PROLOGUE
ROSA
So, ladies—you know that moment when your eyes lock onto a man so fine he literally takes your breath away? A man so unnaturally hot that you can’t quite believe he’s real and standing right there in front of you? The kind of hot that usually means you’re watching an ad for expensive cologne or a TV show about Navy SEALs—or in this case, a combination of both?
I’m talking smoldering eyes, luscious lips, shoulders broad enough to carry the world… and a look on his face that says no matter how feral he makes you feel, he feels it even harder.
The kind of man who can make you squirm with just his voice. The kind of man who you know will give you the best sex of your entire life and will respect and protect you—as well as fuck the living daylights out of you. A man who can turn pain into pleasure, pleasure into ecstasy, and ecstasy into an everyday event.
So, imagine that man walks into your life. You’d be stupid not to hold on tight and go along for the ride, right? Even if there were a few drawbacks. A few tiny niggles. Like… he’s a ruthless predator who’s probably killed hundreds of people. Like he’s part of an evil crime empire that makes the Mafia look like a book club.
Like he’s technically dead.
Shit. Well, nobody’s perfect… And it does make things interesting. Should I give in and let myself become his? Or will the sparks that fly between us grow into a raging inferno that burns me alive?
Considering how the universe seems determined to fuck with me, do I have a choice?
CHAPTER 1
ROSA
Another city, another rooftop, another night, I think, wriggling deeper into my jacket. This particular rooftop has loose tiles, weeds growing from the gutters, and rain. Lots and lots of rain. Plus—extra glamour points here—about a million pigeons… and all the good stuff that comes out of pigeons. Eeeuw.
One of them is sitting inches away from me, feathers puffed up against the cold, its beady eyes flicking left and right as it tries to figure out what this strange human is doing in its territory. At three a.m. In the rain.
“Hi,” I whisper. “I’m Rosa Capelli. I’m a vampire hunter with a magic necklace. I like long walks on the beach and pretending I’m super tough to hide how messed up I am. What’s your deal?”
The pigeon stares at me with curiosity… or possibly pity. It doesn’t answer though, which is good. The minute the flying rats start replying, you know you’re in trouble.
Truthfully, the bird’s not the only one wondering what I’m doing here. I’ve been on surveillance for the last two hours, and I’ve seen nothing more interesting than a bunch of drunk women in pink bunny ears and lacy veils. The British equivalent of a bachelorette party, it seems.
Like this ass-numbing drizzle is the British equivalent of summer.
When I landed earlier, I welcomed the cool whisper of night air after leaving Chicago sweltering in the grip of an energy-sapping heatwave. Now, several hours, one rental car, and two failed pickup attempts by businessmen in the hotel bar later, I miss the warmth. And the pizza. And not being on a rooftop.
The pigeon takes a cautious trot toward me, beak dipping and rising, chest jerking with its shallow breath. I make a quiet hissing sound until it flaps its wings and retreats with a comical strut.
I am lying on top of an old dance club, gazing down at the fading nightlife below. It was once called the Boom Boom Box, before its windows were boarded up and its doors nailed shut. Now I guess it’s just a box on the shabby end of town where people go when they run out of options.
The other bars on the street have started to shut down for the night. The crowds spilling from the brightly lit venues have thinned out, and bartenders and waitstaff and bouncers are emerging, cigarettes in hand, looking washed-out after the final cleanup. Chairs stacked, floors mopped, cash counted, lights off, then home. That last part sounds real good to me right about now.
I bite my cheeks sharply to prod myself alert and give myself a mental kick up the ass. I am here to do a job, and that job isn’t to bitch and moan and feel sorry for myself. There’s no use remembering a time when my family was still whole and I might not have been doing this alone. Those times are gone.
Giving in to the melancholy is dangerous. I need to feel dauntless, not drained. There are promises to keep, visions to obey, and an ugly-ass vampire to kill. If he ever shows up, that is. I pull my hood tighter around my hair and carry on scanning the streets around me.
This particular scumbag has been popping up in my visions for weeks now. It’s been a real fun ride, spending my nights in his degenerate head, seeing the trail of destruction he’s left behind him. All vampires can be dangerous, but not all of them are greedy, immoral, one-monster wrecking crews like this guy. But when they are, that’s when I show up.
Only recently, though, did I see enough background clues to track him here, to this seedy place on the other side of the world.
My visions, the “Call” that shows me who I need to hunt, aren’t perfect. What I saw yesterday might not apply today. I could have missed him or read the signs wrong, or he could have gone on a last-minute spa break. It could be the whole journey has been a waste, but it’s too early to make that determination. I have hours left of my nighttime vigil—my stakeout with my stake out.
On the street below, a lone woman staggers in her bright red stilettos, randomly wavering on and off the sidewalk. A sick gazelle separated from the herd. If ever a sight were going to lure my target, this is it.
I flex my hands, check my equipment, and get ready to move. The gazelle heads past a dark alleyway cutting down off the main drag, and then she… disappears.
One minute she’s there, walking her drunken walk, and in the time it takes to blink, she’s gone. That means I’m finally going to get my fight on, and I am pumped.
I leap to my feet and skid on a loose tile. Spooked, the flock of pigeons flies up and away in a cloud of dust and feathers. I head for the rusted-iron fire escape at the side of the building and run down the first flight, then jump over the side of the next. I splash down into a puddle—did I mention that there was a lot of goddamn rain?—before I regain my balance and shoot off toward the alleyway.
