Night Hunter

by Cathy McDavid

  The free fall was spectacular.

  He anchored her securely against him until her orgasm subsided, all the time telling her how beautiful she was. Gillian observed the flushed, disheveled woman in the mirror and the man wearing the cocky grin who'd put her in that state and thought, No, we are beautiful.

  "Ready for more?" he asked.

  Thank goodness he was holding her, because her trembling legs were about to give out. "We might have to attempt the next one lying down."

  "Works for me."

  He swept her up in his arms, carried her to the bed, and deposited her on the white fluffy coverlet. She started to laugh but stopped when he shucked out of his pants and left them in a heap on the floor. His boxer briefs followed.

  Gillian's heart stopped at the sight of his nakedness, then abruptly restarted, only to beat erratically. He was incredibly gorgeous. Every inch of him finely chiseled muscle and flesh.

  And hers for the taking.

  Crawling to the edge of the bed, and getting up on her knees, she tossed his own words back at him. "Come here."

  He complied, and Gillian wrapped her arms around his neck, fusing her mouth with his and kissing him with mindless abandon. Her hands roamed his body, from chest to stomach to ribs to hips. It was nice. Very nice.

  But not enough. She wanted to taste him. All of him. Head to toe. And when she was done with that, she wanted him inside her, stretching her and filling her until she was ready to pass out from the sheer ecstacy of it.

  She lowered her head and licked his nipple, flicking her tongue over the small nub.

  Nick sucked in a sharp breath.

  "You like?" she asked, again repeating what he'd said to her.

  "You know damn well I like it," he said, threading his fingers in her hair.

  "I thought so." She wrapped the fingers of her one hand around the thick length of his penis and stroked. With her other hand, she hefted his balls and squeezed.

  He never took his eyes off her.

  Inspired by his muttered encouragements, she experimented, surprising herself with her daring and inventiveness. Her plan to draw out her seduction came to a sudden end when Nick pushed her away. Gillian sat back on her calves and blinked.

  "If you're not careful," he said, ripping open one of the condoms, "we won't be needing this."

  "We won't?" She feigned innocence.

  "No." He placed the condom over his erection.

  "You did mention improvising."

  "Later." Completing his task, he reached for her gym shorts. "When I come with you for the first time, Gillian, I'm going to be inside you." He hooked his fingers under the waistband. "Deep." She leaned back on her elbows and lifted her hips. "Hard." He yanked off her shorts, leaving her completely bare. "And hot."

  Talking had become difficult so she kept conversation to a minimum. "Okay."

  He fell onto the bed, pinning her solidly beneath him, his mouth ravishing hers. She spread her legs, and he entered her, fulfilling every promise he'd made.

  "I fantasized about this."

  "You did?"

  "Since that day in your office."

  "Only once?"

  "Every goddamn night."

  "Me too."

  Gillian bucked and gasped and clung to him, marveling at how delicious they felt together. And yet, she craved more. Deeper, harder, hotter. More wonderful. What was it about Nick that she couldn't get enough of him? She got what she wanted when he changed the angle of his penetration.

  "Oh yes," she said, willing him to keep doing what he was and not stop for anything.

  "You like?" His amusement was unmistakable. "You know damn well I like it."

  "I thought so."

  If she had a free hand, she'd slug him in the arm. But as it so happened she was otherwise occupied, scraping her nails up and down the muscles of his back, hoping to drive him half as crazy as she felt.

  It worked, but on her, not him.

  Gillian's second climax was nearly as intense as her first and every bit as pleasurable. Nick's release came on the heels of hers. She held him until he stopped shuddering, kissing his sweat-dampened face and neck.

  "For the record, I'm glad you twisted my arm." His smile was lazy and sexy and so gorgeous she just had to kiss him again.

  "I'm glad I twisted your arm, too." She smiled back at him, trying for sultry and failing miserably. She was too happy and too satisfied to do anything except beam.

  He rolled off her, disposed of the condom, and gathered her to him. Cuddling in the aftermath, thought Gillian as she melted into his embrace, was one of the best parts of making love.

  "I'm looking forward to those next two or three dozen times you mentioned." He caressed her back, her buttocks, and the tops of her thighs.

  Gillian sighed contentedly, loving the sensation of his hands on her body. "We should probably pace ourselves. I'd hate to wear you out, what with the hours you've been keeping lately."

  His smile lost some of its luster. "I'm going to beat Cadamus."

  "Let's not spoil the mood by talking about him," she said but the damage had already been done. She smoothed the frown lines from his forehead.

  He shifted and settled deeper into his pillow. "You know, I haven't given much thought to what my life will be like after the final battle." He chuckled mirthlessly. "I've always been afraid I'd jinx the outcome by making plans."

  "Nick." She started to say he wasn't afraid of anything but was struck silent by the solemnity of his expression. Here was someone who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Platitudes were inadequate and demeaning.

  "All that's changed." He pulled her closer and nuzzled her cheek. "I'm coming for you when the battle is over." His arousal pressed against her leg. "Promise me you'll be waiting."

  Gillian's heart swelled. "I will. I promise."

  She sealed her vow with a kiss, pouring everything she felt for him into it, which, given the relatively short time they'd known each other, was considerable.

  He lay on his back and lifted her on top of him so that she straddled his hips. Her need for him instantly spiraled out of control, and she moved back and forth, gliding over his noticeably revived erection. Nick's attention remained fixed on her to the exclusion of everything else. She discovered she rather liked being the center of his universe, and played to her appreciative audience.

  When he extended a hand toward her, she pushed it away. "Look but don't touch," she said in her best seductress voice.

  "You really know how to torture a guy."

  And torture him she did, licking her fingers and touching herself in a display that left him breathing hard and her feeling smug. Leaning forward, she brought her breasts to his open mouth.

  Just as his lips closed around one damp nipple, his cell phone rang.

  "Damn it to hell," he grumbled. "This had better be good." When Gillian climbed off him, he reached over the side of the bed for his pants on the floor. Digging through the pockets, he retrieved his phone and answered on the fourth ring.

  "Yeah," he snapped. There was a pause during which his scowl increased. "Where?" He swung his legs onto the floor and sat up. "Oh, fuck." Another, longer pause. "I'll be right there."

  "What is it?" Gillian demanded when he hung up.

  Nick shook out his pants, then rounded up the rest of his clothes. "That was Charlie. The police just found the remains of another victim."

  Gillian shut her eyes and grieved momentarily for the victim's family and friends. "Have they identified the body yet?"

  "No."

  Something in Nick's tone put her on the alert. She sat up, leaning on one elbow. "There's more, isn't there?"

  "Go to sleep, Gillian."

  "Are you kidding?" He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, only she wasn't reassured. "Please," she implored. "I have to know what's going on."

  Turning back to his clothes, he said in a terse voice, "The remains were found in the parking garage of the HansonBuilding."

&n
bsp; Gillian froze. "We were just there."

  "And so was Cadamus. Maybe even at the same time."

  "I'm coming with you." She threw off the bedsheet.

  "Forget it. Not after what you've been through tonight. You stay here and rest. I'll call you in the morning."

  "Don't call. Come back here instead." I need you, she thought, but she didn't say it.

  Nick nodded, kissed the top of her head, and eased her back onto the pillow.

  She pulled the sheet up to her neck. It did nothing to ward off the icy chill creeping to her bones, which worsened at the sound of the front door slamming behind him.

  Cadamus perched on the roof of the building, his feet gripping the railing, his partially extended wings acting as a ballast to steady him.

  On the street below, lights flashed, tires screeched, and humans scurried about like ants whose hill had been crushed by a large foot. Noise bounced off the walls of surrounding skyscrapers, the sound deafening.

  "Damn you, Huntsman," Cadamus growled, the blood in his veins boiling.

  He didn't normally risk exposing his presence, but the moonless night hid him well enough, and the humans were too busy examining the remains of his last meal to notice a shadow flitting across the roof. He'd intended to share the meal with the female; however, she'd been dead and disposed of well before he arrived, thanks to the Huntsman and his stupid, clumsy mate.

  Cadamus curled his right hand into a fist, pictured it clubbing the Huntsman in the side of the head. Had he arrived sooner, not stopped to feed first, the outcome would have been different, the female even now nesting in preparation to lay her eggs.

  He cursed his ill timing and condemned the Huntsman to an eternity in hell. It had taken Cadamus a week to find this female. Only two remained, and he had not much time before his short life came to an end. If his race were to continue, he couldn't tolerate another blunder.

  "You will know what it feels like to have my teeth sink into your flesh, Huntsman. Just like you felt my father's teeth. Only mine will rip your heart from your chest."

  Raising his nose in the air, he scented the breeze, then spread his wings and prepared to take flight. He gave one last look at the scene below. Hearing a sudden scraping noise behind him, he swung around, ready to attack the intruder. The metal door he'd been unable to breach the previous night opened slowly, and a face appeared. That of a young human boy, whose black eyes widened.

  Cadamus wasn't hungry, but neither could he invite discovery. In the next instant, he swooped down on the boy. Gripping the thin chest with long fingers, Cadamus held the boy aloft, his open jaws descending on the boy's neck.

  "Wait," the boy said, remarkably unafraid for one so young. "I've come to warn you."

  "Warn me?" Cadamus hissed, suspicious of trickery.

  "The police are on their way up here to search for the killer. You must hurry."

  "Why tell me this?"

  The boy wheezed from Cadamus's tight grip around his chest. "Because the Dark Ancients sent me."

  "You're lying."

  "No, I'm not."

  Cadamus concentrated and probed the boy's mind, reading his thoughts. When he'd learned all he needed to know, he tucked the boy under his arm, dove off the side of the building, and took flight, heading for his sanctuary.

  The Huntsman, it seemed, wasn't the only one to be given a human Synsar.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Nick dragged into the newsroom at the station right behind Celeste and was immediately assaulted by a cacophony of noise and a rush of activity. Everywhere he turned, phones rang, speakers blared, monitors flashed images, and people who weren't hunkered down over their work stations darted in a dozen different directions.

  "Christ, Blackwater, you look like crap," Max said, swiveling in his chair to give Nick an exaggerated once-over. "Who fucked you over?"

  "Nobody you know."

  "Forget to take your happy pill this morning, did we?"

  His coworker snorted and returned to his monitor, on which was displayed a man's face. Nick thought he recognized the guy, but couldn't quite place him.

  God, he was tired. These constant late nights were killing him. He'd been averaging only three to four hours every night this week. Less, last night, not that he regretted a moment of the time he'd spent with Gillian.

  Though he tried to talk himself out of it, he'd gone back to her condo after all, arriving there sometime around three in the morning. She'd been waiting up for him, so he knew she felt as lousy as he did today. Worse, probably, considering what she'd been through with the female creature. And being Gillian, she'd refused to take his advice and call in sick, claiming she had essays to grade before the end of the semester.

  Bradley McEntee stuck his head out of his office door and hollered, "Celeste. Nick. In here. Pronto."

  Celeste, who didn't look like crap, charged ahead of Nick into their boss's office. She was still riding high from their scoop on the elderly woman's murder last week. Their report on the dismembered arm had earned TV-7 the top ratings in their time slot the night of the original airing and again the next morning when the segment was replayed on the early edition-a feat no doubt helped along by the outrageous number of teasers the station ran prior to the broadcast. They came in second the following night with Gillian's interview.

  Nick would be surprised if Celeste didn't already have a spot on her mantel picked out for their next local Emmy award.

  Upon entering Bradley's office-a room everyone except Bradley referred to as the fishbowl-Nick shut the door behind him. The three glass walls reduced some of the racket but none of the visual distractions.

  "Did Max give you the scoop on last night's murder victim?" Bradley's chair squeaked under his generous bulk.

  "No, what?" Celeste brightened. With her contract coming up for renewal in another month and the threat of competition from the magnificently proportioned Linda Perez at KBCB, Celeste went after every possible opportunity to plant her face in front of the camera.

  Nick leaned against a file cabinet and waited, very interested in what Bradley had to say-though he hoped his relaxed demeanor suggested the opposite.

  He and Charlie had learned next to nothing about the murder victim. Admittedly, Nick had spent the night concentrating more on the victim's attacker. While Charlie had hacked into the police computer, Nick had gone straight to the crime scene after leaving Gillian's. Sneaking past the police barricade and into the building had been difficult, but not impossible. Unfortunately, he'd turned up no new information to help them locate the remaining two female creatures or Cadamus's sanctuary.

  "I need you two to hotfoot it over to the Washington station right away," Bradley said. "The police have released the victim's identity and Chief Denning is getting ready to give a statement."

  "Who is it?" Celeste nearly popped off her chair. Bradley smiled like a cat who'd just swallowed a canary. "Carl Salvador."

  Nick recalled the face on Max's monitor.

  "The Carl Salvador?" Celeste practically squealed.

  "Ernie Orsi's right-hand man and daughter's fiance?" "One and the same. Fingerprint report just came back positive."

  "How sweet!" Celeste positively glowed.

  Nick had never understood the callousness of some people in the news industry. But even he saw how this latest development in the case could set a news producer's and star reporter's hearts to fluttering.

  Carl Salvador lived, or had lived until meeting his untimely demise the previous night, in one of the two penthouse apartments on the top floor of the HansonBuilding. His future father-in-law, Ernie Orsi, a wealthy Phoenix entrepreneur, was reputed to have close connections with the Mafia. Some claimed Ernie Orsi defined the Arizona Mafia.

  The story wasn't just big, it was gigantic.

  "Do the police think Salvador's death was the result of a hit?" Celeste asked.

  "They aren't saying." Bradley's smile dissolved. "Which is why you two have to head your collective asses over there and
find out everything you can."

  Celeste bounced to her feet before Bradley finished his sentence. "We're on it!"

  Nick didn't respond quite so fast. Not because he was exhausted but because, in his opinion, covering Chief Denning's press conference was a colossal waste of time. While the chief would give a statement, he'd say essentially nothing because the police had no clue who killed Salvador. But they did know one thing: This killer was no run-of-the-mill hit man.

  Hell, thought Nick, he wasn't even human.

  But he couldn't very well tell that to Bradley and Celeste.

  The hall outside the police chief's office was packed with reporters. Nick recognized many of them, had even worked with a few of them over the years. He liked only one or two. Reporters were generally a competitive, cutthroat lot. Not one of them gave an inch of space as he and Celeste squirmed their way into the crowded hallway.

  They'd already done their obligatory footage of Celeste on the steps of the police station, and Nick had taken some random shots of officers and vehicles from different angles.

  Now, lifting his camera onto his shoulder, he elbowed past a couple of newspaper reporters and took a shot of the empty podium. The police chief was scheduled to appear ten minutes ago, and tension in the hallway had reached an oppressive level.

  Finally, a side door opened, and Chief Lyle Denning appeared. The sternness of his steel gray hair and bushy eyebrows was offset by the teddy-bear paunch around his middle. Escorting him were two suits and three uniforms, one of whom was a woman. The shorter of the suits whispered in his ear, and the police chief kept nodding his head even after he took his place at the podium.

  The commotion came to an abrupt halt when Chief Denning raised his hand and lowered his mouth to the microphone. At least the talking stopped. Cameras and tape recorders whirred softly, BlackBerries clicked, and pens scratched across pads of paper.

  "Good morning." Chief Denning surveyed the room. "I have a brief statement to make, after which I'll open the floor to questions for no more than ten minutes."

  Celeste, through sheer determination and willpower, had wormed her way to within a few feet of the podium. Nick tried to zoom in for an unobstructed close-up of the police chief. Unable to get a clear shot, he resorted to holding the camera above his head and hoped for the best.