In Adelaide, the city of churches, it’s the night of the hunter’s moon and the Blood-kin venture out to play. But things aren’t what they seem. Mirrazan is caught in a deadly confrontation with Ric, the cop, and a band of rogue vamps. Things can’t get any worse. Wrong! Ric is not the man he appears to be, and the Law of Blood Immoral has been broken. So what starts out as a pleasant night of carousing, turns to dark and dangerous and the game of seduction takes on a whole new meaning of deadly when succubus and cat-shifter lock hearts, souls and bodies in the duel of love… All hell breaks loose.
“Just what I need!” Mirra whispered.
The victim was cold, but her killer’s taint was starkly fresh. As Mirra probed the energy currents she sensed that somewhere nearby, the rogue vampire fed, ignoring all restraint.
But worse, the vamp had ignored the one rule that bound the Blood Hunters—never leave a victim to be found. By so doing, humans, with their increasingly sophisticated forensic science might begin to suspect the truth and that truth was dangerous. Deadly to all Blood-kin.
The vampire who had fed was shockingly vicious. Mirra had seen frenzied killers’ handiwork before, but this was by far the worst she had encountered. His taint was impaled through the battered flesh. He’d fucked her properly, his blood and seed saturating his victim. All these in combination meant that the woman would resurrect in the worst possible way. Mirra retreated. She had to get away. Fast. A creature that did this to his prey would have no compunction about chewing on a succubus. Succubus sex-magic was coveted by the vamps, when they could get it. She wasn’t about to go on any damn menu. She looked down at the twisted body and shuddered, swallowing against the gorge rising in her throat.
“Don’t move!” a male voice shouted behind her. “That’s right. Now real slow, you stand up, turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
Mirra obeyed, curiosity overcoming caution because she liked his voice. A deep voice, harshness hiding the gentleness. A voice of contrasts, like the man—this she knew in a moment. So, she obeyed.
She heard his footsteps on the pavement and looked over her shoulder. A man, dressed in black leather, dark hair, a gun…a Colt Python levelled at her. She hated guns. They were clumsy, killing tools for cowards who didn’t want to get their hands bloodied. The moonlight highlighted him, and the gun—large and lethal, like its owner.
As he glanced down at the body, she saw his jaw tighten. His gaze lifted to Mirrazan.
“Up against the wall, face first. Don’t make me use this.” The gun waved her forward.
His hand pressed her hard against the bricks, her cheek scraping the rough masonry. She gagged at the mouldy stench. It filled her nostrils and her mind, the uncounted grime and disease of generations of thieves and scum who had used the alley, done unspeakable things, leaving their psychic imprint before moving on…
His hands moved quickly. With a sharp snap, heavy cold metal was fastened around her wrists. She was pivoted around to face him.
She tested the handcuffs. She could easily break them, but for the moment, only for a moment, she would indulge him. Bondage was a game she enjoyed, but she was never the one restrained. And she preferred to use silk cords and ribbons, occasionally a strand of pearls, but never anything as coarse and barbaric as handcuffs. She twisted her wrists, the metal chafing. Interesting. But now wasn’t the time to be thinking of sex games. Handcuffs might be something for the future, though…on her prey’s wrists, never her own.
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