The Vampire Hunter. Michele HaufЧитать онлайн книгу.
the threshold, far enough to cross over the wards, Zoë held it there until the vampiress snatched it. Then she reached behind her leg and wheeled around one of those small, hard case travel suitcases. It was black, save for the white outline of Hello Kitty with a bright pink bow cocked above one ear. The vampire was into the iconic cat for reasons Zoë would not question.
“What’s that for?” Zoë asked. “You going on vacation?”
“It’s for you. The big guy wants more next pickup.”
“More?”
“Dust. He said business is booming.”
“Business? Well, that’s...”
Awesome that her blend was being so well received. But that much more? The suitcase was six times the size of the lunchbox. She’d have to work on the blend every day until the next pickup.
Business? She’d thought Mauritius was distributing her blend free of charge. Well, perhaps he had to charge a small price to cover expenses. Ichor wasn’t free—at least not in the form she required—and he did pay her for her work.
“There’s cash inside to cover any additional expenses you might incur,” the vampiress said. “Can I tell him you’re on board?”
“Uh...” She’d hate to disappoint. And she had developed an amazing blend. It felt good to be in demand. For once in her life, Zoë had accomplished something important. Her father would be proud. “Certainly. I, uh, I’ve never made such a large batch. But I’ll give it a try.”
“You do that. Same time next week. I’d say it’s been a pleasure, witch, but that would be a lie.”
Lunchbox tucked under an arm, the vampiress strolled down the sidewalk and across the street toward the waiting car. She always arrived via the backseat of a fancy limo. Zoë didn’t know her name. Only that she truly needed a stylist, because with a little work—and heavy metal removal—the woman could be stunning.
“Vampires,” she muttered.
But she didn’t follow with a scathing remark. She had many vampire friends. The very reason she made these Sunday morning meetings was for vampires.
“They need me. And I won’t disappoint.”
* * *
The Order of the Stake headquarters was situated in an old cathedral that offered tours of the nave during the week to tourists who had no clue a secret order devoted to extinguishing vampires existed just beneath their footsteps. An Order employee had been hired specifically for the tours and to handle the affairs topside.
While the Order dated back four centuries to inception, this building had been in use for a little over two centuries, and they’d had no problems with civilians discovering the truth bustling about beneath the stone floors.
Kaz swiped his key card and entered a secret door a few buildings down from the cathedral. He descended the stairs to the underground passageway that led to the main Order rooms.
It always gave him a shiver as he passed through the limestone passageway. It was cold down here and smelled like death, always reminding him of the labyrinthine network that ran beneath all of Paris. Hundreds of miles of tunnels that plunged down as far as seven stories. So much took place beneath the city proper it would stun, bemuse and even frighten most mortals.
Here on the lower level were Rook’s office, a gym and training area and lockers. As well, the research lab offered computers that linked other worldwide Order posts with a massive database of the paranormal breeds. While vampires were their focus, they did like to keep tabs on other breeds, because interaction often led to discovery.
The lab was quiet today. Kaz usually only ran into Tor down here. The Order’s spin master did a lot of research because his job required he know the breeds inside and out—as well as how their legend and myth had been formed in the minds of the mortals. Turning truth back into myth was a tricky job, but someone had to do it to protect the integrity of the organization.
The Mac computer silently flashed a screensaver of circles raked into a Zen sand garden. Kaz entered his password and opened the database. He also connected his cell phone because the program would automatically update his mobile files and kill stats. He loved technology, and his phone was also hooked up to a funky security system for his home, and everything was Wi-Fi.
In seconds he found a file on Switch that had been updated within the past few years. A vampire created roughly eight years ago, give or take a few months. Pre-vampirism, Switch had been known to work odd jobs, such as auto mechanic, tour barge operator and even a stint at the Moulin Rouge as a burlesque dancer. Once inducted into the league of longtooths, she’d never officially joined a tribe, but preferred to hang with some of the local tribes for months at a time before going off on her own again.
Vail had mentioned something about her hooking up with tribe leaders.
“The chick goes for the guy in charge. She’s not stupid,” Kaz muttered as he read further.
She was a bruiser and known to cause problems. No human losses had been associated with her vampiric activity—a good thing. Kaz did not like to kill females, but he would, if necessary. Yet Vail had also mentioned she did wet work. Did she stalk her own breed? Maybe she had a thing for taking out werewolves? The two breeds, though supposedly in accord with one another, could never shrug off their ingrained hatreds.
Werewolves were a breed Kaz avoided with a passion. When they shifted to their werewolf shape, he ran in the opposite direction. Most smart—and still breathing—knights did.
A few final notes detailed her possible age at mid-twenties. Switch was most often found on the right bank, sixteenth through eighteenth arrondissements, so he assumed she must also live in that area.
Zoë lived in the eighteenth. Too close to the area he’d targeted for investigation.
Kaz sat back, closing his eyes from the screen strain, and smiled. “Cerulean,” he whispered. “Who’da thought I’d like that color?”
His thoughts wandered, and the memory of Zoë’s stunningly intense kisses broadened his smile. Zoë with the bright blue eyes that seemed to look for things inside him even he wasn’t aware existed. Zoë with the mysterious scar dashing her cheek, which didn’t lessen her appeal, but did make him want to learn how it had happened so he could crush the offender’s skull. Ex-boyfriend? He hoped not. Maybe it had been a car accident?
Scars were plenty in his world; that was for sure. Kaz bore his own inner scars, and a few on the surface. He could fight vampires fist to fist and win, but a well-matched fight usually ended in a new battle scar. And a pile of ash. His kill count was high, and would remain so, because the damned vamps kept making more.
He wondered if Zoë was aware of the paranormal world that existed around her, and then decided she was lucky to remain naive. Good thing he’d been able to avoid staking the vamps while she had been watching last night. He would have hated to introduce her to all things fanged and vicious in such an abrupt manner.
Despite every molecule in his being that warned how difficult it was for him to commit to any kind of relationship, he definitely wanted to see her again. Because man could not survive by the fight alone. He needed kisses, and skin contact and all that messy, exciting stuff involved with sex.
And how could the rescuing knight not return for the damsel?
Yet could he manage it without bringing along the danger of the world he lived in?
“Rothstein.”
He hadn’t heard Rook enter the lab, and stood quickly to face his supervisor. Initially his teacher, Rook had also become Kaz’s mentor over the years. The man had a way about him. Stealthy and silent as the wind, Rook was a master of all martial arts. After Kaz had earned his trust and a bed in the Order’s broom closet to sleep after a long, grueling day of training, Rook had trained Kaz for a year before he’d been knighted by the founder, King, and officially accepted into the Order. At seventeen, Kaz had