OF CLAWS AND FANGS (Ace Trade Paperback Original; May 3, 2022), a thrilling new fantasy anthology from New York Times bestselling author, Faith Hunter. A stunning collection of stories set in the same fan-favorite world as Hunter’s Jane Yellowrock novels, OF CLAWS AND FANGS is perfect for fans of urban fantasy and readers of Patricia Briggs and Charlaine Harris.
Collected for the first time in OF CLAWS AND FANGS are eighteen gripping stories featuring shape-shifting vampire hunter Jane Yellowrock, as well as her friends and allies. The world of Jane Yellowrock has captivated fans for more than a decade. With these stories, take a deeper look at Jane herself, along with the vampires, witches, found family, and one very special mountain lion that have made the series sing.
by Faith Hunter
May 3, 2022
Ace Trade Paperback
New York Times bestselling author Faith Hunter presents a stunning collection of stories from the world of shape-shifting vampire hunter Jane Yellowrock and beyond.
Collected together for the first time, this volume contains shorter works featuring heroines Jane Yellowrock and Nell Ingram, as well as a host of other characters from the Jane Yellowrock and Soulwood series. Faith Hunter is “an expert at creating worlds filled with intriguing supernatural elements and exciting scenarios”* and her skills are on full display in this collection. From a vampire-filled Halloween evening in New Orleans to the searing tale of how a certain were-leopard first got his spots, this collection has something for everyone, and each story is sure to put the super in supernatural.
With eighteen stories in all, Of Claws and Fangs will enrich and entertain—it’s a must-have for Faith Hunter’s readers and all lovers of fantasy.
Praise for the Jane Yellowrock novels"Hunter delivers the fast pace, high stakes, and flawlessly crafted fight scenes fans expect."—Publishers Weekly
"Jane Yellowrock is smart, sexy, and ruthless."—#1 New York Times bestselling author Kim Harrison
"Dark Queen hits just the right balance between completely unexpected and long-expected payoff. A fast-paced and twisty adventure, fans of Jane Yellowrock will not be disappointed."—All Things Urban Fantasy
"Readers eager for the next book in Patricia Briggs's Mercy Thompson series may want to give Faith Hunter a try."—Library Journal
"Hunter's very professionally executed, tasty blend of dark fantasy, mystery, and romance should please fans of all three genres."—Booklist
Excerpt
Leo lifted his cuff and checked the time on his Versace Reve Chrono, though he knew, almost to the second, when the sun would rise. His kind always did. “I’ll be only a moment. Security will wait outside.”
George opened his mouth to protest. George was always protesting something. Leo lifted his finger, silencing his primo. “I will speak to Marcoise alone. You may cover the outer exits. You may not enter. The cleaning crew will be working and, as former military, they will be armed. I will calm them. I will not have a bloodbath in my club.”
George hesitated, clearly thinking about the numbers of potential victims and hostages. “Derek Lee’s company is new,” George said. “I’m not certain of the extent of his knowledge, or of his biases.”
He did not need to add Many have refused to work for the vampire Master of the City of New Orleans.
He raked through his hair with his long fingers, worried.
“Alone,” Leo insisted, and tapped on the window. The chauffeur opened his door. “Thank you, Alfonse,” Leo said. He was always polite to the help.
Into the night, he exited with all the grace of his kind, part ballerina, part snake, part spider, all predator. The night smelled of humans and blood. Saliva filled his mouth, hunger riding him. The girl earlier had been a tasty diversion, her body a delight as she used it to seal his promise, but this . . . this was the hunt. There was nothing like it, and even civilized Mithrans such as himself knew the desire, the overriding craving for shadowing and stalking prey.
Leo leaped to the door, his speed creating a pop of sound as the air around him was displaced. He keyed open the lock and entered. His men, left behind, rushed to guard the entrance and provide the protection his kind seldom needed. He slipped inside, into the shadows. Standing behind a brick pillar, he watched the cleaning crew, scenting them. The men were all dressed alike, in one-piece gray uniforms; they were healthy, their blood touched with alcohol and marijuana. He had known it for centuries as hemp, MJ, ganja, and by a hundred other names and grades and varieties.
He took in a slow breath and parsed the chemicals in their blood. The marijuana smelled . . . odd. Impure. He watched as a small man, no more than five feet, five inches tall, lifted a bucket and then, oddly, dropped it. The pail landed with a clatter and splash of water on the concrete floor, and the man stood, hunched over, staring at the mess as if mesmerized. Certainly confused.
Leo sniffed again. There was something mixed with the marijuana, some chemical he did not recognize. The small man took a breath, a faint gasp of sound. He fell.
Leo held still, as only undeath allowed. The other men rushed to help. Another fell, his head bouncing on the floor. A third dropped. And another. Only Derek was still standing, the boss of the crew. Leo had hired Derek Lee’s fledgling company because of his service in the military, though the man was destined for far more. Derek pulled a weapon and backed to the bar, the brass rail at his spine, analyzing the room, the short hallways.
Leo said, “You did not partake of the smoke offered to the others.”
Derek swung his weapon toward the column hiding Leo. “Who’s there?”
“Leo Pellissier, Master of the City. The smoke? The weed?”
“Owner of the Royal Mojo. Fanghead. And no, to the weed,” Derek said, his weapon steady on the brick pillar. “One of the guys brought it. Said his brother had gotten a deal on the streets.”
“Mmmm. And a gift is always a good thing?”
“No.”
“And what shall you do to the man who injured your cohorts?”
“Better you don’t know.” Derek’s voice was harsh, unyielding.
Leo chuckled. “There is more here than meets the eyes.”
“No shit, dude. I got free weed, four downed boys, and the Master of the City hiding behind a brick column. How ’bout you come out. Make nice-nice wid me.”
“How about we take down whoever is waiting for us in the office? I smell six. One is a Mithran, one is female and bleeding, one is a dead human.”
“My men?”
“They are breathing. I will offer them healing blood if they are not awake before dawn.”
Derek considered. “You take the fanghead. I’ll take the others.”
Leo stepped from behind the column, hands where they could be seen.
“You seem certain that you can contain the humans,” he said. “Three against one?”
“This trap wasn’t for me. Makes sense it was for you. I’m supposed to be down and out so they won’t be expecting me.”
Leo lifted his cuff and checked the time on his Versace Reve Chrono, though he knew, almost to the second, when the sun would rise. His kind always did. “I’ll be only a moment. Security will wait outside.”
George opened his mouth to protest. George was always protesting something. Leo lifted his finger, silencing his primo. “I will speak to Marcoise alone. You may cover the outer exits. You may not enter. The cleaning crew will be working and, as former military, they will be armed. I will calm them. I will not have a bloodbath in my club.”
George hesitated, clearly thinking about the numbers of potential victims and hostages. “Derek Lee’s company is new,” George said. “I’m not certain of the extent of his knowledge, or of his biases.”
He did not need to add Many have refused to work for the vampire Master of the City of New Orleans.
He raked through his hair with his long fingers, worried.
“Alone,” Leo insisted, and tapped on the window. The chauffeur opened his door. “Thank you, Alfonse,” Leo said. He was always polite to the help.
Into the night, he exited with all the grace of his kind, part ballerina, part snake, part spider, all predator. The night smelled of humans and blood. Saliva filled his mouth, hunger riding him. The girl earlier had been a tasty diversion, her body a delight as she used it to seal his promise, but this . . . this was the hunt. There was nothing like it, and even civilized Mithrans such as himself knew the desire, the overriding craving for shadowing and stalking prey.
Leo leaped to the door, his speed creating a pop of sound as the air around him was displaced. He keyed open the lock and entered. His men, left behind, rushed to guard the entrance and provide the protection his kind seldom needed. He slipped inside, into the shadows. Standing behind a brick pillar, he watched the cleaning crew, scenting them. The men were all dressed alike, in one-piece gray uniforms; they were healthy, their blood touched with alcohol and marijuana. He had known it for centuries as hemp, MJ, ganja, and by a hundred other names and grades and varieties.
He took in a slow breath and parsed the chemicals in their blood. The marijuana smelled . . . odd. Impure. He watched as a small man, no more than five feet, five inches tall, lifted a bucket and then, oddly, dropped it. The pail landed with a clatter and splash of water on the concrete floor, and the man stood, hunched over, staring at the mess as if mesmerized. Certainly confused.
Leo sniffed again. There was something mixed with the marijuana, some chemical he did not recognize. The small man took a breath, a faint gasp of sound. He fell.
Leo held still, as only undeath allowed. The other men rushed to help. Another fell, his head bouncing on the floor. A third dropped. And another. Only Derek was still standing, the boss of the crew. Leo had hired Derek Lee’s fledgling company because of his service in the military, though the man was destined for far more. Derek pulled a weapon and backed to the bar, the brass rail at his spine, analyzing the room, the short hallways.
Leo said, “You did not partake of the smoke offered to the others.”
Derek swung his weapon toward the column hiding Leo. “Who’s there?”
“Leo Pellissier, Master of the City. The smoke? The weed?”
“Owner of the Royal Mojo. Fanghead. And no, to the weed,” Derek said, his weapon steady on the brick pillar. “One of the guys brought it. Said his brother had gotten a deal on the streets.”
“Mmmm. And a gift is always a good thing?”
“No.”
“And what shall you do to the man who injured your cohorts?”
“Better you don’t know.” Derek’s voice was harsh, unyielding.
Leo chuckled. “There is more here than meets the eyes.”
“No shit, dude. I got free weed, four downed boys, and the Master of the City hiding behind a brick column. How ’bout you come out. Make nice-nice wid me.”
“How about we take down whoever is waiting for us in the office? I smell six. One is a Mithran, one is female and bleeding, one is a dead human.”
“My men?”
“They are breathing. I will offer them healing blood if they are not awake before dawn.”
Derek considered. “You take the fanghead. I’ll take the others.”
Leo stepped from behind the column, hands where they could be seen.
“You seem certain that you can contain the humans,” he said. “Three against one?”
“This trap wasn’t for me. Makes sense it was for you. I’m supposed to be down and out so they won’t be expecting me.”
About the Author:
Faith Hunter is the award-winning New York Times and USAToday bestselling author of the Jane Yellowrock, Soulwood, Rogue Mage, and Junkyard Cats series. In addition, she has edited several anthologies and co-authored the Rogue Mage RPG. She is the co-author and author of 16 thrillers under pen names Gary Hunter and Gwen Hunter. Altogether she has 40+ books and dozens of short stories in print and is juggling multiple projects.She sold her first book in 1989 and hasn’t stopped writing since.
Faith collects orchids and animal skulls, loves thunderstorms, and writes. She likes to cook soup, bake bread, garden, and kayak Class II & III whitewater rivers. She edits the occasional anthology and drinks a lot of tea. Some days she’s a lady. Some days she ain't.
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