Hunting Karoly Read Online Free

has its problems, sure, but there’s nowhere better…”
    He blinked at me. “Are you encouraging me to stay in your fair city, vampire hunter?”
    “Why should I care?” I muttered into my glass. “I won’t be here.”
    “You will be at your Centre, fighting spirits?”
    “Or not,” I said darkly.
    “How did you set fire to your hair?”
    By the time I’d explained that, both of our glasses were empty and he was laughing quietly. More surprisingly, perhaps, so was I, realizing for the first time that it was a funny story more than a personal tragedy.
    Reaching across him for the bottle, I hiccupped. “All right, Charlie,” I said, splashing the last of the wine into the two glasses more or less equally, “What’s your story? What’s with the accent?”
    “I do not have an accent,” he said with dignity. “My English is perfect.”
    “Leesten to heem,” I mocked, “creature of the night…!”
    “It’s been a long time since I tasted a vampire hunter,” he said conversationally.
    I hooted derisively into my wineglass. “You won’t touch me—I’m too pissed for your refined taste buds.”
    “Are you sure about that?” His deep, suddenly soft voice caused my stomach to lurch. I glanced up to find his darkened eyes on my lips. Worse, his hand resting on the sofa back moved and grasped my hair. Not that there was much for him to get hold of, but he managed to pinch enough of it between his strong, cool fingers to tug my head back.
    His touch on my scalp was electrifying. Terror and lust seemed to have become the same thing, especially when his mesmerizing gaze dropped to my exposed jugular.
    “A word to the wise, little vampire hunter,” he whispered. “Never bank on it.”
    His other hand, still holding the wineglass, came up. Two of his fingers uncurled from the stem and he brushed his knuckles across my neck. I shivered. “Besides, although you have a delectable throat, there are other ways to taste.”
    His long, pale fingers trailed down the length of my throat and lingered over the hammering pulse at the base of my neck. His lips curved, very slightly but enough to reveal the points of his lethal fangs.
    Oh Jesus.
    Those devastating fingers moved on, tracing a line down the center of my chest to my cleavage, where they parted so that each could brush the naked curve of a breast. His gaze lifted to mine, to see, perhaps, if the heaving of my breasts was due to desire or fear. Then he slid both fingers down between my breasts.
    I gasped and he smiled, slowly withdrawing his fingers so that both knuckles and fingertips grazed my skin. The effect was more arousing than most sex I’d ever had, but my erratic—all right, my pissed—mind was distracted by other matters.
    “How do you do that without spilling any wine?”
    The laughter I’d become so attached to sprang back into his eyes. He released my head and drew back a little.
    “Practice,” he answered. “And sobriety.”
    “Sobriety?” I hooted. “After drinking half a bottle of wine? To say nothing of Maggie and Davie.”
    Somewhere, in the tiny part of me still remotely attached to reality, I couldn’t believe I was being quite so blasé about all this. Several unreadable expressions flitted across his pale, beautiful face. None of them detracted from the drunken companionship I felt for him by now, particularly as his hypnotic green eyes as well as his lips were still smiling at me. I was very aware of his arm still resting along the sofa top, just touching the back of my head.
    “You were telling me,” I reminded him, “about the accent.”
    He said, “I was born a Magyar, in what is now Romania.”
    Grinning, I said, “Transylvania?”
    “If you say so. I am traveling for my health.”
    I stared at him. “You’re taking the piss.”
    “Mental health,” he corrected. “In a word, I was bored. I arrived here a week ago.”
    “And the Prince Charlie stuff?”
    His lips twitched. “While I was out