"Banks, L A - Vampire Huntress 4 - 2005 - Bitten" - читать интересную книгу автора (Banks L. A)

"We felt strong as shit going in. Every one of us was on top of our game. We
were drinking toasts to you for getting us aligned with Rivera, and they were
saying that even back in the day under the old regime, we'd never had the blood
flowing like this. At one point tonight, it was like the females were all in
heat. You could feel it in the air."
"Yeah, I know, man," Yonnie muttered as he began to pace. "That's what's so
freaky about humans taking you out like that."
Both vampires looked at each other for a long time but said nothing.
"If we're getting stronger, it has to be because he's getting stronger." It was
more a question than a statement.
"Then, it makes sense," Stack said, but his voice seemed unsure. "If our side
just kicked up a notch, then the light maybe kicked up a notch?"
"That has to be it." Yonnie continued to walk back and forth, running his palm
over his jaw. "See, you guys probably ran into a regulation Guardian
team—there's like a hundred forty-four thousand of them bastards in hidden cells
scattered throughout the globe. So, what happened in Philly was good. We'll
explain to Rivera that you tracked down a splinter Guardian unit in his
territory. Cool?"
"Right. Makes sense. We tell him that we were holding down his club, and we drew
fire. Then, we can ask him if he wants us to take a small army back there to
deal with the Philadelphia problem."
Yonnie was walking in circles now, perspiration making his black silk shirt
cling to his body. "Yeah, man. That could work."
Stack wheezed as he pushed himself away from the metal door.
"You need to eat," Yonnie said with concern. He slung his arm over Stack's broad
shoulders.
"Let it go, man," Yonnie told him. "We've gotta take this shit like men. We'll
feed, get laid, and be merry since tonight might be our last night once Rivera
blows in here."

Berkfield walked the perimeter of his suburban home one last time before he set
his top-of-the-line security system. His wife thought his job was making him
paranoid; it was better that she and his teenage son and daughter believed that.
They didn't need to know that his floodlights were special UV halogens, nor did
they need to know that the lawn and garden sprinkler systems contained holy
water.
If his family knew he believed in monsters, they'd have him committed. Then what
would happen to them? Who would take the special precautions that had become a
neurotic routine?
He scanned the short hedges and peered into his neighbor's yard. All seemed
well. It was still light out, nearly dusk, and people were about, messing with
yard equipment, calling children in for dinner, and washing their SUVs and
minivans after work.
Maybe he was crazy, but he'd witnessed his partner's shot mysteriously turn on
him when he'd tried to shoot a guy with fangs. Carlos Rivera had dropped a gold
mine of info on the local drug lords in his lap. Then Rivera had disappeared and
he'd come up empty on all his searching into Rivera's territories. There was
something very serious going on… Then again, maybe he was just crazy.
Berkfield's shoulders sagged resignation as he slowly walked toward the garage.
A bee sting on his calf made him wince. He hated yard work and he hated bugs. He