Night Hunter

by Cathy McDavid

  This time, Nick didn't duck.

  Cadamus flew so close, Nick could see victory shining in his eyes. At the last possible second, when Cadamus's fingers were just about to close around his neck, Nick crouched and jumped.

  He punched his fist through the scar in Cadamus's wing, grabbed onto the leathery skin, and pulled. Weakened from the previous wound, it gave easily. The sound of tearing skin was sickening. Cadamus screamed. Flapping his wings like a trapped moth, he tried to break free of Nick's grasp, wounding himself further.

  Nick used his other hand, the one holding the dagger, to protect his face and neck from the blows Cadamus rained on him.

  Cadamus tried to take the dagger from Nick. When he touched the blade, he screamed again and released the dagger. Puffs of smoke floated off his palm, and the foul scent of burning flesh filled Nick's nostrils.

  It would be a hundred times worse when Nick plunged the dagger into Cadamus's chest.

  Nick's arm ached, his muscles ready to snap. But still, he held on. Blood, both Cadamus's and his, covered his hands, making it harder to maintain his grip.

  Cadamus thrashed, swinging at Nick's head. He gave another tug, separating more of Cadamus's skin from his bone until there was a hole the size of a basketball in the wing. But Nick knew he had yet to ground his opponent.

  Using his slowly depleting strength, he curled his fingers around one of Cadamus's fragile wing bones and twisted. The bone splintered with a loud crack.

  "Try to fly now," Nick grunted.

  Cadamus went berserk with rage. His foot slammed into Nick's stomach, the force of it causing Nick to double over. Unable to stay in the air, Cadamus dropped to the roof. His right hand came from out of nowhere, smashing into Nick's ear.

  It hurt like a son of a bitch but probably less than a broken wing.

  Cadamus attempted to wrench Nick's hand from his wing, tearing the flesh on Nick's arm and leaving huge, bloody gashes. When Nick still didn't let go, Cadamus grabbed him by the rib cage, lifted him off his feet, and rammed him into the steel access door.

  The intense shock to Nick's system temporarily numbed him from head to toe. His fingers useless, he released Cadamus's crippled wing. Collapsing in on himself, Nick slid slowly to the roof floor. The ritual dagger fell from his other hand, clattering as it skidded across the roof and out of his reach.

  His enemy towered over him, preparing to wield the lethal blow. "You are finished, Huntsman."

  Stand up.

  The voice speaking to Nick was his own, not that of the Ancients. He wasn't going to fail, hadn't destroyed the three females, wiped out Cadamus's race, found love in Gillian's arms, only to be defeated.

  "Nick! Over here."

  He sat upright at the sound of Gillian's voice. To his amazement, she'd crawled across the floor of the roof to his dagger. She quickly picked it up and tossed it to him.

  Her aim was true.

  Cadamus roared his anger. "She's mine to command, not yours."

  "She will never be yours."

  "You are wrong, Huntsman." He pointed to the boy. "Tend her."

  Nick stood, the ritual dagger gripped firmly in his right hand. He faced Cadamus without fear.

  Instead of striking him as he expected, Cadamus stepped back. His hearty chuckle rang through the night.

  "It appears I no longer have a need to kill you, Huntsman, for I have already won."

  "We're not finished. Not by a long shot."

  "No?" Cadamus turned his head to the side.

  Nick followed the direction of his gaze. Gillian crouched by the air-conditioning unit. She had her cell phone in her hands, frantically dialing. The young Hispanic boy leaned over her, speaking to her in a quiet voice. A second later, she put the phone to her ear.

  "No, Gillian," he hollered. "Don't do it."

  If she heard him, she didn't respond. Her glassy eyes stared at something only she could see. The boy nodded at Cadamus, then ducked behind the airconditioning unit.

  "Your mate betrays you," Cadamus said with a sneer,

  "and this world will soon belong to those I serve."

  "Ma'am?" a young man's voice sounded in Gillian's ear. "Are you still there?"

  "Yes." Gillian shook her head dazedly. When had she placed a phone call?

  She'd been reliving her mother's death again and again and the awful moment when Nick's face and not her mother's stared up at her from the bed. She rubbed her eyes and the image disappeared.

  Only to be replaced by an equally horrifying one, this one real. Nick slumped against the access door and Cadamus stood before him, laughing, looking over at her, his lipless mouth drawn back in a macabre grin.

  "Ma'am?" the man asked.

  "I'm still here," Gillian said weakly. Her brain was slow to function. "Who are you?"

  "I'm the nine-one-one dispatcher. Can you tell me your location?"

  She answered automatically. "The HansonBuilding. Jefferson and Central. I don't have the exact address. It's the same place where Carl Salvador was murdered."

  "Which apartment?"

  "We're on the roof."

  "You say you're being attacked?"

  Had she said that? She couldn't recall. "Are the police on their way?"

  "Yes, ma'am. I've sent a patrol unit to investigate. But I need to know. Is someone attacking you?"

  Gillian must tell the man to stop the police from coming, but it was if someone else were moving her mouth.

  "Yes, we're being attacked."

  "By a man or a woman?"

  "Neither." He wasn't even human.

  Suddenly, a flash of lightning streaked across the night sky directly above the buildings across the street. It was followed by a fierce clap of thunder, the echo of which Gillian felt inside her chest.

  Rain? How could that be? The skies had been clear all day. Were clear now. She glanced up to see the moon shining brightly overhead. Then all at once, she couldn't see it. Something ... a cloud maybe ... blocked the moon's glow.

  The fine hairs along her arms stood on end.

  "Are you able to get away or hide? Hello? Hello?" the dispatcher said when she didn't answer right away.

  "I ... can't ... get away. Hurry, please."

  Hurry, please? That wasn't what she meant to say.

  Gillian lowered her., gaze. It landed on Cadamus. He was holding his belly and still laughing like a maniac. She'd been wrong, she thought. His range of emotions also included a warped sense of humor.

  Then she understood. Cadamus was controlling her. His fingers had dialed the phone, his words emanated from her mouth.

  "Stop," she said under her breath, concentrating on banishing him from her mind. "Stop now."

  But it was too late.

  The cloud covering the moon abruptly shrank, then just as quickly expanded into a whirling funnel that seemed to suck up the stars.

  A second streak of lightning flashed and a third, then too many to count. More thunder rumbled. One minute the air was still. The next, a gust of wind blew across the roof, whipping Gillian's hair and clothes.

  She lowered her head and covered her face with her forearm.

  "Ma'am, please answer me." The dispatcher sounded worried. "Are you all right?"

  "Uh ... no. I'm not." No one was.

  A siren wailed, distant at first, but growing increasingly louder.

  "The patrol unit just radioed in," the dispatcher said. "They should be arriving shortly."

  Gillian wanted to tell the dispatcher to have the police turn around and go back. Her tongue, however, was glued to the top of her mouth. Damn Cadamus!

  Above her, the funnel cloud danced across the sky. It left a huge tear in its wake from which poured liquid fire. At first Gillian thought it was her imagination.

  She was wrong.

  "Even now it begins," Cadamus roared and tipped his head back to take in the tumultuous sky. "The balance of power is shifting."

  There can be no interference from outside sources.

  T
he bottom fell out of Gillian's stomach. Her limp fingers were unable to hold the cell phone, and it dropped to her lap. The dispatcher's tinny voice floated up from the earpiece.

  "Oh, God, oh God. What have I done?"

  Exactly what Cadamus wanted. Once more he'd used her desire-this one to save Nick-against her. Without meaning to, without fully knowing what she was doing, she'd unleashed a destruction unlike any man had ever seen.

  Cadamus staggered backwards, his remaining good wing extended, his arms raised to the sky as if to encompass it. With a shout of triumph to his masters, he turned, mounted the ledge, and looked down onto the street.

  Arms still extended, he faced Nick, who crouched against the access door, and cried, "Your human soldiers come. I welcome them and their bullets. For the

  damage is already done. Your world belongs to my kind now."

  Nick refused to back down. "Your race is extinct. I killed your females."

  "You assume too much, Huntsman." Cadamus smiled scornfully. "As we speak, my seed lies in the womb of a female who will soon deliver my offspring."

  No, thought Gillian, it couldn't be. There were only three female creatures. Always three. Cadamus was lying just to throw Nick off guard.

  A pounding on the stairs heralded the arrival of the police.

  "Go now," Cadamus shouted and pointed.

  The young boy emerged from behind the airconditioning unit.

  Nick straightened to his full height, his chest expanding with each breath he took. No sooner did he move away from the access door than the young boy bolted past him and, wrenching the door open, escaped through it.

  Nick didn't appear bothered by the boy's leaving. He reached calmly behind him and, after engaging the lock, shut the door, mere seconds ahead of the police.

  When they encountered the locked barrier, they hammered on it with their batons and shouted, "Police. Open up."

  "You think your pathetic attempts to stop your soldiers will save your world?" Cadamus hollered at Nick over the noise, his fist leveled in belligerent defiance. "Think again. It is too late."

  "Now it is you who assumes too much, Cadamus."

  Driven by a sudden and overwhelming fear she couldn't explain, Gillian hauled herself upright. Her instincts, or perhaps her ability to read Nick, told her something terrible was about to happen. Something that had nothing-or everything-to do with the approaching end of the world.

  Nick took a step forward, then two. In his right hand, he gripped the ritual dagger. From his higher vantage point on the ledge, Cadamus eyed Nick and the dagger as if both were a grand joke.

  "I don't fear you, Huntsman."

  "You are a bigger fool than I imagined." Turning toward Gillian, Nick said, "You are my Synsar. Take care of Stevie. Raise her. Train her. Teach her everything you know. She, and you, are the only hope for this world."

  "Nick!"

  "I love you. Don't ever forget that." "Noooooo!"

  Time seemed to slow to half speed. Everything came at Gillian in tiny, disjointed fragments. Cadamus standing on the ledge, laughing. The police pounding on the door, then firing at it with their guns. The storm raging in the sky above them. Rain-when had that started?-pelting her face. Her legs weighed down by a hundred pounds of sand and unable to move.

  And Nick, advancing on Cadamus, the ritual dagger raised.

  Then suddenly, time sped up. So fast, Gillian couldn't take it all in.

  She tripped and landed on her hands and knees, only a foot away from Nick. Lifting her arm, she reached for him. Her fingers grazed his pants leg.

  "Don't," she cried.

  Ignoring her, he lowered his head and charged Cadamus, colliding with him like runaway vehicle slamming into a tree trunk. For a single second that seemed to last forever, they teetered on the edge of the wall.

  Gillian leapt to her feet and ran at them. She had no idea what she could or should do, only that she must act to save Nick and set the world right once more.

  In the end, all she did was watch the man she loved and the creature responsible for his death topple over the side of the building.

  "Nick!" His name, ripped from her throat, was carried away on the wind.

  Bracing her hands on the ledge, she stared down into the swirling darkness and saw ... absolutely nothing. No Nick. No Cadamus. Only another police car arriving on the street below and people gathering on the sidewalk to see what all the excitement was about.

  Gillian buried her face in her hands, sank to her knees, and cried. She'd lost Nick forever and had no one to blame except herself.

  Nick held on to Cadamus, his arms locked around the alpha male's waist. Cadamus's one good wing wasn't capable of keeping him and Nick from spiraling downward too fast to land safely. They would both be dead the instant they hit the pavement, which would be in another two or three seconds at the rate they were descending.

  To be on the safe side, Nick plunged the ritual dagger deep into Cadamus's chest. Dead center of the soft spot.

  His agonizing scream was the last thing Nick heard.

  After that, there was only silence. Blissful, peaceful silence. And darkness. Not frightening at all but soothing and calming.

  If this was death, Nick decided, it wasn't all bad.

  A moment later, he heard voices and listened more intently. Yes, definitely voices. The Ancients were calling to him.

  Then he felt their hands surround him, cradle him, and carry him away.

  Those Cadamus served would take him, too, for there was never any evidence left of the battle for humankind to ponder.

  All would be well, Nick thought. Gillian was safe and so was Stevie. They would fulfill their duty just as he had his and every Huntsman before him. He had faith in Gillian. More even than she had in herself.

  Come, Nicholaus, the Ancients said. It is time to go home.

  Closing his eyes, Nick sighed and went to sleep. The battle was over, and he'd won. He was only sorry he hadn't lived to see Gillian again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Gillian walked out of the police station and into a bright, beautiful dawn.

  After six long, miserable hours, four of which were spent waiting around and only two being questioned, she'd been released. She told the police nothing, nothing of value anyway. Certainly nothing about Nick and Cadamus.

  When asked why she was on the roof of the HansonBuilding, Gillian said she was researching her next book.

  "How did you get on the roof? The access door was locked."

  "It wasn't locked when I tried it." A lie.

  "Were you alone?"

  "Yes." Another lie.

  "What happened to your attacker?"

  "He went over the side of the building when he heard the officers banging on the door." The truth, sort o f. Nick had pushed him.

  "Describe him."

  "Very large, dark complexion, ugly, and mean." Also the truth.

  "What was the boy doing on the roof?"

  "I don't know. He was there when I arrived." Yet another lie.

  "I thought you said you were alone."

  "I was alone ... I mean ... I went alone to the HansonBuilding. The boy was on the roof when I arrived. I don't know why he was there."

  A entire pack o f lies.

  Gillian had asked about the boy, whether he was all right or not, but the police refused to give her any information. She knew only that he was in their custody. A far better fate, she was sure, than being in Cadamus's. From what she'd gathered, the boy had been as closemouthed as her.

  Synsars were loyal if nothing else.

  The police must have believed part of her story, at least the part about her having been attacked. She sported a nasty gash on her forehead from when Cadamus threw her into the air-conditioning unit, cuts and bruises from when he'd mauled her during their flight to the roof, and a multitude of scrapes and scratches. The police just had trouble with the part of her story where her assailant went off the side of the building.

  She could hardly
blame them, since no one found a body splattered on the street below.

  What had happened to Nick? She'd asked herself the same question a hundred times since the police loaded her in a squad car and brought her to the station. She suspected she was lucky they didn't charge her with calling in a false report.

  Gillian stood on the sidewalk outside the police station debating what to do next. During the last six hours, she'd fought to keep her emotions under control and her grief at bay, determined not to let Nick down. He wouldn't want her to tell the police about the existence of the creatures. Neither would her father.

  Finally, she understood their reasons. But it was too late for that understanding to do any good. Nick was dead. The only man she'd ever truly loved. And her father was still in prison-might soon die there if the cancer had its way.

  With the ordeal over,, her need to stay in control vanished, and the tears started flowing. Gillian couldn't stop them. No small wonder, she had a lot to cry about.

  People passed her, giving her curious stares. She glanced around through blurry eyes, searching for a semiprivate place to sit until her crying jag ended and she could function normally. Eyes downcast, she headed toward a vacant bench beneath an awning.

  "Gillian?" a familiar voice called.

  She stopped and turned around to see Charlie and Stevie walking briskly toward her.

  "I was monitoring the police radio last night and heard the call," Charlie said when he reached her. "We've been waiting for you to come out of the station since around two A.M. Are you okay?"

  "No." She'd never be okay again. "Nick's dead." The tears flowed anew.

  "I suspected as much when you both didn't come home and didn't answer your cell phones. I'm truly sorry," he said in a hoarse whisper.

  "Me, too."

  He opened his arms and she went into them. They stood for several moments, hugging. Gillian wasn't the only person to lose a loved one. Charlie had lost the second of his two sons.

  "I'll call later today," he said when they broke apart, "try to find out where they took his body." "There is no body."