Angel of Darkness(7)

By: Cynthia Eden

“S-sorry ...” The word sounded funny. When had she gotten a lisp? And what was she doing? He was a cop, she couldn’t—

“What’s wrong with your teeth?” He demanded, and he was fighting her, pushing and shoving, but she barely felt his struggles.

The beat of his heart drowned out his voice. She leaned in closer, so thirsty—no, hungry—and she just needed to bite.

Her teeth sank into his throat. His blood spilled onto her tongue, and it was good. Better than good. The best thing she’d ever had in her life. Warm and hot; life, and it was—

Nicole staggered back, gagging, horrified as she fought through the blinding hunger. No, no. This wasn’t right.

The cop watched her with terror filling his brown eyes.

“I-I’m sorry!” She’d attacked him and shoved him against the dirty wall, just like—

Just like that bastard did to me. She’d even bitten the guy. Her tongue ran over her lips and felt the too-long and too-sharp points of her teeth. No.

She’d bit him and drank his blood. Drank his freaking blood!

Nicole backed up, quickly, trying to get away from the sight and smell of the cop’s blood. His blood tempted her and right then what she wanted more than anything was—another bite.

She tripped over the body and crashed hard onto the ground. Her attacker’s body was so stiff and hard, as if he’d been dead for hours. But, no, wait, it had been just moments. She hadn’t been out that long, so ...

“Don’t move.”

The cop had lost his flashlight, but she could see him perfectly in the dim lamplight. He had his gun out and aimed at her.

“I don’t know what the fuck you are, lady, but I’ll put a bullet in your heart if you come at me again.”

I don’t know what the fuck you are.

Fear had her heart racing because she didn’t know, either.

The hunger was ripping her apart. One more drink, one more ...

She had to get away from the cop. If she didn’t, Nicole was very afraid that even the threat of a bullet wouldn’t keep her from his throat.

She’d never hurt anyone in her life, until tonight. Now one man was dead and another man’s throat was torn open and his blood tempted her.

She pushed to her feet.

“Don’t move.” His gun trembled a bit. “Unless you want a bullet in your chest, just ... don’t ... move.” He expelled a rough rasp of air. “Hell, you did this same routine on that poor bastard, didn’t you? You lured him in here, then went right for his throat.”

No. He’d gone for hers. He’d attacked with dark eyes and fangs like some bad horror movie vampire or something.


Her body iced.

Fangs. Blood. Thirst.

No. No!

I don’t know what the fuck you are.

That damn pounding filled her ears. Calling. Urging her to take another bite.

Escape. She wasn’t going to kill a cop. She wasn’t drinking blood! Nicole spun away and ran toward the square.

“No! Dammit, stop!”

Nicole couldn’t stop. Her teeth were fangs, her nails were sharpening into claws, and something was very, very wrong. Tears trekked down her cheeks as she raced for safety.

“I said stop!”

The bullet hit her in the back, but Nicole kept going. She didn’t cry out—too scared, too fueled by panic and the choking terror.

She ran faster as she thundered through the nearby square. Then she snaked through the streets. The sights blurred around her as she pushed herself faster, faster ...

And all the while, his words echoed in her mind.

I don’t know what the fuck you are.

She glanced at the claws—claws that had formed from her short fingernails.



Consuming thirst for blood.

Oh, God. The cop might not know what she was, but Nicole was very, very afraid that she did. And she was also afraid that she’d soon be just like the bastard who’d attacked her.

A killer. A monster.

A vampire.


Six months later ...

When the woman with the midnight-black hair and dark red lips strolled into the cantina, he knew his hunt was finally at an end.

Keenan lifted the tequila to his lips, barely feeling the fire of the liquid as he tossed it down his throat. It had been a long hunt, but after all this time, he’d found her.