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The Ninja Vampire's Girl
Michele Hauf








The Ninja Vampire’s Girl

Michele Hauf







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Coco Stevens has a taste for adventure—enough to risk stealing a halo from a Fallen angel to help her sister. But she never imagined her mission would land her in the arms of a scarred—but still dangerously sexy—vampire!

Zane is on his own quest to hunt a Fallen angel, and will do whatever it takes to win…including bite the interfering Coco. Even if it joins them by an erotic bond that warms both vampire and mortal's blood with desire…




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven




One


London

I glided down the vast marble hallway, which was trimmed in gilded and plaster frieze, relieved to be away from the ballroom tucked amongst the wigs and damasks, satins and frockcoats. The party was to die for, the people gorgeous and the champagne and chocolate endless.

But I was not here for drink or flirtation.

Veering toward the lone ottoman, placed in the center of the grand hallway, I plunged onto the tufted velvet and turned onto my back. The tight corset squeezed my ribs but I liked the snuggly feeling. And it pushed up my breasts nicely, making me feel sensual and womanly.

Alençon lace at my elbows hung over my wrists, and I blew it aside to inspect the mehndi stained onto the palm of my hand. It was traditionally worn for weddings and celebrations, but I had hopes the sigils worked into the design would provide protection.

Scanning the three-story room with a vaulted ceiling that looked as if Michelangelo had set up a scaffold beneath, my eyes took in the elaborate gold frieze, gaudy paintings and portraits, and crystal chandeliers. So much artwork in this hall, it resembled something from the British Museum.

"It could be anywhere," I muttered, sliding my hand down the black satin corset.

The red damask bodice was sown to the corset, but the red ribbons tying down the front of the corset were for show. Too busy for my taste, but the whole costume worked for this adventure.

I did like adventure. Adventure was my middle name.

Along the ceiling, plaster angels had been worked into the cornices, but they were all pudgy cherubs. Nothing so bold and virile as what I had hopes to find.

A musical jingle sounded in the stillness. I tugged a cell phone out from the side of the corset where it nestled against my breast, and answered.

"Cassandra? Yes, I'm here at the party. No, haven't found it yet. You're sure Leonard Marshall has one?"

My sister shuffled papers on her end—that would be a sweet little flat in Berlin—while my eyes strayed over the painting of a grazing horse, and then to the more modern, and frankly, groovy canvas that featured bright-colored rings dancing over a black background.

"It's got to be there, Coco."

"Wait." I sat up, wincing as the corset dug into my ribs. "I think I found it. Talk to you soon, Caz."

Tucking away the phone, I approached the groovy canvas hung above the right corner of the doorway. I squinted discerningly. One ring on that painting was most definitely not like the others.

"Score."

There was enough fancy plasterwork and wood chair railing on the wall to facilitate a makeshift rock climber like in the gym I attended…okay, so I paid membership fees, but the last time I worked out was too long ago to remember.

Pushing aside the bothersome poufy skirts to reveal my legs, I fit my ballet flat above the baseboard plaster decoration, found finger-holds above a cherub's head and started to climb.

I'd left the hallway door open about a foot and the music from the ballroom—18th century harpsichord fused with techno thump—promised the revelers would party all night in celebration of Midsummer. I wasn't much for parties. My adventuring kept me pretty busy. And I could hardly think to celebrate when my sister was in trouble.

Securing my fingertips along the top of the door frame, I managed to boost up with my toes. The ring secured onto the canvas was a reach away.

My toe slipped on the satin hem of the dress. I slapped my free hand high, clasping the ring…and teetered backward into a freefall.



The woman landed in my arms, a flailing scatter of limbs and swishy satin. I caught her easily, her huge dress disguising her fey weight.

"It's not every day a bloke catches an angel," I said. "And looky here, this angel comes complete with halo."

She kicked and struggled so I let her stand and shuffle away. She shook the halo at me, prepared to spout some nasty reply, but she did not. Her jaw fell, and her bright green eyes fixed to my face.

"It's not polite to stare, love." I stroked my cheek. "It's just a scratch."

She summoned courtesy, and straightened her delicate shoulders. "Sorry. I, uh…" She held the halo before her, momentarily marveling over it, then quickly tucked it behind her back.

The corset cinched her breasts high and firm. I licked my lips. I could go for some of that.

"You going to share?" I queried, cautiously pacing toward her, while she stepped backward, away from the door. I reached out with my mind to touch hers. The persuasion innate to my kind would serve my means to success. "Hand it over, love."

"I'm not your love. Who are you? What do you want?"

"I want that pretty halo your daring adventure has earned you."

"Well, as you said, it was my daring adventure. That makes it mine. So bug off, creep. Er…I um…"

Her bright red lips parted. The hand holding the halo out of sight slid across her skirts, displaying the cheap-looking silver ring of ineffable metal.

I focused the persuasion. Just a little deeper…

Her long, dark lashes fluttered. Any moment now the halo would be mine.

"Wh-what are you doing to me?" She put up her free hand to block the unseen intrusion. "I can feel you trying to control—Are you a—Are you a vampire?"

Ouch. This woman was in the know. My persuasion scattered and dropped. She turned to run.

"Guess I'll have to do this the old-fashioned way."

I beat her to the ottoman center of the hallway, and wrapped an arm about her shoulders as I landed on the big comfy island. Pulling her shoulders against my chest, I bent to sink my fangs into her juicy, thick jugular.

Blood oozed down my throat. Sweet mercy. When was the last time I'd sipped so fine a vintage? Mortals tended to be polluted with fast food and pharmaceuticals. This woman tasted pure, sweet and a little like chocolate. Delicious.

But I had a task to tend.

Reaching about with my free hand, I groped for the halo, but she flailed madly, and it was hard enough keeping her neck at my mouth.

A kick from beneath her fussy skirts proved ineffectual. I clamped my hand over her mouth just as she screamed. Her wide eyes did not look at me, but instead, over my shoulder.

The door behind us slammed against the wall.

We both turned to spy the hulking angel, with wrought-iron wings extended out thirty feet behind him, smack a fist into his palm.

"Bloody hell."




Two


I recognized the man with shoulders wider than an armored truck as an angel even before I saw the wings spread out behind him and creak like the black iron they resembled.

An angel's wings are forged from the materials of their innate skill—the craft they'd taught mortals after Falling, and had been punished for because supposedly the Arts had been sinful back then. This one must have been an ironsmith.

I clutched the halo until I thought surely my palm would bleed. My neck hurt. The vampire had torn his fangs from my vein when the angel walked in.

I had not expected to encounter a vampire tonight. Most especially, not a vampire sporting shocking white hair and a scar cutting from his forehead, through eyebrow and eye, and ending at his jaw. His scarred eye was cloudy white. Creepier than fangs, let me tell you.

But right now the vampire was the one thing standing between the growling angel and me, so I wasn't going to be picky about appearance. I tucked myself behind the ottoman just as a blade swung through the air.

Freaky appearance aside, the vampire was tall, lean and wore a sleeveless shirt that showed off sculpted muscles only seen in the movies. He was ripped, and yes, I had to slap a palm over my heart. Be still, pitter-pattering heart. Vampires are not sexy.

He swung some kind of chain that sported a nasty scythed blade on the end of it. And did he have the moves. Twirling it overhead in a whir of silver, he then slashed it down before him to detour the charging angel.

The vampire dropped to his back, rolled and came up with a slash of the blade that cut through the angel's thigh. Blue blood spattered the air.

Granny Stevens had taught Cassandra and I the lore on angels, so the blue blood didn't surprise me. But this was the first time I'd seen a real Fallen One in the so-called flesh. I wasn't about to shake its hand or offer to do lunch with it.

The Fallen wanted what I had.

Now I noticed the halo clutched to my chest glowed blue. "Damn." Blue meant one thing; it belonged to this particular angel.

I thrust out my hand, displaying the palm with the mehndi sigils on it. Not sure if it would work as a repellent but I wasn't going to take any chances in case my protector failed.

The vampire soared through the air and landed the ottoman with an oof! He flipped over backward, landing behind me on the floor, crouched and sported a ferocious sneer.

Then the bravery struck. And don’t ask me where it came from.

"I'll get it!"

I popped up and wielded the halo like a Frisbee—I had been Frisbee champion in twelfth grade. Just as I sent it soaring toward the angel's neck, the vampire landed on my back, slapping my arm down.

"What the bloody hell did you do that for?" he gasped hotly against my face.

"Don't worry, it's supposed to come back like a—"

"A bleedin' boomerang. Love, that only works for the original owner."

"Oh, no." Really? I don't think Granny ever told us that little detail.

"Duck!"

The vampire shoved me to the floor. I caught myself on palms and stomach, cell phone skittering across the hardwood. His body landed on top of mine, flattening me.

I heard the whooshing skim of the halo over our bodies, and saw it turn in the air at the opposite end of the hallway. It nicked a painting of naked nymphs and soared back toward the thrower. The angel caught the halo, gargled out a wicked chuckle and stomped out of the hall.

The vampire's fist beat the floor next to my face. "Damn it!"

"Sorry," I muttered and kicked at him to get off me. "I didn't know. I've got to go after it."

Grabbing my phone, I started toward the door, but my skirt caught on something and I went down, ungracefully landing on all fours.

The vampire released my skirt. Of all the—Blood puddled on the floor near my hand. Sitting up, I noticed the bleeding wounds on his back. The halo had cut through his shirt and sheered him from hip to shoulder.

"You're hurt!"

He snickered, and pushed up to kneel. Easing back his wounded shoulder, he winced. "Guess I've you to thank for losing both the trophy and my skin. What's your name, love? So I can burn it from my memory. No, wait. No name will suffice."

"Coco," I blurted. Screw him for blaming me for his inability to dodge low enough.

Oh, Coco. He saved you!

"Coco. As in Chanel?"

"No, as in Rococo. My parents had a thing for Louis the Fifteenth. Now, I'd love to stick around and chat, but I have a halo to go after."



The bird had spunk. I liked that. But she wasn't going to cock up the nab for me again. I'd been so close!

"You're not going anywhere." I coiled up the chain.

"It's my halo!"

"Yeah?" Pretty, the way she held her tiny fists like that. It would be too easy for an angel to break her. "Fine. I don't need the halo, but I do need the angel attached to said halo. I almost had him."

"Oh, right, I noticed you had him when you were dodging the halo from hell."

I gave her the mongoose eye; it wasn't quite evil, mostly admonishing with a trim of evil.

Hooking the chain at my hip, I slicked the blue blood off the blade. Nasty stuff, that. I had no desire to taste it because I liked all my bits the way they were currently configured. Vampire drinks angel blood? Kaboom!

On the other hand, the blood from a Nephilim…

"What are you?" She followed as I stomped out of the hall, veering away from the ridiculous music. "Some kind of ninja vampire?"

How did she—Right. I'd forgotten about the bite. I was in too much pain to care about such a tasty lick right now. I'd just had half my back flayed off, no thanks to her.

The side of her neck bled, and she was tripping on her torn skirt, but she managed to keep up with me as I angled toward a door I knew opened onto a private alley.

"Name's Zane," I offered. "No ninja blood in me." Not lately, anyway.

I kicked open the door, ignoring her stupid quest to follow.

"Wait!" She managed to catch up and shoved me. Hard. "Sorry," she offered, rubbing my blood off on her red skirts. She'd slapped me firmly on the abraded flesh, which was only half-healed.




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