Page 5 of Bloodhunter

Lydia tugged my hand. “Come in with me.”

“She likes to play with that tea set you gave her.” Angusstared into the distance, after the vampire who’d just fled. “And she likes cookies.Go on in and feed the child.”

“Triny,” the child said, insistently. “Play with me.”

I patted the little girl’s hand, then gave her a gentle pushtoward the shop. “Not tonight.” She forgot me immediately as she knelt, grabbeda pebble of some sort, and took off after her siblings. “Cory,” she yelled. “Igot a rock.”

Angus focused on me, staring down from his great height, hisnostrils flaring as though he caught the scent of something that pleased him.

“I work for you, Angus. I make pizzas. I’m not tending yourkids.”

He frowned. “What?”

“I said, I’m not tending your kids. That’s your job, andtheir mothers’, if you can find any of them. Seriously. Birth control. Lookinto it.”

He flashed a white grin, and his stare dropped to my lips.

I could see what attracted women to him, honestly I could.He was one of the most handsome men I’d ever seen. Not that handsome was reallythe word for Angus Stark, exactly. He was hot, raw, domineering, loud, andbossy. And every single thing about him screamed sex.

Women threw themselves at him.

He had fourteen children—that I knew of—and one on the way.He adored them all. It was obvious in the way he looked at them, the way hecared for them.

And that was just awesome, but I wanted no part of it.

Their mothers gave them over to Angus’ care because they’dhave been unable to raise a shifter baby. Not only were they unequipped to dealwith the special needs of a supernatural child, their human community was aninhospitable environment for a nonhuman.

Very inhospitable.

I strode into the pizza shop, Angus at my back. I’d workedfor him for five years, and considered myself lucky. I had my reasons forstaying at the restaurant. Angus paid well, was lenient, and I loved pizza.

But mostly, I stayed there because no one in Bay Town washuman. Well, except for me. I was human, but I was also one of supernaturals.

I’d been through hell because of a nonhuman, and theyunderstood me. They accepted me. They didn’t look at me like I was a freak.

The Red Valley Thanksgiving Day Massacre had changed me.

Amias Sato’s bite hadn’t killed me, but it had modifiedsomething inside me. Now their tricks didn’t seem to work—they couldn’tmesmerize me, and no matter how motionless they stood with their spooky, creepystillness, I saw them. They couldn’t hide from me.

The attack had taken away my innocence and replaced it withrage.

There was more—I could feel it. I didn’t know what else hemight have done to me, but there was more.

And I felt more comfortable in the supernatural communitythan I did in the human world.

For the most part, humans accepted the supernaturals. Theshifters and wolves and other nonhumans who lived in the humans’ world werepretty much allowed to exist without constant persecution—as long as they livedby the rules.

Butnoone loved the vampires. Most humans shudderedat the very thought of a parasitic monster walking the city. Mostsupernaturalsshuddered at the thought, as well.

Lucky for them, vampires had protections. How else couldthey survive in a world full of humans? Creepy, mystical protections, likebeing able to stand so still a human would look right past them and have noidea the bloodsucking monsters were lurking nearby. At least the older vampireshad that ability.

But I saw them. And I saw Amias often. He stalked me. Hisobsession was obvious, but his reasons were murky.

All I wanted was to kill him.

The memories began to break free from the coffins in whichI’d buried them, and I hurried through the restaurant, muttering“shit,shit, shit,”under my breath.

“Trin,” Angus called. “Are you all right?”