The Vampire Hunter

She was rushing toward happily ever after and wasn’t even sure the man was on the same page. Well, of course he wasn’t. They’d only just met. But his kisses had definitely turned a few of her pages.

She placed the clean plates on the drying rack. She couldn’t condone anyone causing harm to another living being. Not unless it was justified. If a vampire had harmed a human, or even killed them, then yes, she had no problem with a hunter ending their life. But not if the vamp was merely drinking from humans to survive—as they must do, for cold blood from blood bags did not sustain life. If they did only that, never taking too much, and leaving the victim enthralled in a sensual swoon, then hell no, she would never stand for a hunter thinking he had the right to end that vampire’s life.

Kaz was not the sort to irrationally take another’s life. She sensed that. He wore honor like a flag, though he didn’t wave it blatantly about as if he needed the accolades for his bravery. He’d only wanted to talk to the vampires last night. And she had plainly seen he had done his best not to harm them. To his detriment.

“I feel one hundred percent better.”

Kaz strolled into the kitchen, dark leather pants low on his hips and droplets of water still glistening on his broad, wide shoulders. His short, wet hair was tousled this way and that, and where there had been bruises last night on his chest, ribs, jaw and temple, now there were none, save the fading mark over his kidney.

She studied the raised scar on his shoulder. It looked like a brand, some sort of symbol. Where had she seen it before? Recently. He’d gotten it when he was a teenager? The things kids did when they were drunk.

“How does your side feel?” she asked. “That was an awful injury.”

“It’s still tender, but I’m good to go. You have my shirt?”

“Another half an hour for the dryer cycle to finish. Let’s sit.” She strolled into the living room and sat, patting the couch beside her. “If it’s still tender, I want you to relax until my magic has completed its work.”

“It was a healing spell, eh?” he asked. “You witches are into that kind of stuff? Healing?”

She noticed his gaze strayed to her cheek, and the scar, and could read his unspoken thoughts. “Witches are enlightened beings. We’re all about resonance, harmonics and frequency. As is the body both mortals and immortals inhabit.”

Zoë again patted the couch.

With a sigh, he sat next to her, stretching his arms across the back. Zoë wanted to snuggle against him and draw in his darkly sweet scent, but, sensing she may not have judged him correctly for his comment about creepy witches, she sat forward, elbows on her knees, and twisted her head to the side to eye him.

“The paranormal breeds tend to heal instantly,” she said, “or very close to that. Humans, on the other hand, take a lot longer. Without my magic you would have been swollen and groaning this morning.”

“Whatever you did, I appreciate it. You’re not at all creepy.”

She smiled and that summoned a smile on his lips, which were oh so thick, and his teeth gleamed like some kind of movie star.

Kissable was the word at the tip of her tongue, but Zoë feigned disinterest.

“You must have encountered a creepy witch at some time?” she asked.

“When I got this.” He tilted his head to reveal a curved tattoo behind his ear half covered by his hair.

Zoë inspected what looked like black tribal markings about an inch long and as wide as her finger. “Is that a spell tattoo?”

He nodded. “Keeps vamps from biting me. Not sure how it works, only that it does. Comes in handy in my line of work.”

“I imagine so. The only witch who does spell tattoos is—”

“Sayne,” he offered. “And if you don’t agree that dude is creepy, well then...”

Sayne, an ink witch who had no known home and traveled the world, inked spell tattoos. He was known to be quiet and respectful and very wise. But as for creepy? Yes, she had to concede he was, for the witch’s entire body was covered in tattoos. His face looked like a skull with black ink hollowing his eye sockets, and a partial brain exposed as if the top of his skull had been sawn off. The one time she’d met him, she’d been distracted by the inked image of a corpse worm crawling across that exposed brain.

“He is creepy, but kind,” Zoë said.

“Apparently, I’m only one of two humans the witch has ever agreed to do a tat for.”

“You must have charmed him.”

“Either that or the thick stack of cash I whipped out had something to do with it.”

“I’m glad you have the tattoo. Had one of them bitten you last night I might have had to rush out to save you. I wanted to fling some magic at them, but it tends to be less than reliable when I’m under stress.”

“That would not have been smart. I held my own. Mostly. I’m a little embarrassed you witnessed what is a rarity for me.”

“A rarity?”

“Getting my ass kicked.”

“Your ass is fine.” At least it looked well and fine in those snug jeans he wore. “It’s your kidney that took the licking. If I hadn’t been there you might have bled out in the alley.”

The man suddenly sat upright, puffing up his chest. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say bled out. I might have lain there in pain awhile, but eventually I would have pulled myself up and staggered home.”

“But you prefer that I decided to toss in a little magical intervention?”

“Can’t deny your touch made me feel better.” His fingers stroked her leg and landed on the ruffle above her knee. “Pretty.”

He’d said the same about her earlier. She threaded her fingers through his and he turned his up to clasp within hers. Zoë felt a grin start deep in her soul. Holding hands was so simple a connection. Yet it quickened her heartbeat and warmed her skin.

“Uh, I should...” She gripped his hand tighter when she sensed he wanted to tug away. “...get going soon.”

Why was he so insistent upon leaving? “Wait for your shirt to finish drying. Just a few more minutes.”

“Right.” He slapped a hand to his bare chest as if he’d forgotten he was half-naked.

Zoë had not.

She leaned across him to check his side. The bruising was almost gone. Take that, witches who daren’t dip into molecular magic. Their healing touch would take much longer.

“Looks better,” she said.

Their faces were close. She could feel his breath mingle with hers. And the only thing that could happen, did. They connected in a rush of need and desire. Spreading her hand across his chest, Zoë felt the steady pulse of his heartbeat as she deepened the kiss, wanting to take all of him into her being as if he were a new kind of magic she needed to study.

He pulled her closer, slipping a hand around the back of her head and into her hair. The possessive move sent a giddy thrill through Zoë’s system. She liked the way he took control, coaxing, as if the only place she belonged was against him.

Her body moved of its own volition, one leg sliding across his lap, until she straddled him. Nibbling his thick lower lip, she smiled against his mouth and his return smile made her giggle.

But he suddenly bracketed her face and pulled from the kiss, his eyes searching hers. “This changes things,” he said.

“What? This? You mean us this? Are we an us?”

“You. Being a witch. And me, being what I am.”

“No, it doesn’t. Why do things have to change? They’ve only just begun.” She kissed him again. He did not pull away. He wanted this connection as much as she did. She wouldn’t allow him to deny it. “I’m no danger to you.”