Free A Taste of Midnight by Lara Adrián

Malcolm lost it. He flew at the vampire on a roar, fangs erupting in his rage. In truth, no one was more deserving of his fury than himself, but he was ripe for a fight and Thane was the closest target. Besides, the son of a bitch had been giving him about a hundred good reasons lately to kick his ass. Mal snarled with violent intent. “You picked the wrong damn time to be in my face, Thane.”
    “I didn’t come in here to pick a fight with you,” he snapped back. “I came to tell you Reiver’s drafted us as security for tonight’s gathering.”
    Malcolm narrowed a glare on him. “What gathering?”
    Thane gave him a shrewd, knowing look. “Reiver called from the airport. His cargo came in. He’s moving it to one of his country estates as we speak.” He shoved Mal’s arm away from him, hissing a hard curse as he straightened his rumpled dark suit coat. “Since Kerr and Packard are no longer in service, that leaves you and me to head up security tonight. Reiver’s expecting his top-tier clients at this thing, so he wants total discretion.”
    Blood club.
    Malcolm knew this moment would come one night, but it still took him aback. This was it—his shot, at last, to take out Reiver and all of his untouchable cronies in one fell swoop. “When do we leave?” he asked, hoping the tight edge of his voice would not betray his eagerness to Thane.
    “The boss wants us out there right away.”
    Mal nodded. Malice coursed through his veins like acid. He met Thane’s inscrutable look and gave the guard a cold smile. “So, what the hell are we waiting for?”
    * * *
    Half a dozen gleaming luxury vehicles sat parked outside Reiver’s hunting estate, as if their owners were gathered inside for a black-tie event, not the sick, bloody game soon to take place on the snow-covered grounds.
    And there would be blood tonight, Malcolm silently vowed, as he and Thane walked up to the front of the palatial Highlands residence. His jaw was clamped tight, veins vibrating malice as another of Reiver’s guards opened the door to permit them inside. “This way,” said the Breed thug with a jerk of his head. “Mr. Reiver has been waiting for you.”
    He was in a lavish salon, its high-ceilinged walls paneled in dark mahogany and adorned with painted masterworks depicting all manner of hunting scenes. Graceful stags being felled bymedieval archers’ arrows; small red foxes on the run from a pack of brown-and-white hounds and red-jacketed gentlemen on horseback; a majestic lion snared and surrounded by spear-wielding natives before a white-skinned adventurer toting a long black rifle. The room was a celebration of slaughter, and assembled within it stood Reiver and the nearly dozen members of his privileged, secret cabal of savages.
    “Ah,” said Reiver with a thin smile. “About time you arrived. We’re just about to view the evening’s game selection.” His bloodthirsty friends exchanged eager looks, but Reiver’s gaze stayed rooted on Malcolm with cool scrutiny. “Shall we get started?”
    Reiver touched the frame on the fox hunt painting. In response, from behind the group of elegantly attired vampires, a doorway on the back wall of the salon opened into a dimly lit corridor. With a look that bade Malcolm and Thane follow him, Reiver strode through the center of the throng to lead the way.
    Inside the long corridor was still more violent art. Here the depictions of hunter and hunted became more gruesome, scene after scene showing all manner of human degradation and bloodshed. It was horrific art, a profane collection no doubt intended to inflame the basest Breed appetites. Malcolm paid it little mind. All of his focus was centered on Reiver, senses taut and at the ready, waiting for the prime opportunity to lodge his offensive strike on the vampire and his cronies.
    As they neared the end of the corridor, Reiver touched another hidden panel on the wall. Cold air gusted in as a thick wooden gate lifted, revealing a covered