Page 30 of Bloodhunter

Then I swayed and he reached out to steady me. His grip wastentative, and the look on his face said he’d rather have been doing just aboutanything other than touching me.

“Ouch.” I tried to breathe through a fresh wave of pain. “Thissword can be an asshole.”

He waited, saying nothing, until the pain passed—sort of—andI lowered myself gingerly to the sofa.

“Where are the pills Rhys gave you?” he asked.

I looked up at him, frowning at the tight anger in hisvoice. “Nightstand drawer.”

“I’ll get them and the first aid kit. Sheath the fuckingsword.”

I stared after his retreating body, bemused. He was nothinglike I’d thought. But then, I’d never been alone with him. Miriam was alwayswith him, and when she was with him, he was just an insubstantial shadow at herback.

I looked at the beautiful but small sheath, then shruggedand slid the tip of the blade into the leather. “Get in there,” I muttered.“Before Clayton has a stroke.”

The sword began to shrink. It slid smoothly into the sheath,growing smaller as I pushed, crumbling in on itself, changing from a sword toa…knife.

“What?” I held the sheathed blade up and examined it. “Whatin the world are you?”

It was like a shifter. A sword shifter. And that wassomething I’d never heard of.

Objects didn’t shift. Swords didn’t shift.

Yet Silverlight had.

“Whatareyou?” I asked, again, but the sword—theknife—remained silent and innocuous in its tiny leather bed. The blade washidden but the hilt remained outside the case, and I caressed it, fascinated.It looked the same, only miniaturized.

The sheath’s loop would slide over my belt, and I could wearit at my side without raising any eyebrows. I squeezed it gently, then slippedit into the pocket of my robe.

A knock sounded on the door. A quiet, furtive knock. Miriamhad arrived.

Perfect.

I sighed and padded to the door, miffed that Clayton hadcalled her. She had no business there. I was not going to let her touch mysword. I was like a little kid who’d never been forced to share.

I opened the door, and barely had a second to realize it wasnot Miriam before a slight, hooded stranger shoved himself into the room and plungedhis wet fingers inside my robe.

He fumbled my breast like a teenage virgin getting his firsttaste of love, smearing something thick and sticky and clingy on my sore flesh.

Maybe he was shocked at my injury, because he paused when hisrough fingertips snagged on the torn edges of my wound. He pushed me deeper intothe room, his hood falling back, and I got a glimpse of a deathly pale face shapedwith starved valleys and sharp edges, and a slash of lips so red they appearedto be bleeding.

I opened my mouth to yell and when I did, he parted those lips,grabbed the back of my head, and slammed his mouth against mine.

Seconds. Since I’d opened the door to his attack, mereseconds had passed. He was fast like a vampire, but something about him wasdifferent. He wasn’t a vampire.

I felt the beginnings of something…awful. But before itcould take hold, his mouth was ripped from mine, and Clayton was there. As Ireeled back, my hand to my tingling mouth, Clayton threw the attacker into a wallso hard my entire apartment shook.

Despite his bone-crunching encounter with the wall, theattacker didn’t stay down. Clayton lunged, but the stranger rolled, jumped tohis feet, and raced to the door with a dizzying speed.

Clayton started after him, but he made the mistake ofturning to see to me first.

I threw myself at him.

My entire body shook with a desire so extreme it edged intopain. Even my wound screamed with pleasure. I had to be touched. Ihadto be. I had to have sex. I would have sex or I’d die.

I gasped as that pleasure shot through me. My stomachtightened, and I clenched my thighs against the immediate response between mylegs.

My robe was in the way, so I ripped it off. I reached up totouch his face, rubbing my breasts against the fabric of his shirt. “Please,” Iwhispered. “Clayton.”