Desire Unchained

Idiots.

Most vampires adhered to strict rules regarding turning humans, and when a vampire was allowed only a handful of turnings in his entire lifetime, he didn’t waste them on lowlife gangbangers.

Of course, the gangbangers didn’t know that. They played the streets, their fangs-dripping-blood tats and crimson-and-gold gang colors screaming warnings others heeded. No one messed with the Upir.

No one but Wraith.

The Upir came. Seven of them, talking trash, swaggering with overblown arrogance.

Showtime.

Wraith unfurled to his nearly six feet, six inch height, and then dropped the fifteen feet to the ground, landing right in front of the gang.

“Hey, assholes. ’Sup?”

The leader, a stocky white guy wearing a bandana wrapped around his bulbous head, stumbled back a step, but hid his surprise behind a raw curse. “What the fuck?”

One of the punks, a short, fat, crooked-nosed troll—not literally a troll, which was unfortunate, because Wraith could have killed him then—drew a blade from his coat pocket. Wraith laughed, and two other punks produced their own knives. Wraith laughed harder.

“The dregs of human society amuse me,” Wraith said. “Rodents with weapons. Except rodents are smart. And they taste terrible.”

The leader whipped a pistol out of his droopy-ass pants. “You got a motherfucking death wish.”

Wraith grinned. “You got that right. Only it’s your death I wish for.” He smashed his fist into the leader’s face.

The leader rocked back, clutching his broken, bleeding nose. The scent of blood jacked up Wraith’s temp a notch … and he wasn’t alone. The two gangsters at the rear zeroed in on the scent, heads snapping around.

Vamps. One black male, one Latino female, both dressed like the others in baggy jeans, hoodies, and ratty sneakers.

Jackpot, baby. Wraith was going to get some kills in tonight, after all.

Before any of the stunned humans could recover, Wraith sprinted down a side street.

Angry shouts followed him as they gave chase. He slowed, drawing the gangsters in. Nimbly, he leaped on top of a Dumpster and then swung up to a rooftop and waited until they passed. Their fury left a scent trail he could follow blindfolded, but instead, he dropped to the ground, used his infrared vamp vision to see them in the darkest shadows ahead. He hated using any of his vampire skills, including super speed and strength, but vision was the one he truly despised.

Despised, because he hadn’t been born with it. Instead, it had come twenty-two years later, with the eyes Eidolon had transplanted into his head nearly eighty years ago. Every time Wraith looked into the mirror at the baby blues, he was reminded of the torture and pain that had preceded the new peepers.

Kicking himself for letting the past distract him, he silently started the hunt. Normally, he’d take out the vamps first, but the troll was just ahead, huffing and puffing and trailing far behind the others.

He pounced, squeezed the breath out of the squat human and left his unconscious body behind a pile of boxes. Next, he tracked the male vamp, who thought he’d gained the upper hand by swinging around behind Wraith.

Wraith feigned distraction, standing in the open beneath the bright glare of a street light as the vamp crept forward. Closer … closer … yes. Wraith spun, pummeled the massive male with a flurry of fists and feet. The vamp didn’t have a chance to throw a single punch, and once Wraith had hauled him into the darkness beneath an overpass, he took him down. With a knee in the male’s gut and one hand curled around his throat, Wraith drew a stake from the weapons harness beneath his leather jacket.

“What,” the male gasped, his eyes wide with shock and terror, “what … are … you?”

“Buddy, sometimes I ask myself that same question.” He slammed the stake home. Didn’t wait around to watch the show as the vampire disintegrated. There was another one to take out.

Anticipation shivered through his veins as he stalked the female through side streets and alleys. Like the male, she believed she was the one doing the hunting, and Wraith caught her off guard as she crept in the shadows behind a building. He shoved her into the wall, lifting her by the throat so she dangled off the ground.

“This was too easy,” Wraith said. “What is the Vamp Council teaching younglings these days?”

“I’m no youngling.” Her voice was a low, seductive purr, and even as she spoke, she lifted her legs to wrap them around Wraith’s hips. “I’ll show you.”

The scent of lust came off her in waves. His incubus body responded, hardening and heating, but he’d rather kill himself than screw a vampire—or a human, though he had different reasons for not bedding human females.