The Huntress

Huntress Eve Williams had a personal—and painful—reason to want Andre Vossimer dead. The professor was devastatingly handsome, dangerously charismatic…and a member of the Secret Vampire Society. He was also the man who killed her sister.

But when Andre unexpectedly kissed Eve, her need for revenge was replaced by desire…and the hope that Andre might not be a killer after all. Their passion was too strong to resist—even if being together put Eve in danger of being hunted by the very vampires she was trained to slay…

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Chapter One

Her fingers wound tight around the stake, slivers grinding into her palm. Eve Williams fought against the urge to wince because she could show no human weakness. She couldn’t show that she was at all…human. Or they would kill her…like she intended to kill them—every last one of the blood-sucking creatures of the night. But he had to be first.

He was the worst. He wasn’t just a cold-blooded killer. He was a charismatic con artist, as well: manipulative and brilliant. And that made him more dangerous than any of the others.

But that wasn’t the only reason Eve wanted to kill him first. She had another more personal—more painful—reason to want Professor Andre Vossimer dead.

Her eyes adjusting to the dim lights and smoke, she tracked him through the underground vampire club. His black hair flowing past his shoulders and his facial features aristocratically chiseled, he looked more poet than professor. His body was long and lean, and he moved with an athlete’s ease through the maze of tables and the crush of patrons as he left the crowded bar. He hadn’t stayed long, tossing back only one thick crimson drink before heading out again into the night. Maybe, like her, he had plans to do some hunting, too. But tonight, Eve would put a stop to whatever he intended; she would put a stop to Andre Vossimer.

Even more tightly she clasped the stake, which she hid deep in the pocket of her coat. Alone, it wouldn’t be enough to kill him. She’d have to bury the sharpened wood tip deep in his heart. And for that she had help, the special gun into which she would load the stake like a bullet. Then she’d fire the makeshift weapon into his heart—ending his miserable life and her pain.

Her pulse racing in anticipation, she hurried through the crowded bar. Jostled by bodies gyrating to the low bass of the live band, she stumbled back and momentarily lost sight of him. But there was only one way out of Club Underground—the cement stairwell that ascended to the busy street of downtown Zantrax, Michigan.

But when she hurried up the steps, she found the street deserted. No headlights of cars or street lamps penetrated the complete darkness of the industrial area. Fear raced over her with the cool night breeze, lifting her skin into goose bumps. She huddled inside her coat and reached inside her other pocket. The stake wasn’t the only thing she carried in the deep pockets of the long coat. She had the gun, and the flashlight that simulated sunshine.

She had been trained well to be a huntress. So how had she let him slip away?

Frustration, with her own incompetence, knotted the muscles of her stomach. She had worked so hard to find him and infiltrate his world. She dragged in a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She knew where he hung out; she would get another chance at him. And she wouldn’t let the next one slip through her fingers.

Loose stones skittered across asphalt, drawing her attention to the narrow alley between the tall brick building that housed Club Underground in the basement and the office building next to it. She was not alone out here. “It’s not him…”

He was gone. The creatures of the night had powers humans did not have at their disposal. They were immortal, and they could fly. He was probably long gone. But yet she turned toward that narrow alley. She could have brought out her flashlight, but then some of the patrons leaving the club might have seen it and figured out what she was: human and a huntress. So she skimmed her fingers across the brick as she headed in the direction from which the noise had come.

She had to investigate—just in case he hadn’t left. Maybe he’d gone into the alley to do whatever it was that had caused him to leave the club so quickly.

Rounding the corner of the building, she stepped inside a wider alley…and into the arms of the man who’d lured her into his trap. Muscles, stronger than those of a mere mortal, rippled in his biceps and his chest, as he dragged her tight against him. A scream burned in her throat, and she parted her lips to utter it.

But his mouth was there, covering hers. Anger and fear coursed through her, and she tried to pull back but his lips pressed tighter. She wriggled in his embrace, but his arms didn’t loosen. If anything, he pulled her more closely against his chest—so close her legs molded to his, her stomach rubbing against his. She gasped at the hardness of his heavily muscled body.

And he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding into her mouth as his fangs scraped her lip. She tried again to scream, but it wasn’t just him she feared anymore. She feared her reaction as her stomach quivered and her pulse raced with…desire.

The strength of the passion coursing through him had Andre shuddering as he fought to control the urge to take her right there—against the brick wall of the Club Underground building. Club Underground…

He’d only kissed her to shut her up, so that she wouldn’t scream and draw the attention of any other members of the Secret Vampire Society. At least that was what he tried telling himself as he dragged his mouth from hers. Pressing his forehead to the warm skin of hers, he warned her, “Don’t scream. Don’t fight. Don’t draw any attention to yourself…”

But it was already too late for that. When she’d followed him into Club Underground, she’d drawn the attention of every mortal and immortal in the smoky lounge. In her thigh-high leather boots and long leather jacket, she was so sexy she was dangerous. But, hell, she was the one in danger. She didn’t pose any threat even though she looked more like a member of the secret society than any of the real members in the club.

As he had, she shuddered now. But probably with fear. He must have frightened her. “It’s okay,” he assured her. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?” she asked, her voice a raspy whisper. “From what?”

He couldn’t tell her that—not without putting her in more danger. Any human who learned of the existence of vampires posed a threat—one that every vampire had sworn to eliminate in order to protect the society. “This is a rough neighborhood.” She had no idea how rough. “You shouldn’t be out here alone at night. It’s too dangerous.”

“You’re not my father,” she pointed out.

He was damned glad of that. “No, but I’m your professor.”

She stiffened in his arms. “You recognize me?”

“Yes.” He flinched, immediately regretting the admission because it would probably encourage her infatuation with him. She had to be infatuated. Why else would she have followed him from class to the club?

Then he shook his head in self-disgust; that damn kiss had encouraged her more than anything he could say. He should have just left, instead of sticking around to make sure she got safely away from the club. He’d known she was too sexy to resist.

“You sit toward the back of the hall,” he said, “but I recognize you.”

Because of her pale gold hair shimmering under the auditorium lights and distracting him, he’d nearly forgotten some of his lecture even though it was the same one he’d been giving for the past several hundred years.

“Just from class?” she asked. “That’s the only reason I look familiar to you?”

Able to see clearly despite the enveloping darkness, Andre studied her. With her bright green eyes, that hair and her tall, curvaceous body, she was unforgettable. “You attended last week’s lecture and tonight’s. Then you followed me here. I’ve never seen you before that.”

Unless she wasn’t the human he was certain she was, unless she’d known him centuries ago. But when he’d kissed her, he’d felt no fangs.

“No,” she said. “You haven’t seen me. But you don’t think I look like someone else—someone you knew twenty years ago?”

He released her now and stepped back, horrified by the conclusion he’d jumped to. But she couldn’t be implying she was his daughter. She was older than twenty; he’d realized that during his lecture—that she looked older than the other kids in class, probably thirty or so. Some of his tension eased away. “You think you look like someone I used to know?”

She nodded. “A former student of yours—my sister. Everyone always said that I resembled her so much I could have been her clone.”

Dread tightened the muscles in his stomach as he realized whom she was talking about. But for her sake, he couldn’t make the admission she wanted to hear. “I’ve had a lot of students over the years.” More than she could know. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember your sister.”

“You didn’t even ask me her name,” she pointed out.

Because he knew. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t remember anyone looking like you.” Her sister hadn’t; her hair and eyes hadn’t been as bright or her body as strong. “What’s your name?” He’d heard it before, but he couldn’t pull it from his memory now, twenty years later.

“Eve Williams,” she replied. “Her name was Jennifer. Jennifer Williams…”

He shrugged as if the name meant nothing to him, as if the woman hadn’t either. But Jennifer had been special—too special to deny the request she’d made of him.

Eve’s lips twisted as if she struggled to contain all the things she wanted to say to him. She uttered only one bitter question for him. “So you don’t remember the name of every woman you’ve murdered?”

He swallowed a curse and an automatic denial. Her sister was dead to her, and he couldn’t deny that he was responsible for that. But yet he had to defend himself. “I am not a murderer.”

“I know what you are!” she said, her voice rising with anger and fear and disgust.

He shouldn’t have kissed her and risked her feeling his fangs. “I can explain…”

She shook her head, tumbling waves of that pale hair around her shoulders. “No! You don’t explain. You lie. I’ve heard your lectures and they’re nothing but lies.” She snorted. “Claiming that vampires are myths, that they don’t exist.”

“They don’t,” he said, doing the very thing of which she’d just accused him.

“Then you don’t exist,” she taunted. “And as much as I wish that were true, it isn’t.”

Stung, Andre clenched his jaw, feeling as if she’d just slugged him.

“If you didn’t exist, my sister would still be alive. But you’re here and she’s…” Her voice cracked with emotion. “…not.”

Her pain reached inside him, clenching his heart. “Eve…”

“You killed her!” she accused him again. “You’re a monster.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he warned her. “So you shouldn’t be talking…” Because she risked someone overhearing her and realizing that she knew about the secret society.

“No,” she agreed. “I should be doing what I tracked you down to do.”

Zantrax wasn’t where he’d been teaching when he’d met her sister. “It couldn’t have been easy for you to find me.” In the past twenty years, he’d guest-lectured at too many colleges and universities in too many cities for him to recall every one. Or even half of them. And every few decades, he added another I behind his name and pretended to be his own descendent. He was currently Andre Vossimer XI.

“I was determined,” she said, her eyes bright with anger. But despite the rage, her pupils dilated with the attraction that shimmered between them like smoke rising from hot ashes. With a little stoking, the fire could burn again. She blinked, breaking their locked gazes. She obviously wasn’t going to let him stoke anything…but her rage.

“I take it you didn’t track me down to kiss me in an alley,” he said, amused now by his own arrogance. He’d thought she was infatuated with him when she was really infuriated—and with damn good reason.

“You kissed me!” Her voice rose with the vehemence of her denial. Maybe too much vehemence?

He stepped forward and closed the distance between them again. Then he lowered his head to hers, and their mouths only a breath apart, he reminded her, “You kissed me back.”

She shook her head even as guilt dimmed the brightness of her eyes. “No…”

“Want me to prove it to you?” he threatened, his lips just brushing across the silky softness of hers. “I’d love to kiss you again.” He’d love to do more than kiss her. But making love with her wouldn’t change her mind about him, about what he was and what he’d done.

Only one person could tell her the truth and make her believe it. But Andre had made that person promise to never talk to Eve again. Guilt overwhelming him, he stepped back again. But she followed him, her soft body close to his—tempting him to finish what he’d started when she’d first joined him in the alley.

But she hated him. Believing what she did, she had to. Did the passion burn so hotly between them that it surpassed her rage or fueled it even more?

He had his answer when she leaned forward, and something hard and sharp pressed against his chest. He recognized the tip of a stake. “You’re not going to kill me,” he said, unable to suppress a smirk from lifting his lips. “Not with that.”

While she was tall, she wasn’t strong enough to fight him off and pound a stake into his chest. Few humans were, or would be, as he’d explained in his lecture, if vampires actually existed. He traveled around to prove that the myth of vampires was just that: myth.

“I know what you are,” she said. “And I know how to kill you.”

The point of the stake shifted against his chest, and cold metal penetrated his thin cashmere sweater. “What’s this?” he glanced down at the makeshift weapon she held.

“A gun,” she explained. “All I have to do is pull this trigger to send the stake through your heart.”

A gasp of surprise slipped through his lips.

“I paid attention in class, Professor.”

He suspected she wasn’t talking about just his class, though. While he mentioned that if vampires were real, humans wouldn’t be able to kill them, he hadn’t given tutelage on how to kill the “mythical” creatures.

Her eyes glinting with anger and resolve, she warned, “I know exactly how to kill you.”

“But can you do it?” he asked. “Can you pull the trigger and take a life?” His gut told him no, not if she was anything like her sister. But he didn’t know Eve; maybe she was nothing like Jennifer.

“That’s why I tracked you down,” she explained. “To take away your life like you took away my sister’s.”

Again he couldn’t deny his responsibility. “You don’t want to do this,” he advised her. “You’re not a killer any more than I am.”

“I know what you are,” she said again. “But you don’t know what I am.”

“Eve Williams.”

“That’s who I am. Not what,” she pointed out.

Human. But he dare not utter it aloud. She would know he was already aware of that, though, just as she was aware of the society. And she’d tracked him down, armed with a weapon that could actually end his centuries-long immortality. His body tensed as he realized what she was and exactly how much danger he was in. If he started to struggle with her, the crude weapon might accidentally fire. But then if he died, it wouldn’t be an accident.

She really intended to kill him. “You’re a huntress,” he said.

And he was the hunted.

Chapter Two

Her finger trembled against the trigger of the specialized weapon. All she had to do was crook her finger, pull the trigger and finally assuage the pain and frustration she’d suffered the past twenty years. Justice for Jennifer’s murder would fill the hole her loss had left in Eve’s life—it had to because nothing else had.

“You don’t want to do this,” the professor said again, his deep voice as hypnotic as all his students found it when he lectured.

She’d graduated some time ago, but she didn’t remember any teacher ever having the hold over his students that Professor Vossimer had. It was as if he brainwashed them to believe everything he said. While those naive, young students hung on his every word, she knew he spoke no truth—only self-serving lies.

“This is exactly what I want to do. What I need to do,” she insisted, “so that you can’t hurt anyone else the way you hurt Jennifer.” She’d been one of his students, too, long ago; his had been the last class her sister had ever attended. As payback, Eve wanted tonight’s lecture to be the last class he ever taught.

“I didn’t hurt Jennifer,” he said, his dark eyes warming slightly as he repeated her sister’s name.

“You remember her,” she realized.

He nodded.

“Good,” she said, her finger steadying. “I want you to know why I’m killing you, that it’s your sentence—your punishment—for what you’ve done.”

“You don’t know what I did. You don’t know anything about me.” He spoke slowly and quietly, as if he were trying to soothe her, or mesmerize her as he did his other students, into believing his lies.

Instead he incited her anger even more, because she was mad at herself for listening to him, for wanting to believe him. “You killed Jennifer!”

He shook his head. “I don’t understand why you think your sister is dead. Her body was never found.”

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