Dirty Rotten Vampires 1
Hurt Me Good
A cold heart plus hot blood sweetens the pain.
Barringer Ganteau has hunted enough demon-mixed vampires to last a million lifetimes. His wish is to see all demi-vamps maimed, preferably dead. Single-handedly, he attempts to vanquish the scourge of mixed breeds from the face of the earth. Then Ringer meets Armada, a demi-vamp with the power to deliver the kind of pain he desires and melt his frozen heart.
Armada comes from Haiti, carrying the exotic heat of the islands and her kind with her. When she faces a cold-hearted vampire, a being superior to her mixed heritage, she vows to hate him as much as he hates her. Armada hadn’t reckoned with the vamp’s ability to use pain to bring out a side of her she had not known existed.
She’d only learned about the demon blood a few months ago. Hell, she didn’t want to sprout horns or grow a tail. She had witnessed firsthand what a diseased demi-vamp looked like when she hunted with Split. The ragged teeth and yellow skin made her sick.
“Guess I’m not the only one in the room who kills demi-vamps.”
She spun to catch him watching her from the doorway. “Fuck you.”
“Oooh! Go to hell.”
“A place more suitable to your kind.” Armada didn’t grasp the meaning of his glare. Ringer’s voice grew softer. “Come eat, I cooked.”
“Why when you could fabricate it.”
“Because I like to cook and fabricated doesn’t taste as good.”
“Probably tastes like shit.”
Red circled his violet eyes. She understood that look having seen it often when Split became irritated. “You can let me know; I’ve never tasted shit.” She reached for a vase on the table and lifted it to hurl at his head. “Can you afford to replace that? I will take it out in trade.”
“God, I hate you.”
“Living with me is easier once you understand my rules.”
“I’m not living with you.”
“Yeah, you are.” He strode to stand beside her seat. “One, don’t throw my shit around; two, eat what I cook or fabricate your own shit.” He wrapped a curl of her hair around his finger. “Three, when we fuck, we do it my way or not at all.”
Standing, she walked past him and turned. “I like not at all.”
“Honey, you’ll be in my bed by nightfall.”
He walked to where she stood. “Linen closet is at the top of the stairs. You’ll need bedclothes for the sofa.”
“You only have one bedroom?” She glanced around the space for the first time. Expensive antiques dotted shiny plank wood floors. The furniture was masculine and in a mix of dark chocolate and red hues. Large windows remained bare of curtains. Probably a voyeuristic jackass. The living room was large and bright. Good thing there was no truth to the fact vampires could only move around at night. Sunlight streamed in the window. “One bedroom?” From the floor plan, she knew upstairs held more than a single room, unless, of course, it was a damn large room.
He laughed and looked over his shoulder. “Only one you can enter.”
“Hope you like baked chicken.” He grinned. “With lots of garlic.”
“I’ll fix a salad.”
She reached the kitchen in time to see him fork a breast and a thigh onto a plate. He followed the chicken with a large dollop of mashed potatoes. “Do I look like a salad fixings kind of guy to you?”
“Jesus.” She yanked open the refrigerator door and peered inside. Closing her eyes, she attempted to bring salad greens to Barringer’s house. Nothing. She could transport, but that was with Split’s help, and right now, he seemed absent from her head. One day she’d get the hang of vampire tricks and be able to use them by herself. Spying an old, spotted apple, she grabbed it. “This will do.”
“Whatever.” He bit into the meat and chewed for a minute. That was followed by a big helping of potatoes. After he’d swallowed the food, he took a sip of white wine. He gazed at her with his head tilted. “You’re thick enough to miss one meal.”
The apple slammed dead in the center of his plate sending the chicken flying into his lap and mashed potatoes covering the front of his shirt.