The Huntress Trilogy 01 The Vampire With the Golden Gun

by Chanel Smith

  They came. Not all of them, but they still came.

  She reflected on what Méredithe had told her the night before and sneered.

  Probably just to see me fucking die is all, she snarked.

  Veronica watched from above as the creature entered the space and sniffed the air. He ducked for cover beneath the same tree she had been waiting for him in. She knew that he could smell her. He could smell all of them. He knew that he was outnumbered. She would just have to lead him somewhere else and take him down there.

  And then it came to her suddenly. Maybe a shot at evening out the odds would be the right incentive to get the cambion to follow her down to the docks.

  Follow me. I’m going to lure him away, but follow me at a distance, she cried out mentally, hoping that at least one of the members of The Watchers would hear her telepathically. Veronica knew that there were those among them that were as old as the church; surely one of them could read the thoughts of other supernatural beings, despite the fact that the gift to do so was extremely rare.

  Her question was answered within moments by the soft whispering of a boy’s voice.

  Do not be worried, Miss Melbourne. I hear you quite clearly. I am Alexei Romanov and I have spoken like this to you before. As soon as you have led the beast away, I will let the others know what you have asked. Agrippina will not allow you to go through this ordeal on your own.

  He was coming through as clear to her as if she was listening to him over an FM band radio station.

  Aha! You are the one who whispered to me that night in Calabasas?

  Yes, miss. Welcome to the club.

  Welcome to the club indeed, Alexei.

  We are not all here tonight, but we are many just the same.

  Why? What happened? Where are the others?

  The weres stayed behind. Agrippina felt that a division of the forces was the best strategy. Furthermore, she says that this is a fight for vampires.

  I see and I understand. Alexei, it’s time for me to get this over with. Thank you. For everything.

  It is my eternal pleasure. Go on. Do what you must.

  Suddenly, she leaped from the tree and landed on the ground to the right of the demon. They locked eyes for a moment and then he released a loud roar. His eyes flamed red with anger and he hissed at her menacingly. Slowly, they moved in a circle, each one taking in the other and Veronica could see the traces of a knowing smile on the beast's hungry lips.

  He let his wings flare a little and that was when Veronica noticed the jerky movements he was making. It was like the nervous tic that you always see in the psychological thriller movies. In the insane asylums, they always show some psychiatric patients medicated for hallucinations that tic uncontrollably and repeat themselves constantly.

  Set’s behavior also reminded her of a junkie that was jonesing for a hit and about to go into withdrawal.

  That’s a more L.A. example, if I do say so myself, she thought with a laugh. But seriously though, there’s something wrong with him. He must be starving to the point of delirium.

  Veronica decided that she would use that against the creature. They were close to the levees and she knew that the cambion would follow her there. Now that his senses had locked onto her scent, there was no way that he was going to let her get away. Finally, she had her fight.

  She took off through the gates at full speed, listening intently for the sound of Set following her. After a few moments, she could hear his heavy, erratic footsteps racing to keep up with her and she knew that she had her quarry in tow. At a slower speed than her usual zip, she led him away from the quiet, well-to-do neighborhood and out into the darkness and isolation of the levee docks. The game was afoot!

  Chapter Eleven

  When Veronica had almost reached the docks, she sped ahead of the creature in order to gain some leverage in the new arena for their confrontation. After carefully surveying the dockyard, she took up a position on top of an old shipping container, hoping that the vantage point would prove to be a good enough view of the area she had chosen for the fight.

  She watched as he arrived. His behavior was deteriorating more and more as time passed. She took that to be in her advantage: the less of his demonic wit and talents he had about him, the better her chances were for subduing him.

  She vaulted silently from the container and entered one of the many alleyways that comprised the dockyard. Abandoned heavy equipment vehicles and sheds created a winding maze which she had already studied carefully before Set arrived. She drew her .44 Desert Eagle and peeked around the first corner that she expected Set to come around. There was no sign of him yet and she fell back pressed against the side of the shed that sheltered her. She looked again quickly. Nothing. He had to be here somewhere though…

  Suddenly there was a stir of wind like the sound of a horde of bats leaving their cave at sundown. She looked up in time to see the billowing tails of a trench coat descending to the top of a building. One closer look and she could make out the silhouette of a man. Her elite audience had arrived.

  Phew, she thought, relieved. I actually thought that they might bail on me for a…

  Her thought was cut short by an angry snarl right above her. Then she felt a clawed hand grip her shoulder. Before she had time to react, she was in the air, spiraling toward a rusty, old JCB tractor trailer with all sorts of pointy objects protruding from it. She crashed into it, letting out a groan.

  When her vision cleared, she saw the cambion approaching her. He was licking his lips as he took calculated steps toward her. It was obvious that he didn’t think she was going to be much of a challenge for him.

  “I’ll show you. You bastard from Hell,” Veronica shouted.

  She drew her gun and fired four bullets at him. They pierced the flesh of his chest and passed right through him. It was as if she had shot the Pillsbury doughboy. He was unmoved by the assault.

  Shit! Those were forty-fours! What the hell? I knew I should have brought the fifty cal.

  The beast continued walking toward her. Veronica fired more shots at him, but the bullets continued to pass right through him, doing absolutely no damage to the creature. They didn’t even seem to slow him down. Set stopped and threw his head back in a maniacal cackle.

  The cambion was almost on top of her now. It swung at her as she scrambled backwards on the ground, missing her by only an inch, as Veronica moved swiftly to one side in an effort to dart out of the way. She spun around, delivering a swift kicked to his rib, sending him backwards, but only by a bit. The creature was not even slightly fazed by any pain the blow might have caused.

  He reached out and grabbed Veronica by the wrist, lifting her and swinging her up against a nearby shipping container as if she were as tiny and lightweight as a fly. She cried out in pain and collapsed to the ground.

  The cambion climbed over her, preparing itself to feast at her throat. At that moment, Veronica was at a loss for what to do next. She tried to get up , but Set placed his foot on her chest, keeping her down on the ground. She looked up and saw the rows and rows of terrifying fangs extruding from his face. She had never seen a creature like him before and for the first time in her preternatural life, she was terrified. At any second, he would bear down on her and take her essence and her precious blood; then who knew what he would do to the others in the throes of his feeding frenzy.

  Just when she thought it was all over, Set howled and eased his weight from the foot on her chest. She rolled from beneath him and crouched, raising her weapon again from the defensive stance she held firmly on one knee. There was an arrow stuck in his shoulder.

  Rand?

  It was the first time that she had seen the beast react to anything with pain. His fangs retracted into his face and Set roared over and over again in agony. Veronica looked up, following the possible trajectory of the projectile. It was then that she saw what she counted to be thirteen figures standing on the rooftop of the stockyard’s old warehouse building.

  Oh dear
Lord, the rest decided to come. They must really want to see me die. Otherwise, why the hell would the weres take such a huge risk to be here?

  She looked further along the rooftops and saw four more dark figures. One of which was carrying a large compound bow in his hands.

  It is Rand! Thank heavens for salvation!

  “Finish him!” Veronica heard a loud, clear voice calling down to her. It was Agrippina. “Veronica Melbourne! This is your chance to prove that you belong among the ranks of the Hunters! Use the golden gun! Claim your place!”

  Veronica had completely forgotten about the other weapon. She had pushed it to the back of her mind the moment she had holstered it at her shoulder.

  I don’t believe in witchcraft, I believe in warcraft. There’s no fucking way that little Beretta can do more damage than my Desert Eagle. I just should have known better and brought the damn fifty caliber with me.

  But her clip was empty and she was fresh out of choices.

  While the cambion was clawing at the arrow, which he was trying to extract from his shoulder; Veronica pulled the golden pistol from its cradle beneath her breast. She leveled it at the beast, bracing gently into the shot from her kneeling position. She had no idea if the damn thing would have even the slightest effect on Set. She just squinted her eyes and squeezed the trigger gently.

  A single shot went off. Veronica’s eyes widened in surprise as a beam of white light went straight through the demon’s chest. He fell to his knees, his jaw open. The creature roared even louder as he clutched at the wound. He ripped his own flesh, trying to tear at the light that had formed a ball; it burned a hole through him as fast as acid through the bottom of a plastic container. The wound widened and ate away at him from the inside out. His clothes melted and fell away from his body as he fell to the ground writhing. Soon, the dockyards were as silent as a graveyard and the creature lay lifeless before her.

  Veronica approached the crumpled body and looked down at the mangled form. She gave it a kick for good measure.

  Set’s mouth fell open and she startled violently backwards from it. Before her eyes, little white orbs took form inside the dead creature’s gaping maw. One by one they floated out. Slowly at first, but soon they were filling the air around her.

  As the orbs rose, she saw the demon’s body falling to pieces until he disintegrated into a pile of black ash. A wind kicked up, sweeping the ashes away toward the swampy ponds beyond the levees, forever lost in the water. The Huntress watched them go and when she turned back to the orbs, she saw that they were beginning to take shape. Human forms were surrounding her on every side. Young women, boys and girls; all of them had been victims of the demon’s greed and lust. They stood silently in a circle and faced her. Their faces held no expression, but one by one, they each took turns to touch Veronica’s face, shoulders and hair. Their touch felt like soft breezes caressing her and Veronica could tell they were trying to thank her.

  “You’re welcome,” she said softly. “Be at peace.”

  The ghosts joined hands and turned their faces to the sky before they vanished from sight.

  There was nothing left for her to do now. The Huntress’ job was done.

  Chapter Twelve

  Veronica decided to humor her hostess and ride in the decadent limousine Agrippina had sent to retrieve her from her new digs in Pasadena. As she settled into the back seat of the black car and into the cool leather and plush interior carpeting, she smiled broadly.

  “There is suitable refreshment in the fridge,” the driver indicated as he let go of her hand, satisfied that she was comfortably seated. His black driving gloves had shielded him from the icy cold of her hands as he had guided her into her seat.

  A girl could get used to this, she thought.

  The sleek vehicle wound its way up the gentle inclines and around the curvy bends as it moved steadily toward the Hollywood Hills and the opulent mansion that was occupied on and off by The Watchers. Veronica opened the tiny refrigerator out of curiosity. She had already fed from her lover, Rand. They had met across the state line in a motel room in Las Vegas earlier that night. He was still petrified of returning to California – much less Los Angeles – because of Samantha Moon’s threat.

  I’ve gotta be sure to meet that woman one day. She sounds like a badass if she has Rand minding his P’s and Q’s. He’s a rowdy one. In a myriad of ways, she thought, smiling naughtily. Perhaps Spinoza could help with that.

  In the fridge was a beautiful crystal decanter and glass set. They looked priceless, like something that belonged on a high shelf and was never to be slated for use. The decanter held a beautiful deep-red liquid which Veronica knew was blood. To the human eye, and without much investigation, it would have passed for a rich burgundy or cabernet sauvignon. She licked her lips greedily, but shut the door and sat back. She wasn’t fond of chilled hemoglobin; she preferred it warm, body temperature in fact. Like fresh from the vein or just like they served it in Calabasas at The Beast. Classy place.

  The limo pulled up shortly after at the huge home overlooking the well-lit city of L.A. The view was breathtaking and she took it in as she walked around the rear of the car toward the sunken front door of the magnificent home. Before she could raise her hand, whether at a human or vampiric speed to ring the doorbell, a well-dressed man answered the door and looked down at her. He looked stern at first, but then an expression of recognition spread across his face and he even managed a smile at her. A delicious smell assaulted her nose. She sniffed gingerly.

  Damn! He smells so good! What the hell?

  “Ah, Miss Melbourne,” he said, in a thick Scottish accent. “What a pleasure it is to finally put a face to the name.”

  Veronica giggled. He sounded like an ancient Sean Connery. She loved Sean Connery, especially in the movies where he played the villain or the questionable character. Presidio was still her all-time favorite movie.

  Scottish accents are so fucking sexy, she thought as she stepped past the well-built man into the house.

  When she did so, she noticed that he was actually wearing a kilt below his billowing white cotton shirt. High black socks accentuated well-toned, muscular calves and the leather belt and silver belt buckle at his middle proclaimed a trim, sexy waist. Her mouth was literally watering.

  Get a grip, girl, she admonished herself.

  “My name is William,” the man said, holding out a hand to her.

  Veronica took it and he turned it over to kiss the back of her hand. His lips were warm, hot almost; so was his hand. Even on her icy skin, she could feel the heat from him. This was no vampire… no wonder he smelled so good! A werewolf! A sexy one that wasn’t trying to rip her head off. Awesome! Maybe she would have some fun with these Watchers after all.

  “Stop drooling, you dog!” came a familiar bubbly voice from the adjoining room.

  Veronica looked up and was treated to her first glimpse of the ethereal vision that was Julia Augusta Agrippina. If she had breath in her cold body, it would have caught in her throat. The eldest vampire in the western hemisphere was nothing like the elders she had met in the past. Mr. Tan was a leathery, old creature who must have been turned at the age of sixty-nine and then proceeded to age to a ripe old ninety-six over his thousand preternatural years. Julia did not look a day over thirty-five.

  She was dressed in a flowing dress of green and cream silk that looked straight out of a scene from that TV show Rome or out of Gladiator or something like that. There was a rope belt tied around her waist that was woven from gold and green thread and joined with a neat knot. The fabric from the back and front of the dress was joined together at her shoulders by thick golden rings and on her feet she wore delicate leather sandals with the thongs laced up her slender calves. Golden curls of hair fell over her shoulders almost to her waist and looked as if they had been brushed for hours to a lustrous shine. Her eyes were almond shaped and wide and the color of emeralds. Her mouth a perfect pout and red from her designer lip gloss. Beautiful, she
was.

  She approached Veronica with outstretched hands as she gracefully crossed the floor.

  “Come, child,” she said, smiling sincerely. “We have much to discuss.”

  Veronica raised an eyebrow, but allowed herself to be guided to a quiet corner of the vast, open salon space that was the mansion’s living area. All around the room, she saw other immortals; some in pairs some in trios, all engaged in different activities. A beautiful middle aged Chinese woman in luxurious traditional clothes was pouring over a game of chess with a Japanese man in a black haori and matching pinstriped hakama. The woman was clearly royalty. Her headdress was extravagant and she wore golden, dangling hairpins in a semi-circle around her molded hair style.

  On a large day bed in front of an enormous picture window overlooking the city, reclined a French woman who chattered away in a pronounced accent while another woman and a man listened to her absently. The man was muscular and dressed in nothing but a pair of black Dockers. He stroked the thigh of the French woman as she spoke and their counterpart silently played with a ball of light that she conjured between her two palms as she silently rested her head on the man’s lap.

  Well, they look awfully cozy.

  “Come, Veronica. Don’t gawk so much. Has no one ever told you that it is impolite to stare?” Agrippina admonished.

  Veronica quickened her step, but she couldn’t help but notice the only two people in the room that were watching her. Two children, it seemed. A boy and a girl. They sat on a loveseat holding hands and pretending to watch the television. The boy was not more than about twelve; the girl, probably sixteen. They were quiet and pensive, almost calculating.

  “Those are the Romanovs. The ones I spoke of before,” Agrippina said, as she showed Veronica to her seat. “A lot of what I called you here to discuss involves them.”

  “They sent me the message, ‘Welcome to the club.’”

  “Indeed. Anastasia is a very gifted psychic vampire.”