The Richmond Vampire

By Liv Rancourt

Mack's a vampire hunter, Bellafleure's a vampire, and together they have to find a serial killer before he strikes again.

It's a classic case of "opposites distract".

 

 

Mack is a B-grade vampire hunter, a beat cops who does his best to keep the streets of New Orleans safe from the things that go bump in the night. Mack's family has clout in the vampire hunter community, so he and his partner get sent to Richmond to track down the serial killer who's leaving dead bodies in a cemetery.

And they damned well better find him before he strikes again.

As soon as their boots hit the ground, Adrian Bellafleure – the Richmond Vampire – offers his help. Trusting a vampire goes against everything Mack has ever learned, but he's practical enough to grudgingly accept the offer. Bellafleure has a new vision for vampires and the people who hunt them, and if they can catch the bad guy, Mack might give him a listen.

Because yeah, that vampire's just about the hottest guy Mack has met in a good long while, and his dick is ready to ignore a lifetime of training. For that matter, so is his heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Liv Rancourt
• Release date: Mar 7, 2024
• ISBN: 9798989300211

Liv Rancourt

An Adams Media author.

Book preview

The Richmond Vampire

Mack’s a vampire hunter, Bellafleure’s a vampire, and together they have

to find a serial killer before he strikes again.

It’s a classic case of opposites distract.

Mack is a B-grade vampire hunter, a beat cops who does his best to keep the streets of New Orleans safe from the things that go bump in the night. Mack’s family has clout in the vampire hunter community, so he and his partner get sent to Richmond to track down the serial killer who’s leaving dead bodies in a cemetery.

And they damned well better find him before he strikes again.

As soon as their boots hit the ground, Adrian Bellafleure – the Richmond Vampire – offers his help. Trusting a vampire goes against everything Mack has ever learned, but he’s practical enough to grudgingly accept the offer. Bellafleure has a new vision for vampires and the people who hunt them, and if they can catch the bad guy, Mack might give him a listen.

Because yeah, that vampire’s just about the hottest guy Mack has met in a good long while, and his dick is ready to ignore a lifetime of training. For that matter, so is his heart.

Chapter One

Have you ever looked your great-great grandfather in the eye? I have. He turned up in my bedroom when I was fifteen years old. Didn’t look much older than me, maybe eighteen or twenty, but I knew who he was.

I’d been waiting for him.

The thing is, Dad taught me to fight almost as soon as I could walk. He’d given me my first stake when I turned twelve and nunchuks for my fourteenth birthday. I’d been raised a hunter in a family of hunters, and I didn’t care that the creature in front of me was over one hundred years old.

Ol’ Chenoweth MacBride – Gramps – didn’t stay long. I rolled out of bed, stake in hand before my feet hit the floor. His would-be charm morphed into a snarl. My stance was loose, ready to move, and I blocked his way to the door.

Your manners are lacking. His fangs gave him something of a lisp.

Who the hell invited him in? I’d fucking kick their ass later. I rescind your invitation to this home.

He fought the compulsion that dragged him toward the window, upending my desk in an attempt to hold on. The curtains came down, and then...

Fuck, don’t—

In a shower of glass, he went ass first through the window.

Damn it. I hurdled my bed and stuck my head through the hole in the glass. He stood on the front lawn, his eyes glowing red.

I curse you, Walter Franklin MacBride Moore. He growled loud enough to wake the neighbors. Your days are numbered and will be full of pain.

Blah, blah, blah...

I couldn’t close my window, but I turned my back on him to show how underwhelmed I was by his threat. By the time I’d turned back around, he’d vanished, apparently set on impressing me with his mad vampire skillz. Whatever.

First chance I’d had to tag a vamp and I’d missed. Pissed me right off.

Still does piss me off, even though that was ten years ago. I’d seen him once or twice since, though we’d never faced off. We would, one day, and when that day came, I’d be ready.

Meanwhile, his curse hadn’t been far wrong. I was twenty-five, scarred and bitter, with a chip on my shoulder the size of all those parental expectations I hadn’t been able to achieve.

I wasn’t totally alone. I had a partner, an elf named Haletha Moonsong. I called her Hal and she called me Mack. She has black elf in her ancestry, so we were well-matched, since I was the black sheep and all. We were hunters, yeah, but scrubs, beat cops to my families’ Special Ops status.

We were between gigs, and I’d been killing time at a French Quarter strip club called Lafitte’s Booty. One of the dancers, a pretty boy named Javier, liked me well enough when my bank account was full. Right now, though, I was running on empty and Javier wasn’t working.

The young man on stage had a cute butt, even if he hadn’t had a square meal in a while. I was enjoying the view until Hal texted me.

Werhe are oyu

I squinted at my phone for a good three seconds before calling her. Sometimes I have the energy to decipher the letters my brain has so helpfully scrambled, but today wasn’t one of those days.

She answers on the first ring, and I started talking. You don’t want to know where I am.

Oh, but I do. Her laugh said she’d correctly identified the thumping bass beat. Fine. I wasn’t going to admit I was the kind of lowlife who hung out in a strip club on a sunny afternoon.

When I didn’t cough up any more information, she got to the point. Time to pack your bags, Mackie. We’re going to Richmond.

Why?

I’m not going to tell you until I see you so the curiosity will drag you out of that skanky hole.

Whatever.

When she stopped laughing, I told her to meet me on Decatur Street near the old paddle wheeler that played out-of-tune calliope music for the tourists every hour on the hour. We didn’t get sent out of town all that often, New Orleans being the kind of place that could keep anybody’s supernatural police force busy, and despite myself, I was excited.

An hour or so later, we were heading for our gate at the Louis Armstrong airport. The capital-A Authority had sprung for the tickets, and since Google said Richmond was a fifteen-hour drive, I didn’t put up my usual fight. I hated flying – can’t emphasize that enough – so on our brief pitstop at my apartment, I’d packed every sherbet-shaded shirt I owned. If I was going to die in a plane crash, I’d do it in a bright watermelon shirt and a vintage leather jacket.

We reached the gate without incident. I still think this sucks, I said, mostly to remind both of us that I am not okay with airplanes. Settling into one of the plastic chairs, I scowled at the industrial carpet underfoot.

Shut it, Mackie. We’re after a serial killer who could very well hit again while we were driving through two days’ worth of tobacco fields, cows, and strip malls.

She had a point. But still.

Shaking her head, Hal glared at an older woman sitting across from us. Yes, we were absolutely the queerest people in the crowd, but it was rude to stare.

Hal was older than me by a couple of years and butcher than me by far, and she kept her little lipstick lesbian girlfriend safe from all the creepy crawlies we dealt with on the daily. My best guess was that Louanne, her girlfriend, was either the most gullible creature on the planet, or she had Hal’s number and liked to pretend she believed all the little white lies Hal told.

Either way, our flight would be boarding soon, and we hadn’t really discussed our plan. So did anybody brief you?

She nodded, pulling an iPad out of her bag. We hadn’t had time to pack much, but with luck we wouldn’t be there all that long. Emailed it, she said, bringing the screen to life.

I glanced at my phone long enough to establish that I’d received an email, presumably from the Authority. Putting the phone away, I gave her an expectant smile.

Fuck you. One day I’m going to make you do your own homework. Her scowl was tinged with laughter.

I shrugged, batting my eyelashes. I’ll remember it better if we talk it through. I wasn’t dyslexic, exactly. My difficulty with the written word was a Moore family trait – thanks, Dad – and parsing one of those extended-mix reports would take me longer than the drive to Richmond.

Hmph. She tapped the screen. The glaring woman had moved to a different seat, so we could talk so long as we kept it quiet. We're supposed to track down a serial killer.

Seriously? That’s pretty far about our usual paygrade.

I think they wanted a Moore.

Her tone was so carefully casual that I spared her my usual bluster about fuck my family blah blah blah. Lucky us.

So Richmond’s an interesting place. Her tone grew in confidence, as if she realized I was going to be an adult for once. There’s an urban legend about a vampire in their Hollywood cemetery.

And that matters why?

Because about three months ago, a body was found in front of the supposed vampire’s crypt. There was a throat wound, the body was drained of blood, and all of a sudden, everyone thinks the vampire is back.

One body does not a serial killer make.

That