Half-Blood

Half-Blood SHANNON WEST Half-Blood Copyright © 2023 Shannon West Published by Painted Hearts Publishing About the Book You Have Purchased All rights reserved. Without reserving the rights under copyright, reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or any other means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, is forbidden. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. Unauthorized reproduction of distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. Half-Blood Copyright © 2023 Shannon West Publication Date: February 2023 Author: Shannon West Editor: Mildred Jordan All cover art and logo copyright © 2023 by Painted Hearts Publishing ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. Author’s Note: A few parts of this book were previously published years ago under a different title and in the genre of Contemporary Romantic Suspense. I was never happy with it, to be honest, it was written years ago, before trigger warnings became prominent, and this book needs some. There are instances of violence and domestic abuse between one of the MCs and a former partner. And when I got the rights back after the previous publisher went out of business, I decided to completely rework the book. The book has been substantially rewritten and changed to the point that it's barely recognizable. The previous book is out of print, but there could be a few faithful readers out there with very good memories who may find a few of the conversations in the book familiar. The book is now a Paranormal Romance about Vampire Hunters. The vampires in this book are not the romantic, sexy ones I've written in the past, but true monsters, like they are in Bram Stoker's Dracula. The heroes are the Hunters, instead. I really hope you enjoy it and thank you for reading. “The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?” —Poe Chapter One Will Logan The graveyard was silent as…well, a tomb. And there were plenty of those to go around in this cemetery that was first established back in 1857, according to a plaque on the front gate. This elaborately scrolled iron barrier was secured each night at sunset, but we’d easily picked the lock and gone in, carefully closing it back in case any cops or security guards rode by to check it later on. We felt our way along, using only the moon to light our way, walking farther in before we fixed elastic bands around our foreheads to use our headlamps. That way we could keep our hands free in case of trouble. It wasn’t only the undead who could hurt us here. There were also occasional reports of other intruders, who came for one reason or another, like the kids who dared themselves to go ghost-hunting, or even the homeless or indigent who might be desperate enough to seek shelter in the old vaults near the entrance. “Ready?” my partner, Theo Conway asked. The two of us were accompanied by Leslie Moran, our third on this team and an operative I hadn’t worked with before. We weren’t alone. Another small team had entered the cemetery from the opposite side of the hill, so there were six of us Hunters in all. “Ready,” I replied, hoping the nerves I was feeling weren’t showing up in my voice. It was dark as the inside of one of these tombs in the old graveyard, and the gloom only increased as we climbed and practically felt our way along under the thick trees and foliage near the top. This place was called Myrtle Hill, named for the crepe myrtles and trailing myrtles planted all around the entrance and near some of the gravesites on nine ascending terraces. The graveyard was massive, covering thirty-two acres and the older graves were mostly at the top, though a nineteenth century U.S. president’s first lady, along with a large group of Confederate soldiers were buried in plots on the first level. We had no wish to disturb any of them. On the contrary, we were here to investigate a possible nest of vampires that were desecrating this peaceful place. We had reason to believe from recent reports of missing persons and strange, unresolved murders in the area that a small nest had taken up residence on one of the large upper terraces. As we climbed, the silence thickened, the hair rose on the back of my neck, and we drew a bit closer, the smell of vampires hit my nose—a pungent, sickly odor of rot and grave dirt. Conway’s shoulders were almost touching mine and Moran trod on my heels as we continued upward. Conway, who was in the lead, stopped abruptly near the top and whispered to us, though I still worried that he was too loud and would warn them of our presence. “We’re close now. Check your weapons.” I reached for the iron knives I had shoved down inside both my boots and touched the heavy gold cross at my neck, pulling it out from under my coat. Legend had it right for a change when it came to crosses. Vampires hated them. Holy objects and iron implements were the best weapons against vampires, though movies and TV programs usually had characters using wooden stakes