Shadow Hunter (The Execution Underground)

by Kait Ballenger

  They kept to the shadows all the way to the Temple Building before slipping up the fire escape. Two people soaking wet with blood, holding a mutilated corpse, was not a sight for civilian eyes. Damon hit a keypad beside the fire escape window and they climbed into the loft. Wow. Keypad on the fire escape? How paranoid was he?

  Once they were safely inside the apartment, they positioned the body on the kitchen island. She stripped off her leather jacket, and Damon followed suit. He held out his arm, and she laid her coat across it. He placed both coats in his laundry room before returning to the kitchen. They both used the sink and washed the caked-on blood from their faces and hands.

  Tiffany stared at the body as she used a dishrag to dry her face. “What the hell was wrong with that vampire?” They were the first words either of them had spoken since the alley.

  Damon shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen a vampire guard a dead body, or leave so much leftover blood in its victim like that. And I’ve definitely never seen a baby vamp capable of stopping in the middle of a feeding to take a breather, and strong as it was, from the sloppy movements of that thing that was a baby vamp as sure as I live and breath.”

  She attempted to wipe some of the blood off her shirt and failed miserably. “It was like it was an animal with a piece of food. Vampires are chickenshits. Every peon vamp feeding off the street runs like hell if their victim is already dead and someone approaches. And you’re right, what kind of bloodsucker leaves blood like that? I’ve learned at least that much from hunting.”

  Damon shot her a look. “You shouldn’t be hunting vampires alone.”

  She glared at him. “Oh, yeah, why’s that? I’ve been hunting vampires for years.”

  “You’re not trained. If I hadn’t been there, that bloodsucker would have drained you.”

  She turned away from him. Her jaw clenched, and frustration built up inside her.

  “How many times have you come that close to death?” he asked.

  She stared at the floor.

  “How many times, Tiffany?”

  “Lots, okay?” She spun to face him. “You’re just like my brother, acting as if I can’t handle myself. Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I’m incapable of fighting. Why do you act like I can’t hold my own?”

  Something sparked behind Damon’s eyes, something she couldn’t interpret. “Because you can’t.”

  “I am not weak. I’m not a victim.” Her hands balled into fists.

  Damon walked toward her, his boots clomping against the hardwood floor. He towered over her, staring down into her eyes. If she’d been a weaker woman, she might have been intimidated, but she refused to back down.

  His tone remained calm and even despite the clear frustration behind his words. “Vampires are stronger and faster than even the most powerful human. Being a woman has nothing to do with it. Being untrained on top of being a normal human is what makes you incapable of fighting, not your gender. The vampire in that alleyway was nothing compared to a vampire who has lived even twenty years, let alone thousands. The bloodsucker we fought tonight couldn’t have been a vampire for more than a few days, and still he would have bested you...”

  She looked away from him.

  He let out a long sigh and held her chin gently in his hands, forcing her to face him. Even when he was covered in blood and dirt, his touch sent electrifying waves through her, and as mad as she was, she wished she could kiss him again. She cursed herself. She didn’t know this man. She still wasn’t even sure why he was so intent on protecting her.

  “Tiffany, look at me.”

  She did as he asked, studying the contours of his face. He seemed so familiar, but she couldn’t place where she’d seen him before. Though she knew he wasn’t, it was as if he was an old friend she hadn’t seen in years. His presence was both tantalizing and comforting.

  “Stop flirting with death. I can tell by looking at you that that’s why you’re doing this. Only someone with a suicide wish would try to fight something they know they can’t win.”

  A lump blocked her throat, and she fought hard to keep her eyes from watering. She blinked to hold back the tears and prayed he wouldn’t notice. Damon cupped her cheek, his touch gentle for a man so gruff and strong. She swallowed the lump in her throat and turned away from him.

  No one had ever said something so blunt to her. No one had ever seen straight through her before, been so right about her motivations—not even her brother. No one...

  ...except B.

  Even though she’d never met him. She’d been asked to correspond with B to give him something to hold on to in tough times, but in those letters, he’d been her savior. Now, with no more letters cluttering her mailbox, B seemed like a distant dream.

  * * *

  DAMON WATCHED TIFFANY step away from him. His fingers buzzed with electricity where their skin had connected. He bit his lower lip. He hadn’t meant to put her on the slab and expose her like that. The last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable. The look in her eyes said he’d seen right through her.

  She cleared her throat, acting as if he hadn’t nearly made her cry, which seemed very her. From what he’d gathered, she wasn’t the type of person to show weakness.

  “Tell me why you brought him back here.” She gestured toward the dead man.

  “To examine him.” Time to focus. He ducked into the downstairs bathroom and returned with his scalpel. It had saved him a time or two, letting him avoid unnecessary trips to the emergency room. Nothing like explaining why you had a bullet wound in your shoulder to open up the kind of investigation he didn’t need.

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “Do I even want to ask why you keep a scalpel in your bathroom?”

  “Useful if you get something lodged in you. Glass, bullets, whatever.”

  “That happens to you a lot?”

  “Comes with the job.” He ran the scalpel from the dead man’s sternum to his navel before he glanced at Tiffany.

  All the color drained from her face, leaving her skin with a slight greenish tinge. She gulped.

  He nodded over his shoulder, trying to hide a smile. “Bathroom, if you need it.”

  She frowned. “Don’t get haughty. It’s different seeing it for real, that’s all.”

  He tugged back the skin.

  “Ugh.” She gagged. “Do you have to do it so...forcefully?”

  “Yes.”

  She turned away and walked to the other side of the apartment. His eyes locked on to the sway of her hips, but he forced himself to look away. She would need to get used to dealing with gore if she was going to stick around for long. Damon paused.

  Shit. She would not be sticking around for long. Only long enough for him to ensure that she wasn’t chasing vamps anymore, that she was safe.

  He’d already done enough to Tiffany. If she stuck around, things would only end with him ruining her life even more.

  He glanced in her direction. She was staring out the window at the city lights. Her lips had tasted like warm brown sugar when they’d kissed. His gaze lowered to her sweet behind, and the thought of cupping her ass in his hands before he trailed kisses over the porcelain skin of her neck sent a shiver down his spine.

  Damn. He ripped his eyes away from her. He would not think about her no matter how deliciously round her ass was or how perfectly ample her breasts were.

  Dead body. Dead body. Dead body.

  He looked at the corpse lying on his counter. That was enough to act as a cold bucket of water for anyone. Pushing Tiffany from his mind, he stared down at the dead man’s insides. What was it about the latest victims that caused vampires to act like zombies, going for flesh and not just blood? Why were they eating these people? And the way the new vampire in the alley had guarded this man’s body screamed of a predator protecting
its prey.

  No. Leeches were leeches.

  Once a human was drained, they moved on. Wham, bam, thank you, human. Aside from Hosts, leeches didn’t stick around and play with their food. As much as he hated the relationship, at least Hosts served a purpose. Better a couple pints low than dead, though most Hosts drove themselves to that, anyway. But in all his years of hunting them, he’d never seen a single vampire interested in anything but blood—until now.

  From the look of the man’s insides, there was nothing unusual about his blood or his organs. Damon pulled latex gloves from one of the kitchen drawers and slipped them over his hands. He reached inside the open cavity of the man’s midsection and moved around several organs, searching for anything even remotely unusual that would cause a vampire to behave uncharacteristically.

  Nothing. No tumors or anything out of the ordinary.

  Damon removed his hands from the chest cavity. He pulled at the edge of his glove, ready to be done with his examination, then paused. Something in his gut told him it was worth checking inside the man’s organs, as well.

  He reached deep into the man’s body and began to palpate the organs. He bit his lip as his hands squished against the soft tissue. How the hell did morticians and coroners manage to do this for a living? Then again, how did he manage to kill for his?

  When he finally reached the man’s kidneys he used the scalpel to extract one. The organ was already cold. Carefully, he slid the scalpel through the spongy tissue.

  A loud hiss filled the room. Something vile poured from the kidney, and heat like liquid fire washed over his hand. He ripped the glove off just in time for the greenish liquid to eat through the latex like acid. A putrid smell hit his nose, and bile burned at the back of his throat. Drawn by the noise and the stink, Tiffany came running over from the window.

  The damn mess was like a sixth grade science fair project gone wrong, one of those spewing volcanoes every kid built at least once. He hardly noticed Tiffany running off and rummaging in the fridge. A second later, white powder clouded the air as she dumped an entire box of baking soda on top of the acid.

  “What the hell was that?” she demanded.

  Coughing from the soda cloud, he tossed his gloves in the kitchen garbage can, chuckling. “Overkill on the baking soda much?”

  She frowned. “For all you know that could have exploded and I saved your sorry ass. Now, what the hell happened?”

  He dusted baking soda from his clothing, not that it did much good with all the blood already there. “There’s something wrong with the kidney fluids.”

  “Ya think?” She stared at the rest of the green acid oozing from the dead man’s kidney.

  A smile crossed his face. He had to give her credit. Even though he knew she was probably fighting not to toss her cookies, she was standing there like a champ.

  He appreciated a strong woman.

  She wrinkled her nose. “That’s just disgusting. What is that? Maybe you should check the other organs, too.”

  Putting on a new pair of gloves, he held the man’s heart carefully, preparing to jab it with the scalpel. Just as he got ready to slice, the corpse lurched.

  Shit!

  Damon jumped back as the now newly turned vampire sat upright, hissing and reaching for Damon’s neck. How the hell had the thing changed so quickly? Before he could respond, Tiffany plunged her stake deep into the monster’s exposed heart. One high-pitched screech pierced his ears before the vampire exploded like the blood sack it was.

  Blood splashed onto his face and throughout his kitchen.

  He looked at Tiffany, who smiled despite all the blood she was covered in. “I told you I could hold my own.”

  Damon narrowed his stare. “Sometimes.” He pointed to the stairs. “You can use the shower upstairs. Toss your clothes over the balcony and I’ll throw them in the washer.”

  “You don’t need to ask me twice.”

  Stake still in hand, she trudged up the stairs. A minute later a large pile of bloody clothes flew over the balcony rail and landed on his hardwood floor with a splat. He quickly threw them in the washer, trying not to think about how deliciously naked she was, about the hot shower water running over the curves of her body. He pushed the thoughts aside.

  Down, boy. Focus.

  With any luck, he would at least be able to get most of the blood out of their clothes. He glanced down at his own threads. He was covered in blood and dirt, but there was no point in changing before he finished cleaning up.

  He reached under his kitchen sink and removed a mop and bucket, a sponge and a gallon of bleach. It was times like these when he wished he wasn’t too paranoid to employ a maid.

  Not that your average housecleaner could handle a kitchen resembling a horror movie.

  CHAPTER 6

  AN HOUR LATER he’d thoroughly scrubbed down the kitchen, returning it to a near sparkling clean. He would give it another going over later. Right now he needed a shower. Using the downstairs bathroom, he scrubbed all the blood, guts and debris from his body. When he finished, he wrapped his hips in a towel, threw his own clothes in the washer and padded up the stairs to his bedroom.

  Water from the shower pummeled the tiled floor, sounding like heavy rain. He didn’t blame Tiffany for the extra-long shower. When you washed the blood off, no matter how clean you got, sometimes you still felt dirty.

  He finished drying off and threw the white towel into the laundry bin. He slipped on a pair of old loose-fitting jeans, zipped and buttoned the fly, then reached into the top of his closet for a black shirt. Tiffany cleared her throat from behind him.

  Still shirtless, he turned around. The breath caught in his throat, and every inch of him stiffened. His erection was immediate. She was standing in the middle of his bedroom, still slightly damp from the shower, one of his towels wrapped around her. It took all the strength in him not to rip the towel from her body and take her on top of his bed. Thinking about what was underneath that towel would be the death of him.

  He watched as Tiffany scanned the length of his body and a look of hunger filled her eyes. She inhaled a deep breath, and he admired the rise and fall of her chest. Her every movement exuded raw sexuality. If she looked at him that way much longer...

  Her gaze dropped to the floor. “I knew you were with the Execution Underground.”

  He nearly swore. Damn. She’d seen the E.U. brand on his shoulders, a variation of the symbol Mark and every other hunter had. It marked them as humans with something more—their incredible strength, their speed, their fighting abilities. Each member was branded with his own unique symbol upon graduating the Execution Underground training.

  A sad smile crept across her lips. “I like your design more than the one my brother, Mark, had.” She continued to stare at the floor. “The first time he came home after he got his, he flaunted it as if it were a badge of honor. The purple heart of tattoolike brandings.”

  Damon froze at the sound of his best friend’s name. He let out a long breath through his nose. She couldn’t know he was responsible for her brother’s death—and worse. His jaw clenched. She couldn’t know that he was going to have to kill Mark all over again.

  She shifted from one foot to the other nervously. He admired the sway of her hips and immediately cursed himself. She was Mark’s baby sister. It didn’t matter if she was twenty-two, or that she was her own independent woman, that he’d known her for years—he owed it to her brother’s memory to stay away, to keep his hands off. Not to mention that he needed to stay objective, detached from his mission if he was going to complete it successfully. And how could he be detached while sexing up the sister of the man he was avenging?

  The sound of a car horn down in the street brought him back to reality. He would have to gouge out his eyes and break his eardrums to avoid wanting her. Her looks, the sound of her voice,
her scent... She drew him in like a siren.

  She broke the silence. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it awkward, like I was being creepy and sneaking a peek at your emblem. I know your vow to the Execution Underground is kind of a personal thing, so it’s none of my business. Anyway, uh...do you have a blow-dryer?”

  If he hadn’t been too busy raking his eyes over the gorgeous hourglass figure beneath the towel, he would have chuckled. He ran his fingers over his buzz cut. “I don’t have much hair to dry.”

  She met his eyes quickly, then lowered her own gaze to the floor again. “Do you have any more towels, then?”

  He pointed to the bathroom. “Under the sink.”

  She hunched her shoulders, curling in on herself as if she were embarrassed to stand before him, barely covered. “I didn’t see any.”

  Exercising every bit of self-control possible, he walked past her to the bathroom. He reached under the sink, feeling for the stray towels. Finally he found one tucked far in the back corner. He pulled it out, stood and turned, ready to take it to her, only to find her standing directly behind him. Her large amber eyes examined his torso again, lingering on the line of highly defined muscles leading from his chest to his hips.

  He couldn’t resist. “Like what you see?” he said playfully.

  The deep red blush that bloomed across her face sent his heart racing into overdrive, and he knew that if she dropped her gaze she would see his excitement.

  “Sorry,” she said, starting to turn away.

  He held the towel out toward her. “Don’t be.”

  She reached for the towel, and her soft, delicate fingers brushed against his hand. She met his eyes and stared up at him, her expression innocent and perfect. She bit her lower lip. He thought of the perfect taste of her mouth on his own. Being honest with himself, he had to admit that she’d tasted delicious when he’d kissed her, just like he’d always dreamed she would.