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Synopsis

In The Hunted, the third book in L. A. Banks's pulse-pounding Vampire Huntress Legends, Damali faces a deadly were-demon who is out for revenge...

A Neteru--a hunter or a huntress--is born every thousand years in favor of the Warriors of Light as they fight against the Dark Realms. But Damali Richards is the Millennium Neteru. The one who will play a pivotal role in the Final War. The Warriors of Light had been waiting for her and the Dark Realms will do anything to either possess or destroy her. What they did not account for was the man who would love her.

Damali Richard has been to hell and back--literally--and she is not eager to repeat the trip. A Vampire civil war has been averted, but there were casualties and she believes that Carlos Rivera, former lover turned master vampire, is one of them. His death has not only shaken her emotions, but weakened her powers as well.

But then Damali gets word that horrific killings are taking place in Brazil. The vampire civil war has left a small door to hell open and new and dangerous foes have risen from the Dark Realms. The leader, a deadly female, is set on a path of destruction. However, her blood lust hides a nefarious plan and the newly resurrected Carlos Rivera is at the heart of it. But Damali is not about to lose her man a second time, so she plans to send this old girl right back to the hell she came from--no matter who stands in her way.

Excerpt

Chapter One

Los Angeles, California. Present day

Vampires had a vibe, and right now it was thick. She could feel them on her skin, making her flesh crawl beneath it. Oh, yeah.Tonight it was on! Damali glanced around the club, all her extrasensory instincts humming. The electric blues, fluorescent greens, and flaming orange stabbed into her brain as the insistent reggae tempo seeped into her blood and created a second pulse within her. She could feel the rhythm of her walk becoming smoother, longer in stride as the music filled her up. It beat inside her, mingling with the grief and rage that had been her companions for the past month.

Lingering cigarette and spliff smoke burned her eyes. The stifling, club-sweat heat of bodies dancing, pressing, grinding, nearly smothered her as she shoved her way through the crowd to get close to the bar. Screw what Marlene and the guardian team had to say about her venturing out alone at night. She was a full-blown Neteru now--a vampire huntress... and the vamp empire had killed her man. A Corona was in order... no, perhaps a Red Stripe beer. Fuck it. Make it Jack Daniels.

"Whatchu having, pretty sis?"

How about every vampire's head on a silver platter?

she wanted to say. Ever since that cop, Berkfield, had rolled up on her earlier today asking about Carlos, grilling her about his Jamaican territory, and wanting to know where he was, she'd seen red. She'd clean out every lower-level vamp left in Nuit's old vamp zones while the cops chased drug dealers till the end of time. That's all she had left to cling to--revenge, the old-fashioned way... just like Carlos would have done for her, if the shoe was on the other foot.

The bartender leaned in and smiled. "Having trouble making up your mind? I'm not g'wan card you, baby. Dis your first time out?"

The comment grated her. Yeah, she'd cut out his heart, too. Then she checked herself Okay, so the bartender wasn't a vamp, but the hair was standing up on her arms.

"A Red Stripe," she told him instead of ordering a Jack. When in Rome... and it wasn't about getting totaled if she was gonna kick some serious ass.

The bartender nodded and turned away to fill her order, but the sideline glance he'd cast to the other end of the bar forced Damali's gaze to follow.

Bingo.

The moment her eyes locked with the dark stranger's seated twenty-five feet away, Damali opened herself up and her internal radar kicked up a notch. Yeah. Vamps were in da house. Cool.

She accepted the beer, declined a glass, paid for her drink, and took a healthy swig from the bottle. She allowed her peripheral vision to scope out a potential rush. She could now sense at least four of them, and knew they could smell her. Good.

Damali watched the condensation trickle down the side of the cold bottle in her hand as she waited for the approach that she knew was imminent. A fucking pretender to the throne... She hated lower, third-generation vamps--always trying to push up on a sister. But that was all there was left to battle. The vamp empire had wiped out all rebel second-generations, and what the civil war didn't claim, she had dusted or they'd gone into deep hiding. Weak bastards.

"Lovely lady, what brings you out on a night like this... to a place like this?"

She didn't turn around as the smooth island lilt penetrated her ear and stroked it with sensual precision. She glanced down to where the dark stranger had been sitting and sighed at the empty seat, knowing that he was behind her and just inches from her jugular. Damali sipped her beer.

"Was looking for some action. Got bored home alone," she said in a weary tone, then casually took another swig of her beer. "There are no more masters of the game left in LA, or didn't you hear?"

The stranger laughed, slow and easy, just like the music.

She finally turned to look him up and down. She smiled. Brother was fine. Shame. Long, black, shoulder-length locks, height judged to be about six two, built, nice chest, perfect abs, the color of semi-sweet chocolate beneath an opened, burnt-gold silk shirt and black leather pants... flawless complexion, dark, lazy eyes--and very white teeth. She took another swig. Such a waste, and she'd have to dust his ass. But at least some mother's child would go home safely tonight.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other. His smile was one of challenge, hers of warning.

"So, you came out looking for something different, tonight--something unusual?"

"Yeah," she snapped, growing annoyed that he was playing with her.

She could feel his hot gaze rove over her as it caressed her throat, fondled her bare breasts beneath her black belly shirt, then licked at her exposed navel, and began to trail down to that precious place beneath her boot-cut black jeans. Her muscles tensed at the psychic violation, and the Isis dagger stashed in her right boot began to feel warm against her calf.

"Chill," she said, her tone attitudinal enough to brush off the vampiric invasion. You don't know me like that, yet."

"My bad," he crooned. "But the operative word is yet."

"Can a sister at least finish her brew?" Damali let her breath out with impatience. "Or you could buy her a drink--since you gettin' all familiar."

"Name your poison," he murmured, stepping closer to her than advisable.

"Blood."

He stared at her for a moment, and then a slow smile spread across his face, giving her a glint of fang. She shook her head. The lower generations were so much less cool than the seconds or masters. In a public fucking club, this bastard wanted her so bad he was giving her fang? Pullease.

"Carlos made you? Before his unfortunate--"

"We were close," she said, the venom in her voice cutting off his statement. "He and I went to Hell and back together. Shit happens. Let's leave it at that." She didn't even want to think about it.

The dark stranger rubbed his palm over his chin and glanced at his four henchmen in the crowd. "Damn... I thought for sure I was sensing Neteru. And, if so, then Carlos is the only one who could have turned her."

Damali followed his gaze, monitoring the reactions of the vamps with him. Good, she was talking to their leader, which meant his backup was a generation below him. Four brothers, each a serious specimen of Jamaican male in a delicious range of hues from cinnamon to ebony, serving silk and leather, muscle shirts and kid glove--supple pants, skin and sculpted fineness, brilliant smiles set in fine faces, all nodded at her.

"We are what we are," she finally said, her tone now becoming amused. "Can't take everything from a girl in one night."

The leader nodded, stepped closer, and ran a thumb over her jugular. "Sorry to hear 'bout what happened to your man... but, as they say, it's all good. You're still here, got to live your life now. Right?"

"Yeah," she repeated, her tone once again icy "It's all good." Damali set down her beer hard on the bar. "Can't sleep during the day anymore, though. You feel me?"

"I feel you..." he murmured, low and sexy. "Wanna get out of here?"

"Yeah," she said. "And bring your friends. Miss Rivera already" She let the truth dangle as bait, knowing they'd sense authenticity in what she'd said. But the truth cut her to the bone.

He hesitated, stared at her, confused, and then chuckled. "That's five of us, you know."

Damali cocked her head to the side and smiled. "And?"

"Damn, sis... aw'ight. That's cool."

"I was made by a master. What did you expect?"

The vampire before her shook his head. "I'd heard about mastermade second-level females, but I confess I didn't know it was like that."

"Follow me. Watch and learn... since this is your first time with a sister like me." She didn't even wait for his response as she strode through the crowd toward the off-limits section at the back of the club, elbowing people out of her way.

She could feel the five eager vamps behind her, knew they were intrigued and off-guard. Half of her questioned her own judgment; the other half of her just wanted to get it on. What was there to live for, really? If she went down, she'd go out swinging. If she lived, so be it. Either way, all these potential victims in the house got another night of reprieve.

As she passed club-goers, she glanced at the silver crosses some of them wore, and other religious objects embedded in their jewelry, heartened by the fact that none of it would ward off an attack if the wearer of the object didn't believe. Most didn't.

The narrow hallway she'd entered that led to the back alley made her claustrophobic. It was too reminiscent of the corridors of Hell she and Carlos had battled in together. Everything reminded her of him, especially the thick, palpable desire emanating from the vampires that followed her in the dark.

She threw her weight against the heavy, metal door and was greeted by fresh air. The evening was unseasonably cool, and she welcomed the rush of breeze against her face. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back for a moment, preparing for the inevitable. A pair of chilly hands rested on her shoulders. Icy breath filled her ear.

"You have any preference about which one of us goes first?" a deep male voice intoned.

Copyright © 2004 by L. A. Banks

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