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549 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2012
‘Kaspar, are we going to clean this one up or just leave it?’ said the one who stood nearest the fountain,
even his fiery red hair dull compared to the water he swirled his fingers through.
‘We’ll leave it as a little message for any other hunters who think they can cross us,’ he replied.
‘Scum,’ he added, spitting on the nearest limp body.
His voice had lost its cool and had been replaced with a deep, satisfied sneer, and anger began to
override the fear as I watched him carelessly kick the arm of another dying man out of his way, causing
him to let out one last meagre moan.
‘Jerk,’ I breathed.
So did I. I held my breath, stomach knotted. He can’t possibly have heard me from across the square.
That’s just not possible. But slowly, almost leisurely, he turned so that he faced me.
“Kidnapped by a vampire, death by a squid. How tragic.”
“He sighed, his hands tangling themselves in my already-knotted hair. “Violet, don’t ever leave me. Whatever happens; however things get, just don’t go. Please.”
In a blur he launched himself across the room. He collided with my side to take me with him, and I was sent rolling across the bed, coming to a halt when my head hit the bedside cabinet. I let out a scream as he landed on top of me, pinning me to the bed. I winced through gritted teeth as the corner of the cabinet dug into my spine.
“Get off me, you horny git!” I screeched, kicking and flailing, revolted at his closeness.
“Why, am I making you uncomfortable? Maybe I will use you instead!” he snarled, a tormenting smirk twisting his face. His eyes were devoid of any emotion—he meant it. Straddling me with one leg either side of my stomach, he forced me deeper into the mattress, pinning my hands above my head. He began to pull my shirt up, and I heard squeals of protest from Charity, which merged with the protests of the mattress as I tried to fight free.
He snarled, hastily clamping a hand down over my mouth. I attempted to bite at his fingers but found myself quickly subdued.
“Play nicely now,” he mocked, pressing himself closer. I caught sight of the deranged, lustful glint in his blood-red eyes. My eyes widened and I was hushed to silence, terrified.
“Come on, Girly, just a little drop of blood. I’m so hungry. You’ll enjoy it.”
I scowled and thrashed about as he lay draped across me, pressing his crotch hard into my stomach.
I did not move, still rubbing my chest. “My name is not ‘Girly’! It’s Violet!”
Like a shot he was just inches away from me, forcing me against the wall as his hand wrapped around my neck. A single finger was pressed against my vein, stroking it.
“And I’m the fucking Prince!” he snarled, grip tightening. My eyes widened and I struggled under him but his grip just tightened. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see his face, so close to mine and reeking of blood. A single image flooded my mind behind myclosed eyes: the lifeless body of Claude Pierre, crumpled and bleeding on the stone flag.
“I could snap that pretty neck of yours in two with less effort than it would take for you to squeal,” he whispered in my ear. “So I suggest that you do what we say, because you can’t outrun us and the police won’t stop us.”