Shadow Hunter (The Execution Underground)

by Kait Ballenger

  Headquarters called it personalization and bond forging. He called it a load of crap. Like he’d needed any more incentive to do what he’d been trained to do. He would never forget the first letter he wrote to her.

  Tiffany,

  They say I need to write someone, so here it is.

  Yours truly,

  B

  She’d replied with an eight-page letter telling him all about her. Little did he know when he’d signed that first damn letter “yours truly,” he really would be hers. In a matter of weeks she’d clutched his heart in her hands.

  The last picture Mark had shown him of Tiffany, she’d been only seventeen, long before Mark’s death...before everything fell to shit...before she grew to hate Damon. Now she was twenty-two. He met her gaze and took in the breathtaking woman standing before him.

  Mark had loved her more than anything in the world. She had been the only family he had left, and he would have wanted her cared for, protected. Not in the line of fire of the same vampire who had killed him. Damon lowered his eyes. How could he look her in the face when he held the blame for her brother’s death? And if she knew Mark had turned...

  No. She would never know. Damon had sworn to Mark that if he were ever turned, he would drive the stake through Mark’s heart himself. A small part of him would die as he did it, but his promise stood firm. But she couldn’t know any of that, which meant he needed to get her out of Club Fantasy, away from Caius. An overwhelming need to protect her surged through him, accompanied by the desire to claim her as his own.

  No.

  Without a doubt, he could not seduce her. Not only for the sake of his job, but because he owed that much to the memory of his fellow hunter and best friend. Taking Mark’s sister into his bed? He might as well spit on his grave. Her eyes showed she didn’t know who he was. She’d never met him in person, never seen his face. There was no way she would recognize him, and it needed to stay that way. Not even his name would give him away. He was thankful revealing his full identity had been against the rules during their correspondence. He would protect her anonymously and nothing more.

  He inhaled a deep breath to cool his head. He tried not to think of how sweet her voice would sound saying his name as he drove himself into her. No. He wouldn’t get attached to anyone again, then he couldn’t fail anyone, then protocol couldn’t get in the way of relationships. Hunting, protection. Nothing more. “What are you doing here?”

  She scoffed. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I’m here every night. You’re the new vamp on the block.”

  He growled, low in his throat like an animal. Anger boiled inside him at the accusation. “I am not one of those worthless leeches.”

  She froze. Her eyes widened. “You’re too strong to be human.” She scanned his body, her eyes stopping on the muscles of his arms, chest and abs. “Prove it, then.”

  * * *

  TIFFANY STARED AT the stranger before her, her eyes locked on to his icy gaze. A shiver ran down her spine, but heat pooled between her legs. That alone made him dangerous.

  “Go on. Prove you’re human.” Her pulse began to race from excitement instead of fear as she challenged him. Her gut screamed not to fight him, that he was no threat to her, but the knife at her throat and the ferocity in his eyes said otherwise.

  “Just trust me on this,” he said.

  Not a chance. “Well, unfortunately for you, I don’t trust people easily.” With as much force as she could muster, she stomped on his instep.

  He didn’t cry out, but the move surprised him enough that the knife shifted slightly away from her throat. She seized the advantage and grabbed hold of his arm, pushed his sleeve up and dug her fingernails into his skin. She wasn’t against fighting dirty. Not if it saved her sorry ass.

  Her assailant didn’t even curse at the pain, only grunted in response as her sharp acrylics dug into the flesh of his arm. Blood pooled around the edges of her nails before she released him. She lunged forward, knocking into his midsection like a linebacker. Damn, that had been a stupid idea. The man was built, and running into his abdomen was like hitting her head on a solid concrete wall. That would really hurt in the morning.

  He tucked his knife up his sleeve instead of using the weapon against her. What was that about? He grabbed at her as she stumbled back, but she was short enough that she managed to duck out of his reach. He towered over her and was probably twice her weight with all the sexy muscle he was packing.

  Regaining her footing, she threw a spinning roundhouse kick. He blocked it with ease as if he often fought third-degree black belts without blinking an eye. He was fierce, no denying it. She continued going at him, throwing nonstop kicks and punches, but he blocked every one, and she was running out of options. Wait! Her gun. Her gun was lying on the floor.

  She rushed to reach the weapon. Seconds later, he loomed over her, trying to grab her. Why wasn’t he fighting back? She was sure that if he really wanted to, he could kick the living shit out of her.

  She snatched the gun from the floor, but she had no time to aim. She threw a sidekick, but he caught it, then swept her other foot out from under her. She toppled to the floor, landing with an audible oof as the wind rushed from her lungs.

  Before he could make his next move, she spun around and kicked his ankles. Pain shot through the edge of her big toe, despite her high-heeled boots; even his legs were pure muscle.

  Without thinking, she lunged into his legs, wrapping her body around his knees. He started to fall, but he caught himself and landed prepared to kick out, except that...oh, snap...she was attached to his leg!

  She scrambled backward, but he was too fast. Within seconds he was on top of her, straddling her hips and holding her hands against the ground.

  He let out a long deep growl and leaned in near her face. “Next time, I won’t hold back from hurting you.”

  The ice-cold look in his eyes showed he meant it, and she vowed to herself that there would be no next time. The man was pure unadulterated muscle and no matter how good a fighter she was, she knew when to call it quits.

  As she stared up into his eyes, she wished she hadn’t charged him, because damn it, her head hurt and her brain was sending all sorts of crazy mixed signals into parts of her body that had never been lit up before. Though he was on top of her and she was clearly in a vulnerable position, he wasn’t threatening her, just pinning her down and, oh, man, what on earth was wrong with her, because she didn’t mind one bit.

  Her gaze traveled over his rock-hard body. His chest heaved in and out from the adrenaline. Through his shirt she could see a nicely defined pair of pecs, and she knew from the pain in her head that washboard abs hid beneath.

  Even his forearms, which she’d dug her fingernails into, were well defined. She could tell from the fluid way he moved that he wasn’t some steroidal bodybuilder. No, his muscles were honed from serious training. The thought of his nearly naked body covered in a sheen of sweat as he worked out flooded her mind.

  Whooaaaa, Nelly. Back up for two seconds. She never fantasized about men. Ever.

  A small pang hit her heart, equal parts pain and anger. Her thoughts traveled to B, the nameless hunter who’d stolen her heart, only to break it to pieces with his betrayal. She could admit a teenage girl had her needs, and she’d fantasized about meeting B in the flesh so many times that real men need not apply. She’d been solo since she was fifteen, when her brother had left home to hunt monsters, and without B in the picture, she intended to keep it that way. She didn’t need any distractions. Her one goal in life was to avenge her family, not snuggle up all lovey-dovey with some sweet guy, get married and have loads of chubby-faced cherubic babies. Not that Mr. Tall, Dark and Scary would ever fit that scenario, anyway. From the looks of things, he was a grade-A badass.

  What was wrong with her? She needed to get back to Caius. If
she disappeared for long enough, someone would come searching for her. Wasting time ogling a hot man wasn’t in the cards for tonight—for any night. Not while Caius lived and breathed. Besides which, she chastised herself, she didn’t know anything about this man. He’d held a knife to her throat, for God’s sake.

  But when she met his cold ice-blue eyes she thought she could drown in their intensity. She wanted to run her hands over his black buzz-cut hair as he pushed inside her. The thought alone sent a wave of heat rushing between her legs and a jolt of electricity shooting down her spine.

  A long silence passed between them as he watched her, those haunting blue eyes boring into her.

  “I guess I’m not really in a position to bargain now, am I?” She tried to make it sound lighthearted in hopes that maybe he would release her.

  He glared at her. His stare alone was enough to make her want to talk.

  Clearly he wasn’t a vampire or he would have sunk his fangs into her throat by now. All her instincts said he didn’t intend to harm her, and no vampire would ever take a no-harm approach against someone who’d attacked him.

  She cleared her throat. “One of us has to go first, and from your stiff upper lip, I can tell it’s not going to be you.” She sighed. “If I start talking, will you at least let me go?”

  He didn’t reply. But the intensity of his gaze compelled her to confess.

  She sighed again. “My name is Tiffany Solow, and I’m a vampire hunter.”

  His brow furrowed, as if the words vampire hunter confused him. “A female hunter?”

  She frowned. Nothing annoyed her more than men who thought women were incapable. She was certainly capable of taking care of herself and of killing supernaturally strong vampires to boot.

  “Yeah, buddy. You have a problem with a little girl power?” She wasn’t weak. But this guy had the strength of a vampire and the training of an extremely professional hunter, not someone self-taught.

  Could he be from...?

  No. What were the chances of that?

  His eyes widened before they narrowed again. “You’re alone? No one trained you?”

  She nodded. “No one but my brother taught me, so, yeah, I’m solo. You know, Solow—like my last name.”

  Usually that got at least a little bit of a chuckle out of people, but Mr. Tall, Dark and Scary didn’t so much as crack a grin.

  He released her hands, still pinning her to the ground with the weight of his body. She tried not to think of the way his hips pushed against hers and the obvious thickness she felt beneath his belt buckle.

  He shook his head. “You’re no hunter.”

  She frowned. “Oh, yeah? And what qualifies you to make that judgment? I could say the same thing of you, after all.”

  He shot her a look that said Don’t make me laugh. “Why are you here? Are you a Host?” A look of disgust crossed his face.

  “Hell, no! I would never let those leeches feed off me. Don’t insult me.”

  The side of his mouth twitched slightly at that. The closest he’d come thus far to a smile. Apparently he appreciated a hate for the undead.

  “Caius wants me as a Host, but he’s not going to get me. Other than that, the reason I’m here is none of your damn business.”

  He didn’t respond, only scanned the length of her body. Watching his irises as he drank her in was like watching fire flicker and blaze beneath crystals of ice. Breathtaking.

  He wrenched his eyes away from her figure and met her gaze. “You’re right. It isn’t.”

  She sucked in a deep breath and balled up the courage in her chest. She needed to push him, to challenge him, even though he had the advantage. “Why are you hunting on my turf?”

  He ignored her question. His spine straightened, and she could practically see him training his senses on something like a lethal animal.

  “What is this room usually used for?” he asked.

  “What?”

  He lowered his voice. “What is this room used for?”

  She gaped. What the hell was he getting at? “Uh...I don’t know. I think people come in here to have sex and drink from their Hosts in private. But why—”

  “Shhh.”

  “Why are you hushing me? What the—”

  He shoved his hand over her mouth to silence her, but with her hands now free she quickly wrenched it off. “No way are you shutting me up, buddy. I’m—”

  Before she could comprehend what was going on, they were nose to nose. With gentle but strong movements, he cupped his hand behind her head and his soft lips met hers. All her thoughts came to a screeching halt as the force of his kiss overwhelmed her. His tongue moved against hers in a slow sensual rhythm as his warm body pressed against hers.

  The sweet scent of his skin filled her nose like expensive aftershave and amazing, mind-blowing sex. Another wave of heat rushed to her core, and she felt herself buck against him. She didn’t even know his name, but her body was screaming in need for him. She’d never wanted anything, anyone, so badly in her life. Every inch of her skin was electrified as wave after wave of arousal rushed through her.

  With soft smooth movements he lifted her so her torso was cradled in his arms while her hips were still pinned beneath his. The hard length of him pressed between her hips, and she felt herself slicken. No man had ever had such a powerful effect on her.

  Somewhere in the distance, she was vaguely aware of the sound of an opening curtain.

  “Oh, shit. Sorry,” an unknown voice said. “Didn’t know the room was taken.”

  Within an instant, his lips were gone.

  She gasped for air. The world spun, though he still held her in his arms. Cold air hit her lips, and her heart thumped hard as she longed for the warmth of his kiss to return. He lingered over her, his face barely inches away.

  Slowly he released her and stood, walking to the other side of the room. Her head cleared. A distraction. He’d kissed her as a distraction. She’d said people had sex in the room, and someone had come in, so he’d deliberately given the impression that they were having sex. She exhaled a long breath to collect herself. Without his weight on her body, she felt strange and uneasy. Though she knew she shouldn’t, she wished the moment hadn’t ended.

  Once she caught her breath she didn’t quite know what to say. Finally she managed to whisper the only words she could manage. “What’s your name?”

  “Damon Brock.” His voice was cold and distant, no different from before.

  Tiffany sat on the floor, completely stunned. Just like that, she’d had her first kiss ever, and from a tall handsome stranger.

  CHAPTER 3

  DAMON DIDN’T KNOW what the hell had happened or why the fuck he’d chosen to kiss her....

  He glanced down at Tiffany as she sat on the crimson carpeting, and his heart jumped. Her gorgeous hair was slightly ruffled from where his hand had cradled her head, and her bottom lip was flushed a brighter shade of pink where he’d gently suckled it. Shit, he had never intended the night to go this way.

  When he’d heard the approaching footsteps and covering her mouth wouldn’t shut her up, well...he’d done the first thing that had come to mind. And damn if that hadn’t been a huge freaking mistake. If he’d wanted her before, now he wanted her tenfold. His body was begging for him to take her, to press her up against the wall and make love to her until she screamed. His thoughts raced. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d never lost his head like this before. This was Mark’s baby sister!

  He fought the temptation to curse under his breath. He needed to knock some sense into himself. But he wouldn’t lose his cool. Before he’d sworn himself to the Execution Underground, if there was one thing his father had taught him about being a hunter it was not to lose his cool. And he’d never had a hard time with that until tonight.

 
He hadn’t even been with Tiffany more than half an hour and she was already unraveling him, but he sure as hell wouldn’t let that get in the way of his job. He couldn’t.

  He closed his eyes and rubbed his fingers in slow circles over his temples. There were six missing women out there, all probably dead, and who knew how many murdered and drained of their blood on the streets. It was his job to protect the future victims. The weight fell on his shoulders alone. He wouldn’t neglect his job, his sworn oath, for any woman, even Tiffany.

  Not sure of what he was doing, he picked up his Desert Eagle and holstered the piece behind his back again.

  Tiffany grabbed her Smith & Wesson from the floor, reloaded the magazine clip and stood.

  He glanced at her, and his heart jumped into his throat. He had to get out of here, but he sure as hell couldn’t leave her behind.

  She opened her mouth to speak. “I—”

  He shook his head and cut her off. “You shouldn’t be dealing with these vampires. I won’t allow you to place yourself in danger like this.”

  Her jaw dropped. She crossed her arms and fixed him with a hard stare. “Who do you think you are? Last time I checked, I didn’t wake up in the morning with the goal of pleasing random strangers. I’ll do whatever I damn well please.”

  He should have expected her reaction. He just wasn’t used to dealing with women.

  Damon fought the urge to throw her over his shoulder; he didn’t care if she kicked and screamed the whole way, nothing would stop him from protecting her. He exhaled a long breath. “This city isn’t safe for you. Six women are missing, and more have been murdered. I won’t have another death on my conscience because I let you waltz back into that club and play with murderers.”