Guilty Pleasures (Vampire Hunter 1)

"What do you want?"

"Be brave, little girl, be brave as you want to be. I can feel your fear. I want to see the scars I gave you, see that you remember me, like I remember you."

"I remember you."

"Scars, girl, show me the scars."

"I show you the scars, then what?"

"Then you go home, or wherever you're going. The master has given strict orders you are not be harmed until after you do your job for us."

"Then?"

He smiled, a broad glistening expanse of teeth. "Then, I hunt you down, and I pay you back for this." He touched his face. "Come, girl, don't be shy, I seen it all before. I tasted your blood. Show me the scars, and the muscle man won't have to die proving how strong he is."

I glanced at Winter. Massive fists were crossed over his chest. His spine nearly vibrated with readiness. The vampire was right; Winter would die trying. I pushed the ripped sleeve above the elbow. A mound of scar tissue decorated the bend in my arm; scars dribbled down from it, like liquid, crisscrossing and flowing down the outer edge of my arm. The cross-shaped burn took up the only clear space on the inside of my forearm.

"I didn't think you'd ever use that arm again, after the way I tore into it."

"Physical therapy is a wonderful thing."

"Ain't no physical therapy gonna help me."

"No," I said. The first button was missing on my blouse. One more and I spread my shirt back to expose the collarbone. Scars ridged it, crawled over it. It looked real attractive in a bathing suit.

"Good," the vampire said. "You smell like cold sweat when you think of me, little girl. I was hoping I haunted you the way you haunted me."

"There is a difference, you know."

"And what might that be?"

"You were trying to kill me. I was defending myself."

"And why had you come to our house? To put stakes through our hearts. You came to our house to kill us. We didn't go hunting for you."

"But you did go hunting for twenty-three other people. That's a lot of people. Your group had to be stopped."

"Who appointed you God? Who made you our executioner?"

I took a deep breath. It was steady, didn't tremble. Brownie point for me. "The police."

"Bah." He spit on the floor. Very appealing. "You work real hard, girl. You find the murderer, then we'll finish up."

"May I go now?"

"By all means. You're safe tonight, because the master says so, but that will change."

Zachary said, "Out the side door." He walked nearly backwards watching the vampire as we moved away. Winter stayed behind, guarding our backs. Idiot.

Zachary opened the door. The night was hot and sticky. Summer wind slapped against my face, humid, and close, and beautiful.

The vampire called, "Remember the name Valentine, 'cause you'll be hearing from me."

Zachary and I walked out the door. It clanged shut behind us. There was no handle on the outside, no way to open it. A one way ticket, out. Out sounded just fine.

We started to walk. "You got a gun with silver bullets in it?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I'd start carrying it if I were you."

"Silver bullets won't kill him."

"But it'll slow him down."

"Yeah." We walked for a few minutes in silence. The warm summer night seemed to slide around us, hold us in sticky, curious hands.

"What I need is a shotgun."

He looked at me. "You going to carry a shotgun with you day after day?"

"Sawed off, it would fit under a coat."

"In the middle of a Missouri summer, you'd melt. Why not a machine gun, or a flamethrower, while you're at it?"

"Machine gun has too wide a spread range. You may hit innocent people. Flamethrower's bulky. Messy, too."

He stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. "You've used a flamethrower on vampires before?"

"No, but I saw it used."

"My god." He stared off into space for a moment, then asked, "Did it work?"

"Like a charm; messy, though. And it burned the house down around us. I thought it was a little extreme."

"I'll bet." We started walking again. "You must hate vampires."

"I don't hate them."

"Then why do you kill them?"

"Because it's my job, and I'm good at it." We turned a corner, and I could see the parking lot where I had left my car. It seemed like I had parked my car days ago. My watch said hours. It was a little like jet lag, but instead of crossing time zones, you crossed events. So many traumatic events and your time sense screws up. Too much happening in too short a space of time.

"I'm your daytime contact. If you need anything, or want to give a message, here's my number." He shoved a matchbook into my hand.

I glanced at the matchbook. It read "Circus of the Damned" bleeding red onto a shiny black background. I shoved it in my jeans pocket.

My gun was lying there in my trunk. I slipped into the shoulder rig, not caring that I had no jacket to cover it. A gun out in plain sight attracts attention, but most people leave you alone. They often even start running, clearing a path before you. It made chases very convenient.

Zachary waited until I was sitting in my car. He leaned into the open door. "It can't just be a job, Anita. There's got to be a better reason than that."

I glanced down at my lap and started the car. I looked up into his pale eyes. "I'm afraid of them. It is a very natural human trait to destroy that which frightens us."

"Most people spend their lives avoiding things they fear. You run after them. That's crazy."

He had a point. I closed the door and left him standing in the hot dark. I raised the dead and laid the undead to rest. It was what I did. Who I was. If I ever started questioning my motives, I would stop killing vampires. Simple as that.

I wasn't questioning my motives tonight, so I was still a vampire slayer, still the name they had given me. I was The Executioner.

Chapter 15

Dawn slid across the sky like a curtain of light. The morning star glittered like a diamond chip against the easy flow of light.

I had seen two sunrises in as many days. I was beginning to feel grumpy. The trick would be to decide whom to be grumpy at, and what to do about it. Right now all I wanted was to sleep. The rest could wait, would have to wait. I had been running on fear, adrenaline, and stubbornness for hours. In the quiet hush of the car I could feel my body. It was not happy.

It hurt to grip the wheel, hurt to turn it. The bloody scrapes on my hands looked a lot worse than they were, I hoped. My whole body felt stiff. Everybody underrates bruises. They hurt. They would hurt a lot more after I slept on them. There is nothing like waking up the morning after a good beating. It's like a hangover that covers your entire body.

The corridor of my apartment building was hushed. The whir of the air conditioner breathed in the silence. I could almost feel all the people asleep behind the doors. I had an urge to press my ear to one of the doors and see if I could hear my neighbors breathing. So quiet. The hour after dawn is the most private of all. It is a time to be alone and enjoy the silence.

The only hour more hushed is three a.m. and I am not a fan of three a.m.

I had my keys in my hand, had almost touched the door, when I realized it was ajar. A tiny crack, almost closed, but not. I moved to the right of the door and pressed my back against the wall. Had they heard the keys jingling? Who was inside? Adrenaline was flowing like fine champagne. I was alert to every shadow, the way the light fell. My body was in emergency mode, and I hoped to God I didn't need it.

I drew my gun and leaned against the wall. Now what? There was no sound from inside the apartment, nothing. It could be more vampires, but it was nearly true dawn. It wouldn't be vampires. Who else would break into my apartment? I took a deep breath and let it out. I didn't know. Didn't have the faintest idea. You'd think I'd get used to not knowing what the hell is going on, but I never do. It just makes me grumpy, and a little scared.

I had several choices. I could leave and call the police, not a bad choice. But what could they do that I couldn't, except walk in and get killed in my place? That was unacceptable. I could wait in the corridor until whoever it was got curious. That could take a while, and the apartment might be empty. I'd feel pretty stupid standing out here for hours, gun trained on an empty apartment. I was tired, and I wanted to go to bed. Dammit!