Blood Claim Laura Mykles (best classic novels txt) 📖

cheeks and a thin streak of the palest of pinks for lips. The way the man held his mouth in a firm line made Hunter imagine a kiss from those powerful lips would be demanding and just as bold as the man's unwavering stare. Hunter had felt slightly undressed by the look. And aroused.

He examined the pictures more closely. Breath caught in his lungs and his throat tightened as he noticed the level of wine in the glass changed in each shot, decreasing slightly. But no one was there to drink it. Where was the man?

The photographs had been meant to fuel a few harmless wet dreams, but now Hunter had the unsettling impression this man could be the source of his disturbing nights. But that was ridiculous. He was just a man. Attractive and sexy, but a man.

"Must have been a bad roll of film. That's it. Bad film. That's gotta be it.” But instead of tossing them into the wastebasket, he carefully took them out into the living room and laid them on a nearby table.

* * * *

Two nights had passed since Malcolm last visited his prey, nights spent thinking, examining, and planning. Two nights of questioning himself, searching his feelings and thoughts, reliving his past lives and lovers. They had been long, cold nights filled with few revelations. Malcolm had never been a man who deluded himself. He was harsh, unforgiving, the ultimate survivor over the long centuries. But he did so alone, unhindered by any of the human qualities William had prized. He considered mercy, charity, love human weaknesses. But it had been those very qualities in William that Malcolm had secretly admired, desired to embrace, if only vicariously through the other vampire. Maybe William wasn't the only one who could provide those connections for him. Maybe it was time for a change.

The sidewalk bench was made of concrete and wooden slats, both materials still warm to the touch in the last feeble rays of sunlight. The park behind him was still populated with restless children and chattering adults, all winding down from a Sunday spent together. It was a small park, mostly grass and swing sets, with no shadowed alcoves for unsavory types to lurk.

Malcolm settled onto the bench and waited, long black cashmere coat casually draping his strong, hard-muscled frame, forever preserved as it was on the final night of bloody battle when he had the misfortune to stumble across a creature feeding on the dying warriors on the battlefield. In a flash of teeth and pain, his human existence had ended.

He had been disoriented and outraged at first, but as he learned his new abilities, he reveled in his unimaginable power and strength. Regret over his lost human existence had never entered his warrior's mind or his warrior's heart. He had no close ties, his tribesmen all dead at his feet, and had found no need for any companions since. He preferred to face millennia alone, the way vampires were meant to live.

The chatter of tired children faded away on a sharp gust of autumn wind that brought a fresh scent to Malcolm. His nostrils flared, eager for more, and his lips twitched as he realized his mouth was watering, anticipating the first sweet taste of his prey's ruby-red blood. His teeth ached and his cock stirred, an obvious bulge in his finely tailored suit pants. He did so love the thrill of the hunt and the anticipation of the coming kill. He wondered how much terror he had managed to instill in Hunter these last few nights. Fear always gave the blood a sharp tang he had grown to appreciate and savor over time. Like fine wine and the most fragrant single malt scotch.

Shadows grew longer, darker, seemingly muffling the street noises like an old familiar cloak, wrapping the sky and surrounding trees in a blackened huddle. Only the sound of the rustling trees penetrated the cloak, the sky empty of moonlight and stars. Streetlights popped on one by one, but their yellow glare did nothing more than cast an eerie shimmer on the scene.

A foul stench struck Malcolm as a pair of twenty-something young men in too-large jeans that hung off their hips and bagged at their kneecaps strolled into sight, their sneering faces and curled lips so typical of the generation. Malcolm held their hostile stares until they could no longer face his steely glare, disappearing around a corner and out of sight. Their rough, uneducated voices carried easily to Malcolm's sensitive hearing.

"Let's go back an’ roll that guy, Rock. Dude, he gots money. You see he got it. Let's go back."

"No way, man. You look at his eyes? Them dead eyes, Jam. I ain't messin’ with a guy with no dead eyes."

"You a pussy, Rock."

"Fuck you. You do him yourself, you such a man."

"Fuck that. Let's jack a ride instead. Gotta be a BMW in this neighborhood."

The voices faded and so did their owners’ foul scent. Any other night, Malcolm would have gladly relieved them of the burden of their directionless lives without a care, but tonight he had a sweeter toy to play with.

A battered Buick with a hole in its muffler rumbled past, nearly deafening with its choked wheezes, but the tapping of light footsteps under the noise made Malcolm cock his head to gather the sound more fully to him.

The soft tap of leather soles to concrete was distinctive now, a slight skipping gait that included frequent half turns and rapid shuffles to regain momentum. Hunter Pray walked like he needed to take in everything in his surrounds, constantly looking around him in a dizzying three-sixty spin as he journeyed through life. There was something about that restless, eager quality that caused Malcolm's chest to ache ever so slightly.

Casual and relaxed, the vampire settled back on the sidewalk bench, his gaze brazenly tracking the smaller man striding toward him, a light bouncing pace making Hunter's longish fawn bangs flop into his hazel eyes. One hand