Fatal Sight (Harbingers Of Death Book 2) by LeAnn Mason (book club reads .TXT) 📕

12

My scream — this one caused by fright — didn’t make it out of my mouth before the man had stepped over the dead body and wrapped his hand around my throat. It wasn’t tight enough to stop my breathing, but a strong warning. The screech he’d startled out of me gargled in my throat as my back hit the kitchen wall. His free arm rose to form a bar across my chest, pressing against me with unnatural force. I was completely pinned since my hands — which had reflexively moved to extract his fingers from my throat — were now crushed between my breasts and his outrageous strength.

“Shh, shh, shh,” he cooed, fetid breath inundating my nostrils as he inspected me like I was a butterfly pinned with needles upon a canvas to be dissected by his discerning eye. Stepping closer, the entire length of his solid body pushing against my immobile one, he continued examining me curiously.

I did the same back simply because he was all I could see and because he had just made himself my focus.

You have to be quick. Analyze your opponent the moment you face them. Identify their weaknesses immediately or else it will be too late.

The man before me was tall, long-limbed with broad-shoulders and narrow hips like Seke. But he lacked Seke’s golden glow; the skin pulled tight across his high cheekbones was as pale as mine. His eyes, so dark they were almost black in the dim lighting, were hooded and hard to read under eyebrows I’d swear were plucked. His nostrils flared as he dipped his sharp chin and...

Did he just sniff me?

Thin red lips spread wide as he smiled, and I realized the red wasn’t his natural pallor. The druid’s blood, like a thick smear of lipstick, added to the menacing look. Two sharp canines glinted as he spoke. Pairing the teeth, the iron-tinged scent oozing from his red mouth, and the tepid temperature of his clammy skin, my stomach dropped. Perfect.

“Ah, a supernatural.” the creepy deader murmured, inhaling again. “But… unusual.”

Back atcha, buddy.

He was definitely not human, but not a species I’d ever met… until now. And, based on the jokes the HDPU had made about them, I hadn’t wanted to. I was encountering a vampire for the first time and had wound up screwing the pooch without even a moment passing.

His attention dropped to my gaping mouth, and his brows furrowed. “A supernatural who screams before death...” The man’s expression flashed to horror. “Banshee?”

Vamp is afraid of me? Well, there’s a blatant weakness.

I also knew of another one. While he was recouping from the shock of what I was, as I had done of him about two beats earlier, I brought my knee up and slammed it where it would hurt. It was my signature move after all.

Doesn’t matter the species. All men are the same.

Except the move didn’t faze him in the least. My knee slammed into his groin hard enough to send an ache through the kneecap in question, and yet, the undead guy didn’t even budge.

He grinned, showing off those iconic pearly whites again and letting out a polite little chortle. “Ah, little banshee, you must be new. If only we were able to feel, I’d take you up on your former offer.” His thumb stroked down my jugular vein and up my carotid artery, continuing its unwelcome path across my cheek to brush my lower lip. His eyes followed the trajectory of his digit. “If only,” he repeated wantonly.

Creep alert. Usually, my response to creeps was a dick-kick, so I was on to plan B.

I lifted my feet, my weight dropping me down the wall, slipping right out from his grip. By the time I rolled behind him, I’d drawn a dagger from my boot. I just barely missed stepping on the druid’s splayed legs as I adjusted my stance wider, ready for combat.

The vampire faced me calmly, clasping his hands in front of him. He was wearing a three-piece suit. Frankly, he didn’t wear the style as well as Seke, looking more like a dressed-up doll, and his outfit was a cold, unfeeling black. “My little banshee, do you mean to fight me?” His brows rose. “How provincial.” His head shook in mock disappointment. He stepped closer.

“Keep coming, and you’ll find out, blood-sucker.” I lifted the knife. “You killed that woman.”

The advance toward me ceased but I surmised that it was not out of fear. He merely wanted to chat. “You mean the druid?” He shrugged. “Of course.”

“Why?” I repeated.

“Why?” He reacted as though I should know, as if I were stupid, which made me bear my teeth and resist a growl that would have made Cole proud. “Are you not a harbinger? It was her time. She had to be disposed of. For the same reason you do.”

“Try it, asshole,” I dared. I was itching to release some tension after all of my failed attempts with the various HD units, and I was pretty pissed that my only clue for binding my powers back up had just been nipped in the bud, literally. “I’ll dispose of you first.”

He let out a long-suffering sigh accompanied by a dramatic eye roll a teenage girl would have been proud of. “If a little knife could stop me, don’t you think a druid might be able to do the same?”

My gaze flicked to the woman’s slipper sticking out at an angle slightly behind me then returned rapidly back to keep my sights on the foe. He may not have been acting aggressively, but he sure was baiting me with his talk. He hadn’t yet stepped out of the ring. I didn’t like the makeshift arena I’d walked into; it was too small, too many obstacles. With his height and limb length, he could reach me just about wherever I scrambled — and that was assuming I didn’t run into a counter or, gods-forbid, a dead druid