The Last True Vampire(26)

She got to her feet not a moment too soon. Taking off as fast as her wobbly legs would carry her, she ran. The eerie silence behind her did little to assuage her fear, because she knew the priest was close behind.

With inhuman speed he overtook her, his body an immovable wall that appeared before her. Claire’s body made contact and she bounced back, her head smacking with a sick crack on the sidewalk as she landed. White lights twinkled in her vision. Addled, she tried to get up, but her limbs were heavy and her head spun. The priest settled down on top of her, straddling her waist. A perverse anticipation twinkled in his eyes and the inky blackness returned to swallow the whites of his eyes entirely. How could any of this possibly be real? His dark pink tongue darted out to lick his lips as he brought the flat of the pocketknife’s blade against Claire’s right cheek.#p#分页标题#e#

“It’s time to draw a little blood.” He angled the blade so that the sharp edge rested against the hollow of Claire’s cheek. “And coax the vampire out of hiding.”

* * *

His mate’s scream of pain reached Michael and heat seared through his chest, her presence calling to him in a way that no other’s could. Without a word he propelled himself forward and headed in the direction of her screams.

He pushed himself faster, the buildings a blur in his vision as he dashed the length of the city block. He came to a stop mere feet from the female he’d been searching for only to find her held securely in the embrace of a priest. But this was no ordinary clergyman, nor was he human. The beast held Michael’s mate tight against his body, one hand wrapped securely around her throat, the other clutching a small knife that he held against her jugular. Blood trickled down one of her cheeks, the scent igniting Michael’s thirst as much as it fueled his rage. The priest leaned in and, with his gaze locked with Michael’s, dragged his tongue up the length of Michael’s mate’s cheek, taking her blood on his tongue.

A snarl tore through Michael’s throat. He took a step forward and the priest pressed the blade into the delicate flesh of his mate’s throat. “Take another step, vampire, and I’ll spill this precious blood of hers. I’ll flood the street with it and you can watch her die.”

“Shit.” Ronan’s voice behind Michael was tentative, full of confusion. “This sure as hell doesn’t look good.”

“No,” Michael replied, his eyes still fixed on the priest who held his prize. “It isn’t. The slayers have found us, Ronan.”

The Sortiari had come to Los Angeles and this one meant to kill his mate.





CHAPTER

8

A red haze of unrestrained rage clouded Michael’s vision. His single obsessive thought was to bring a painful, bloody death to the creature that dared to harm his mate. Her fear permeated the air, the acrid scent like scorched plastic. Ronan tensed beside him and took two tentative steps back. A violent snarl pierced the quiet, and the sidewalk trembled beneath Michael’s feet.

“Easy, vampire.” The slayer’s eyes gleamed like obsidian. He drew her deeper into the shadows of the alley. “My hold on her is tenuous.”

Easy? Michael was going to rip the bastard’s throat out.

The slayer dragged his tongue across her cheek once again, taking her blood into his mouth. Michael’s lip curled at the affront as the slayer taunted him. “Sweet,” the beast hissed. “No wonder you want her so badly.”

Michael took a lunging step forward and the slayer choked up on the tiny knife, nicking her skin. A rivulet of blood trickled down her neck, and Michael’s thirst flared hot in his throat, distracting him from the urge to commit violence.

“Come forward and drink of her.”

Like a moth drawn inexorably to a flame, Michael took a slow step forward and then another. The sweetness of her blood overrode the sharp tang of her fear, the need to taste the crimson drops sending him into a state of mindlessness and utter loss of control.

Michael’s gaze narrowed on the ribbon of red that flashed across the pale column of his mate’s throat. She struggled against the slayer’s grip, her eyes wide and shining with fear. Her voice was nothing more than a whisper, her mouth barely moving with the word “Mikhail.”

A battle cry erupted from Michael’s lips, the shout charging the air with his residual rage. The slayer’s black eyes flickered with trepidation even as his lips thinned into an arrogant smirk. His actions were a dark smudge in the shadows as he shoved Michael’s mate forward. A distraction, to be sure, but Michael wasn’t about to take any chances with her delicate human body. He cradled her in his arms, catching her before she sprawled to the sidewalk. He kept his gaze locked on the slayer as the false priest produced a silver dagger and a wicked wooden stake from a wide belt slung around his waist.#p#分页标题#e#