Before he could rise, other hunters encircled him, quickly pouring a perimeter of salt around his body. Now he was trapped.
Black blood poured from the wound in his chest, the arrow piercing his heart. He lifted a hand to break the shaft, but one of the hunters threw holy water on him.
He screamed as the water ate into his flesh like acid.
Two hunters approached from behind, looping a closed garrote around his neck. They flipped a switch and stood back. A loud clicking sound echoed across the alley.
The vampyre lifted his hands to tear the metal cord from his neck, but it was too late. The garrote’s mechanism clicked and tightened until, with one terrible, grotesque sound, the vampyre’s head was severed from his body.
With lightning speed, the hunters moved the head some distance away, then set to work. In less than thirty minutes, the body was drained of blood and the corpse was left to decay.
A cursory observation of the vampyre’s body, along with a quick test of his blood, indicated that he was no youngling.
The hunters cheered.
With one last triumphant cry, they retrieved the head and left the scene, bolstered by their success and eager to fell their next target.
Chapter Thirty-Six
William was angry.
He left Raven’s apartment after she’d ended things and immediately flew to Teatro.
He’d had her in his arms. She’d thanked him for coming to her rescue, again. This time, he felt the beginning of trust in her embrace.
They’d even talked about sex. Her ardor fanned the flames of his hope, cautious as it was.
Now she was willing to throw everything away, and for what? For a proud, arrogant thief.
He conceded the need to spare the lives of Emerson’s wife and child. He’d already made that determination when he left their hotel room.
That was not enough for Raven. She wouldn’t be satisfied until she’d saved the world.
He leapt into the air, landing lightly on the roof of the building next to Teatro.
The surrounding rooftops were empty. Vampyres young and old were either in the club or pursuing pleasure elsewhere.
He was glad of it. How could he explain to his brethren that he needed to feed at Teatro when he had a perfectly good pet at home? A pet with long, silken hair and soft, fragrant skin that smelled of roses.
A pet who guarded her body as if it were clad in a chastity belt.
He growled, rubbing his face.
Raven was not a pet and he wasn’t angry simply because she’d tried to save Emerson. He was angry because she’d sent him away, as if their connection were tenuous and easily broken.
He’d allowed himself to hope, knowing that hope was vain. Just as quickly, his hope had been extinguished. And there would be no Raven to reignite it.
He leapt to the ground, standing in the alley outside Teatro’s side entrance.
A burly security guard moved menacingly in his direction but stopped when he scented the Prince. The guard bowed.
“May I be of service, my lord?”
“Not at this time.” William dismissed him.
A taxi drove up, stopping at the entrance to the alley.
As if on cue, the door to the club opened, and a young woman exited. She was slight of height and build, her eyes large and almost black, her hair dark. Her skin was a coppery brown and she spoke to the security guard in Spanish.
She was thinner than William preferred but he inhaled her scent eagerly; the spicy tang of her blood almost a taste on his tongue.
“Good evening.” He addressed her in Italian.
She peered around the bodyguard with a frown. When she caught sight of William, she smiled.
“Good evening,” she replied, in Spanish.
She turned as if to go to her taxi.
Suddenly William stood in front of her. “May I see you home?”
“I have a taxi.”
“I’ll walk you.” He stared deeply into her eyes.
This was the test, of course. Would she look away or return his stare?
She returned his stare and smiled.
William allowed the hunger in his belly to grow. He instructed the security guard to dismiss the taxi.
Offering the young woman his elbow, he escorted her from the alley to a side street.
“Your name?” he asked.
“Ana.”
“Ana.” He repeated her name, as if trying its feel in his mouth.
She didn’t ask his name. Or perhaps she intended to but wasn’t given the opportunity.
He quickly pulled her into another alley and pressed her back against the wall.
He didn’t kiss her mouth, as he usually did in such moments. In fact, he closed his eyes and went for her neck, immediately.
She gasped as his tongue tasted her skin, her hands lifting to grip his biceps.
She rubbed herself against him, her breasts pert and high on her chest.
He placed his hand to her waist, leaning into her, before swiping his thumb across her nipple.