She didn’t know why she wanted to cry, but she did. She was tired. Exhausted. She’d been like a child hunting the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow and she felt cheated. She dropped her pack to the floor and sank down. Her legs were trembling so much she couldn’t stand.
Trixie shook her head, refusing to let the sudden tears in her eyes fall. What had she been thinking? She was well past her prime. She’d lost her shot at any kind of . . . what? She didn’t want a man. She was set in her ways. Snarky. She spoke her mind and often was sarcastic and nasty when she was crossed. Men liked sweet, and that wasn’t her. Life had been good to her, bringing her granddaughters to her, but it had also taken a lot. She had her life the way she liked it now. She wouldn’t give one moment of it up for a man.
She straightened her shoulders because, really, she had been in some kind of mesmerizing spell and maybe, just maybe, that teenage girl who had gotten pregnant and thought her man loved her and would stand by her had come to the front out of nowhere, dreaming again. She had to find her steel spine and her sense of humor, no matter that she was alone. She couldn’t afford to dream. She’d given up on dreams for herself a good fifty years earlier. Her dreams were for her girls. And they were living the dream and that was good enough for her.
Trixie looked around her. At least she had shelter. She was tired and needed to sleep. She was fairly certain the men who would be chasing her couldn’t make their way through the dense fog. In any case, they couldn’t see to track her once they hit the fog. She’d had the musical notes to guide her and they didn’t.
She opened her pack and pulled out her sleeping bag. She’d sleep right there in the empty building with the musical notes playing all around her. And she wouldn’t dream. She wouldn’t be lonely. She would just go to sleep. Being a careful type of woman and always believing in being prepared, she pulled her vampire-hunting box out of her pack and set it beside her.
Looking at it, she felt a little better. There was a vial of holy water and a bible. There were all kinds of other things as well, but she really liked the little gun that shot the small, sharpened stakes. They weren’t as big as she would have liked. Not at all. She frowned as she examined them. If she had designed a kit, she would have gotten rid of most of the junk in it and would have concentrated on making some big-ass stakes. The kind that would make a serious hole in a vampire’s heart so he’d never rise again. It was a point-and-shoot kind of gun and she liked that about it. She put it beside her sleeping bag with the little board of extra stakes.
“Not that you’re real stakes,” she whispered aloud, because really, they looked silly. They looked like tips of stakes. She liked things big. Bold. Larger than life. Solid. Especially a stake that stood between her and a vampire.
Trixie lay back on top of the sleeping bag, looking up at the dancing notes, hearing the beautiful song, the one that made her dream when she didn’t want to. When she knew better. “I never wanted a man of my own, not after learning they were lying, cheating, lazy bums. He never even spoke one word to our daughter. Not one. Our beautiful girl.” Her hand closed convulsively around the little gun. Had her daughter’s father been standing in front of her right at that moment, she would have staked him on the spot.
She was quiet for a long time, occasionally reaching up to wipe at the wet on her face. She didn’t cry, so the tracks weren’t tears, just maybe leftover residue from the fog. Still, her eyes were a bit watery and out of focus when she first noticed the disturbance in the dirt floor. Right in the middle. The dirt spewed into the air, small at first and then like a geyser.
Trixie scrambled to her feet and jumped to the side. She stood over the hole in the ground, staring in shock. The hole was deep and long. It was long because it had to accommodate a very large man. He lay down in the open grave—and it was an open grave—looking up at her. His eyes were open.
Trixie screamed. She wasn’t the screaming type and her scream scared her. Most likely it scared the angels in heaven. She lifted her hand and pointed at him. An honest-to-God vampire. Staring at her. It took a moment to realize the little gun was in her hand and she convulsively pulled the trigger. The tiny little stake flew out of the gun and hit him high in the shoulder.
He winced. His eyes, a gorgeous blue—and they were gorgeous, she’d noted that—darkened. Became twin storm clouds. More, he’d been entirely naked. As in naked. All of him. Even the best parts, and although it was truly her worst nightmare, she’d still noted his best parts were really the best. Holy cripes.
Her stupid little stake hadn’t done the trick. She backed up, tripped and went down on her butt, hand trying to find the other stakes. She was loading the gun when he rose. Floated. In the air. Floated. Feet not on the ground. Holy cripes all over again. She shoved the stake in the gun and let fly a second time.
The stake nailed him in his arm. It really wasn’t a point-and-aim kind of weapon like it was advertised and it didn’t seem to be killing him. At all. He looked really alive and really big. Lots of muscle. Lots of . . . um . . . everything.
She caught up the holy water and flung the glass vial at him, forgetting to take out the stopper. He caught the vial in midair. He was fast. Very fast.
“Köd alte hän, emni,” he snapped.
His voice was like music, even when he was cursing. The sound made her stomach curl, something that hadn’t happened since she was fifteen years old. And he definitely was swearing at her.
“Stay back, vampire,” she hissed, holding out the big silver cross. So far her very expensive vampire-hunting kit wasn’t working. Hopefully the cross was real silver. “And for God’s sake, put some clothes on.”
Because really. How could she keep her mind on killing him when he was right there in all his glory? And he had glory.
A slow smile pulled at the hard edges of his mouth. He looked all man. Not those skinny, prissy boys they put on the covers of the books she liked to read. No, he was definitely a man. Hard edges and lots and lots of muscle. He might be a bloodsucking vampire, but he was a really hot, manly one. If she was going to die, at least the vampire killing her was scorching hot. She could take that to her grave and perv on it for a very long time in the hereafter.
“Lady, put that silly cross down and tell me what you are doing, because so far, you have shot your lifemate with two darts and thrown a glass vial at him. All of which can be considered disrespectful.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Disrespectful?” Oh, no, he was not going to pretend she wasn’t a worthy opponent. “Those are not darts. They are stakes. And I’ve got more where they came from so don’t think you’re going to take a bite out of me.”
His smile warmed his eyes, and seriously, there it was again, that stomach curl. This time it was accompanied by a curious flutter in the region of days gone by. Long gone by. As in forgotten. As in seriously cobwebby. He was dangerous, and he just had to put on clothes because she couldn’t stop looking.
“You are trying to kill me?”
“Well of course.” She put her hands on her hips. “You’re a vampire and I’m huntin’ you. So yes. You’re going to have to die, which is very sad and I don’t like being the one to have to dispatch you because your music is beautiful, but I’m up to the task so don’t come any closer.” She glared at him. “And put some clothes on.”
It had been a long while since she’d seen a naked man and she didn’t remember them looking like him. The artists, the ones famous for their sculptures, didn’t get it right. They should have tried sculpting him—before he became a vampire anyway.
“You’re distracting me and I’ve got a job to do,” she announced, before she could stop the words tumbling out of her mouth. Now she knew where her granddaughter got her compulsion for blurting out things when she was nervous.
“And your job is to kill me?” he asked.
His voice was gentle, almost a caress. She felt the notes stroke over her skin like the touch of fingers. She shivered. She couldn’t help it. She wanted to listen to his voice while she slept. In her dreams. All night. The tone was beautiful, like his song.
“Someone has to do it, and I don’t shirk. You’re a gorgeous hunk of male, but that doesn’t matter. I won’t have you biting me and bringing me to the dark side.”