like she’d seen medics do . If he didn’t want help, she couldn’t force the issue. He was too big to drag up the ladder, anyway. Anyone trapped underground had to be hiding from the law. Unfortunately for him, the law had found him.

“No help. Okay.” She hobbled to the back of the room with his fingers at her waist, strong and scorching.

His scent surrounded her, and she breathed it in, deep enough to expand her lungs. It was spicy, with hints of forest and grass. Delicious.

Was he using pheromones on her? Damn suckbloods and their supernatural gifts. She needed to get him to safety then leave.

When they reached the door, she leaned forward to open it before helping him through it. As soon as she entered the well-lit room, she moaned at the beauty that greeted her. Lush Persian carpets, wall-to-wall mahogany shelves holding thousands of books—some of them looked ancient—and comfortable leather-bound chairs filled the large room. Various doors led off it.

“You live here?” she asked before facing him.

With a gasp, she rushed to him, replacing his hand clutching her bloodied shirt to his wound. His home had surprised her, and in her stunned delight, she’d forgotten about his wound.

“Sorry,” she said before guiding him to a nearby chaise lounge. “Your home is beautiful.”

“Thank you.” He lay on the chaise, but she got the impression it was more to appease her than from any need on his part.

“What can I do?” Shooting glances around, she wrung her bloodied hands, hoping he’d offer guidance. She didn’t have the time to waste on nursing him, not with Val on the verge of dying.

She stood before him in her low-riding jeans and a white lace bra, which did nothing to hide her abundant assets. A sports bra would’ve. She fought the urge to shield herself, knowing it would draw attention to her sparse coverings. Damn it, why had she offered him her shirt? She’d have to race after Val in just a bra.

“I need blood,” he said, his focus intense like he expected her to go bat-shit crazy at the mention of blood. She shouldn’t; she wasn’t a feeder. Still, the quicker she helped him, the quicker she could leave.

“Of course you do. You’re a vampire,” she said, trying to confirm her initial assessment. After all, he had handled Darius like a ninja assassin.

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you participate?” She didn’t need to elaborate. by his dismissive expression he’d understood her.

“It’s barbaric.” He winced as he adjusted his frame in the uncomfortable-looking chair.

She nibbled on her bottom lip. He had saved her, and it was only fair she reciprocated. Not that she wanted to be his feeder, but she needed him healed. He might be able to find Val and save her before she died or stop her conversion if she survived. An ally would be wonderful, right about now.

“Here, take from me.” Callie offered her wrist.

It looked delicate and pale, marred with blue veins and scratches from her mad dash. Would he notice them? Gabriel glanced at her wrist then at her face. She must have startled him with her willingness to feed him.

“You offer your lifeblood freely?” His voice was above a whisper, denoting his disbelief.

What the hell? This day was one of her weirdest to date.

He spoke the words in an otherworldly way, formal. He waited for her response; his focus intense as if he required a verbal confirmation from her.

“Yes, I offer my blood freely .”

He breathed in, his eyelids fluttering shut, showing his unforgivably long lashes. A deep inhale was a suckblood’s way of smelling her. Thanks, Darius, for that lesson.

She sniffed her armpit and winced. “I can wash first if I smell…bad.”

His eyes flew open, a smile tugging at the corners of his sinful mouth. If he had dimples then life wasn’t fair.

“You heard what Darius said. You smell delicious.”

Heat stained her cheeks, and she ran a hand over her face, not believing the situation she was in. The urge to bolt overwhelmed her. If she ran, it wouldn’t be for fear of her life. She’d be running from him and what he invoked within her. Vulnerable, na?ve, and lost in a situation she’d never been in before—there was nothing in her officer handbook on how to handle this.

“Like food?” Her stare was unblinking.

If he said yes, she was leaving his ass on that couch, bleeding or not. He’d heal, but not as quickly without her fresh blood.

“No, like sex.”

At his words, silly need coiled in her belly before traveling lower to throb. Well, that was unexpected.

“Pure, unadulterated sex.”

“Oh.” Heat traveled down her throat to her exposed cleavage. His gaze traced the path of her flush. His blatant interest had her kneeling beside him, conscious of her state of undress, his blatant admiration blasting away her usual confidence.

She pressed her wrist to his soft lips. “Please heal.”

He released her shirt, and with the lightest of touches, grasped her hand. He held her still as his fangs grazed her wrist. She trembled but didn’t move away. His teeth pierced her skin, but along with the pain came breathtaking pleasure. Like nothing she’d experienced before.

A moan tore from her, and she buried her face into his T-shirt-covered bicep, shivering as rush after rush of exquisite endorphins swept through her.