The Vampire Hunter

“I know as much as any other paranormal breed should know about the world and all its wonders.”

Kaz sighed and shook his head. She was a freaking witch. That put a new spin on the situation.

“You didn’t kill the vampires. Interesting,” she noted.

Kaz licked his lips. Her lips were the color of raspberries. Kissable, despite the fact she was a witch.

“From where I was standing, it appeared as if you didn’t even try to stake your opponents. You were defending yourself, yet were unwilling to make a kill.”

“There was no need to slay them. I only take out those who harm humans. And I only wanted to talk. Unfortunately, vamps don’t like talking to hunters. So you’re a witch?”

She placed a hand over his, which still clutched the spoon, on his thigh. “We’re talking about you now, Kaz. We’ll get to me later.”

Something about her touch baffled him. And then it did not. He couldn’t remember when he’d last been touched with such kindness. And that scared the hell out of him.

“So,” she said, “what did you want to talk to the vampires about?”

“Can’t tell you that.”

“Secret hunter stuff?” She winked and those long, dark lashes devastated his need to remain unaffected by her sensual allure. And that annoyed him. Because she was forcing business to merge with pleasure and he didn’t like to do that. It never ended well.

“I’ll give you that,” she said. “I suppose hunters have to be all secretive to get the job done. Like Batman.”

Batman? “I don’t have a cape.”

“Too bad. I bet you could work the cowl-and-cape look with that handsome square jaw. The stubble is sexy, you know.”

A flutter of those lashes and he wanted to grab the woman and kiss her soundly. Wrap her in his arms and crush her body against his. And taste her, lick her everywhere, until he memorized her flavor.

“So I creep you out, eh?” she asked suddenly.

“Huh?”

Zoë took the spoon from him, dipped it in the weird gray pudding stuff, and lifted it to his mouth. Kaz absently opened his mouth and let her feed him. A blueberry burst on his tongue.

“Last night when I was invoking the healing spell you said witches creep you out.” She spooned him another bite. “And I assume, since I am a witch, that included me.”

“No, you could never— I didn’t mean—” He pushed away another spoonful. Stuff was...weird. And he was sitting here, being fed by a witch. “Well, hell. You’re all kinds of surprises this morning, aren’t you?”

He wasn’t going to get into this argument with her. Witches were not his favorite creatures. Something about them did creep him out, but what was it? He couldn’t recall the exact reason for his heebie-jeebies.

Kaz grabbed the spoon from Zoë, dropped it in the bowl and shoved it toward her.

“You need to eat. Build up your strength.”

“I need to leave.”

“Not for another few hours. I want to keep you here until I know the spell has worked.”

“I’m fine.” He pushed up and swung his legs over the side of the couch. His brain wobbled inside his skull, and briefly, he saw two witches sitting before him. “Why do I feel so woozy?”

“The spell is rushing through your system, doing its thing. It’ll require all bits and pieces of you to work cohesively to heal the damaged parts. So you won’t feel right until it’s completed. Lie back.” She shoved the bowl into his hands. “And finish your pudding.”

She stood. Kaz’s eyes veered directly to those blue ruffles above her knees. A dash of his tongue—right there—would taste the curve behind her knee, and he knew the flavor would satisfy him like no bowl of goopy gray stuff ever could.

“When you feel less dizzy, I’ve set out some towels in the bathroom. I’m washing your shirt right now. It was spattered with blood—probably your own. I could clean your pants...?”

“They’re fine,” he said quickly of his leather pants.

“You sure? I won’t look.”

The situation was getting intimate. Fast. And what was wrong with that?

You don’t do the intimate with someone you hardly know. You screw them and leave. You know this woman. It’s too late for a quickie, never see you again, sweetie.

She’d already nestled her ribbons and raspberry lips into a place in his brain. Good luck getting her out, buddy.

She turned and strode out of the living room.

“You don’t creep me out, Zoë.” He whispered the words as his brain fogged and his heavy eyelids fell shut. His grip softened about the pottery bowl.

“Pretty...” was the last word he could manage before surrendering to his body’s need to shut down while the spell worked to heal his wounds.

* * *

Zoë smiled to herself as she moved the clothes from the washer into the dryer. Pretty, eh? The man hadn’t been all there in the head when he’d muttered that. As he hadn’t been in full grasp of his senses when he’d muttered about creepy witches.

She hoped.

The blood had come out of his black shirt thanks to her homemade herbal detergent with an extra touch of earth magic. She tossed it into the dryer and sprinkled in some cloves to imbue a pleasing scent into the fabric, though she was a little sad she’d washed away the leather-and-licorice scent from his shirt. It still lingered on his skin, though. Goddess, but the man smelled like a treat.

But she had much better things to do than household chores and tending the sick, no matter how delicious the patient smelled. A whole lot of faery ichor needed processing and her time was valuable. But she couldn’t work while the hunter was in her house because that might tempt him to climb the stairs to see what she was doing. Her work wasn’t a secret. She just liked to keep her spell room sacred and never allowed others inside.

“Protect the magic,” she muttered. “Always and ever.”

Her parents had taught her that. One slip on her father’s part had branded him warlock. It was a hard life to live in the shadows with few friends, but there were days Zoë suspected her father preferred such a life. He’d always been quiet, almost to the point of reclusive.

As she wandered into the kitchen, curiosity over Kaz’s encounter with the vampires last night crept up on her. If he’d no intention of killing them, and had only wanted to talk with them, she wanted to know why. Because the pink-haired vampiress was involved in her life in an important way.

Had Kaz’s curiosity anything to do with something “Pink” had done?

“Couldn’t be related to me,” she muttered, while setting the breakfast dishes in the sink. “I hope not.” She and Pink had no relationship whatsoever; only business connected them. “I’m doing nothing wrong,” she said with a lift of her chin. “And hunters don’t involve themselves in the kind of stuff I’m working on, anyway. Do they?”

There would be no need to. Why, the hunter should appreciate her efforts.

She heard the shower running. The image of Kaz in the buff popped into her thoughts. Now, that would be a beautiful sight to take in. The way his eyes had danced up her legs and to her breasts after he’d first woken had made her feel as if he were drawing his fingers along her skin. Slowly, lingering, feeling out the curves on her body. And she’d felt every long gaze seep through her pores.

She smiled at the delicious notion that he had been assessing her charms. In that moment of assessment, she had wanted to kiss him, but he’d been out of sorts. Probably she misunderstood his interest in her as woozy discombobulation produced by the spell surging through his system.