Her reflexes snapped into action and she recovered quickly, jumping back a few paces as she looked to see what she’d crashed into.
Not what, but who.
It was Jack Morgan, one of the few vampires in New England she wasn’t allowed to kill and the only one who could piss her off just by looking at her.
Which he was doing right now, with one eyebrow raised and a slight smile on his face. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t my favorite little ball of hate.”
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, before remembering the resolution she’d made the last time she’d run into him.
Never let Jack Morgan get under your skin.
His smile broadened. “Why not? It’s an accurate description. Plus it makes your face turn red and steam come out of your ears, and I never get tired of seeing that. I suppose I could call you my favorite elf, but since you’re only one-sixteenth that would seem like stretching the truth, wouldn’t it?”
She forced herself to stay silent, knowing that anything she said would betray the fact that his shot had hit home. Liz was the only member of the Green Fae clan with such a diluted bloodline. Because of that, she’d felt at a disadvantage among the other demon hunters from the time she was first called as a warrior.
And Jack Morgan knew it. He was one of a handful of vampires who had allied themselves with the elven clans, and he’d been working with them for decades. He probably knew more about the Green Fae than she did.
He knew, for instance, that in a clan of warriors known for cold-blooded ferocity and iron control, Liz’s quick temper was considered a serious shortcoming—and an unfortunate result of her mostly human ancestry.
That’s why he enjoyed making her angry. Because he knew how hard she worked to hide her emotions.
“I keep waiting for a vein to pop out,” he said. “Right here,” he added, reaching out to touch her forehead.
A shiver went through her at the feel of his cool fingers against her skin. Before he could notice her reaction, she slapped his hand away and took a quick step back.