the truce between the different breeds of supernaturals had always been uneasy. Though their survival no longer depended upon secrecy, it was rare for an Other to abuse their new status as a legal citizen and pick a fight out in the open.
New York in particular was a place where the various races had come together to ensure mutual survival of the myriad species that called the state, and melting pot of a city, home. Sign enough the Were was a tourist; only confirmed by his next boneheaded move.
The Were jerked his head to the side, ensuring the wounds would be torn and ragged as he pulled away. He spat out as much of the bitter black blood as he could before speaking. “Call me Christoph, you tainted little parasite. Remember it.”
With that, he shoved the vampire, sending him flying into the candy and cookie aisle so hard the entire metal stand fell over. Colorful packages and bits of food spilled every which way, scattering across the floor. Whistling a cheerful ditty, a trifle difficult around the fangs, the Were sauntered over to where the tub of ice cream had fallen and scooped it up in one clawed hand. Temper much improved, he started toward the register where the clerk was watching with wide eyes, mouth agape as he pressed back against cigarette displays on the wall behind him.
As metal rods dug into his stomach and wasted blood trickled down his shoulder, the vampire voiced a soft growl of his own. Royce slowly levered to his feet, stumbling on gumballs. A hiss escaped him as he tore out the metal rods, flinging them aside as he closed his eyes and concentrated on utilizing the remains of his last meal in speeding up an already rapid healing process. The damage to his stomach was gone within a few seconds, his skin knitting together without leaving so much as a scar. The rents in his skin and burning pain from the Were-bite would take a bit longer to disappear. Damage caused by the fangs or claws of another Other always did.
Lip lifting in a snarl, he reveled in the shift of muscle and tension in his gums as his fangs extended. His black eyes bled into a hazy red as his gaze focused on the cock-sure Were. “Oh no, Christoph. Don’t make the mistake of thinking we’re done yet.”
Surprised, the Were turned around, claw tips digging into the container. Most vampires would have been unable to rise so soon after an impact like that, needing time or to feed to heal that kind of damage. Even an older vamp would’ve been stunned for a while.
Generally, in Christoph’s pack, Weres could, and regularly did, single-handedly take down most vampires they encountered. Only elders—the most experienced leeches, ones with their powers fully honed—posed much of a challenge. Those were the ones that sent their progeny forth to bring them food, content to run their empires from the shadows while lackeys did the dangerous work. From what Christoph had heard, the few times a Goliath encountered and fought an elder leech, it was almost always the vampire who walked away the victor.
The lack of injury and quick recovery clued him in that this wasn’t a young fledgling vamp like he had thought, having judged him by the outlandish clothes, flashy car, and smug attitude. Considering the speed in which he was back on his feet and unbelievably rapid healing, this was not only an elder—he must be ancient.
“Oh, crap,” he whispered, golden eyes widening.
The ice cream container flew to the side as Royce barreled into Christoph, forcing the Were off his feet. The vampire retained enough control over his temper to avoid the counter, slamming his adversary against the wall next to it instead.
It wasn’t that Royce didn’t want to break the guy’s spine so much as that he didn’t want to have to deal with the bad press that would go along with killing the jerk in front of the frightened store clerk, who was now cowering underneath the counter. Royce had been working far too hard to keep a good rep in this city to ruin it by splattering the Were across the linoleum—though he did figure he had enough time to teach him a lesson so Christoph wouldn’t try something this inordinately stupid again anytime soon. He’d just rough him up, work off a little frustration, and figure out some way to use this faux pas to advantage later.