Vampire Seeker Read Online Free PDF

real pretty. Her hair was dark blond and shoulder length. She had a really infectious
     smile that looked as if she was about to burst into a sudden fit of the giggles at any moment.
    “So what’s England like?” Zoe asked, that excitement still brimming in her voice. Unlike Louise, she wore
     a long velvet coloured dress. But she had guns, which hung beneath her arms in a set of holsters.
    “Erm…” I started, not knowing what to say.
    “Leave her be,” the preacher cut in and saved me. “The girl has had a nasty knock to the head. Isn’t
     that right?”
    I looked at him and nodded.
    “I was just curious, Preacher,” she said, looking disappointed at him.
    Ignoring her, the preacher turned and gestured towards the other man in the group. “This is Harrison.”
    I looked through the flames that licked the bottom of the pot hanging over the fire. Steam came from it, and the smell of
     Elk or
Elf
was sweet and intoxicating. My mouth began to water and my stomach rumbled. The man on the other side of the fire said something,
     but I had been too distracted by the food cooking before me.
    “Sorry?” I said, taking my eyes off the pot. Then, truly seeing him for the first time, I wondered how I had ever
     been distracted by the simmering pot of food. He could have only been a few years older than me, making him about twenty-five,
     but no older. He had light, sandy-brown hair, which was longer at the front than it was at the back. A flop of hair covered
     his brow. He had grey eyes, which had a hardness to them. The lower half of his face was covered with stubble, which made
     him look like he was cast in shadow. He had a firm jawline which looked as if it had been chipped from granite stone. Around
     his throat he wore a black bandana. His pale blue checked shirt was unbuttoned slightly and I could see the light from the
     fire glistening off a fine sheen of perspiration which covered his muscular chest. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled halfway
     up his thick forearms, and around the waist of his blue denims, he wore a thick brown belt, from which hung his guns.
    “Harry,” he said, staring through the flames at me, his eyes cold and emotionless.
    “Sorry?” I said again, and could have slapped myself for appearing like a dumb-arse.
    “Harrison Turner, but people just call me Harry,” he explained, his voice flat and deep.
    “Oh, okay…sure,” I mumbled.
    Get a grip, Sammy
, I scolded myself, but I was still having difficulty believing that I was sitting around a campfire in the middle of the
     desert, talking to real live cowgirls and cowboys – especially one as hot as the guy sitting opposite me.
    “And you are?” he asked, hanging his forearms over his knees, his eyes never leaving mine. He might be hot but
     he was beginning to make me feel uncomfortable. Not in a creepy kind of way, but uncomfortable – like I was being studied
     by him.
    I took a deep breath to gain some kind of composure and said, “My name is Samantha Carter, but like you, everyone calls
     me Sammy.”
    “No one calls me Sammy,” he said flatly.
    “You know what I mean,” I shot back. He had pissed me off now. Then, realising I wasn’t just hungry but
     was craving something else, I looked at the others and asked, “Does anyone here smoke?”
    Louise and Zoe looked at the preacher. I watched as he pulled a small wooden box from his coat pocket. He opened it, took
     out what looked like a cigarette, and passed it to me. Taking it between my fingers, I could see it had been hand-rolled.
     I popped it between my lips as the preacher struck a match and held it to the end of my cigarette. I drew in deeply, and the
     smoke hit the back of my throat. It was hot and strong – not like the cigarettes I was used to. I doubted they had filtered
     tips and extra lights here. With tears streaming from my eyes, I coughed and spluttered the smoke from the back of my throat.
    “Do you actually smoke?” the preacher asked,