AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I turned toward the sound and tensed for a fight. “Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“How do you know Jackie?”
I smirked, but didn’t answer him. He wasn’t in the position to ask questions of me.
A bit younger than me—both in human age and vampire years—he stank of immaturity and inexperience. It was in the cocky lift of his chin and that fearless glint in his eyes even when presented with a vampire who was stronger and older than him.
I’d guess he was a punk in life, just as in death.
He had black hair and even darker brown eyes than mine, with a slightly off kilter nose that becoming a vampire didn’t fix. That occasionally happened, if a nose had been broken too many times, which hinted at a life of street brawls, but he was still no match for me. He wore jeans and a white t-shirt, with a letterman’s jacket that he was probably too old to still wear.
Living out those glory years of high school, no doubt.
Jacqueline’s high school; I’d seen the same crest on the diploma hanging in her hallway.
As the realization sank in, I almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. Was this the vampire she’d been training to kill? Some douchebag ex-boyfriend who didn’t deserve her time—or the money she’d spent on my instruction?
If that was the case, she and I needed to have a talk about frivolous spending.
“You must be the ex,” I finally said. “She is not going to be happy to see you.”
He growled and charged, but I had him on his back on the floor in the blink of an eye.
Struggling, he swung at my arm, but I didn’t budge.
“You can’t beat me. Stop trying.”
He snarled and I laughed. Before I was turned, I’d been well on my way to beating Archie Moore’s world record of most knockouts for a middleweight fighter. And now I had the added advantage of immortality racing through my veins.
Had Jacqueline’s ex been turned centuries ago, he might have stood a chance against me.
“If I let you go, are you going to come after me again?”
“I can smell her on you,” he snarled. “She’s all over you.”
I licked my lips. “I fucking hope so, kid; otherwise, I’m doing it wrong.”
He fought harder at that implication, but I only laughed, holding him down as he swung at my arms, my sides, then reverted to girlish scratches down my forearm.
“Fucking scratching? Really?”
“Who are you?” he spat.
“Vincenzo Ricci.”
His eyes widened; whether due to my family’s infamy or my former fame, I didn’t know. His fingers stalled on my arm. Blood stained his fingernails even as the wounds healed beneath his hands. “No shit?”
“So you know who I am. Will you stop fighting now?”
He swallowed hard, then nodded. “Shit, man, I’m a huge fan.”
“And yet you didn’t recognize me.” I released his throat and stepped back, giving him space to stand and tensing for another attack. “Now, who exactly are you?”
“Gannon. Gannon Hayes.” He straightened his jacket and shirt, then ran a hand through his black hair. “How do you know my girl?”
My jaw clenched and I tilted my head. “If you want to keep your head attached to your neck, I’d suggest not calling her that again.”
His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t argue.
