What did she need it for? Rhiannon snorted. As if she would fork over that kind of intel.
The hunter and the vampire had been in dozens of skirmishes since she relocated to Las Vegas. They locked proverbial horns, pulled hair, never managing to extinguish one another. On one noteworthy but anticlimactic occasion, they staggered about in a public display of feminine aggression, Katherine opening her mouth in anticipation of a throat and sinking long, sharp fangs into the hunter’s sideboob, while Rhiannon’s stake was lodged in the vampire’s ass cheek. Afterwards, they’d half given up on it and simply leaned into drinking games and war stories.
But she was still a vampire.
“It’s wall decor. I’m updating my bathroo---,” she began to say, abruptly cutting off in horror as Katherine tripped backwards. “Nooooo!”
Rhiannon tumbled forward, toppling the vampire as her hand opened to catch the fumble. The skull struck her palm…
Bounced off fingertips…
Torqued on its way to the scorched motel pavement, where it shattered into pieces. Rhiannon landed a couple of feet shy of the debris.