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An Excerpt From: A TASTE FOR REVENGE
© Copyright PATRICE
MICHELLE, 2004.
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave, Inc.
“Man, this hunter’s good. Damn good.” Ian Mordoor mumbled to himself as he squatted next to the
body and touched the arrow imbedded in the center of the man’s heart. The
bolt was top of the line, meant to kill. He squinted against the setting
autumn sun. If the man hadn’t been a transer, his
body would be scarred ash by now.
Transers. The fact they even
existed made Ian’s blood boil. Leave them human or make them vampri but don’t leave them in that needy in-between
state. Only a rogue vamp created transers because
he knew a transer would follow his every command
at the promise of being turned vampri.
Glancing up, Ian surveyed his surroundings and noted the
deserted train station that stood thirty feet away. The yellow paint on the
building peeled with age and neglect. He surmised the smaller building off
to the right, with its windows and door boarded up, was probably the
control station. His heightened senses on full alert, he sniffed the air
around him. In the abandoned atmosphere, he detected no unusual scents
stirring in the air other than the stench of the dead man at his feet.
Considering the body before him, the place was eerily
quiet. Somewhere the vampire hunter lay in wait. He heard the faster-paced
beat of a human heart, heard the blood coursing through the man’s veins.
Shifting his gaze back to the man on the ground, he noted the skin felt
cold to the touch. Rigor mortis had already set in. He checked his watch.
Based on the body’s condition, he had to have been dead at least fourteen
hours.
Ian couldn’t help but smile. He gave the vampire hunter
one thing—the man had tenacity and stamina by the cartloads. The hunter
must have chased Drace here because Ian knew Drace. The vamp was used to life’s luxuries. Drace never would’ve come to an abandoned train station
of his own free will. His gaze settled on Drace’s
BMW. All four tires had been slashed. The hunter must have chased Drace here on the brink of dawn. Like a rabbit into a
snare.
His smile turned to a grin as his admiration for the
hunter grew. No wonder Drace remained here. The
abandoned train station held no food source for the rogue vamp and the
longer he went without a food source, his vampire powers diminished to a
glimmer of his full power. He couldn’t shape shift into a raven or turn
into mist to get away. For now, he was bound to earth, just like his human
hunter, and forced to remain hidden until the sun disappeared from the sky.
Right now the hunter had the advantage.
Ian had been on Drace’s trail
for a month now. From Chicago to Florida he’d chased
the ousted vamp. Before he officially took over his newly appointed
position as leader of the Ruean clan, Ian vowed
to eliminate Drace for his role in the brutal
killing of a vampire hunter named John Markson.
It shouldn’t have taken him this long to track the bastard down, but
several Rueans had helped Drace
escape him on more than one occasion.
Many of the Rueans weren’t
happy Ian had been appointed their new leader once their original leader, Kraid, had been killed—Drace,
most of all, since Kraid was his brother. Never
had a hunt for a rogue vampire been more important to him, especially now
that eliminating Drace would go a long way in
establishing his leadership over the Ruean clan.
Between Drace and the vampire
hunter, all Ian had to do was follow their trail. They each left a path of
bodies behind—humans Drace killed after gorging
himself on their blood, and transers, killed by
the vampire hunter. Ian considered himself one of the best trackers, but
for some reason this vampire hunter always seemed to have the jump on him
when it came to Drace.
Standing up, he fisted his hand. He respected the
vampire hunter for his tireless efforts, but Drace
was his to hunt down. The thought spurred him into action. Ian might
have the advantage of being able to walk in the sunlight, but he fully
recognized the limitations of his hybrid—half human-half vampire— powers
compared to a pureblood vamp. Instead, he depended more on his hunting
skills to catch his vamp prey. The signs were always there, if one knew
where to look.
As he inspected the soft dirt around the body beside
him, the booted footprints told the tale. Whoever killed the vamp had
checked to make sure he was dead. Ian followed the footprints. The prints
were smaller than he expected, but then, size wasn’t a requirement to be a
good hunter.
Peering around the corner of the building, he caught
sight of a woman crouched near the abandoned train cars ten feet away. Two
chopsticks speared through the mass of jet black hair on her head, keeping
it out of her face while giving him a nice view of her slender neck. She
wore a man’s white tank top that clung to her generous breasts, her
chambray over-shirt tossed to the ground. As she raised her arm, his gaze
locked on the gun in her hand.
God, a woman caused all this? He chuckled
inwardly. Drace must be chomping at the bit that
he let himself be trapped by a mere woman. Ian crossed his arms and, in a
casual stance, leaned against the wall to admire the rest of her shapely
form.
While she checked her weapon, he appreciated her toned
arms. His gaze dropped to her lower body, past her khaki cargo shorts where
the muscles in her thighs and calves, clearly cut and defined, caused him
to harden instantly. As much as he wanted to take inventory of the rest of
her assets, it was her choice of weapons that drew his attention and
ultimate respect.
She checked and reloaded her crossbow pistol with
practiced ease, almost as if she could do so in her sleep. A weapon known
for its deadly accuracy, the crossbow pistol was slow to load compared to a
semiautomatic with a clip. And with her enemy’s known speed, the fact she
chose such a weapon spoke of her confidence in her abilities as well as her
courage.
Nor was she stupid. He grinned as he surveyed the
arsenal of other weapons on her person. She had a throwing knife clipped to
her belt and a thicker, longer Bowie
knife strapped to her thigh. When she turned and rolled her shoulders, as
if to ease the fatigue from a long night of lying in wait, he caught a
glimpse of the semiautomatic handgun tucked against her spine in the waist
of her pants. Good girl, he thought.
As if she sensed his presence, the woman looked up and
turned her head until she spotted him. He stared at her, meeting her steady
gaze. She narrowed her eyes and slowly turned her body to face him. Ian
checked his watch with unhurried movements. He looked up at the setting
sun, then met her gaze as he mouthed “show time”.
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