Darkness Rises

A scuffing sound behind her halted her footsteps.  Swinging around, she drew her swords with a triumphant smile, and . . . 

"Damn it!" 

No vampires faced her with leering, evil intent.  No vampires faced her at all.   

She was alone.  Again. 

More rustling sounded. 

Racing back to the street, she flew around the corner and skidded to a halt.   Nothing.  Just an empty road glowing green from the streetlight at the corner. 

The unmistakable shick, ting, and clang of metal striking metal split the air several blocks away. 

"Oh, no you don't," she growled and took off  running.  She didn't care that she raced down a sharply sloped hill that  would make it damned near impossible to stop once she got going.  She  didn't care that she ran with an unsheathed sword in each hand.  (Her  mother and father's frequent admonitions not to run with scissors chose  that moment to dance through her head.)  She didn't even care that  anyone who saw her' would likely call the police and report a madwoman  fleeing through Chapel Hill, waving deadly weapons, and get her  arrested. 

She had only one goal in mind:  Get to those damned  vampires before Mystery Man did whatever the hell he'd been doing for  the past two weeks and disappeared. 

Her heart pounding in her chest, she honed in on the  battle's location and managed to put on the brakes enough to zip around  the corner at a speed that would keep her from rolling ass over elbows  downhill. 

She jerked to a halt and stared.  

The darkened alley was deserted except for a  dumpster about twenty-five yards away and — she released a growl of fury  — a pair of jeans, a bloody blue sweatshirt, and a pair of bright red  Chucks spread out on the pavement as if they had been laid out by some  kid's mother. 

Krysta sheathed one of her swords, stomped over the  place a vampire had clearly fallen, and grabbed the sweatshirt.  "Oh,  come on!" she shouted, her voice echoing on the somnolent night.  She  shook the sticky clothing at the sky.  "Where are you?" she demanded.   Turning in a circle, she examined every nook and cranny at street level,  then peered up at the rooftops. 

She could see no sign of Mystery Man's unique purple and white aura.  Had he already left?   

Krysta tossed the shirt down in disgust.  "This is bullshit." 

A low chuckle wafted on the night. 

Eyes widening, she drew her second sword and turned in a slow circle.  "Damn it!  Show yourself!" 

"Well, since you asked so nicely," a deep voice laced with a French accent purred behind her. 

Gasping, she spun around and swung a shoto. 

Once more, he caught her wrist.  "Careful."  The warning was gentle, carrying neither malice nor anger. 

Krysta stared. 

His touch sent electricity tickling its way up her arm.  His flesh was warm, his long fingers free of callouses. 

Her heart slammed against her ribs as butterflies erupted in her stomach. She should be furious.  Frightened.  Instead, she felt as excited as she would on a first date. 

Crap.  

Stepping back, she withdrew her arm from his grasp. 

Dropping his hand, he tilted his head and studied her with those entrancing amber eyes. 

Yeah, he was hot all right. 

Short midnight hair glinted in the moonlight.  Faint  stubble shadowed a strong jaw.  Straight nose.  Broad shoulders.  What  was clearly a well-developed, muscular build beneath a black T-shirt  that clung to him courtesy of the vampire blood that saturated its  front.  Slim waist.  Slim hips.  All revealed by the gap in the long  black coat he wore.   

She didn't let her gaze stray further.  The last  thing she wanted to do while facing him was blush like a school girl if  he had a nice package. 

His tempting lips stretched in a slow smile.