Knight Predator (2 page)

“Good bye, Crowley. Mummy says you’re
my
angel, and I think so too.”

I smiled and gently touched her cheek in a farewell gesture. I left the house, shaking hands with Mr. Hunter on the way, and took in a huge breath of fresh, almost perfumed night air.

I could feel her staring at my retreating back. Mustering every scrap of self-control, I strolled down their front path on shaky legs and turned to wave at her parents one last time. Bronwyn hid behind her father, peering around his jeans clad thigh and staring at me intently, then lifted a small hand and almost wistfully waved at me. The front door closed and the light was extinguished.

I ran down the street, a blur, faster than the human eye could see.

I ran all the way home. I had planned on hunting the streets close to my house, but my encounter with Bronwyn had changed that.

Pure laziness had spurred that decision, and now I listened to the small voice in the back of my mind that told me feeding close to home would be a horrible mistake. It was always a bad idea to attract attention close to one’s daylight hideaway.

When I got back to my house, shaking like a leaf, stomach grumbling loudly, I barely paused to grab my black helmet. I ran out to my garage on rubbery legs. I mounted my trusty motorcycle and roared into the city through the heavy traffic at breakneck speed, keeping an eye out for a snack. When I got to Kings Cross, the festering, black heart of Sydney, I made sure I parked in the space that was reserved for motorcycles. It was bare of anything other than my mount, and I smiled grimly. I knew what would happen when I parked there, but I was too hungry to care. My vampiric nature had full rein as I hunted for a meal.

It didn’t take long before I finally found her, and as I plunged my sharp teeth into her sweaty, aroused neck, I could almost swear that she came as she died.

Nice to know I hadn’t lost my touch.

As I strolled back through the masses of humanity to my trusty steed, I saw about thirty or so hairy, sweaty human men leaning on my gleaming Japanese bike. I had parked it at the end of the Harley riders’ parking spots on Darlinghurst Road. The spots did not really belong to them, but they bullied anyone who ran in the face of their tradition. Well, to hell with them and their attitudes. It was a public place, wasn’t it?

I sauntered toward them, restless as always, ignoring the wolf whistles. Rough, obscene gestures came from the ones at the back of the pack who thought I couldn’t see them. The ones at the front stood up straight, eyeing me curiously, whispering uncouth comments about my physical attributes to each other. They obviously thought I couldn’t hear them. Well, they were wrong.

I turned to the largest of them, who was leaning against my bike, his arms crossed. He was of middle age, clothed in leather pants, leather vest, and large, scuffed, motorcycle boots. His eyes were small, brown, and mean. His long, oily brown hair was tied at the base of his dirty neck with a leather thong. Tattoos scudded up and down his tanned, wiry arms. Every one of his muscles stood out in sharp relief.

Ugly, smug, smelly bastard.

He eyed me from top to bottom, his gaze lingering on my breasts.

I smiled.

“Hey, love,” he said. “You shouldn’t park this thing here.”

“What did you say your name was?” I asked. The fresh blood that I’d consumed flowed through my system, temporarily warming my cool skin, working its magic on my muscles and my senses.

He frowned at me. “I didn’t. It’s Allenby. Why?”

“Well, Allenby,” I said, making a show of inspecting the asphalt under my bike. “I don’t see your name here. So why shouldn’t I park here again?”

He snorted, exchanging a glance with his annoying, somewhat childish friends. “Fuck you, love. Get this piece of shit out of here. Go get yourself a real bike or a real man that has one.” He got off the seat and turned around, preparing to kick my motorcycle over. I glared at him.

He gave a hissing intake of breath and then howled as my hand squeezed his testicles. He had not seen me move.

“Now, now,” I said. “I
do
own a real bike, and if I ever need a real man I’ll know who
not
to ask.”

I threw him into his shocked compatriots. He collapsed in a heap, wheezing and clutching his battered manhood. The gawkers at the back stared at me then lunged forward to beat the living shit out of me, or worse.

I decided to play with them a bit and threw some of the closer ones back and flicked out a heavily-booted foot and knocked over all the nice, shiny Harleys parked next to my humble steed.

In the middle of the carnage and chaos, I leapt on the back of my bike and roared off, flipping off the ones who were still standing and staring at me in disbelief. I cut through traffic, almost causing several minor accidents.

My hair streamed in the wind out from under my helmet as I laughed all the way home. I never had a lot of time for human men, and thanks to my status as a vampire, I now had the power to do something about it.

Perhaps I should tell you a little more about myself, or at least the way I was back then. I looked—and still do—not a day over twenty-one although I was born seventy-one years earlier. I am a vampire. I allowed myself to be made into one when I was twenty-one by a creature I knew as Sembur, so by the night I had taken a little girl home I had been a vampire for almost fifty years. Sembur had given me a choice: eternal life, youth, and beauty far exceeding the span of normal humans or slow aging and death. Once upon a time these things concerned me, so I said yes to eternal life.

The problem was, I didn’t know what effects it would have on my life. At that time I really started to realize what it was all about, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to be immortal anymore. I was always a survivor, though, and all I really needed was some time to work it all out.

Where am I headed with this? Patience! I’m telling you about how it all began, all those years ago . . .

“Hey, watch it, ya dumb bitch! Women!”

The gangly drunken boy, still staggering, turned to glare at me as I made my way down the narrow sidewalk of Darlinghurst Road through Kings Cross. His friends stood behind him, grinning, equally underage, and smirking as their brave comrade put a woman in her place. They were all wary and dressed the same in garish Hawaiian shirts and dark jeans about three sizes too large, and therefore quite fashionable in their eyes. They watched me curiously, clearly thinking that I would sense their importance and manliness, fearfully apologize and scurry off into the thick crowds of humanity that buffeted us.

I gave my best smile, burning my eyes into him, and flashed my sharp, hungry fangs. The expectant and overbearing expression on his pimply face did not change, so I decided to give him a quick demonstration on stranger danger.

With contemptuous ease, I lunged forward to grab his carefully ironed shirt. To me it was a leisurely movement, but to him it was faster than the blinking of an eye. Combine that with a six foot, muscular body, and I knew it scared the pants off him.

“Now, now,” I said. “Is that any way to treat a lady?”

I lifted him so we could see eye to eye. I noted with disgust his dirty, sparsely bearded skin, and almost unbearable blast of cheap aftershave. His bleary gray eyes widened with anger laced with a surprised glimmer of fear.

He didn’t say anything, just sort of gaped at me like a landed fish, and I laughed to myself. He was all bluster and attitude and no guts to back it up. His friends, the big strong men that they were, backed away, trying not to look embarrassed. He was on his own. It didn’t matter; it would have been no challenge at all if I had wanted to wipe the street with all of them.

“Are you going to apologize?” I asked, smiling.

I was starved; it took all of my self control to be even this patient with him. His friends straightened and shifted as though ready to leave at a second’s notice. I was not about to let him go without an apology.

If I did not get it, I would make them run and I would throw him into the bushes and let him tell them whatever lies he wanted to when he met up with them next.

He nodded frantically, and his shaggy, greasy hair flopped against his forehead. It had finally sunk in that he was the one in trouble and he was appropriately terrified.

“Good. Don’t do it again.” I followed that up with an intense stare, daring him to argue with me. I just wanted to be done with him so I could go back to the more serious pursuit of hunting for a bite to eat.

Again, he nodded so hard I thought his filthy neck was in danger of dropping off.

With no particular gentleness, I put him back on his feet and watched him scurry away like the dung beetle he was. His friends leaned toward him, closing ranks, trying not to make eye contact with him because it would imply that he had not taken the upper hand in our disagreement. His stride was already cocky again, ready for the next engagement. Alcohol had taken precious amounts of the minimal intelligence he probably enjoyed. I shook my head in disgust. One thing I hated about young men was they were so arrogant and self-absorbed. I enjoyed putting them in their place as much as I could.

It was time for me to hunt, and I took in my surroundings with a fond gaze. Humanity teamed all around me, looking for the next flesh show, a whore, a loose wallet, more drink. For the most part they were a happy bunch, more interested in getting laid than getting into fights. Alongside the more heavily scented, well-dressed people were the usual filthy one or two that yelled obscenities at people and things both real and imagined. Some tried to avoid the beggars in the street while mingling with the police walking up and down the dirty pave-ment, keeping alert for any signs of trouble. Cars crawled along the congested two lane road, bathed in a sea of flashing electric light that turned night into day.

I wanted to scent the cool night air, so I pulled a deep breath into my lungs. I could smell the masses of humanity all around me, the soft scent of young girls’ perfume, the stench of the exhaust of all the cars, the vomit, the beer, and the brine from Sydney Harbour that lay close to us.

It was my favorite time. I had always loved this, even when I was alive.

I always took deep pleasure in scouting the world, looking for someone to nibble on. I toyed with the idea of finding that stupid boy and draining him to the last drop, but quickly discarded it. The amount of alcohol in his bloodstream would make him taste rather odd, plus probably make me a little drunk, and quite frankly I didn’t feel like it.

There was also the small problem of the group he was with. I did not relish having to kill all of them. I only really needed to feast on one human victim.

I checked the fringe dwellers of the busy crowd, looking for the lone, unaccompanied person that would be my next snack.

Then I spotted her.

She was young and beautiful and leaning behind one of the buildings, puking her guts out.

With a soft smile of satisfaction, I made my way to her. The sea of humanity parted and allowed me through, without even knowing why they did it. That small gift was courtesy of my vampire blood.

The darkness was no barrier to my keen eyesight. I saw the puddle in front of her, the tears staining her smooth, pale skin—her long, blonde hair in real danger of falling into her waste. Her mini skirt had ridden up her creamy thighs, and I could smell the stale, sugary odor of the spirits she’d consumed and so recently parted with.

I knelt down behind her, and with one hand gently pulled her hair out her face, and with the other hand, massaged her back as she heaved again. I leaned forward and kissed the back of her neck, breathing in the delicate, feminine scent of her humanity. I smiled.

She realized she was not alone and shifted to stare at me with dazed, bloodshot green eyes. They would have been quite beautiful if they had been clear. Struck, I gazed closer at her. Those eyes were familiar, but I could not place them.

She collapsed back so that she was sitting on the ground, unmindful of the view of skimpy underwear that she afforded me.

“Thanks.” Her voice was soft and gentle, with no trace of slurring.

I captured her gaze, willing her to want to come with me. I smiled, radiating good humor. I’d always had a strong personality when I was alive, and now with the brighter eyes I had inherited on my death, I was able to make humans do what I wanted them to do.

It worked on her, and as I stood, I took her with me and pulled her in close.
Bingo
, I thought with satisfaction as her arms slipped around me, and she buried her face in my chest. She gave me a quick, soft kiss on my neck. She sighed and shivered.

“You’re so beautiful.” The words were so quiet I almost missed them.

I was glad she couldn’t see my face as I slipped my arm around her and led her down a dark side alley. Obviously she thought she was going to get laid. She was quite right—but it was going to be her coffin and not my bed.

We stood in the shadows of the side street, and I pulled her around so she was in my arms. I extended my fangs, knowing she could not see them in the darkness, although I could make out every valley and curve of her face and body. Stroking her cheek, I leaned in close, kissed an ear—careful to avoid her pukey mouth, and then whispered,

“What’s your name?”

I brushed her rib cage with my fingertips. I normally did not ask the name of my victims, but she had me intrigued. I hadn’t seen her before, I knew that for certain, but I recognized something in her eyes.

She leaned into me, running her hands over my body, causing the skin to prickle, my hair to stand on end, the most delicious sensation on my cold body. She gazed at me hungrily, shameless face flushed, her eyes dark with desire. Her intent study struck a chord in me, and I focused my attention on the song of memory inside of me that sounded its melody just out of my hearing. Her yearning stare was for me alone.

I was hungry, oh so hungry.

“My name?” Her voice was a whisper as she sank into my eyes, and she began to breathe heavily, skin flushed. “My name. My name is Bronwyn Hunter.”