with teeth sharp enough to score granite.
Milton cleared his throat. “Do you really think they’ll be able to kill the vampire soldiers?”
Kalin nodded. “Sure. They’ll kill a few. The Realm forces are weak ... seriously depleted from the last ten years of war. As depleted as our troops, and they don’t have werewolf soldiers fighting their front line like we do. Plus, I just need the vampires busy so I can finally kill Talen Kayrs.”
The bastard had killed Kalin’s father a decade ago because of a woman. Kalin shook his head. “Such a waste. Two powerful men fighting over a female.” Rumor had it the female had given birth to Talen’s son a few years back. Kalin should take out the son, too.
He focused on the feeding frenzy.
Blood.
The scent permeated the fresh air, elongating Kalin’s teeth. He inhaled deep. How the hell did the vamp have any blood left after all the beatings? Kalin’s stomach rumbled, hunger speeding his heart rate.
Male blood didn’t appeal to his palate ... how long had it been since he’d hunted a woman? Too long. Most women didn’t provide much challenge, though a shifter he’d found in Atlanta had fought like a warrior. Now, she had been an enjoyable kill. “I might leave you in charge for some time tonight.”
The skin around Milton’s mouth pinched. “Of course.” His voice held no inflection, yet disapproval had his chin lifting.
Too fucking bad. While no doubt Franco had hoped Kalin would give up his nighttime hobby as he aged ... he hadn’t. There had been a moment a decade ago when he’d faced doorways into different futures; he’d chosen one. With a fresh kill of a human girl he’d actually liked. “If you tell my uncle, I’ll stake you to the ground an hour before sunrise.” There was no question Milton reported back to Franco. They were morons if they thought he remained unaware of such an allegiance.
“Of course.” Milton frowned, his gaze on the pile of werewolves. “I would appreciate if you didn’t take my son with you this time.”
Milton’s eighteen-year-old son had an even greater thirst to kill than Kalin. “Roy is a natural.” The kid needed training in the thrill of the hunt ... not just the easy kill. Where was the finesse in just killing a woman? The fear—the fight—the futility at the ending. Now those moments created a worthy pursuit.
There was a time years ago when Kalin had studied death, philosophy, and fate. Anything to harness the urges that rode him so hard.
After much time, he concluded his animalistic nature required the hunt. The pursuit of other beings. Well, women. And it didn’t take a psychologist to understand his anger at the mother who’d abandoned him in death. She’d deserted him on purpose because she couldn’t handle being a mate to his father.
Most Kurjan mates didn’t last long.
So Kalin’s need to hunt worthy women and take them down probably had some logic behind it. Not that he truly cared. The pursuit was what mattered.
A pursuit worthy of a predator, not a lowly animal like the werewolves. Of course, the original goal of Virus-27 had had nothing to do with turning shifters into werewolves. The first stroke of the virus was to impact human vampire mates. Mates were special and far between. The new class of werewolves was an unexpected side benefit of the bug.
Wait—what was this?
Jack shoved away from the pack and rose to his full height, finishing swallowing the vampire’s cranium with a loud gulp. Blood stained his teeth, matting his fur a motley red. His eyes glowed an eerie jaundiced yellow in the waning light.
Kalin settled his stance. “We’re going to need the electric prods.”
As one, the devouring beasts stood, turning to face him, death in their eyes.
All former shifters, all former soldiers, they could fight better than any other wild animal. But animals they were ... and they needed a master.
A young Kurjan soldier hustled up, handing them both tweaked prods. The altered
Milton cleared his throat. “Do you really think they’ll be able to kill the vampire soldiers?”
Kalin nodded. “Sure. They’ll kill a few. The Realm forces are weak ... seriously depleted from the last ten years of war. As depleted as our troops, and they don’t have werewolf soldiers fighting their front line like we do. Plus, I just need the vampires busy so I can finally kill Talen Kayrs.”
The bastard had killed Kalin’s father a decade ago because of a woman. Kalin shook his head. “Such a waste. Two powerful men fighting over a female.” Rumor had it the female had given birth to Talen’s son a few years back. Kalin should take out the son, too.
He focused on the feeding frenzy.
Blood.
The scent permeated the fresh air, elongating Kalin’s teeth. He inhaled deep. How the hell did the vamp have any blood left after all the beatings? Kalin’s stomach rumbled, hunger speeding his heart rate.
Male blood didn’t appeal to his palate ... how long had it been since he’d hunted a woman? Too long. Most women didn’t provide much challenge, though a shifter he’d found in Atlanta had fought like a warrior. Now, she had been an enjoyable kill. “I might leave you in charge for some time tonight.”
The skin around Milton’s mouth pinched. “Of course.” His voice held no inflection, yet disapproval had his chin lifting.
Too fucking bad. While no doubt Franco had hoped Kalin would give up his nighttime hobby as he aged ... he hadn’t. There had been a moment a decade ago when he’d faced doorways into different futures; he’d chosen one. With a fresh kill of a human girl he’d actually liked. “If you tell my uncle, I’ll stake you to the ground an hour before sunrise.” There was no question Milton reported back to Franco. They were morons if they thought he remained unaware of such an allegiance.
“Of course.” Milton frowned, his gaze on the pile of werewolves. “I would appreciate if you didn’t take my son with you this time.”
Milton’s eighteen-year-old son had an even greater thirst to kill than Kalin. “Roy is a natural.” The kid needed training in the thrill of the hunt ... not just the easy kill. Where was the finesse in just killing a woman? The fear—the fight—the futility at the ending. Now those moments created a worthy pursuit.
There was a time years ago when Kalin had studied death, philosophy, and fate. Anything to harness the urges that rode him so hard.
After much time, he concluded his animalistic nature required the hunt. The pursuit of other beings. Well, women. And it didn’t take a psychologist to understand his anger at the mother who’d abandoned him in death. She’d deserted him on purpose because she couldn’t handle being a mate to his father.
Most Kurjan mates didn’t last long.
So Kalin’s need to hunt worthy women and take them down probably had some logic behind it. Not that he truly cared. The pursuit was what mattered.
A pursuit worthy of a predator, not a lowly animal like the werewolves. Of course, the original goal of Virus-27 had had nothing to do with turning shifters into werewolves. The first stroke of the virus was to impact human vampire mates. Mates were special and far between. The new class of werewolves was an unexpected side benefit of the bug.
Wait—what was this?
Jack shoved away from the pack and rose to his full height, finishing swallowing the vampire’s cranium with a loud gulp. Blood stained his teeth, matting his fur a motley red. His eyes glowed an eerie jaundiced yellow in the waning light.
Kalin settled his stance. “We’re going to need the electric prods.”
As one, the devouring beasts stood, turning to face him, death in their eyes.
All former shifters, all former soldiers, they could fight better than any other wild animal. But animals they were ... and they needed a master.
A young Kurjan soldier hustled up, handing them both tweaked prods. The altered
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