The Vampire Hunter

Because of his chosen study, the witches of the Light had declared her father, Pierre Guillebeaux, warlock. The Light did not approve of molecular magic. Witches must not alter living beings in any way beyond using magic to speed up the body’s natural healing process. Only shapeshifters and demons were sanctioned to physically alter their bodies. But Zoë’s father believed in the healing capabilities of his magic—that someone could heal himself or herself or otherwise alter their very being—something no witch was able to do. Instead of sacrificing the study of it, he had willingly become warlock.

She missed him. Though she hadn’t seen him in ten years, she knew, wherever he was, he was well, yet that didn’t dispel the emptiness in her heart. Since her mother’s death when she was thirteen, her father was her only family, and though she had many friends, she craved an intimate relationship.

In the center of her spell room, before the round, marble-topped worktable, she carefully went about the process of alchemizing the faery ichor that was delivered once a week from an unnamed, but obnoxious source. Zoë didn’t have to like the delivery girl; she just had to take the ichor and in return hand over the finished product. It was a smooth system that had been working for the few weeks she’d been engaged in this endeavor.

The vampire Mauritius, leader of tribe Anière, had been buying her blend to distribute to his fellow vampires. He had seemed eager to spread it around, assuring her it would do well within the vampire community. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her blend—which was to be expected in this neighborhood that overlapped FaeryTown—so Zoë was kept fairly busy producing the concoction.

But it must be fresh, and only produced in small amounts. That ensured efficacy. The shelf life was about a week, she figured, though she hadn’t done field experiments to verify that, and had only her best friend’s usage report to judge how well it actually worked.

“I can’t wait to see Luc,” she whispered.

She leaned forward next to Sid to watch the ichor in the alembic dance and coruscate as if stars captured under glass.

It had been two weeks since her best friend, Luc, had been around for a visit. He had been her guinea pig for the dust blend. Luc mentioned her project to his tribe leader, and Mauritius had been very interested.

Zoë set the kitchen timer for four minutes. She had to let the dust formulate a short time before adding the key ingredient.

Noticing the backpack she’d hastily dropped beside the door, she spied the steel cylinder spilling out that she’d nicked from her rescuer. So she had a habit of snatching things. It was a better vice than drinking or practicing malefic magic, wasn’t it?

She retrieved the cylinder and looked it over. Was it some kind of weapon? On second thought, it might not be steel. It was light, almost like aluminum, but she suspected the metal was strong and wouldn’t dent. It didn’t have a product name or brand anywhere on it. On one end was impressed a symbol of four pointed bars crossed over one another in the center of a circle.

The opposite end showed a cross slit that might open if some kind of button were pushed. Narrow black pads about three inches long stretched each side of the cylinder, like grips, and when she squeezed—

A sharp tip pinioned out the end of the column with such force that Zoë let out a gasp and dropped it. The deadly thing skimmed her boots, cutting a scar in the aged black leather, and clattered onto the white tiled floor.

She bent to grab it—but didn’t touch it. Its apparent use grew obvious now that the tip was fully ejected.

“A stake?”

It looked like a weapon some kind of hunter might use to stake vampires. What other purpose would it serve?

“He had been a skilled fighter. Hmm...Kaz,” she whispered, her thoughts wandering.

He’d reminded her of an action-movie hero. He hadn’t looked vampire or werewolf, though she would expect as much only because of the crowd with whom she normally hung around. He must have been human, because the others who had fallen at his fist had looked like standard street thugs.

There were times Zoë preferred vampires to humans. At least with vampires she knew where she stood—either as a friend or lunch. Humans were a mixed bag of nothing but misplaced mischief and accidental danger. Humans generally didn’t appeal to her, yet never had one shown her such chivalry. In those moments after she had stumbled onto the fight, she had felt the damsel.

Standing amongst the men, Kaz had been outfitted in a sleek, black leather duster coat and dark clothing. Night shadows had concealed most of his face, save for bulletlike eyes that had homed in to Zoë as if there were no other place he could see. He’d tilted his head, catching the moonlight on his devastating smirk and then had shouted for her to leave. The hero protecting the damsel.

His voice had been rough and deep, yet had eased into Zoë’s pores with a soul-stirring tingle. He’d spoken English, though it had been accented with something other than her native French. German, to guess from his surname Rothstein. His brown eyes had moved over her face, landing on her lips, and then along the scar that curled across one cheek—yet hadn’t lingered there—till finally they’d locked onto her gaze.

If only the moonlight had been stronger, she may have seen much more, and might have gazed for endless hours at the sexy man who had defended her with muscle and might.

The timer dinged and Zoë shot upright, leaving the stake on the floor. The next part of the blend recipe must be enacted immediately.

“Now for the magic.”

She tapped the glass with her matte-black-polished fingernails that were tipped in white. A smidge of secret potion was added to the faery ichor from a long, narrow vial—tap, tap, the iridescent particles fluttered into the alembic—and then she recited the spell that she’d worked for months to perfect after dozens of hours studying the family grimoire.

“Feé substitutuary lente.”

This kind of molecular magic tended to zap her energy. All other magics barely taxed her system, though she did have difficulty wielding any magic in public. Call it a lack of confidence, or never having been taught to use her magic around others.

“Dissimulate,” was the final word.

The ichor in the alembic turned purple and she knew the process had been a success. Now she need only reduce the ichor to dust, package it in vials and hand it over to Mauritius’s courier, who always arrived on Sunday morning, bright and early, despite the fact she was a vampiress.

Reaching for a tray of glass vials, Zoë paused and tilted her head to listen. She eyed Sid. The cat’s ears also perked.

Someone knocking on her front door after midnight?

“Unusual. Absolutely unprecedented, actually.”

Leaving the spell room, she carefully locked it with a snap of her fingers. Sid pussyfooted in her wake down the iron spiral stairs that landed but a few paces from the front door, and assumed his protective stance behind her legs.

Confident of the protective barrier that shielded her threshold from vampires, werewolves and faeries, Zoë gripped the doorknob and opened it to reveal a sexy smile and beaming brown eyes.

Her rescuing knight said, “I’ve come for another kiss.”

Chapter 2

Leather coat draped over one arm, Kaspar—or rather, the man who allowed those he kissed to call him Kaz—stood in her doorway, not crossing the threshold. Zoë could usually feel her wards tingle when an unwanted visitor activated them. Not even a ting in the air. He was human; she was sure of it.

Yet it was well past midnight. She never received such late callers.

“You found me,” she stupidly said, glancing over her shoulder and up the stairs. The dust mix needed to sit for an hour before she reduced it, so she could manage a chat.

He rapped the bright door. “Figured out what cerulean looks like. It’s so bright it glows even in the dark. Nobody could miss it. You going to invite me in?”

“Depends on what you want.”

“I like a cautious woman. Smart. Especially this time of night. I’ve already said what I want. Another kiss. In fact, I figure I should get one kiss for every one of those bastards I laid flat. Four down. Four kisses.”

“You’ve already taken two kisses.”

He stepped up to the threshold, towering over her, but not making her feel small in any way. “Two left.”

And too many ways she imagined those kisses. Long and lush, deep and delving, hot and achy. But she hardly knew the guy.

Zoë leaned up and kissed him quickly. “There’s one.”

“That wasn’t a kiss!”

“You didn’t specify length.”

He beat the door frame with a fist, but as a sign of his own frustration, nothing threatening.

“We’ll call that one half a kiss,” Zoë conceded, because she wasn’t going to deny herself this man’s delicious kisses. She may be a bit of a recluse, but she wasn’t a hermit. And oh, but this felt like some kind of faery tale when the handsome prince showed up to woo the princess with glass slipper in hand.

Not that there was any slipper she could see. What girl could walk on glass, anyway, without breaking it? She preferred to keep bloodshed out of her faery tales.

Zoë crooked her finger, inviting him inside with a silent dare. Her normal cautionary inhibitions slipped away as she stood in Kaz’s intent brown gaze. Sort of brown and gold blended together, she decided of his eye color. Freckled eyes alive with expression. She could stare into them all night long.

Kaz walked her up against the wall, and braced a forearm against it, paralleling her head.

“Your hair is interesting,” he noted in a bemused tone. He swept his gaze down the white streak that spilled from roots to tips in an inch-wide swath.

“Does it bother you?”

“Not at all. It’s pretty to look at. Like your mouth. Your lips are soft and pink and when you dash out the tip of your tongue like that I want to taste it.”

“What’s stopping you?”

Kiss number three landed on her mouth with a sigh and a press of skin to skin, yet it encompassed things about her that felt needy and wanting. Kissing usually happened in the dark, and during a heated race to sex. She rarely enjoyed a kiss merely for the sake of it. And the thought of starting a race felt wrong.

Such luxury he gifted her. And wrapped in a dreamy kind of faery tale she wanted to read all night long.

Inviting him to taste her breaths, Zoë opened her mouth a little wider. Kaz’s tongue explored and caressed hers. Slow, lazy, he moaned as he placed his palm against her back, gently affirming his control.

And then suddenly the kiss was not there. Instead, Kaz beat the wall beside her head with a fist.

Rudely startled from the amazing fall into bliss, Zoë gaped up at the stranger she had foolishly allowed across her threshold.

“There’s another reason I’m here,” he said. Now his look admonished, yet curiously. “About a matter of something gone missing from my, er...person.”

Zoë flashed him her best innocent cat-burglar smile, and followed with a flutter of how-can-you-not-forgive-me lashes tossed in for good measure. “Something you were carrying before the fight?”

“Yes.”

“Whatever it was, you probably dropped it while beating on those idiots.”

“Possibly, but I looked around and couldn’t find the missing item. I’m inclined to believe this a case of sticky fingers.”

“Huh.” Zoë made a show of looking at her fingers. “My fingers are not at all sticky and—” Was that faery dust embedded in the whorls on her fingertips?

“Sparkly?” Kaz noted the shimmer despite the spare light in the hallway.

She rubbed her hands down her pants legs. “You know us women. Always putting sparkly stuff on our faces and skin. Just some glitter.”

“Give me back what you took, Zoë. Please?”

He said it so gently, and yet with a sure tone of command, she simply nodded and pointed over her shoulder.

“Up there?” he asked.

With a guilty shrug, she offered, “Sometimes I can’t help myself. It’s a habit.” It was also fun, daring and the only way she could find a thrill lately.

“I need it back. Can’t buy those things at the supermarket.”

“I’ll uh, go get it. You wait here.”

But he didn’t wait in the foyer, and instead, followed her up the spiral staircase. Zoë ran the steps, beating him to the fuchsia door and turning to put up her palm.

“This is my private—” She couldn’t call it her spell room. Kisses aside, she didn’t know him well enough for that yet. “Uh—study. You can’t go in there. You’ll mess up, uh...like my vibes and stuff. I’ll grab it and come right out.”

There was no belief in the doubting look he gave her. The things she did to protect the magic were very necessary.

She opened the door and slipped inside, locking it behind her as she did. “Just give me a minute to find it!”

The thing she had taken sat on the floor beside her backpack. Too bad she had to return it. Whatever it was, she liked it. And well—it was his. He had held it in his wide, strong hand. She stroked the column, imagining his grip about it, and then her thoughts strolled to Kaz’s fingers stroking her skin. Slow and soft, like his kiss. Yet also needy, as his kiss had proven.

She clutched the metal column to her chest. Could he be the rescuing knight she’d never known she needed? Did she need rescuing? Well, no. She was perfectly fine, not in any danger. But the idea of him, so masculine and take-charge—who would shove that out their front door?

A rap on the door spoke his impatience. If she were going to claim kiss number four, she’d better play nice and give him back his toy. Besides, the clock was ticking. She needed to tend the ichor blend soon.

Slipping out, without opening the door so wide he might glimpse her spell work, Zoë held out the thing with a sheepish grin.

“The tip popped out accidentally. Sorry. Is it some kind of weapon?”

He claimed it with a snatch, and compressing the side paddles, the stake part snapped back inside the column. “Something like that.”

“You always carry such an interesting weapon on you?”

“Always.”

“Have you...ever used it on anyone?”

“Many times.”

So he was more than an innocent stranger who had happened to pick a fight with four idiots. The man knew how to handle a dangerous situation. So much so, he was always armed.

“Are you like some kind of avenging angel who rescues those in need? Have you ever killed anyone with that thing? The point is very sharp. It’s less like a blade than something you would stab—”

He silenced her curiosity with a punishing yet much-desired kiss. Don’t mess with me, the kiss seemed to say, and don’t ask stupid questions. But do let me take what I want.

Zoë was cool with that. Very cool with that.

The man’s hand glided along her jaw, sending titters of heat down her neck and chest where her nipples tightened in a pleasurable squeeze. He dived deep inside her mouth with his tongue, tasting, touching and divining. She gave him all that he wanted, and he wanted a lot.

She knew nothing about Kaspar who liked to be called Kaz by friends and those who tended to kiss him. Save that his mouth knew exactly how to fit against hers for maximum pleasure. And that the heat of his body against hers, so wide, hard and strong, felt like some kind of ridiculous fantasy in which she was granted everything she had ever desired.

It never worked like that in real life. Not even with a healthy dose of magic tossed in for good measure.

But who was she to argue a moment of serendipity? Because truly, the stars had aligned above her home and the clouds were clearing. Never in her life had Zoë felt so connected to a man she didn’t even know. The thought should frighten her, but instead, it made her want to race to the end to get to the happily-ever-after part because she didn’t want to go through all that harrowing middle stuff.

It was always the middle stuff that screwed up the relationship. Secrets were revealed, bad habits discovered, kinky quirks—

Don’t move so quickly forward. Stay in the here and now, Zoë.

And so she would.

Sighing into the kiss, she tilted her body toward Kaz’s aggressive stance and as their hips met, he drew his fingers down her spine, coaxing her even closer with his touch. Chest to chest, she melted against his heat and strength. He made her feel delicate and pretty and so, so desirable.

A girl could become bewitched by such a kiss. And a bewitched witch was certainly a rare thing.

I want to know bewitchment.

Kaz slowly pulled away, holding her gaze as if the connection of their lips could continue in their eyes. As his thumb traced the scar on her cheek, he studied it, but didn’t say anything or ask the usual questions. She didn’t mind answering, but was impressed that he wasn’t so hung up on the outer surface. Or maybe he was being polite.

Finally, he exhaled, stepped back and tucked away the weapon inside his coat.

“Thanks for the kisses. I’ve work to do,” he declared in that deep, commanding tone that cued her to nod and touch her kiss-burnished lips.

He skipped down the stairs, leaving her floating on a euphoric cloud of desire and wonder, and stretching out a proverbial hand for him to return to her arms.

She was on her way to happily ever after. Her rescuing knight needed to get on the same page as her.

Once at the door, Kaz called up, “I’ll be back!”

“Uh...” What to say to make him stay?

After the front door shut, Zoë fisted the air and growled. Way to drop the ball. She’d had him, and then she had not. He’d wandered out as casually and as quickly as he had appeared.

She shifted her body against the spell-room door, bending her legs to squat, and sat with her legs sprawled out across the floor. Sid nuzzled against her thigh, rubbing a kitty hug along her black pants.

She touched her mouth, still warm from Kaz’s remarkable kisses. She could feel him there and imagined the sensation would not soon leave. Not if she fixed it to memory. Memory was a special kind of magic that anyone could access but few could master. The key was in sorting the good memories from the bad and never letting them intertwine.

She had her share of bad memories. A mother gone too soon, a father forced to leave her life, a friend who had once been a tormentor. But some new memories were forming, and those could only be filed under “spectacular.”

Standing on his back legs, Sid nudged his head along her jaw until Zoë patted him and pulled the fat ball of fur onto her lap to snuggle.

“That man certainly knows how to kiss, Sid. And he will be back, because he won’t be able to stop thinking about me. And that’s not magic, that’s just—” she sighed “—wishful thinking.”

Sid agreed with a meow.

And Zoë decided that the bewitchment had commenced.

* * *

Kaz double-stepped it down the sidewalk that paralleled the street before the Moulin Rouge. The red-and-gold neon lights spinning round the iconic mill wheel flashed across the faces of passersby. As he turned to walk along a row of buildings that reflected the pink, green and yellow neon, he spied the informant he had earlier in the day arranged to meet walking across the Boulevard de Clichy.

He knew he was late. He should count his luck the vamp was still in the area.

Hustling and turning the corner by the Magnum club, Kaz gained on the vampire, who strolled down the Rue Lepic, hands in his pockets, oblivious to the stares he received from the passing women dressed for a night of flirtation and fun. Kaz could have called out, but he wasn’t stupid. Shuffling around a couple walking hand in hand, he landed beside the vampire and slowed his stride.

“You’re late,” the vampire said, not glancing aside.

“Apologies. I got sidetracked.”

Sidetracked kissing a gorgeous kleptomaniac. She could roam those sticky fingers all over him so long as she didn’t steal the merchandise.

And why the hell hadn’t he turned tail and run from her arms? He never followed a woman he’d just met around like a puppy dog. That was not his MO. The job always came first.

“Don’t rush off,” he tried. “I need a few minutes of your time.”

The vampire stopped before a black Aston Martin. Kaz eyed the gorgeous vehicle and deeply regretted his decision to remain carless.

“V12 Zagato,” the vamp offered. “Hot off the production line less than a month ago.”

The curves were insane, not to mention the deep color inlaid with mica flecks that captured the glowing neon lights and flashed like some kind of supernatural conveyance.

“That is—was—a sweet ride,” Kaz corrected as his gaze landed on the smashed front quarter panel, and followed the scrape that arced over the wheel well to end in a crunched side mirror.

“Still is sweet,” the vampire offered. “Just a few dents.”

Dents? More like a major crash. Kaz couldn’t believe the tire was still attached to the axle, let alone in the shape of a circle.

“Get in before someone sees me talking to you, hunter.”

Thankful for the invite, Kaz slid inside the car and had to bend his knees and shift a hip to the side to fit properly. He almost reached to adjust the seat back, but a man never touched another man’s car unless he was directed to do so. Folding his hands across his knees and curling his shoulders slightly forward, he decided to mark this particular model off his wish list. Not that he needed a car to get around Paris. The Metro served him just fine. And a hunter who took the time to find a parking spot would never claim a kill.

Before he could ask a question, Kaz suddenly remembered an important detail about this particular vampire.

Twisting a frantic look over his shoulder, he scanned the backseat, down to the floor and then up along the center divider, and somehow managed to check near his feet, though it was difficult to bend too far forward.

“Green Snake is at home,” the vampire provided. “Chill out, man. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of reptiles?”

Kaz dropped his shoulders, yet they remained slightly curled forward in the cozy confines. “I don’t like surprise reptiles, is all.”

The first time he’d met the vampire, a green mamba snake had curled about his ankle as he’d unknowingly sat in the back of a limousine talking about local vampire tribes. Those things were poisonous. Apparently, though, not to vampires.

“So, Vail—”

“No names!”

He met the vampire’s blue gaze, and did not miss the warning glint of fang between his compressed lips.

“Fine. Sorry.”

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t talked to Vaillant before, and had once even had a drink with him at the Lizard Lounge, sans reptiles. Kaz made a premeditated choice to cater to this vampire’s quirks to stay on his good side. Besides, they weren’t all evil.

“So, Mysterious, Dark-Haired Man Who Has Never Taken A Driving Lesson And Who Wants to Give Me Information, what do you have for me?”

Vail tapped the steering wheel with fingers bejeweled in dark metal and diamonds. Black clothed him from boots to slicked-back hair. He was a vampire who had grown up in Faery (not by choice) and had returned to the mortal realm to claim a dysfunctional family (including a werewolf twin brother) and a faery dust addiction. He was supposedly clean now. If anyone had a finger on the pulse of what was going on with vampires and the dust connection, it was Vaillant.

“This dust blend you told me about is very new.”

“Weeks,” Kaz said. “Just hitting the market. Not many know about it.”

“Exactly. Not sure there even is a market for it yet. When I mention the purple stuff fellow vamps give me a wonky look. Though the one vamp who did know what it was called it Magic Dust. And he was anxious for more. Had to beat him off with a stick.”

Yep, that was the way it worked on vampires. Normal faery dust caused instant addiction. This new stuff compounded that addiction with an unreal craving for sparkly stuff. Only, sometimes the sparklies the dust freaks went after were pieces of jewelry attached to innocent humans.