Selena’s brow crinkled. She and Ryan, both crouched around a bend in the staircase, shared a doubtful look with one another, and then Selena, despite herself, peeked around the corner.
A bullet whizzed past her head. The plaster on the wall behind her exploded.
She touched her radio. “They’re right here. Can’t you See them?”
“I see three energy signatures,” replied Constance. “Three human energy signatures and a bunch more on the way.”
Selena swore under her breath. They were masking their auras somehow. It wouldn’t help them while they were corralled on the landing, but now, more than ever, it was imperative they catch them before they could leave the building. “Jasper, listen to me, no one wants to hurt you.”
She subtly gestured to Ryan, giving him the signal to ready the tranq gun. Below them, there was the BOOM of a large-caliber revolver, the werespider trying to further incite panic. She heard a cry and felt a bolt of panic as she recognized Colt’s voice.
She touched her comm. “Summers, are you hit?” There was no answer. Panic gripped her chest. “Colt! Answer me. That’s an order!” But Colt did not answer.
On the stairs above them, she heard the doors burst open, the sound of voices. The sound of panic.
#
“Help!” yelled Crimson, and at first Jasper was confused, because he’d never heard him sound so frightened and helpless in all the time he’d known him, and because he thought he was talking to him. Then he saw the large group of people emerging on the landing below them, right where the two male Hunters were hiding. “We’re trapped! They’re trying to kill us!”
To their right the door burst open as well, but the shield was still in effect there, and though the door passed through it unhampered (much as Crimson’s and Jasper’s bullets did), the organic material of the human bodies trying to shove their way through it did not. Instead there was just a static burst of electricity and lots of frightened and confused screaming. Constance was wedged between them and the forcefield, trying to quell the panicked press of bodies and even seeming more than a little frightened herself.
The civilians were panicking, what they had probably thought to be a harmless glitch or routine drill having suddenly turned into a probable shooting from what (to people attempting to leave the twenty-eighth floor) seemed to be an inescapable, possibly on-fire hotel. “Holly! Holly, for fuck’s sake!” Above and below them, the Hunters were overrun with angrily grasping hands that tried to seize their weapons or cast them over the railing.
A high, shrill voice cried several words over the clamor, and the shield suddenly gave way, unleashing the flow of bodies from every direction. Crimson snatched for Constance’s arm as she struggled to right herself. His fingers closed around her elbow. She came jerking to his side with an expression on her face that was still forming fear, and before she had time even to scream, Crimson grabbed her belt in his free hand, swept her up off her feet, and threw her over the railing like she was a rag doll.
Her bloodcurdling shriek echoed alongside the screech of the fire alarm, through the surprised swell of silence, only to stop mid-scream with a solid, heavy thud. The spell of the werespider’s voice broke, and with it the mindless mob mentality faltered as well. Then there were more screams, lots of them, mounting into a cacophony that seemed too big and loud for a space so small.
Some of the mortals wheeled around on a dime and ran back the way they had come. Others lunged past them and down the stairs like their lives depended on it. A few tried to rush them, but Crimson shouldered and batted them harmlessly aside. When this didn’t deter them immediately, he drew his gun and fired straight up, which signaled an end to the mortals attempting to get in their way.
“Hallway,” said Crimson, and Jasper agreed. He grabbed a hold of Alcander, who was making an admirable effort to squeeze himself into the wall, and dragged him along in the wake left at Crimson’s heel.
They emerged in the corridor just as the majority of civilians were making their exit, either back towards the elevators or onto the stairs, but one young woman (not much older than Jasper) still stood, her eyes shining with furious tears. She cast her hand towards them, fingers bent in the shape of talons.
A wide arc of electricity splayed from her palm. Jasper threw himself and Alcander to the floor. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled, and he felt a static tingle in his teeth. The thin blue-white beams crackled over them and left charred wounds in the cream-colored plaster. Orange embers glowed and smoked at their heart, a single small flame flickering near the tail end of the blast, gone almost as quickly as it had bloomed.
They were barely back to standing when she brought her palms together with a shouted word, and the carpet ripped itself out from beneath their feet, rising like a serpent as they sprawled backwards. Jasper landed in a roll, stopping upright on his heels and toes, Crimson already looming beside him.
Another burst of electricity tore the raised rug asunder, narrowly missing Jasper and striking Crimson on the inside of his shoulder. The force spun him around and slammed him against the unfinished floorboards below. He surged back to his feet with a snarl and then lunged down the hall in a serpentine pattern, ignoring Jasper’s cries for him to wait.
“Behind us!” shouted Alcander.
Jasper turned in time to see him pull the stairway door closed. It started to rattle and bounce immediately, the thin metal rail slipping in Alcander’s grip. Something heavy impacted against the small rectangular half window. It shattered; the shine of gunmetal shone through.
Jasper had a split second to make a choice, and he chose to grab the rail beside Alcander, his eyes shining white as he wrested the door firmly closed. A shot fired, close enough that his ears screeched, and he gritted his teeth, twisting the metal rail so that it crossed the doorframe, effectively barring it. For now.
He grabbed Alcander’s shoulder and turned him towards the hall, giving him a shove to get him moving. They’d have to find another way down.
#
Like all demons, the spider was fast, and this one had incredible reflexes, running and turning and twisting out of the way. Even when the electricity managed to hit him, it barely seemed to slow him. Holly backpedaled, throwing bursts of lightning left and right with one hand, trying to turn his gunfire aside with the other. Then suddenly he was right on top of her. His fist impacted against her sternum, and her ribs cracked with a crunch. She coughed, choking on blood, and the demon swung again, this time slamming across her jaw. Black spots burst across her vision and she crumpled to the ground. The spider brought his boot down on her rib cage, smashing it open like a rotted pumpkin. Her body convulsed for a spare few seconds, blue sparks jumping between her fingers, and then was still.
#
Three down. Jasper should have been horrified by the mechanical way he processed this information. How different was this from hunting, really? It was easy to think of it as nothing more than another mission. Three to go.
Most of the rooms and hallways were vacant, but there were a few stragglers, people who assumed the alarm was for everyone except them, just now poking their heads out of their rooms. Jasper, Crimson, and Al ran past them, to the other side of the hotel. There wasn’t a second set of stairs, which Jasper thought was some sort of fire hazard, but they did find the staff service elevator. The Hunters probably didn’t have access to this one, but even if they did, it wasn’t like they had many other options. Crimson might have been willing to jump out of a window at twenty stories, but Jazz and Al were not.
The closest the service elevator took them to the exit was to housekeeping and laundry, on the third floor. From there they could re-enter the stairwell, and by now the largest part of the crowd was out, though this was still not ideal. It would have been easier if they could have gotten out with everyone else. With Crimson, it seemed, plans often went astray.
They paused by the door, where Crimson listened, his head cocked to the left. He gave a miniscule nod, looking
at Jasper with blood-red eyes. The half-blood checked his clip, readjusted his grip, and nodded in return. Crimson kicked open the door, and they went into the stairwell, heading for the lobby.
Something hit Jasper just below his collarbone as they emerged into the large vacant room. He jerked backwards, ducking out of the line of fire and behind the reception desk on impulse, dragging Alcander with him. Looking down, he saw the yellow feathered end of a dart sticking out of his chest and pulled it out. The barest remnant of a vibrant green liquid remained in the vial. Shit, shit, fuck, shit. He tossed it aside. It was better than getting a bullet to the chest, but already he felt woozy and light-headed.
On the other side of the counter, he heard a vicious snarl rip through the air, followed closely by a scatter of automatic gunfire and a man’s scream cut suddenly short. Taking a deep breath, he made to stand.
Alcander grabbed his wrist to pull him back down. In his fear he almost looked like a proper vampire, his gray eyes nearly red, his fangs showing, but Jasper was not afraid. Al was harmless.
He held up the dart. “That was a large dose of midazolam. In a few minutes you will be unconscious. You’ll be an open target out there.”
Jasper pulled his wrist out of the doctor’s grasp. He knew he was right, but… “They’ll kill him. I have to try.” Eyes shining white with determination, he rose and made his way around the desk.
The body of one of the male Hunters was sprawled on the floor, eyes wide and staring, looking almost at Jasper. His throat was gone; Jasper saw the white of his spine through the blood that spread across the floor. Maybe ten feet away Crimson was in battle with the woman in the blue coat. She had a sword, long and thin, its edge emblazoned in gold. Crimson was dancing around her, avoiding her slices and jabs. She was quick, very quick, but Crimson was faster. Still, she sliced at him, and as Jasper watched, the blade came down and across his shoulder. He imagined more than heard the sizzle of flesh.
Crimson hissed, a harsh animal sound.
Jasper started towards the pair of them but was pulled from his feet, hitting the hard tile floor gracelessly. The tranq slowed his reaction time enough so that when his elbow hit the ground, his gun went flying across the floor, far out of reach. The ceiling spun above him. The Hunter from the bathroom the previous night brought the butt of his pistol down, hard across his lips. A sharp, eye-watering sting, then a numb tingle that fanned across his entire face. His cheek smacked the tile. He tasted blood. “You stupid shit!” Fingers clenched around his throat, knees pinning his chest, a hand raised the gun to come down on his face again.
Jasper felt a bright, surging energy pulse through him. He did not think, just grabbed upwards with both hands, one on the man’s chin, the other on the back of his neck near the base of his skull, fingers splayed and twisted through his dark blond hair. His eyes were glowing white. He saw their reflection in the wide, surprised blue eyes of the man above. He grimaced, baring teeth coated in blood, and twisted the Hunter’s head briskly to one side as hard as he could muster.
A crack, like the snap of dry twigs, but louder and crunchier; the sound reverberated down Jasper’s arms. The Hunter’s eyes glazed. With a puppetlike loll, he slumped over sideways and hit the floor beside him, a tendril of blood dripping from his lips, nostrils flaring desperately for several seconds before suddenly becoming still.
The energy deserted him almost as quickly as it had come. Groggily, Jasper made his way back to his feet. His ears were ringing, and all other sounds seemed very distant, as if they were playing on a television in another room. Jasper squeezed his eyes shut. He swayed and reached up to steady himself, stumbling against the grand piano. A single low flat note pierced the ringing silence in his ears. There was something he was supposed to be doing. Something important. He needed his gun. Where had it gone?
He wasn’t aware of the moment his legs buckled beneath him, only opening his eyes in time to see the lobby twirl around him in a dizzying mess of light and color. The impact of the floor never came. Instead, bafflingly, he felt like he was floating, the weightless sense of flying, cool air against his face. He opened his eyes, unaware of having closed them again, and saw above him Crimson’s pretty face, an ugly slash marring his cheek, gushing black, smoking blood. Jasper reached to touch it, wanting to ask if he was alright, but the darkness at the corners of his blurred vision persisted and descended, pulling him the rest of the way down.
Chapter Nineteen
—
Going Underground
Jasper didn’t wake all at once. Slowly he became aware of a tapping sound, far off but constant, insistent. He wanted to ignore it, wanted to stay in the quiet, safe dark of his slumber, but now that its perfect silence was disrupted, it left him, pulling him back to consciousness.
He became aware of rough fabric under his cheek; of cool, stale air in his nose; of warmth against his back and around his waist.
He opened his eyes.
It was dark, so dark that at first, he couldn’t see anything at all, and panic shocked through his chest, ripping away any last remnants of sleep that clung to him. He sat up, blinking in the darkness. Details came into view: he was in an unfinished room, the walls wooden skeletons, some with drywall, most without. A white washer/dryer set nearly shone in the shadows of one corner of the room next to a large basin sink. A bulky wood-cased television sat in the other. A big throw rug covered most of the floor, its color indistinguishable, and on top of it, not far from where he sat, the surface of a polished coffee table reflected the barest amount of light coming in from a tiny rectangular window high up on one wall, the only one he could see.
Where was he?
“Jazz?” Something brushed his wrist, and he jerked his arm away even as he recognized the voice.
“Crimson?” The muted red glow of his eyes, a demon’s version of night-vision goggles, looked over at him near the head of the bed. Not so long ago the sight of such things would twist his stomach with poison feelings of hate, but now he felt only comfort.
“Where are we?” He tried to remember. Everything was so blurry, an adrenaline-fueled collection of snapshots. Some were more focused than others, and he wished they weren’t. A spray of blood, bright red against polished white floors; his own hands wrapped around the neck of one of the Hunters, the hard snap of bone.
A wave of nausea rolled over him and he closed his eyes.
“We’re at that human’s house. Max.” Jasper didn’t say anything, so Crimson continued. “There’s iron beams in the basement.” In the dark he could hardly be seen, but Jasper felt him gesture to the ceiling above them. “Makes it crazy hard to track with magic.” Jasper’s silence persisted, though the other gave him ample time to respond. “You’ve been out for a few hours.”
Jasper opened his eyes and looked around the dark room again. A new horror crawled into his heart. “Where’s Al?”
“Al’s fine.” Crimson’s voice was uncharacteristically soft, melodic almost. The werespider sat up beside him on the bed—no, wait, it was a futon, Jasper felt the hard metal bar through the lumpy mattress—and gently touched his shoulder, kneading the muscles there. Jasper leaned into it without thought. “He was down here too, but he wouldn’t shut up about service or connection or whatever the fuck it’s called, so I sent him upstairs before he had an aneurysm or woke you up.” Crimson’s hand moved, rubbing small circles between his shoulder blades. The pressure was calming, reminding him of when he was very young, and his father would rub his back to help him sleep after a nightmare.
This felt like a nightmare.
“I’ll get the light.” Crimson moved to get up, and Jasper grabbed his arm, holding him back.
“No!” The sound of his own voice surprised him, louder and rougher than he expected. When he spoke again, it was quietly, as if to make up for shouting. “No. Leave it off. Please.”
“If that’s what you want.” Crimson settled back on the edge of the futon. “Whatever you want.”
Jasper r
eleased his arm, rubbing his hands on the thighs of his jeans. The basement wasn’t terribly cold, but he couldn’t suppress the chill that shook him. Crimson put his hand between his shoulders again, and Jasper closed his eyes, curling his hands into fists.
“Can I get you anything?” asked the werespider. “Water? Food?”
Crimson was being painfully nice. Jasper was used to his teasing and his goading and his sarcastic comments. He felt almost confused by his tenderness. He didn’t deserve such kindness, not after the way he’d lied to him, nor after the way he’d almost gotten them all killed. Crimson should hate him.
He opened his mouth to say that, no, he didn’t need anything, but the words didn’t come out. In their place a sob choked him.
Jasper had never killed a human. And though he had come to believe there was little difference between the dozens of vampires he’d killed and the Hunter in the lobby, it weighed on him differently. At least the Hunter had been in self-defense. He just hadn’t expected it to be so easy. Once he picked a side, he fell right back into his training. Once his hands were around the Hunter’s neck and he saw how simple it was to end him with a nearly effortless twist of his wrists (that was even with the tranquilizer in his system), he didn’t even have to think about it.
The werespider didn’t say anything, just closed the gap between them, then pulled him into an embrace, Jasper’s face against his shoulder, Crimson’s cheek against his hair. He didn’t ask what was wrong, didn’t try to say it was going to be okay. He just let Jasper cry, the sobs shaking his body while Crimson rubbed his back and held him close. Jasper, who rarely felt small, felt small then, but with Crimson’s arms around him, he also felt safe, cared for. Fingers clinging to his T-shirt, he held him back tightly and breathed in a shuddering breath. Even with the jacket gone, the scent of leather was still there, as much a part of him as his black hair and flashing eyes.
Eventually his sobs gave way to shaking, heaving breaths, which then turned to hitching periodic sighs and whimpers, and then to sniffles. Jasper noticed he’d all but soaked Crimson’s T-shirt at the shoulder and rubbed uselessly at it, with a small and miserably uttered, “Sorry.” His throat ached, and his eyes felt itchy from too many tears. His horror and sorrow were still there, hollow and faraway holes in his heart and belly. Mostly, now, he just felt tired.
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