Night's Kiss (The Ancients) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Discover more Amara titles… The Rogue King

  The Black Lily

  Red Zone

  In the Dark

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Mary Hughes. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 105, PMB 159

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  [email protected]

  Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Candace Havens

  Cover design by Miguel Parisi

  Cover photography by Julia Remezova, Deviney Designs, MidoSemsem, and Estrada Anton/Shutterstock

  ISBN 978-1-64063-886-0

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition November 2019

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.

  xoxo

  Liz Pelletier, Publisher

  To Marianne Chiumento, and to Teri Hicks, Stasi Swain, Jeanne Mead, Gladys Nason, Teri Gomez, Connie Toler, Jody McDavid, Bobbie Thomas, and the rest of the Mary Hughes Readers for their support and love.

  To readers, booksellers, librarians, and reviewers for embracing The Ancients as you have. You make it all worthwhile.

  As always, to my husband Gregg and my children.

  Chapter One

  The one that got away.

  Everybody has one. For Captain Ahab, it was Moby Dick. For Katy Perry, it was the tattooed boy who sang the blues.

  Mine was the vampire king.

  “Kat?” Rey glanced at me, though it didn’t affect her smooth driving. Concern etched her face. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” We’d just entered the small Illinois burg of Meiers Corners, my new temporary home. The town was a puzzle. Its razor-straight streets were lined with tidy businesses and homes in soldier-perfect rows. But these sober yards were decorated with accordion-wielding garden gnomes and beer stein lawn blowups.

  “You’re fine.” My sister’s tone was drier than an Instagram caption. She’d seen right through me, as usual. We were both adopted. Didn’t make us any less sisters. “Then why are you fiddling with your knife?”

  On my lap, I’d been unsheathing and sheathing my single weapon for tonight—my dagger, Angel. I stilled my hands with a sigh. “I feel naked without my swords.”

  “That could be a band name,” she said. “‘Naked Without My Swords.’ Or an exotic Renfair dancer.”

  I laughed. I’m not the best at catching jokes, but that one I got. “No, just a really nervous vampire hunter.”

  “Kat—”

  “I know. No hunting vamps in my good clothes.” But it was after dark, and I was on edge. Rogues killed our parents when Rey and I were kids. Ripped out their throats before our eyes. Since that night, I’d wanted one thing.

  Revenge on all bloodsuckers.

  As we rumbled across a river bridge, she sighed. “We just got you presentable. This doesn’t have anything to do with meeting your—damn it.”

  She stomped on the brakes as a body flew through the air. Landed with a thump on the hood.

  A face smacked against the windshield. Its skin was thick and tough-looking, either a vampire’s battle mask or really bad dermabrasion.

  The face’s mouth widened in a grin—with fangs.

  I snapped my knife up, ready to defend Rey.

  A second later, the face was gone.

  “Where…?” My pulse had kicked into high.

  Rey pointed down the block, to the right. I’m fast, and a seasoned hunter, but Rey is incredibly gifted, with sight like a hawk.

  The vampire had cornered a young, waiflike woman, pressing her against the painted metal of a streetlamp. Even from a distance, the wide-open fear in her eyes stabbed me.

  I growled low in my throat. I hate when vamps use their unfair predator powers against anyone, but attacking innocents is the worst.

  “Your swords are in the back seat.” Rey nodded at the van’s bench seat behind us. “I left them out of the war chest when we packed the rest.”

  “Right.” I tore off my seat belt. Shoving the dagger in a pocket, I grabbed my swords and leaped from the van into the chilly October night air.

  The young woman’s fear-filled eyes fastened on me. As the vamp lowered his fangs to her neck, she mouthed, Help me.

  Too far away to launch my attack, I shouted, “Hey! You. Sir Fangsalot. Over here!”

  His head lifted in that creepy reptilian way suckers sometimes move, red eyes landing unerringly on me. He was wiry, with a moth-eaten, meth-head look.

  No quick dash and slash for me, not now. Having lost the element of surprise, I slid on my weapons harness then stalked toward them, breath frosting the air. His red eyes followed me.

  As I came closer, I drew Joyce from the pair of scabbards at my back. Short, heavy, her silver-clad edge sharp enough to split hair, the straight sword was my best weapon against a single fanged menace. For more than one toothy bastard, I had a saber-like talwar named Shredder.

  Yes, I named my swords. Rey insisted it was a delightful quirk, not a sign of mental instability.

  Although “hobbies: hunts vampires” probably checks the crazy box.

  Behind me, the van’s engine cut. Rey hates suckers as much as I do, but I was the martial expert. She’d give me space to do my thing, backing me up only if necessary.

  My sword made the bloodsucker flinch back, his hands coming up as if blocking an attack. The woman took advantage of his distraction to duck out of his range and run away.

  He swore, his red gaze snapping between her and me. He didn’t use any of a vampire’s many tricks to stop her. Probably young, for a sucker, the idea reinforced by his simple, leather-like facial armor and his small fangs.

  I was close by now. Kid Vamp’s eyes ping-ponged one last time and settled on me.

  Young, but even fledgling vamps were fast and deadly. Older suckers… I b
riefly shuddered, remembering the king. Age granted them terrible powers.

  Kid Vamp thought the shudder was for him. “Scared?” He licked his chops, the move calculated to turn my legs into water. Vamps think adrenaline sweetens the taste of human blood.

  Yeah, monsters.

  “Scared? Not really,” I said.

  “You ought to be.” His eyes began to glow hypnotically, and he crooned, “Come to me, little human.” He was unleashing his sucker mojo but needed both voice and eyes to do it—probably why he didn’t try it with the woman. Older suckers can compel obedience with their voice alone.

  “Come.” His voice rang in my head. “Let me reward you with my kiss of death.”

  “Does it involve tongue?” I stayed planted, being a rare human immune to compulsion.

  Annoyance briefly crossed his face. Then he floated slowly around me. “Give me your neck, tasty human.”

  Vamps can move unnaturally fast, so he was playing with his food. Asshole.

  “I’m actually pretty bland without ketchup. Have you ever considered going vegan?”

  A growl escaped his lips. “You bitch. I am going to suck you dry. And I’m going to enjoy it.” He stopped in front of me and licked one fang, deliberately provocative. “What, no snide response?”

  “Here’s my answer, you bastard.” I thrust forty-four inches of stabby reply, throwing my weight behind my blade.

  No plan survives meeting the enemy. At the last minute, he turned. Normally I’d see a twitch of shoulder or tensing of muscle that would let me adjust my attack, even with vamps. No warning with this guy at all.

  Joyce only sliced his chest.

  He shouted a nasty word. Claws raked at me, too fast to counter or avoid.

  I twisted to take the attack on my tactical vest.

  Except I wasn’t wearing my vest, because I was trying to look “normal.” I only had on a hoodie, T-shirt, and jeans. I didn’t even have my neck protector.

  Adrenaline seared my veins, ice cold. Is tonight the night?

  I risked death each night I took to the streets. Vampires were faster, stronger, and healed stupidly fast. I only had my wits, my practice, and my weapons.

  Oh yeah, and my rage.

  Still, one night I’d be too slow or miss a crucial swing (or be without my freaking vest) and it’d be over.

  Absolutely worth it, if I made the world a little safer for us humans.

  With a battle cry, I raised my left arm, barely in time to meet his slash. Talons tore through my hoodie into my flesh. Blood spat from his claws.

  My blood.

  Pain ripped through me, my skin and muscles screaming against the invasion.

  He grinned at me, nasty. He thought it was all over but the begging.

  I gritted my teeth and ignored the pain. Adrenaline would blunt it for now. I had one chance.

  Leaving my bleeding forearm raised to hide my movement, I cocked Joyce.

  And thrust her into his chest.

  Joyce impaled him with a muffled thunk. Straight through his heart. Hard to do, with that thick bone plate in the way, but I’d trained long and hard.

  The vamp’s grin froze.

  But now time was ticking, and it wasn’t on my side. He’d get over his shock, pull out the sword, heal up, and I’d be dead. Not just monsters, monsters with unfair advantages.

  Two ways not to be dead. Chop off his head—no brain, no movement, unless head and body rejoined. Or scoop out his heart—no blood flow, no movement (except a single, instinctive attack, I’d found that one out the hard way). He’d still be alive, but so would I, and he’d be immobilized.

  Triggering a move I’d done a thousand times, I yanked the sword from his body, called on the large muscles of my shoulder and back, and swung Joyce executioner-style. I nailed it, slicing fast and hard, hitting with Joyce’s sweet spot.

  The monster’s head separated and sailed up, arcing into a neat front lawn. I began to relax.

  Until his noggin made a freak rebound on a blowup beer stein. Compressed plastic and air fired it straight back at the vamp.

  His body hadn’t quite shut down. As the head arced over, his hand shot up.

  He netted it.

  I swore virulently. Now he’d plop his head on his neck, heal up, and be as good as new.

  To come after me again in a never-ending battle.

  I need to make the world safer. Quitting doesn’t do that.

  Despite my hammering heart and my slashed arm beginning to ache, I squared my stance to go on fighting.

  Movement flashed in my periphery. Someone leaping from behind me.

  I was so focused on the vamp, I jerked back barely in time as a long body extended beside me, arm reaching. A hand slapped the head from the monster’s hand. The head thumped onto the nearby grass.

  The long body, landing beyond the sucker, was a man in a thin charcoal-gray sweater.

  The monster wavered. Knees buckling, the headless vamp collapsed in a heap. Blood splattered, but when fighting vampires, carnage happened, or you weren’t doing it right.

  One less monster in the world. A surge of satisfaction hit me. One more repayment for the vamps who’d scarred me and Rey.

  The man beyond the sucker straightened slowly. Daggers and damn, he was tall. Scary-broad shoulders and a muscled back. Black as sin hair.

  I floated a couple steps closer to him, hoping to see more. Then it hit me—this might be a vampire, too.

  Automatically, I took a readiness inventory. Sharp pain in arm. Slashes, blood loss, possibly dangerous. One sword in hand, one sheathed, dagger in pocket. Twelve times twelve is one hundred forty-four—mind is working.

  I readied Joyce. If the man was a vampire, I was prepared to fight again, though depending on the blood loss, perhaps not for long. If he had red eyes or a battle mask… He turned.

  My breath stopped as brilliant onyx eyes met mine, jewels set in a masterpiece of a face.

  He’d apparently taken tall, dark, and handsome as a challenge. Seven feet if he was an inch. Black eyebrows slashed in a devilish quirk. Strong cheekbones, an intelligent forehead, and a straight sword of a nose. A thin, mobile mouth. So handsome, my eyes ached and a pleasurable shiver wracked me.

  His attention moved to my arm. Almost immediately he spun a backpack from his shoulder.

  Released from that onyx gaze, I sucked in a lungful of air. Though he was as bewitching as a vamp, he had no battle mask, and there wasn’t a red eye or sharp fang in sight.

  Most importantly, he wasn’t attached to my bleeding arm by the mouth. So, not a vampire. I sagged briefly in relief. Then I got to work, wiping down Joyce.

  He rummaged inside his pack, coming up with a couple bottles and a pad. Cracking one of the bottles, he handed it to me. “Drink this.”

  His voice, dark and rich as liquid chocolate, ran along my flesh like a fingertip.

  Getting goose bumps of delight just from his voice finally clued me in. Good grief, was I attracted to him? I had a job to do here. While I like a good release as much as the next person, I couldn’t afford the distraction of tall, dark, and lickable.

  “Thanks.” I snagged the bottle from him—it was water—and drank.

  He opened the second bottle and dashed liquid onto the cloth. “Roll up your sleeve. This will sting.”

  “Sting,” I muttered, sheathing Joyce and shoving up the hoodie’s slashed sleeve. “That’s the word EMTs use to mean hurt like a—mother!”

  I glared at my arm where a long-fingered, bronzed hand was briskly patting antiseptic on my wounds. The damned stuff hurt more than the vamp’s original clawing.

  The man ignored my glare to dig out a large flat packet and a roll of gauze. Opening the packet, he extracted a sterile pad which he set on my wounds. His talented fingers were gentle and efficient. My irritation cha
nged to gratitude as the sting subsided.

  “Thanks.” I nodded at the pad, where he’d anchored one end of the gauze. “You do good work.”

  “Thanks for taking out that creature.” He began to wind the gauze neatly around my arm to hold the pad in place. “Nice sword work.”

  The sincere appreciation in his voice made my insides fizz, and the touch of his strong hands slid a liquid warmth over me, confusing me. I killed vamps out of rage and revenge.

  I’d never been thanked before.

  “Uh—you’re welcome?” I winced at how awkward I sounded. While not what Rey would call “socially adept,” I was usually better than that.

  He simply finished wrapping, tied off the gauze, and held out his hand. “I’m Enkidu.”

  Wow. “No last name? Just Enkidu?” What were his parents thinking?

  His only answer was a shake of his black head.

  “You must have another name.” How had he even survived grade school? “Maybe a nickname? Ezekiel or Bud or Scooby—”

  “Ryker. I sometimes use Ryker.” He sighed as if he found me frustrating. “You are?” His fingers flexed expectantly.

  I stood there, discomfort tangling inside me. When you killed vampires for a living, you didn’t connect easily with other humans.

  People, I could hear my sister say. They’re called people, Kat, not humans. Rey was all about connecting. Especially with… I swallowed, hard. I’d come to Meiers Corners to fight vampires, but also to meet the Stiegs. My birth family.

  I wasn’t afraid of anything, but I was afraid of that, for so many reasons. Strangers who were family, who might not like me once they met me. They might not even accept me.

  Ryker took my hand in his, his warm palm big enough to engulf my whole hand.

  That distracted me from my churning thoughts. Heat flushed up my body and I swallowed a tiny moan. “Um. I’m Kat. Kat Kean.”

  “Nice to meet you, Kat Kean.” He released my hand; I missed the warmth. “I’m a private investigator.” From the contents of his pack, I would’ve guessed EMT, but maybe PIs had as much need for first-aid supplies. “You?”

  “Well…” I never talked about killing suckers because in the beginning I had, and I’d gotten mandatory head-troweling for my trouble. Now I was what my sister called “somewhat discreet” and I called “not such a fumb duck.” I had a few vague, noncommittal answers prepared. “I’m a hunter.”