Page 2 of Blood of a Huntsman

Cat shivered. Oh, she knew Ruby was around. All vampires knew about Ruby. She hadn’t realized that the disturbing vampire was one of Levi’s slayers, but it made sense.

The majority of immortals learned to adapt with time. They wore modern clothes, used technology, embraced plumbing. Then there was Ruby.

She wore a white chiton, generally covered in dirt and blood, and wandered Oldcrest at night, running so fast that humans rarely even saw her. Her eyes were wild, her hair tangled and messy. She was responsible for all of Oldcrest’s ghost stories.

Cat had asked around about her in her first week.

“That’s probably Ruby,” Blair had told her. “She’s harmless as long as you leave her alone. More or less. I mean, she’s paranoid and crazy, but stay out of her caves and she won’t bother you.”

Cat had frowned. “But what does she eat?”

“Anything, really. She likes to fish. And she hunts game in the Wolvswoods, too, draining them first, then cooking the meat. Waste not, want not.”

The heathen wandered Oldcrest as she pleased, draining and barbecuing animals to feed herself, and everyone was fine with it.

“They still have their swords,” Levi continued, “though I doubt either use them much these days. They aren’t what one would call fashionable."

Cat rolled her eyes. "A good blade is a good blade. Never mind about fashion."

Levi looked at her feet, clad in red peep toe pumps, and wordlessly lifted a brow.

She laughed. "Shoes are different."

"Women. Glad to see the ages have not changed your sex." He walked to the display case and retrieved the sword she'd just put down. "This one is Lightning. It belonged to Rayna, one of the most bloodthirsty females I've had the pleasure of training. She was an artist with her blade. I lost her to the feral curse before we knew about the cure."

There was but one illness affecting vampire kind, a blood sickness. Once infected, vampires became mindless beasts with no desire other than their next meal. They could be controlled, to an extent, by witches, curses, and binding spells. But by that point, they were things. Senseless things. For thousands of years, there had been no hope for anyone bitten by a feral. Now, they knew of one cure: the blood of Eirikr, the first vampire ever turned by the goddess who created their kind.

And the blood of his descendants. Right now, that meant Chloe and her elusive brother, Tom.

"Lightning," Cat repeated, her eyes zeroing in on a small bolt etched at the base of the blade. The name suited the sword.

"Yes. I thought it appropriate."

He handed her the sword, hilt up.

"It's yours."

Cat narrowed her eyes, mistrustful of any gift freely given by one of their kind. Particularly one as old as the Leviathan. There was always a price.

Before she could say anything, she heard footsteps thumping down the staircase at high speed and then approaching the armory; a moment later, a freshly showered Chloe appeared.

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