Page 30 of Fangbanger

They must have been a way to remind him of his place even as he emerged victorious. The horror of it nearly makes me brush a finger over them, like I can heal the long-ago pain. Marcus deserves every inch of his arrogance. And more compassion than I ever anticipated.

His hand drops to the waistband of his sweats, distracting me from the terrible direction of my thoughts. The material dips indecently low on his lean hips. He has the body of a warrior, scarred and corded with muscle, but covered in skin that looks velvet-soft. The trail of hair that leads into his pants looks soft as well, and below it—I swallow—he’s hard. The ridge of his erection presses against the material of his sweats.

His thumb dips below the waistband, adjusting the fabric. Something zips through my stomach.

His hand shifts to cover his erection, not stroking, just passing lazily from side to side. His cock throbs against the material.

He definitely dreams.

My mouth is dry. My pulse beats heavily between my legs.

There’s a phantom knock on the property’s perimeter ward. I jerk straight up in bed. I’m not expecting any visitors. The presence lingers there, polite but insistent, not testing the wards again and not slipping through, which means it’s not a human and it’s not an active attack. Or at least it isn’t yet.

I scramble out of bed, strapping on my weapons before I pad silently out of the room and onto the porch.

In front, the perimeter wards extend only to the low stone wall that surrounds the front lawn and abuts the road. They used to be larger, but they proved a problem for the drunk humans that sometimes drive past the house. A determined human can get through, like the assholes from the real estate place that keep knocking on my door, but the drunk ones would bounce off like tired flies hitting a wall.

There’s a cloaked figure waiting in the shade of the apple trees that grow just outside the wall. Its cloak is blood red and intricately draped, held with a gold pin at the shoulder. I stalk down the path, my hand on the top of my silver-handled stake. The figure is broad and tall enough that it must be a vampire or a were. Or another predatory supernatural that relies on strength and speed.

It feels like a vampire to my slayer senses, but the amount of power it’s throwing off is unlike any vampire I’ve ever fought. The power shoves at my chest as I approach, crashes in waves that make me square my shoulders against it.

I stop on the other side of the ward, just behind the wall and mere feet from the figure. It’s still in the way of vampires. Humans and other supernaturals fidget, breathe, have stomachs that rumble. Vampires are the ultimate predators—utterly silent until they pounce.

Adrenaline drips through my veins. My legs are tense.

“Slayer.” The cloaked figure inclines its head.

“Show yourself.” My voice is hard. I don’t kill random vampires. I kill only vampires that break supernatural law. Innocent until proven otherwise, though my body is primed to attack.

The figure lifts the hood. I suck in air.

A vampire with Marcus’s eyes stares back at me.

17

LEAH

“Julian, right?”

Marcus’s brother reminds me of a brittle blade. His blond hair is shorn short to his scalp, and he has a straight, narrow nose. Pale stubble covers his jaw, nearly a beard. His features are sharper than Marcus’s. He is leaner. Taller. His eyes are backlit with madness.

He is what my parents saw before they died.

“I’m honored, slayer.” His gaze crawls over my face, then my body, and I tense. “I brought you a present.”

My mind is churning, barely hearing his words.

“I don’t need presents from murderers.”

His eyes light with amusement. My teeth grit. He killed my parents. He was the one crouched over them like an animal. Did he smile then too? I grasp at the anger, pushing it to the forefront. Anger helps me. Fear does not. I force myself to relive each moment of their deaths, the memories burning like acid inside me.

“You’re angry at me.” He sounds nearly delighted.

I’m so mad my hands shake. My slayer instincts push my weight to my toes, urging me to leap the wall, before I tense.

Wait for Marcus.

I can’t kill Julian alone. Not if he’s stronger than his brother. The force it takes to restrain myself makes my words come out as a growl. “Tell me what you came for.”