The Wolf on the Hill Page 11
“Matt, pick up the slack,” I instructed.
My eyes never wavered from the soulless creature in front of me. In the ten years we’d worked together, Matt and I had come to understand one another pretty well so I didn’t need to elaborate. In my peripheral vision, I saw him nod then walk back down the tunnel we’d just come through.
“Well, well. Not as stupid as you look.” As the creature neared, his haughty smirk exposed yellow, razor-sharp fangs.
I was about to respond with something equally banal when a fight broke out in the tunnel behind me. The harrowing sounds of fists hitting flesh and snapping bones reached my ears along with Matt’s shouts of rage as he fought what sounded like four or five vampires at once.
“Raven! Raven, help me!” Matt shouted.
Damn. I thought about dealing with the creature in front of me first, but then a sound rang out that made my stomach lurch violently and all the air whooshed out of my lungs. Matt screamed—quite literally screamed. The chilling sound echoed off the damp sewer walls, reverberating through my body like it was a physical entity that had taken me by the arms and shaken the living daylights out of me. It was excruciating to listen to.
I was about to charge to Matt’s rescue when the vampire lunged, catching me off guard. I dived out of the way, narrowly missing his teeth, but his clawed hand slashed across my chest, slicing deep. It hurt, badly, but I took a deep breath and pushed the pain out of my mind. I needed to focus on the fight. The sickly sweet, metallic odour of blood reached my nostrils and from the hungry look in the vamp’s eyes, he’d scented it too.
“There’s no escape,” he said in a pedestrian tone that annoyed the crap out of me. The vampire was too sure of himself, too arrogant by far—totally misguided.
The second time he came at me, I was ready for him. His sharp teeth and rancid breath were inches away from my face when I plunged the stake into his chest, hitting the dead centre of his heart. His eyebrows drew together as he looked down and let out an ear-piercing wail before crumpling to the ground at my feet, dead. Unlike his first death, there would be no coming back from this one.
I pulled out my stake right before the vampire’s body began to degrade—aging before my eyes, wrinkling and drying out like a grape on a vine left to wither under the sun’s harsh rays. In a few minutes there would be nothing left to mark his time on earth but a pile of dense ashes. Without sparing another thought for the soulless creature, I raced back down the tunnel to get to Matt, but I was too late. The vampire’s friends had already left and Matt was missing too. What the hell? I leant back against the damp wall and tried to catch my breath. I had to find him before it was too late.
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About the Author
Jorja Lovett is a British author with both Irish and Scottish roots, which makes for a very dry sense of humour. Writing since she was old enough to wield a pen, it wasn’t until she joined her crit group, UCW, that she pursued her passion seriously.
Now, with Joe Manganiello as her permanent muse, if she can leave the pause button on her Magic Mike DVD long enough, she hopes to spend the rest of her days writing steamy romances.
Email: jorjalovett@hotmail.co.uk
Jorja loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.
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