Bullet (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter)

403 Pages·2011·1.34 MB·English

by  Laurell K. Hamilton

Bullet
Anitia Blake [19]
Laurell K. Hamilton
Penguin (2010)
Rating: ☆☆☆
★★
Tags: Fantasy, General, Fiction, Contemporary, Werewolves, Occult
Fiction, Vampires, Horror, Occult Supernatural, Attempted assassination,
Serial Murderers, Romance, Crime, Paranormal, Blake; Anita (Fictitious
character), Saint Louis (Mo.)
Fantasyttt Generalttt Fictionttt Contemporaryttt Werewolvesttt Occult
Fictionttt Vampiresttt Horrorttt Occult Supernaturalttt Attempted
assassinationttt Serial Murderersttt Romancettt Crimettt Paranormalttt
Blake; Anita (Fictitious character)ttt Saint Louis (Mo.)ttt
Product Description
The music came back up and the next group of little girls, slightly older, came
out. There was a lot of that in the next hour and change. I liked dance, and it
was no reflection on the kids, but my will to live began to seep away on about
the fifth group of sequined children...
Anita Blake is back in St. Louis and trying to live a normal life-as normal as
possible for someone who is a legal vampire executioner and a U. S. Marshal.
There are lovers, friends and their children, school programs to attend. In the
midst of all the ordinary happiness a vampire from Anita's past reaches out. She
was supposed to be dead, killed in an explosion, but the Mother of All Darkness
is the first vampire, their dark creator. It's hard to kill a god. This dark goddess
has reached out to her here-in St. Louis, home of everyone Anita loves most.
The Mother of All Darkness has decided she has to act now or never, to control
Anita, and all the vampires in America.
The Mother of All Darkness believes that the triumvirate created by master
vampire Jean-Claude with Anita and the werewolf Richard Zeeman has enough
power for her to regain a body and to immigrate to the New World. But the body
she wants to possess is already taken. Anita is about to learn a whole new
meaning to sharing her body, one that has nothing to do with the bedroom. And
if the Mother of All Darkness can't succeed in taking over Anita's body for
herself, she means to see that no one else has the use of it, ever again. Even Belle
Morte, not always a friend to Anita, has sent word: "Run if you can..."
About the Author
Laurell K. Hamilton is a full-time writer. She lives in a suburb of St. Louis with
her family.
Page 1
Page 2
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Page 3
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
One mustn’t look at the abyss, because there is at the bottom an
inexpressible charm which attracts us.
—Gustave Flaubert
To Jonathon, who has stood at my side and looked into the abyss and found
both charm, attraction, and
love, for we are not made up only of our light and happiness but also of darkness
and sorrow. To deny
the darkness of yourself is to deny half of who you are, and when you love, truly
love, you need to love
the whole person not just the part that smiles and waves, but the part that thinks
murderous thoughts and
knows that pain is both pleasure and temptation, but still thinks puppies are
really cute.
Acknowledgments
Carri, who took point on this one, and stayed at my side during some pretty
rough weather. I keep
waiting for her to rethink thatI’ll quit work when you do , because apparently I
never quit. Wendi and
Daven, who let me retreat to their house and lick my wounds. To my daughter,
Trinity, who is now old
enough to tell me, “Mom, maybe you need a vacation.” Out of the mouths of
babes … To Pili, who
helps nourish us with food, friendship, and just being herself. To the rest of the
crew, Mary, Sherry, and
Teresa: Thanks for staying at your posts under fire. Shawn, who keeps the home
fires burning from a few
states away. I’m hoping for quieter times soon, but I can’t promise. To my
writing group, who have seen
some of the battles: Tom Drennan, Deborah Millitello, Marella Sands, Sharon
Shinn, and Mark Sumner.
Page 8
I WAS WORMING my way through a mass of parents and children with a
tiny clown hat clutched in
one hand. In my navy blue skirt suit I looked like a dozen other mothers who had
had to come straight
from work to the dance recital. My hair was a little curly and a little too black for
all the blond mothers,
but no one gave me a second glance. The one saving grace as I threaded my way
through the crowd of
parents, aunts, uncles, grand-parents, and siblings was that I wasn’t one of the
parents. I was just here as
moral support and last-minute costume rescuer. It was just Monica Vespucci’s
style to leave part of her
son’s costume at her house and need an emergency save. Micah and I had been
running late with client
meetings so we got to ride to the rescue, and now since the vast majority of the
performers were female I
was the only one safe to go backstage without scandalizing the mothers. What
did little girls who only had
male relatives do at things like this? My dad would have been at a loss.
I WAS WORMING my way through a mass of parents and children with a
tiny clown hat clutched in
one hand. In my navy blue skirt suit I looked like a dozen other mothers who had
had to come straight
from work to the dance recital. My hair was a little curly and a little too black for
all the blond mothers,
but no one gave me a second glance. The one saving grace as I threaded my way
through the crowd of
parents, aunts, uncles, grand-parents, and siblings was that I wasn’t one of the
parents. I was just here as
moral support and last-minute costume rescuer. It was just Monica Vespucci’s
style to leave part of her
son’s costume at her house and need an emergency save. Micah and I had been
running late with client
meetings so we got to ride to the rescue, and now since the vast majority of the
performers were female I
was the only one safe to go backstage without scandalizing the mothers. What
did little girls who only had
male relatives do at things like this? My dad would have been at a loss.
I started pushing my way up the stairs, keeping the hand with the clown hat
in it close to my jacket so I
wouldn’t flash the gun by accident anymore. I was going to try to keep my
occupation a secret from the
screaming children and their frantic mothers. They didn’t need to know that I
hunted bad little vampires
and wereanimals for the preternatural branch of the U.S. Marshals Service. They
certainly didn’t need to
know that I raised zombies as my day job. I blended in as long as no one figured
out who I was.
I got to the upper hallway and there was one lone male over the age of
twelve being herded by his
mother. She had an almost embarrassed look on her face, as if apologizing for
not having a girl. I knew
there were more men up here, because some of them were mine, but they were
safely away from the
estrogen-rich room of little girls.
Monica’s son was under five, so he didn’t count as male yet. He was just a
generic child. Now if I could
only find the generic child, hand his mother the hat, and flee to our seats where
everyone was waiting for