A very inconvenient coincidence indeed.

The woman bore unmistakable fang marks on her neck. She'd recently been bitten by a vampire.

There was fresh blood on her throat.

He ignored the dark hunger that swelled within him and the ache of his lengthening fangs.

He hadn't drunk blood in a hundred years. No need at his age, but the want was still there.

Every day. Every hour.

Long shadows appeared behind her as three men approached. His breathing hitched. Were they after him? Had he been followed to the bridge?

Tonight was to be the end of his long life. The end of a so-called master vampire. Thierry de Bennicoeur, dead after nearly seven hundred years. Had they followed him to witness his fate?

No, the men's gazes locked onto the woman instead. A tall blond man—a human—smiled as his eyes flicked to Thierry and then back to her.

"A friend of yours?" he asked.

"Yes," the woman said quickly, her troubled gaze moving to Thierry again. "A good friend. And he's going to kick your ass if you don't leave me alone."

Thierry raised an eyebrow. Kick his ass?

The blond man snorted. "That I'd like to see."

"Vampire hunter," Thierry said out loud. He had confronted so many hunters in his time that it was obvious to him what the fair-haired man was, and the wooden stake the hunter held tightly in his grasp was only one clue.

"Who wants to know?" The man's gaze slid from the woman's bare feet to her long lean legs. It was the gaze of a predator, and not one who wished only death for his victim.

Hunters enjoyed playing with their prey—especially helpless and attractive female fledglings—before killing them.