Page 12 of Bloodhunter

I shook my head as red agony lit my brain on fire, giving methe worst headache of my life. My stomach churned with the pain of it, and myquiet, agonized groan slid out into the still air.

Someone was there with me.

I felt him.

It.

Vampire.

Of its own accord, my mind opened and reached out throughthe haze of pain, unfurling like a ribbon into the darkness, searching thenight. I lifted my nose to the air and began sniffing; tiny, quick inhalationsthat pulled the scents into my brain. I stopped, stunned, when I realized whatI was doing.

Adrenaline stormed my body, and I was ready when the vampirecame rushing from the shadows toward me. I clenched my teeth and held out thestakes, as though he might be stupid enough to impale himself upon them in hishurry to get to me.

It wasn’t Amias.

He hissed and was rightthere, right in my face, andthe back of my head slammed against the brick behind me as I recoiled.

Even more pain exploded in my head but I didn’t hesitate. Ilunged with the stakes, grimly satisfied when I felt one of them lodge in hisflesh. His scream was not loud, but it was…distressed.

He was not terribly old, this vampire. How I knew that, Icouldn’t have said, but his youth was like the taste of something green andfresh and steaming on the back of my tongue. I gagged and jerked a vial of holywater from my pocket, striking with the other stake at the same time.

Seconds, that’s all it took, because with the adrenalinecoursing through me, my movements were swift. But he was a vampire. Thoughvampires weren’t as strong and fast as those in fiction, they were still extraordinary,and my second stake hit nothing but cold, empty air.

A master was faster still, and crazy strong, but thisvampire was no master.

He had not killed Carrie Alden—that woman’s death lingered,covered in the smell of a master vampire. Of Amias.

No, this guy was no master, but he was powerful and he wasfast, and he was far from finished with me.

And he was hungry. Starving. He had a certain scent, aswell. He reeked of disease. Just like the vampires who’d attacked onThanksgiving Day.

He was sick and full of rage, an unthinking and deadlymonster.

I realized I was about to die two seconds before he barreledinto me, knocking the stake and vial from my grip and slamming me into thebuilding.

I bounced from the brick to the ground, my breath whooshingfrom my lungs, and I began to wheeze an almost silent laugh at my predicament.I was hysterical.

Or I was psychotic.

He fell on top of me, his weight insubstantial, as though hewere merely a bag of hollow bones. He plunged his fangs into me, right above mycollarbone. The teeth entered my flesh and kept going, like a lidocaine shot tothe roof of the mouth.

My entire left arm was affected immediately—I could feel it,but I couldn’t move it. It lay there, pulsing with pain, frozen.

Paralyzed.

I was going to die.

Funny how the thought didn’t scare me.

Scared or not, my instinct for survival kicked in, and Ibegan to struggle. I grabbed his face with my right hand, and my thumbnailpopped through his eye. I dug and pinched and shoved, but he barely grunted,and he did not stop sucking the life from my body.

I pulled my hand from his face and fumbled at my belt, whereI had two more stakes. I would have reached for the extra vial of holy waterbut my coat was twisted beneath me, hiding the pockets.

My mind was going dark, calm and hazy as he pulled the bloodfrom my body. Weaker, slower, and almost resigned, I still managed to slide thesharp stake from the loop on my belt.

I lifted the stake high and brought it down hard and fast,plunging it through his bony back, straight into his heart. “Please, God,” Icried, weakly.

I’d had no idea it would be so easy to stake a vampire.