Authors: Cherie Priest
Hellbent
RAISE FOR
C
HERIE
P
RIEST’S
BLOODSHOT
“Witty, fast-paced, and fabulous,
Bloodshot
is a refreshing addition to the urban fantasy genre. Priest’s darkly hilarious tale will leave readers anxious for more adventures with the charmingly neurotic Raylene and her unlikely entourage. A vastly entertaining read!”
—J
EANIENE
F
ROST
,
New York Times
bestselling author of
This Side of the Grave
“With
Bloodshot
, Priest catapults the kick-ass urban fantasy heroine into the realm of the truly bad-ass. Raylene’s fascinating mix of the old ultra-violence with snark and self-deprecation had me riveted. The combination of such an interesting character with a plot that continually out-thunk me makes
Bloodshot
one of my favorite reads this year.”
—N
ICOLE
P
EELER
, author of
Tempest’s Legacy
“Cherie Priest’s urban fantasy debut is a fun, fast-paced adventure with a dash of romance and a heaping scoop of conspiracy. I’m looking forward to more, especially if Sister Rose is onstage.”
—L
UCY
A. S
NYDER
, author of
Shotgun Sorceress
“
Bloodshot
is, hands down, my favorite urban fantasy book of 2010. By turns frightening, funny, and fabulous, it was a joy to read and damn near impossible to put down. It’s a ton of fun, brim-f of Cherie’s wonderful, quirky voice and deliciously twisted imagination. More, please!”
—K
AT
R
ICHARDSON
, author of
Labyrinth
“Cherie Priest delivers a fantastic urban fantasy that takes us back to the genre’s noir roots and proves there’s still new blood to be found in old tropes. The engrossing, complex mystery and smart, refreshing heroine makes this one a must-read for genre fans!”
—K
ELLY
M
EDING
, author of
Another Kind of Dead
“Cherie Priest’s
Bloodshot
is fun from start to finish. A new, unique take on vampires coupled with Priest’s excellent writing makes for something very special. True quality always shows, and
Bloodshot
definitely shows it. I loved it!”
—S
TACIA
K
ANE
, author of
Unholy Ghosts
“Wickedly sharp plotting and unforgettable characters make this a standout book. Priest’s novels are a must-read if you like your vampires with fangs.”
—C
AITLIN
K
ITTREDGE
, author of
Bone Gods
“A 100-year-old vampire thief runs afoul of secret biological experimenters—first of an urban fantasy series from the versatile author of
Boneshaker
.… Brutally unsentimental narrator Raylene … makes a quirky and charming if bloodthirsty host. A refreshing and addictive lure for readers uninterested in fangs, bats, capes and hissing.”
—
Kirkus Reviews
(starred review)
“Steampunk and gothic author Priest dives into urban fantasy with this entertaining conspiracy thriller.… Raylene’s breezy, first-person voice and quirky views on life add plenty of bite to the story.”
—
Publishers Weekly
“Priest writes a fast-paced mix of caper novel and thriller that features realistically flawed characters. Plenty of action and a fairly high body count (mostly bad guys) make this a good suggestion for fans of Christopher Farnsworth’s
Blood Oath
and other crime readers who don’t mind a few vampires.”
—
Booklist
“Priest at her strongest, combining action with a few laughs and a razor-sharp wit … I heartily enjoyed this one.… Cherie Priest is one of the freshest and most original voices on the shelves today.
Bloodshot
, which begins a new series, is the perfect introduction to this smart and sassy writer. I’ll be eagerly waiting for the next Raylene story.”
—Owlcat Mountain Reviews
“Priest puts enough of a twist on this vampire book to make it a worthwhile read. Perfect for: Fans of vampire books and those who like strong, snarky heroines.”
—TriCities
“A great, fun read with a very different take on vampires than most books offer.”
—Suicide Girls
“Even if you’ve been experiencing some vampire fatigue lately, Cherie Priest’s smart-mouth, sticky-fingered protagonist is still worth spending 350 pages with. Instead of trying to reinvent the vampire genre, Priest just gives it new life and potency.… This book only needs one thing to be fantastic, and that’s Raylene’s voice. There’s an entertainingly aggressive wackiness about her.… She’s witty and sharp and excellently lecherous.”
—io9
Hellbent
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
A Spectra Trade Paperback Original
Copyright © 2011 by Cherie Priest
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Spectra, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
S
PECTRA
and the portrayal of a boxed “s” are trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Priest, Cherie.
Hellbent / Cherie Priest.
p. cm. — (Cheshire Red reports ; bk. 2)
eISBN: 978-0-345-52063-0
1. Thieves—Fiction. 2. Vampires—Fiction. 3. Seattle (Wash.)—Fiction.
I. Title.
PS3616.R537H45 2011
813′.6—dc22
2011019398
Cover design: Jae Song
Cover illustration: based on Shutterstock images by argo 74 (woman), Velychko (cobbled street), Jason
Stitt (hand and gun), Ermes (façade)
v3.1
I
t sounded like a good idea at the time, which is probably going to be on my tombstone—along with a catty footnote about poor impulse control. But when Horace Bishop called me, practically
breathless
with delight and greed, telling me he was in Portland so we should get together and have a drink or something, I said okay, even though I probably should’ve said “I’d sooner wear plaid.”
I don’t wear plaid. Ever.
I don’t wear orange, either—not that there’s anything inherently wrong with it. Really, it’s more of a coloring thing. I’m a solid winter—blue-black hair and so fair I’m practically translucent; it comes with being undead. Orange always makes me look like I’m having liver problems, so I skip it—just like deep down I suspected I ought to skip that date with
Horace, but what was I going to do? He already knew where I lived (roughly), and he already knew my price scale (more or less), and he was practically my agent. Or my pimp.
Anyway, Horace was
vibrating
—talking so fast I could hardly understand him. And what was he doing on the West Coast? He promised to tell me in person, and since he was flying back to New York from the Seattle-Tacoma airport, it wasn’t terribly far out of his way to bounce into town for a conspiratorial adult beverage.
I waited for him at a bar on Capitol Hill. I don’t live in that neighborhood anymore, but that’s the point. He knows I live in Seattle, but the less specific his knowledge is, the happier I am. The truth is, I
kind of
trust him. I mean, if I were wounded and bloody and practically dying in New York City and I had no place else to go, I could probably fling myself onto his couch and generally assume that he wouldn’t stake me in my sleep. After all, I’ve earned him a metric assload of money over the years. And money has to mean something, doesn’t it?
Yes, I totally laughed a little, just now.
I know good and well he might sell me out for the next best offer that presented itself, but I’d like to think he’d hesitate. Just for a second or two, if for no other reason than the fact that I’m very, very good at my job—and that I’m excessively vindictive. Even if he could reliably replace me, he couldn’t assume I wouldn’t track him down later and peel his toenails off.
Maybe I’d better give you some context for this contentious relationship, before you start thinking I’m completely unhinged for hanging out with this asshole.
Horace is a director of acquisitions for a prominent NYC auction house that will go unnamed here, for the sake of discretion. Basically, it’s his job to scout for expensive objects for museums, private collectors, and other assorted people and institutions with more money than common sense. He deals in everything from
paintings to gemstones, archaeological finds to vintage paperwork. And sometimes, his clients want a piece that is not, shall we say, strictly for sale. But for the right price, Horace will find it anyway, and he’ll acquire it, and he’ll pass it along. Usually, this process requires me—somewhere right in the middle, doing all the dirty work and collecting a hefty finder’s fee.
So you can see where I get off calling him my agent. Or pimp.
I’m a thief, though I shine it up with an assortment of euphemisms. I’m in antiquities acquisitions. I’m a collection consultant. I’m in the security analysis business. But the bottom line is that I freelance, and if you have to ask how much I charge, you can’t afford me.
Horace can afford me, and he pays up front in cash—or after the job, depending on the circumstances. He’s one of the only people on earth who gets away with paying me on delivery. We’ve built up some trust on that front, at least. It’s a sacred deal between us: I always produce, and he always pays. We have yet to let each other down, and I know of few married couples who could say the same.