Mallory's Hunt

by Jory Strong

  It was one of the reasons she pitied Mikhail.

  It was one of the reasons she admired Mikhail.

  It was one of the reasons hope survived.

  Until coming to this world, he'd been a four-legged Hound for the majority of his life. He fought the drive to hunt here because it would quicken his death and unleash his brother into this world, a brother who would happily slaughter the good as well as the bad, uncaring who he sent to the Reaper Lord's realm.

  Used syringes littered the cardboard floor, Mikhail's way of calming the urge to kill. He'd told her once that heroin made him feel sated, like a Hound after a successful hunt, lying safe, wanting only to remain still with belly extended from gorging.

  His shirt rode up in the back. She pressed her hand to his skin and the warmth of the pack bond seeped through her palm.

  He stirred. "Mal?"

  "I need your help, Mikhail. We've got missing to find. They're Russian."

  He struggled to hands and knees, crawled from the cardboard doghouse.

  "Can you stand on your own?"

  "I don't know."

  She grasped his arm. Together they rose.

  He swayed, steadied, mumbled, "I got it."

  A step later, she snaked her arm around his waist and bore his weight across her shoulders.

  Dane joined them, providing support on Mikhail's right side, his eyes no longer red.

  At the Jeep Dane squeezed into the passenger seat. Mikhail curled into a ball in the back.

  "I want to go home, Mal."

  To their sire's world, where he wouldn't have to fight against the constant desire to hunt and kill, where he wouldn't be cut off from the magic.

  "You go and your brother takes your place."

  "I know." Said on a faint whisper. "I know."

  She stroked his back. Her heart thumped hard against the inside of her chest, her thoughts went to three blonde-haired girls—and then a fourth.

  What was she willing to do to keep Sorcha safe? What was she willing to become?

  * * * * *

  Chapter 8

  Caleb made his move, joining Hayden Welker at the pool table, a fresh Bud sweating against his palm.

  The six ball dropped into a pocket and then the nine.

  Welker straightened and asked, "You play?"

  "Well enough."

  Welker moved closer, nostrils flaring like he was sniffing out weapons.

  Caleb's skin pebbled, part of his hindbrain still in overdrive.

  Better get used to the weirdness.

  "Hayden. This is my place."

  "Matthew." He set the bottle on a coaster left along the table rim.

  Hayden began fishing balls out and dropping them onto the table. "Nine ball?"

  "Sure." Caleb went to the cue rack, getting a closer look at the door leading into the private room.

  The palm recognition pad practically begged someone to break in to see what was so valuable it had to be kept behind that kind of security.

  The balls were racked and ready when he got back to the table.

  "You can shoot first," Hayden said.

  Caleb leaned down, lined up his shot, breaking the balls in a loud clack.

  They scattered with the four disappearing into an end pocket.

  He followed the four by taking out the one, two and five balls.

  The bar door opened just as he was about to drop the nine.

  A glance up and he felt the rush of blood downward. Mallory.

  She'd been gorgeous in the photograph, but that photograph hadn't done her justice. Jesus, she was beautiful. Everything inside him reacted to the sight of her. She was walking temptation.

  He had to wrench his attention away from her and onto the guy she was with, then he had to suppress a smile. Looks like the gang's all here, sans Dane Mora.

  His focus dropped to the dog on the other side of the junkie. No leash. No collar. No way of controlling it.

  The dog's coat was the same glossy black as Mallory's hair. The dog's eyes, when they met his, spilled adrenaline into his system.

  Fuck. He wasn't prepared for the deadly intensity in its black-abyss stare.

  He jerked back to Mallory and felt the punch at having their eyes collide.

  Christ.

  The impact rocked him. It had desire threatening to overcome training. It made him think the same dangerous thought he'd had across the table from Zack, that she hadn't gone bad, yet.

  Telling himself to get over it wasn't going to work. The best he could do was get used to it.

  Maybe use it. Up to a point, anyway.

  The dog growled, low and deep and serious.

  Hayden said, "Knock it off, Dane. Can't blame a man for looking and wanting."

  Wanting. Yeah. He wanted, but that didn't mean he was going to take.

  This was a job. His last undercover, and there was already enough weirdness to rouse his survival instincts without getting up close and very, very personal with someone he would put in jail.

  He braced himself as she drew close, the air heating between them and both of them aware of it. He swallowed hard at finding she smelled as good as she looked, not cloying flowers but mysterious forests and wild waterfalls.

  The dog sent one last hard stare his way then went to the secure door. It jumped. Its paw struck the palm plate. The lock disengaged and the dog pushed on the door, opening it just enough to slip through.

  "Got a minute?" Mallory asked Hayden, her heart racing. Usually she didn't give Hayden's associates a second glance. But this one…

  He warranted a lot of them, making her glad she'd taken the time to change out of her bloody shirt before meeting Iosif.

  His black hair was straight and touched his shoulders. A stud glittered in one ear like a lure to draw a woman's lips there. His eyes were brown, dark, not the black she'd inherited, but she could imagine drowning in them. And his scent—rich, rich loam, the kind to wallow in. Dig in. Roll in. A Hound's reaction that should have put her off, but didn't.

  Hayden came around the table, distracting her from her fascination with his companion. "I'll give you a minute of my time, Mal." Meaning she'd have to pay for more of his expertise, same as any other client.

  "Big surprise," she muttered, heart tripping over itself at catching the upward flick at a corner of the stranger's lips.

  Hayden took the burden of Mikhail off her shoulders but didn't offer to introduce her to the man he'd been playing pool with. He wouldn't, not because the man might be a criminal, but because he was human.

  It was just as well. The grocery bags draped over her arm weighed her down with heavy reality.

  She followed the others through the doorway and her curiosity about Hayden's companion shriveled in the presence of the brass ring set deep into the floor at the middle of the room. Fight gear lay scattered on smooth wood, gloves and head protection, but combat wasn't the principal purpose for the circle.

  Hayden dropped Mikhail in the center of it, sparing them all the painful sight of him crawling there if he couldn't make it on his own two feet.

  Dane had a different response. He edged close to the brass inlay, lifting a leg in sentiment but refraining from peeing.

  She sided with Dane. The ring stood for everything she abhorred. She didn't envy Hayden the job of being keeper of this place.

  Hayden went to the old-wood desk, giving her an excuse to turn her back on the ring.

  "What do you want?" he asked.

  Tugging the folded sheet on Amanda Edson from her pocket, she shook it open and dropped it on the desk. "Davidson gave me this earlier today."

  Hayden smirked. "More good deeds, Mal? Like there's going to be some karmic payoff?"

  His words struck at her hope but it didn't shatter. She fisted her hand and that made him laugh.

  She reached into a plastic sack and pulled out the photo of Viktoriya with her daughters, slapping it onto the desk next to the flier. "This came after the flier, after I'd been to Austin's birthday p
arty. The girls are ten and eleven now."

  A muscle spasmed in Hayden's cheek. He'd made a point of staying away from her mother's family, but he knew what they looked like. He knew how closely these missing girls resembled Sorcha.

  "He'll be here soon."

  Their sire.

  She shuddered at his confirming what she feared, that the Reaper Lord would arrive and call an Earthly hunt.

  Hayden glanced at Dane then at her. His lips pulled back in a show of teeth. "Going to do a disappearing act this time?"

  "No."

  "Didn't think so." His gaze shifted to the pictures. "Give me the details."

  A measure of relief came, at knowing she wouldn't be reduced to pleading or incurring a debt to get Hayden's help.

  She set the bags down. "Two girls and their mother came from Russia. Supposedly the mother was coming to marry an American she met through a bride site."

  Hayden's hand flicked toward the sacks. "Porn?"

  "Yes. Stolen from a guy associated with Brides From Russia. Some of it's homemade. Some of it's retail."

  Hayden's eyes shimmered red. "Human trafficking comes with layers of slime, Mal. Lots of prey."

  Her heart sped. "I know."

  Hayden opened the bag of professionally produced porn and removed the stack of DVDs, shuffling through the cases before setting them next to the laptop. "I'll run face recognition software on the disks, see if the woman and her kids have starring roles."

  He took the second picture from the bag containing the homemade porn. She said, "Supposedly that's Kent Beck, the man Viktoriya came here to marry. Bogus address, probably everything about him is bogus. We need to hit the Brides' office. We need someone who can deal with security systems."

  This time Hayden's show of teeth was accompanied by a low growl. "Don't be stupid, Mal. Humans are a liability. Bargain to get Dane back. Play the female card. You have to know Daddy dearest has plans for you."

  She took a step backward.

  Hayden's laugh was a gritty scrape of sandpaper over raw skin.

  He dumped the personal porn. "I'll pull all the faces and add them to the file. They might come in handy. This is going to take time, Mal."

  "I know. The only lead I've got for Amanda Edson is that she was seen getting into a black or dark blue car a couple of months ago. The guy is a regular, white. There have got to be street cams and—"

  "You need to narrow it down. I'm not going to chase my tail, not when he'll show up and point us in the direction he wants us to hunt."

  She picked up the sheet on Amanda. Her knuckles grazed the desk and she felt the hum of otherness, the weight of age running through the wood. Her eyes strayed to the wooden chest at the corner and she suppressed a shudder.

  "Are you going to keep standing there?" Hayden asked.

  "No." But she couldn't stomach immersing herself in the shallow see-and-be-seen world awaiting her on Mulholland. "I'll hang for a little while, in case you get something."

  She left the ring room.

  Hayden's companion was bent over the pool table, a welcome, totally masculine distraction. Heat returned, spreading through her and driving icy reality to the background. She couldn't pinpoint the why of it, beyond his scent, but something about him drew her.

  He paused in lining up a shot, stick touched to the cue ball. His head turned, their eyes striking in a renewed shimmer of awareness.

  A smile followed, a small upward tilt to his lips that might as well have been a summons to hers. Irresistible pull took her to him, and for a little while, she just wanted to pretend Hell didn't exist, in this world or her sire's.

  "You play?" he asked. His smile was warm chocolate on cherries, impossible to resist. His voice was a stroke down her spine, a hand curved at her hip, urging the press of bodies.

  "I'm terrible, especially compared to Hayden."

  "I don't believe it."

  "Believe it. Trust me, this isn't a hustle."

  "Prove it. We'll make the stakes something we can both afford. Loser buys the winner a drink."

  "Agreed." Not that there'd be a real loser.

  She snagged a cue from the rack, not caring which one she used because the end result would be the same.

  The balls were ready when she got back to the table. "Mallory," she said, offering her hand.

  Caleb took it, heart skipping a beat at the fit and heat of it in his. "Matthew."

  She cocked her head, nostrils flaring slightly, the same way Hayden's had, and making Caleb's spidey senses sing.

  "I wouldn't have pegged you for a Matthew."

  "Middle name. I prefer to use it."

  Truth on both counts, though the second was situational. And now he'd been doubly warned that he needed to be cautious. They had spidey senses of their own.

  He stepped away from the table. "Let's see what you've got."

  "Fair warning. It's ugly."

  His gaze swept downward in instinctive masculine response, an answer forming and escaping unscripted. "Doubtful. You've got gorgeous nailed."

  Color highlighted her cheeks. She licked her lips, shorting his breath.

  Get a grip.

  His body refused the order, making him glad she ceded her turn two shots later. But even the concentration required to map his shots, line them up and take them, didn't obliterate his awareness of her. It took everything he had to keep his eyes on the table and off her.

  He dropped the last ball. "Another? Just for fun?"

  "Your fun," she said, the warmth and humor captured in the surveillance photo magnified a hundredfold, the lips getting harder and harder to resist imagining himself kissing.

  Focus on the prize. Last job undercover.

  They played two more games with the same result.

  She shook her head, the inky black hair sliding across her back, requiring him to fight the urge to grasp and use it to pull her to him.

  She motioned toward the pool table. Her laugh was carefree summer time. "Like I said, ugly."

  "There's no safe response to that."

  Her smile widened. Amusement turned her eyes into pools of molten tar that held him, that eroded the will to escape.

  "I owe you a drink," she said, freeing him, warning bells sounding because he didn't want to be freed.

  They put their sticks back in the rack. At the bar she ordered Jack Daniels and the corners of his lips kicked up in surprise. The bartender set another Bud down in front of him.

  Take it private. Take it to a booth.

  But that was his body doing the talking, not his brain.

  He leaned against the polished wood of the bar. She slid onto a stool.

  "You come here often?" he asked, a safe enough question with an answer he already knew.

  "Only when I have to. What about you? This one of your hangouts?"

  Would it bother her if he was the kind of guy who frequented titty bars?

  "First visit. Heard about it from someone I've worked with. I just got into town. I'm staying at a friend's apartment in Echo Park while he's gone."

  "Where in Echo Park?"

  "Complex is called Emerald Terrace."

  "We're neighbors then."

  She didn't seem concerned about it.

  "What apartment number?" she asked.

  "5A."

  "Close neighbors then. I'm in 7, two doors over. I don't think I've ever seen your friend."

  "He travels a lot. Not sure where he is or exactly what he's up to at the moment. The place was available without hassle, and it sounded good. Plus it comes with a car if I get in a jam and need one instead of the Harley."

  "That's a sweet deal."

  "I couldn't pass it up."

  Her arm rested along the polished wood.

  Don't his mind ordered, but it didn't stop him from using the angry wounds on her forearm as an excuse to touch her.

  His hand encircled her wrist. His pulse echoed the jump of hers.

  The feel of her smooth, warm skin against his palm only mad
e him want to touch more of it. He brushed his thumb beneath the twin punctures marring perfection and felt a sensual shiver go through her.

  "The dog?" he asked, and it came into view as if summoned, saving him from himself.

  It stared intently at Mallory and she tensed, turning her head to look at it, some silent message passing between them.

  The hair along Caleb's nape lifted.

  She pulled her wrist from his grip and slid from the stool.

  "Sorry. I need to desert you." Her eyes touched his long enough for him to read regret in them and then she was moving fast toward the dog.

  Mallory heard the sounds of struggle before she got to the door.

  Inside Hayden was fighting to hold Mikhail pinned to the floor as he alternated between forms, a seizing human and a thrashing four-legged Hound, his mouth foaming and teeth clacking.

  "Hurry the fuck up, Mal," Hayden said, his voice harsh with the effort it took to keep Mikhail down as their other-world-born brother lost his mind, his magic and his will.

  Dane joined Hayden in the circle, piling onto Mikhail's thrashing body.

  She went to the desk, pulling drug paraphernalia and a premeasured quantity of heroin from a drawer, prepping it then drawing it into a syringe.

  Hayden got one of Mikhail's arms pinned to the floor. She got it tied-off and the needle in, the plunger down.

  Mikhail calmed.

  "Fuck," Hayden said, rolling onto his back. "That was the worst one yet. It came on with absolutely no warning."

  Mallory shivered. Mikhail escaping the room as a furred Hound would be the beginnings of a slaughter.

  She stood, offering Hayden a hand.

  He took it, the touch creating a slide of warmth, a sense of rightness and belonging that was all about being pack. She let go. He laughed softly, pity in his eyes, a spike of anger in his scent. "Still fighting the good fight, that's Mallory."

  "And you aren't?"

  "Don't fool yourself about me."

  She glanced at the laptop on the desk. "You got anything yet?"

  "Are you serious? Give me a fucking break, Mal. Go home."

  Dane trotted to the door in a signal it was time to go, and it was, even if the odds of finding Jeffery Carlisle on Mulholland were only fifty-fifty.