Vampire Hunter: Shadow Hunter. Anna Hackett

he was excellent at, it was staying detached in intense situations. He wasn’t used to dealing with vampiresses, but there was a first time for everything.

      He held the gun steady, resting right against her skull. “Drop your weapon.”

      With slow tentative movements, she spread her arm to her sides, so he could see the firearm. She released the magazine clip, and it fell onto the floor before she dropped the gun.

      He increased the pressure on the base of her skull. “Names. All the high-ups in the Rochester nests.”

      In a risky decision, she spun away from his gun, grabbing hold of his hand and digging her long fingernails into his metacarpals. A very smooth martial arts move. He let her go and released the gun, not from the pain, but from the reassurance of his silver dagger. Giving her a false sense of accomplishment could work in his favor. With quick agility, she threw a roundhouse kick. He blocked the blow from his face, but the force of her attack gave him pause.

      She was strong and an impressive fighter, but she was no match for him. He grabbed hold of her leg and twisted. She lost her balance, toppling toward the ground, but he caught her midfall, holding her.

      With precision, he pulled his dagger from his sleeve and forced it against her throat. Not enough to make her bleed, just so she could feel its presence. He had to know for certain if she was a vampire. He couldn’t bring himself to harm a woman without being sure.

      She stopped struggling. Smart.

      He backed her into the corner nearest the light switch. If he got lucky and she was angry or afraid enough, her irises would reveal the answer to him. “Turn around.”

      She did as she was told. He pushed her body against the wall with his own, the dagger still at her throat. With his free hand, he flipped the switch.

      Then wished he hadn’t.

      Damon’s breath rushed from his lungs, and his heart skipped several beats. Adrenaline kicked into his system like a tidal wave. Every inch of his skin electrified. He was a live wire, all senses enhanced and awake from their deadened state. His arousal was instantaneous as the sweet smell of her perfume hit his nose. She smelled like baked cinnamon apples, autumn spices, vanilla and sweet, sweet sex.

      He’d never been one to stop and take in the beauty of the world, but he was certain that her face was more gorgeous than anything he’d ever laid eyes on. Her thick dark brown hair fell just past her shoulders, and from that he recognized her as the woman from the bar. His eyes trailed over that gorgeous hair, which stopped just above a pair of ample breasts that pushed against him. Her slender frame felt amazing against his body.

      But what completely entranced him was her stare. A pair of large honey-colored eyes rimmed with dark layers of full lashes gazed up at him. A slight hint of fear showed behind her irises, mixed with the drive to fight, and he immediately hated himself for being the one to put that fear there. He cursed silently. What was wrong with him? He never regretted terrifying bloodsuckers, and she wasn’t even afraid enough to give him the answer he sought. He cursed himself again. God, she was gorgeous. Vampiresses were impressive beauties, but no woman he’d ever seen, human or vampire, compared to her.

      No. He snapped his attention into focus.

      He wouldn’t be distracted. He clenched his jaw and crushed his own desire. How could he be thinking of sex? Mark was a vampire, and it was his fault. His own neglect had killed his closest friend—more than once. It was his fault Caius had stolen Mark’s life. If he’d only staked Mark as an extra precaution before the building exploded, Mark wouldn’t…

      He pushed all his feelings deep inside himself, where there was no escape. His focus wouldn’t be broken, not again. He had three tasks he needed to accomplish: kill Caius to avenge Mark’s death, end the gruesome killings plaguing Rochester’s streets…and murder his best friend.

      He would not let her faze him. His brain fought to concentrate, but his body was saying otherwise. Not once had he ever had this problem. Well, not since she refused to answer his letters.

      He wished he could end it right then, draw the blade across her throat and free himself from the agony of wanting her. He scowled, disgusted with himself. Wanting a vampire? The thought made his stomach churn. But bloodsucker or not, he’d never laid a hand on a woman, and he hoped he wouldn’t have to change that now. Unless an innocent life was in danger, he doubted he could bring himself to do it, and his life was far from innocent.

      Still, something in his gut protested that he needed to know for sure what she was, and there was one sure way.

      He shook his head. The sight of her Mark of Caine would shock him back to normal. To the version of himself that had little interest in women when there was a job at stake—and there always was, especially now.

      “Turn,” he said. When she didn’t move, he increased the pressure on her neck. “Turn around.”

      With a glare of pure hate in her eyes, she turned away from him.

      Before she could escape, he locked his arms around her, pressing her back against his body. He held the knife to the front of her throat and forced her to bend over. If the mark was there, he wouldn’t hesitate to use the necessary force to get answers from her. Then, female or not, he would do what he had to do.

      As his gaze trailed the length of her spine, he caught himself admiring the curve of her ass. Her round behind rubbed against him. Holy smokes…Had he ever wanted a woman so badly? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been interested in sex.

      No distractions. He was weak, selfish. Stupid.

      Need raced through his veins while he lifted the hem of her black tank top. He hooked two fingers beneath the edge of her leather pants, then slid them down an inch. The two cute dimples just above her ass were enough to leave him wanting for days, but her skin was smooth and unmarred.

      No mark. A female vampire’s Mark of Caine always appeared on her lower back. He blinked several times. He found himself at a loss for words. “Where’s your…?”

      “My what? My vamp stamp? News flash, buddy, I don’t have one.”

      That she even knew what a “vamp stamp” was gave him pause. He released her shirt and allowed her to stand up straight, but he maintained the knife at her neck. An odd sense of relief washed over him, and he immediately chastised himself. Whether she was human or not, he had a job to do. “Who are you, and why are you wielding a gun in a dark room in a known vampire club?”

      She shook her head. “Tell me who you are, and then maybe I’ll consider sharing.”

      He pressed the sharp blade against her skin, reminding her of its presence. He didn’t have the patience for this. “I’m the one with the knife,” he said.

      She stood completely still, nothing but the rise and fall of her chest giving away her agitation. “Touché.”

      He forced her toward the wall again. She turned around before he even told her to do so. She was trying to show her lack of fear by taking the lead, not waiting for directions. Not surprising, with her overly trigger-happy attitude, but her confidence was her weakness. Her gaze met his in a show of defiance, but he wouldn’t let himself be fooled into picking a fight. He was easily twice, if not three, times her size. Though she well trained in fighting, she would never be a match for him.

      He held her stare until finally she looked away.

      “Tell me your name,” he demanded.

      She closed her eyes, glanced at the floor and let out a deep breath. Her eyes flickered up to meet his gaze again. “Sandra—”

      He pushed her harder against the wall. “Real name.”

      She gaped at him as if he’d slapped her. “How do you know that’s not my real name?”

      “Everyone has a poker tell.” One of the things he’d learned in his time at the E.U. headquarters was to interpret body language. It came in particularly handy