Found herself alone. Safe. Unassailed.
It made no sense.
Last night, she had heard a muffled thump, followed by a metallic clatter as she drew her weapons and spun around to face the vampires she had thought were pursuing her. Once more faced with an empty alleyway, she had hurried forward, rounded the corner, and found a flashy bowie knife—typical vamp weaponry—lying on the sidewalk.
She hadn’t mentioned it to her brother. If Sean thought the new vampire was stalking her or playing some weird game with her, he would argue like hell to get her to stop hunting.
And it did seem like a game. She just couldn’t figure out the rules or the why’s of it.
Her favorite frat house again boomed music. Shadows danced on the curtains.
Sighing, Krysta headed down the hill toward it.
She really didn’t feel like being around people right now. Especially drunk, gropey people. But she had a job to do.
As she approached the sidewalk that led to the porch steps, the shadows on this side of the house shifted minutely. A dark figure with an orange aura slipped around the corner. Another joined it.
Perfect. She had no interest in making small talk. And being around drunk people was a lot more fun when she was drunk, too.
Krysta continued past, faking a stumble, and dropped her purse. Mumbling to herself, she scooped it up and staggered to one side. A shake of her head at herself and she headed farther down the hill, where she paused at an intersection.
Pretending to look both ways allowed her to catch a glimpse of wisps of bright orange behind her.
Score!
Finally. A fight. She needed one to clear the cobwebs. To get rid of this frustrated, pent-up energy. To feed her need for vengeance.
Adrenaline flooded her veins as she crossed the street and turned down a dark, narrow side street. She couldn’t see well in the dark like vampires could, but the vamps’ glowing auras tended to light the field of battle for her.
A scuffing sound behind her halted her footsteps. Swinging around, she drew her swords with a triumphant smile, and...
“Damn it!”
No vampires faced her with leering, evil intent. No vampires faced her at all.
She was alone. Again.
More rustling sounded.
Racing back to the street, she flew around the corner and skidded to a halt.
Nothing. Just an empty road glowing green from the streetlight at the corner.
The unmistakable shick, ting, and clang of metal striking metal split the air several blocks away.
“Oh, no you don’t,” she growled and took off running. She didn’t care that she raced down a sharply sloped hill that would make it damned near impossible to stop once she got going. She didn’t care that she ran with an unsheathed sword in each hand. (Her mother and father’s frequent admonitions not to run with scissors chose that moment to dance through her head.) She didn’t even care that anyone who saw her would likely call the police and report a madwoman fleeing through Chapel Hill, waving deadly weapons, and get her arrested.
She had only one goal in mind: Get to those damned vampires before Mystery Man did whatever the hell he’d been doing for the past two weeks and disappeared.
Her heart pounding in her chest, she honed in on the battle’s location and managed to put on the brakes enough to zip around the corner at a speed that would keep her from rolling ass over elbows downhill.
She jerked to a halt and stared.
The darkened alley was deserted except for a Dumpster about twenty-five yards away and—she released a growl of fury—a pair of jeans, a bloody blue sweatshirt, and a pair of bright red Chucks spread out on the pavement as if they had been laid out by some kid’s mother.
Krysta sheathed one of her swords, stomped over the place a vampire had clearly fallen, and grabbed the sweatshirt. “Oh, come on!” she shouted, her voice echoing on the somnolent night. She shook the sticky clothing at the sky. “Where are you?” she demanded. Turning in a circle, she examined every nook and cranny at street level, then peered up at the rooftops.
She could see no sign of Mystery Man’s unique purple and white aura. Had he already left?
Krysta tossed the shirt down in disgust. “This is bullshit.”
A low chuckle wafted on the night.
Eyes widening, she drew her second sword and turned in a slow circle. “Damn it! Show yourself!”
“Well, since you asked so nicely,” a deep voice laced with a French accent purred behind her.
Gasping, she spun around and swung a shoto.
Once more, he caught her wrist. “Careful.” The warning was gentle, carrying neither malice nor anger.#p#分页标题#e#
Krysta stared.
His touch sent electricity tickling its way up her arm. His flesh was warm, his long fingers free of calluses.
Her heart slammed against her ribs as butterflies erupted in her stomach.