Etched in Bone Read Online Free PDF

wire-rimmed glasses, folded them, then tucked them into a pocket of his jacket.
    Lifting the binoculars, he scanned the cemetery for any sign of Prejean and Wallace among the white and gray tombs.
    A flash of movement between a couple of moonlight-washed crypts at the cemetery’s center caught his attention. Prejean, streetlight winking from the steel ring in the bondage collar strapped around his throat, had straightened from a crouch, his gaze on the night sky.
    Even through binoculars, the bloodsucker’s beauty was mesmerizing—a fact photos alone couldn’t adequately prepare a person for, a fact that had caught Gillespie off guard the first time he’d seen the bastard in the flesh. Had slowed his reactions.
    But not this time. Not ever again.
    For this go-round, Gillespie had the advantage of distance and secrecy; Prejean was unaware of his presence.
    A careful sighting through the rifle’s scope, a twitch of the finger against the trigger, and Prejean’s blood and brains would be spattered all over the weathered white crypt he and rogue FBI agent Heather Wallace now stood beside.
    A bullet wouldn’t kill Prejean. No.
    But a bullet would put the fucking vampire down long enough for Gillespie to scale the cemetery’s locked wrought-iron gates and finish him. A bit of gasoline and a match ought to do the trick. At least he hoped so. To be honest, he wasn’t sure. Dante Prejean wasn’t a regular vampire. Not by a long shot.
    True Blood and more . . .
    Gillespie remembered the last time he’d fired a gun at Prejean, just a few nights ago in the parking lot of a worn-down motel at the other end of the country in Oregon.
    Prejean lowers his hand and knots both into fists. His gaze locks with Gillespie’s. The bloodsucker’s coiled muscles unwind. Gillespie pulls the trigger and keeps pulling, but Prejean is gone.
    A semi hauling steel and cruising at the speed of light slams into Gillespie, bulldozing him down to the pavement . . .
    He pushed away the unwelcome memory of heated lips touching his throat and the twin stabs of pain that followed as Prejean’s fangs had pierced his skin.
    And the reason why Gillespie was still alive and drawing in air?
    An innocent child, caught in the crossfire.
    A mother’s anguished scream cuts through the pop-pop-pop of gunfire in the parking lot. An anguished scream that draws Prejean away like a dog to a whistle.
    Goddamned fucking vampires. Goddamned fucking Prejean.
    Ten years ago, like most people on the planet, Gillespie hadn’t even known vampires existed outside of bestselling YA books and sexy, fake blood–drenched series on HBO and Showtime. Most people on the planet still didn’t know the truth. He often wished he’d also remained in blissful ignorance.
    Not only did vampires exist, they participated in every level of government. Always had. Always would. Just as they would always feed on the blood of humans.
    Hell, since the SB had recruited Gillespie ten years ago from the FBI and had then stripped him of his illusions, he’d worked alongside several vamps. Some good, some not so much. He hadn’t always liked it, but he had adapted. Learned to look the other way when necessary.
    But not now. Not when he had a chance to do something that truly mattered. To make things right after a lifetime of failure, cowardice, and fuckups.
    Kill a born vampire—a deadly and gorgeous bloodsucker who’d transformed a head-shot little girl clutched in her wailing mother’s arms into someone else entirely.
    How had Prejean done it? How had it even been possible?
    Blue flames flare around Prejean’s hands, engulfing the child cradled in his arms. Black hair ripples into red tresses, golden skin lightens to freckled and fair, life-sparked blue replaces empty jade green eyes.
    Gillespie shoved aside the memory. He wished for another cold bottle of Pacifico or six to wash the bad taste out of his mouth. He chewed the piece of good ol’ Juicy Fruit gum with grim