Stiltz (Once Upon a Harem #3)
C.M. Stunich
1
Crouching in shadows is what I do best.
One could even argue that I was born for it. A smirk curls my lips as I crouch at the end of the alley, my gaze focused on a man in a sharp suit and the pale-skinned girl sucking on his neck. Weird part is, she’s not the vampire in this scenario.
Neither of them are.
It’s the teenage girl leaning against the pole not ten feet away, watching the couple kiss and flirt on an empty street while she smokes a cigarette. How annoying, vampire nobility hunting like dhampir trash.
With a grin, I grab the edge of the old brick wall, using the toes of my boots to climb up onto the roof. There are two dead bodies up here, and I’m about to add another.
Of course, I didn’t kill the first two; she did.
Pausing at the edge of the roof, I watch the teen finish her cigarette with a sigh, eyes locked on the couple as they break apart briefly and the woman taps something out on her phone. She’s probably calling a car, but there’s no way in hell the vamp girl is letting them get into it.
A quick glance around shows me nobody’s looking, so I hop off the roof and land in a totally epic crouch. Yep. Even dhampir filth have some pretty neat tricks.
“Hey.” Just that one word, resonating with power, draws the vampire’s gaze around to mine. Her eyes catch mine and she frowns. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” I’m asking loudly enough that she doesn’t have much choice. The couple's already staring at us both with curious expressions, drawn to the irresistible pull in my words. If I were to amp it up a little, I could have them licking my feet.
“What do you want?” the girl snarls, getting up close and personal with my face. She’s a fuck of a lot taller than I am—most blue-blood vamps are. I’ve never met a royal shorter than six feet. Hell, I’ve never met a vamp less than five-ten, period. “I’m fucking busy.”
“Oh, you looked it,” I promise, pointing up at the roof with my left hand. The dark-haired girl with the ice-blue eyes gives me a look and a sniff, wrinkling her nose as soon as she scents the human blood flowing beneath my inked skin. Being half-vampire and half-human totally blows. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about: your two friends upstairs.”
Her smirk almost knocks my own off my face. It’s dripping with condescension and superiority. She thinks she walks on water, this chick, and she’s what? The third daughter of a low-ranking noble. Please.
If this bitch is this bad, just imagine how a member of the royal family must act. I’m barely allowed to look at upper management, let alone interact with them, but from what I can see from afar, they don’t impress me much.
“Need help finding something to eat?” the girl asks me, canting her head to one side. Her silky black hair falls over one shoulder and her breathing just...stops. She’s undead, which is fine. The cockier they are, the harder they fall. There aren’t a lot of dhampirs out there that can do what I do, but I’m a firm believer in confidence. If I trust myself to accomplish a task, I’ll find the strength no matter what.
Like killing an undead vampire royal.
No problem.
No problem at all.
Too bad I’m not a pureblooded vamp or I wouldn’t sweat so much when I lied to myself.
Behind the vampire girl, a black car pulls up, the couple gets in, and it drives away.
Uh-oh.
I flick my attention back to my new friend.
“Because I sure do,” the vamp drawls. “And dhampir blood is the fucking shit.”
She lunges at me before I have the time to figure out a game plan. Crap. Usually these upper nobility types like to talk a lot before they start murdering. It’s sort of their thing. Besides, aren’t I supposed to be the vampire hunter here?
But this woman is determined, throwing herself into me with the force of a dump truck and knocking me onto the pavement so hard that my skull cracks and I see white spots in front of my eyes. Her sharpened canines plunge into my throat, and I groan at the sudden wash of hormones. Getting bitten by vamps sort of...rocks. Like, it feels amazing—even to a dhampir.
I’ve been here, done this before though. Instead of sighing and relaxing into death’s embrace, the way nature intended, I grab Ethel—my .45 semi-auto with hollow-point ammo filled with rowan ash—and shove it into the vampire’s PINK velour sweat suit. Like, since when did the undead waltz around in Victoria’s Secret workout wear? Whatever happened to leather pants and velvet tube tops?
Oh.
That’s right.
I’m wearing them.
I pull the trigger and a bullet rips through the girl’s middle, making her scream this anguished, echoing sound that bounces around the empty streets and sets off a car alarm. Fun fact: vampires are actually distantly related to faeries, banshee in particular. While a banshee’s cries can literally kill a person, a vampire’s just hurts like a bitch.
Shoving the girl off, I send her rolling off the curb and then do my best to find my feet. It’s not easy, with all those pheromones poisoning my blood and whispering beautiful nonsense in my veins. I lift Ethel up and point it at the vamp, but in a flash, she’s gone, reappearing at my side and grabbing a handful of my hair. She throws me down hard enough that my knees crack, and I know with an awful sinking feeling I’ll be out late hunting healing supplies. And by healing supplies I mean sex and blood.
Dhampirs heal unnaturally quick, but it’ll take longer than I can afford to be back at full strength. Sex and blood, however, can speed up the healing process immensely. The sinking feeling in my stomach is because I doubt I’ll get any sleep in the next twenty-four hours. Vamps do business at night, party in the morning, and sleep in the bright light of day. I don’t have much choice but to live with their rules. Technically, I’m due back to the Family House at noon to get my orders from the human servants and give my report on tonight.
Using my right hand, I spin the gun to the side and pull the trigger again, shooting the girl in the thigh. Vampires are tough motherfuckers, but that often puts them at a disadvantage when fighting me. They expect hand-to-hand combat and magical brawls. But hey, I’m half-human and my mom grew up in Texas so...I’m totally cool with a .45 in hand, something these arrogant undead assholes never expect.
The girl shrieks again and stumbles back, her face that of a teenager. But, since she’s dead, who knows how old she really is? Have you ever noticed how vampires in books and movies are always like two hundred years old? I bet that’s how old this shithead is—a nice, round, clichéd two hundred.
Blood spatters the pavement behind her as I yank my blonde waves from her grip, hitting the ground with one palm and the knuckles of my other hand as I grip Ethel for dear life. Rowan ash keeps vampire wounds from healing without blood or sex to fuel the process. It won’t kill this girl, but all I’m trying to do is slow her down enough to get out my sword.
Yeaaaaah, I carry a sword around.
I’m all sorts of special.
Using the brick wall of the nearest building, I haul myself up and turn around in time to fire off another shot into the vamp’s chest. Red and pink spray catches the streetlights overhead as she stumbles, and I step nimbly out of the way. Turning casually, I fire off four more shots into her back and watch without sympathy as she crashes to the pavement.
If I let her, she’d drain me dry and dispose of my body along with the two humans on the roof. Did I mention that vampires don’t need to kill to eat? In fact, most of the Family Houses provide willing participants to all but their lowest subjects—like their dhampirs, for example.