Tempted by Blood. Laurie London
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Название: Tempted by Blood
Автор: Laurie London
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Зарубежная фантастика
Серия: Mills & Boon Nocturne
isbn: 9781408974988
isbn:
One down, one to go. Jackson retrieved his weapon from the body.
The other one made it almost to the street by the time Jackson caught up with him next to a Dumpster. He jumped onto the guy’s back and clamped him in a choke hold. Was this the one with his knife? He didn’t care if the guy had a Darkblood blade; they were poorly made and fairly ineffective. But a nick from Jackson’s own blade would be an entirely different story.
The fucker spun around, clutching at Jackson’s biceps, but he didn’t succeed in loosening them. Damn, he was strong, though. Much stronger than the other one. Probably from the Sweet. Jackson hitched his arms tighter and the guy choked. As with any vampire who lived on an all-blood diet, the air from his lungs reeked, and Jackson tried to keep his head turned away as much as possible. DBs used the stench as a calling card of sorts. If you were looking for a little action, you knew you could score a hit from the guys who smelled like a Texas meat locker with a faulty refrigeration unit.
Being this close, Jackson would need a serious shower after this was over. The DB continued to struggle, but when that didn’t work, he fell to the pavement with Jackson’s arm still firmly wrapped around his neck.
“Take it down if you can’t handle it on your feet,” Jackson said mockingly through clenched teeth. What a fool.
Thanks to his black belt in Brazilian jujitsu, Jackson preferred the ground and pound, anyway. At the first opportunity, he wrapped his legs viselike around the guy’s torso, locked his ankles in place and squeezed. The loser groaned loudly. Like a boa constrictor taking advantage of every exhale, Jackson’s thighs compressed him farther.
With a flick of his wrist, Jackson positioned the tip of his knife on a precise spot between the guy’s ribs—he could find it with his eyes closed.
Just as he was about to finish the job, he saw the flash of a blade and felt the sharp sting of silver on his forearm.
Was that from his own knife? The one lifted from Mitch?
Energy began to pour out of his system. Pain instantly radiated outward. He had his answer.
His grip on the guy’s throat weakened. With a few more beats of his heart, Jackson knew the effect of the silver would be coursing throughout his body and he wouldn’t be able to hang on. Like hell if he’d let this one get away. It’d only be a matter of time before this blood-dealing loser was back to work on the streets of Seattle, enticing vampires to revert. Ply a susceptible vampire with enough blood and the old cravings of their ancestors—the uncontrollable kind, the blood-sucking, energy-slogging kind—would be too strong to ignore.
With a final surge of adrenaline, Jackson gripped the handle with both hands and angled the point upward.
“Eat this, you son of a bitch.”
And in one mighty, satisfying jerk, the blade found its mark.
Footsteps pounded on the cobblestones just as Jackson rolled away, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to avoid the charcoaling body. A thin layer of ash covered the toes of his Lucchese ostrich-skin boots and he tried to brush it off. He wasn’t picky about a lot of things, but these boots set him back almost a thousand bucks. He’d bought them to impress his parents when he showed up at the ranch wearing them—they were the only kind of boots his father wore—but they hadn’t even noticed. Still, he loved them and didn’t want them covered with Darkblood stink.
“Holy shit, are you okay, man?”
“Good timing,” he growled, ignoring his partner’s outstretched hand as he pushed himself to his feet.
“The little one elbowed me right in the gut. Couldn’t breathe for a minute. Damn, you worked these guys over fast.”
With his back turned, Jackson examined his injury. It was more like a scratch, really. He was weak, yes, but like carb loading before a marathon, all the human energy he’d slogged tonight should prevent the effects of the silver from being too serious. Or at least he hoped it would. The pain had made its way to his shoulder now and he grimaced.
Mitch’s eyes widened. “Are you okay? He got you, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, with my blade.”
“I’m sorry, man. I should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve anticipated something like that happening. I heard the noise, saw shit flying, and I must’ve gotten distracted for a split second.”
“Don’t worry about it. Darkbloods on Sweet are unpredictable.”
Mitch pulled out his cell phone.
“Who the hell are you calling?” Jackson asked, though he was pretty damn sure he knew the answer.
“A medico team.”
“No, you’re not. This is nothing.” He couldn’t let the medical staff see him in this weakened state and do any testing. Who knew what the results would show.
Mitch eyed him skeptically. “You don’t look so good. Are you sure?”
“Yep. I’m fine.”
He tried not to reveal just how much pain he was in as he turned toward the nondescript back door of the club. Mitch already thought he was a stud when it came to women and fighting the bad guys. Might as well make it a hat trick, let him think this didn’t hurt like a motherfucker. “Now, come on, let’s get inside and take care of those reverts.”
“Reverts? You mean those guys at the table with the humans?”
Jackson rolled his eyes. “No, Cinderella and her evil stepsisters.”
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