Kitty's House of Horrors (kn-7) by Carrie Vaughn (christmas read aloud txt) 📕

close, I saw details: he wore black commando gear, close-fitting fatigues, utility belt, leather gloves, combat boots, even a full-face stocking cap, and black paint shaded the skin around his eyes. Hard-core.

“Let him up,” Anastasia commanded. She stood before us, at the sniper’s head, in perfect position to stomp one of her heels through his skull. Not a hair or fold of clothing ruffled, she didn’t look like she’d been climbing trees.

Lee growled, a gruff noise between a bark and a sigh, and the vampire said, “Let go. I’ll handle this.”

Lee leaned away from the sniper, who jumped to his feet as soon as the pressure was off him. The guy was patting down pockets like he was searching for something he’d misplaced—the first sign of panic he’d shown. Maybe he had stakes or crosses stashed somewhere.

Anastasia didn’t give him time. She grabbed his neck with a hand, fingers bent like claws, stepped around him like they were part of some strange tango. He clutched her arm and screamed, a noise of gruff, primal fear. From behind now, she wrapped her arm around his face and snapped. It all happened in a second. He crumpled in her arms.

I looked away. Lee was panting, crouched on the ground, head bent. His skin had taken on a sickly, grayish tone. Blood draining in fear—or near to shifting?

“Lee?” I murmured.

“I’m okay,” he said, his voice rough. He pulled himself back from the edge. His breathing slowed, and his skin returned to its brown human tone.

Anastasia wasn’t breathing at all. She knelt, the sniper still in her arms, holding his body close, his head cradled on her shoulder. I took a deep breath, collecting scents, gathering information. The sniper—he was still warm. He hadn’t started cooling in death—because his heart was still beating. Anastasia had broken his neck without killing him. She’d known exactly what she was doing.

If I’d had the chance, I probably would have just beaten the guy’s head in or ripped his throat out, depending on how far I was gone. Anastasia’s calculating action left a chill in my gut. I didn’t want to have to look in his eyes and see the knowledge of his impending death. I was a coward. I just wanted a normal life, and this was more proof that I wasn’t cut out for a life so red in tooth and claw.

She was murmuring to him, in mocking seductive tones. “Hush there, darling. You played the game and lost. That’s all. You’ll be able to sleep soon enough, so relax.”

The sniper’s body was limp, still. But his eyes were wide, shining, unblinking. Terrified. I gagged on the lump in my throat.

Gently, careful to keep his head and neck still, to keep him alive for the next few moments at least, she peeled off the knit mask, sliding it up his face, then letting it fall off the top of his head.

“Oh my God,” I said, stepping back, hand over my mouth.

It was Ron Valenti. One of the producers of this horror show.

Chapter 16

He’d covered his clothing with pine sap to mask his scent. Until we were nearly under him, he didn’t even smell like a person, much less one we knew. If I’d caught his scent moving back and forth earlier, it was because he’d been here all week.

Anastasia took the news without a reaction. She stroked his hair, crooning at him like he was a babe in arms.

Lee snarled, which almost sounded like the hiss and bark of an attacking seal. He started toward the prone figure, but Anastasia turned a sharp, commanding glance to him, and I dared to put a hand on his shoulder. His muscles were hard, like wood.

“So nice to see you again, Mr. Valenti,” Anastasia murmured. “But I must say, Armani suits you better than this look.” Her voice was honey and razors at the same time. A hundred clichés about vampires had their origin in a scene like this.

Valenti groaned, his pain and despair clear.

Anastasia shushed him again, low and purring. “I assume your friend Provost is part of this. Who else? Our dear Mr. Cabe? Was the entire company involved? Did you bring in other hunters? Sell tickets for the chance to bag the prize of a lifetime?”

Valenti’s voice came out a whisper. I could barely hear it. He was struggling to breathe. “No… no… no one… else. No…” Tears leaked from his eyes.

“How many more are out here, Mr. Valenti? How many more are waiting to kill us?”

He tried to swallow. Failed, and a line of saliva spilled out of his mouth. He was dying. I could hear his heart fluttering with effort.

Every breath was a failed gasp. “Two… two…” He answered, because no one denied Anastasia.

“Do they have help from the inside? One of the residents? Odysseus Grant, perhaps?”

“Now wait a minute,” I said, and the vampire threw me that look. I clenched my jaw.

Valenti actually chuckled, or tried to, but he wheezed, then choked, probably on spit pulled into his lungs. He coughed, which made the choking worse. Now he wasn’t breathing at all. Terror pulled his whole face taut; his eyes gleamed.

“Shh, shh there.” Anastasia touched his cheek, murmured comforts, but she couldn’t stop the inevitable. She shifted his body, bent over his neck. Valenti was whining now, a high note of desperation. He had to know what was coming. He probably hadn’t seen himself going this way.

Fangs bared, Anastasia bit into him.

I closed my eyes. Lee made a noise of denial and turned away. The light of the moon shone. Long, straight shadows of pine trees fell over us. The lodge, dark except for the candles and flashlights in the front room, hunched like the cottage in a fairy tale. And somewhere out there, two more just like Valenti were waiting to strike.

Valenti had stopped crying. Anastasia’s quiet swallowing was the only sound. When vampires feed solely for sustenance, they don’t need to kill their victims. A few swallows