“You’ve been singing that bullshit song for months now. No more.”
“If I don’t do it, who will?”
“Let that crazy-ass vamp from the alley do it if that’s his madness.”
“He didn’t seem mad,” she murmured, still puzzling over it. She had never met a vampire who was nice, for lack of a better word.
“All the more reason to let him hunt his fellow bloodsuckers. If they slice him up, he’ll heal.”
“You always manage to patch me up.”
Not without cost on his part. That had always filled her with guilt and regret, but she didn’t see any way around it. She couldn’t do this without him.
“There are some things I can’t do, Krysta. I have limits. When I reach those and you have to bury me, will it have been worth it?”
She couldn’t bear the thought of it. “We’ll just have to find another way.”
He shook his head, alerting her to the huge argument ahead of them, and glanced in the rearview mirror. “Is it clear?”
She turned around and peered through the back window once more. The rest of the car may be coated in dirt and look like crap, but the windows were always sparklingly clean. Their lives depended upon it.
No bright orange glows streaked toward them in the street, so no vampires tailed them. Or no regular vampires tailed them. She didn’t see any purple either. She thought she saw a glint of white, but it was so fleeting she decided it was the moonlight shining on a storefront window.
Turning around, she studied the scenery that whipped past through the passenger window. “It’s clear.”
“Good.” His meandering path ended as he headed straight for the small frame house they rented on the outskirts of Carrboro, North Carolina. “How badly are you hurt?”
“I don’t think my leg is broken, but it hurts like hell. And I’m bleeding from a lot of cuts.”
“No major arteries hit?”
“No.”
“No ribs broken?”
“Not this time. That vamp really saved my ass.”
He shook his head again and took his foot off the gas.
Krysta checked behind them as the car slowed, just to be doubly sure, then nodded.
Sean guided the car onto a drive that was supposed to be gravel, but was about eighty percent dirt and weeds instead.
Krysta’s sore, aching body wobbled from side to side as he navigated the pothole-riddled path about fifty yards to the little, brown frame house hidden among the trees.
They had tried to find a place in Chapel Hill, so they would be closer to the colleges (prime hunting grounds for vampires), but hadn’t been able to afford it. This had ended up being ideal in terms of isolation anyway. No neighbors. No one to see her blood-painted face and clothing when they returned home. No one to call the police if they glimpsed her weapons.
Sean parked and, unfolding his large form, circled around to help Krysta.
He was a lot taller than she was, taking after their father, who towered over their tiny mother. Krysta stood at only five foot five and boasted a slender build with enough muscle to lend her strength without bulking her up like a man. Sean was six foot two or thereabouts and packed about two hundred pounds of muscle that made many a woman drool. He also possessed the same fighting skills Krysta did. Had he been able to anticipate the vampires’ moves the way she could, they would have made a formidable team.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t. And the few times he had joined her on the hunt, he had ended up so battered and bloody she had almost had to take him to the hospital.
Krysta kept her swords in hand as he opened the car door, reached in, and practically lifted her out. “I can walk,” she insisted, though her leg was really hurting. Maybe the bastard had fractured it. Could one walk on a fractured leg?
Sean mumbled something about stubbornness bordering on stupidity and wrapped a supportive arm around her to help her to the door.
Krysta let the slur slide. She knew he was just worried about her and terrified of losing her. His mood always turned sour when she was wounded, which happened pretty much every time she hunted. She’d avoid it if she could. She sure as hell didn’t enjoy it. But, how?
There was no need to flip through keys to open the front door. They always left it unlocked. The house was hidden from the road by trees and drew no notice of passersby. Even the mailman didn’t deliver. All of their correspondence went to a post office box.
And if someone did choose to wander down their drive and found the frame house, nothing about its appearance would entice a burglar. It was over a century old and built on uneven ground that left it slanting to one side. (She and Sean had had a hell of a time leveling the furniture when they had moved in.) The roof sagged, as did the porch and back deck. The paint was old and worn and peeling.#p#分页标题#e#