Shadow Hunter (The Execution Underground)

by Kait Ballenger

  Her eyes widened. Heat rushed to her face as she fought to breathe. She strained for the panic button and gasped for air as Caius’s grip tightened. With the tiniest snap, his fangs descended. His canines glistened in the light of the chandelier. He reared his head and prepared to sink his fangs into the delicate skin of her throat.

  * * *

  DAMON STORMED THROUGH the kitchen, shoving his way into the restaurant. The smells of simmering white wine and melted cheeses invaded his nose. Shouts echoed behind him. An angry cook yelled as he passed, “You can’t come in here!”

  Not a surprising reaction to a man in a ski mask. He ignored them all and kept going.

  At the sight of him, a woman in his path spilled a large vat of what appeared to be pea soup. The liquid splashed over the steel toes of his boots.

  But he didn’t care—nothing would stop him from finding Tiffany. When he heard the panic button sound, her safety became his sole mission.

  He burst into the restaurant. His eyes darted across the room. Shit. Where was she? His line of vision followed a waiter as he walked past a back hallway. She had to be in a private room. Damon slipped through the crowded room as fast as he could, before he bolted down the hallway. A faint whimpering sound carried through the only door. Something inside him snapped.

  Pulling his gun from his belt, he wrenched the door open, stepped to the side and aimed, making sure Tiffany wasn’t in the line of fire. He squeezed the trigger. The mix of music and voices from the main dining room drowned out the muffled shot. Silencers were a hunter’s blessing.

  Caius’s body jolted before he spun to face Damon. Tiffany fell to the floor, gasping for air. A small trickle of blood ran down her neck from where Caius’s fingernails had dug into her skin as he choked her. Rage coursed through Damon at the sight. A loud snarl ripped from his throat. Caius would die.

  He fired another shot straight into the ancient bloodsucker’s chest, blowing a massive hole in Caius’s body, but at Caius’s age, the skin and organs knitted together again in seconds. Damon tucked his gun away, and ripped a silver dagger and his wooden stake from his jacket.

  Fangs already down, Caius hissed, and the two of them charged each other. They collided at full speed, meeting each other blow for blow. A normal man stood no chance against a vampire as old as Caius, but gifted with the speed and strength of his Execution Underground training, Damon held his own. Anger and rage fueled his every move.

  No vampire hurt Tiffany and lived. None.

  Raising his dagger overhead, Damon slashed the knife across Caius’s face. The leech hissed in pain. Blood gushed down his cheeks, and the wound smoked as if Damon had poured acid into it, but that didn’t deter Caius. He blocked the swing of Damon’s stake and punched Damon in the solar plexus. Gasping for air, Damon rushed the vampire, hitting him straight in the midsection. They toppled to the ground. Caius grabbed for Damon’s stake, but Damon held tight. No way in hell was that vamp getting it.

  Rolling his body overtop Caius, Damon plunged his knife downward and nicked Caius’s arm, but the vampire managed to roll out of his grasp. Caius jumped to his feet and gripped Damon’s throat, lifting him into the air. Damon was over six feet, but Caius dangled him above the ground.

  Tiffany screamed. Shit. She was unarmed.

  She lunged for a piece of flatware.

  Damon gaped. “Tiff—” he choked out.

  With both hands, she jabbed a fork into the back of Caius’s neck, and he whipped his head around to address the distraction. Exactly the opportunity Damon needed.

  He twisted and kicked his foot straight into Caius’s gut. Caius’s grip faltered. Seizing the vampire’s arm, Damon drove the blade of his silver dagger straight through the bone. A loud roar ripped through the empty room, Caius grasped at the dagger, pulling the blade out so his wound could heal. Blood spurted from his forearm as he threw the blade with expert precision straight into Damon’s shoulder.

  Pain exploded through Damon’s flesh, and adrenaline raced through him. He fell to his knees. Warm blood gushed down his chest, and he faintly registered the sound of Tiffany yelling his name. Clutching the dagger by the hilt, he ripped the blade from his wound. His vision spun from the pain, but he would not falter.

  A fresh wave of adrenaline-fueled energy pumped into his veins. Caius rushed forward, but Damon swept the vampire’s legs out from under him. The bloodsucker toppled over, and they rolled in a heap on the ground, both fighting to gain the upper hand. Caius’s fist slammed into Damon’s face.

  Damon hit the bastard with an uppercut to the jaw, sending him flying backward. Caius scrambled across the floor as Damon jumped to his feet. Using every ounce of strength he possessed, he gripped Caius by the throat, lifting him into the air and slamming him down onto the dinner table. Shattered plate shards flew through the air.

  Damon lifted his stake over his head, then brought the wood down. Caius clamped both hands around Damon’s wrist, struggling to hold off death. Blood dripped across Caius from Damon’s injured shoulder, but Damon fought through the pain.

  The image of Mark’s face contorted with pain flashed through his mind. This leech had killed his fellow hunter, his closest friend. The filthy beast lying beneath him had robbed Tiffany of her brother.

  He would pay. He would die.

  Damon shook as he shoved against Caius. Losing blood, and fast, he felt the wooden stake being raised as Caius gained the upper hand.

  No.

  Damon’s vision blurred. Blood spurted from his wound, and he felt the color drain from his face, but he refused to give in.

  Caius. Would. Die.

  He released one of his hands from the stake and saw Caius grin. The dumbass thought Damon was losing the fight. No chance in hell. With his free hand Damon pulled his gun from his belt. A bullet to the chest wouldn’t deter Caius, but he knew what would. Looking up, he aimed his gun straight for the fragile hook that held the chandelier in place. He squeezed the trigger.

  The bullet blasted into the plaster of the ceiling, and the chandelier teetered before plunging toward the ground. Damon jumped back. The gold bars and crystals of the chandelier exploded on top of Caius’s body.

  Writhing beneath them, Caius squirmed to release himself from their weight.

  Now.

  A loud battle cry ripped from Damon’s throat. Running forward, he lifted his weapon over his head and stabbed the stake straight through Caius’s heart.

  The ancient vampire burst to pieces. Blood splattered in all directions, coating Damon in the thick crimson liquid.

  “Damon!” Tiffany ran to his side.

  Damon crumpled to his knees, wiping the blood off his face. Tiffany fell to her own knees beside him. Specks of blood covered her face and her sparkling dress. Dots of black clouded his vision. Tiffany examined his wound.

  “Shit.” She pressed her hand onto the hole to gauge its depth. He let out a low hiss from the pain.

  She grabbed her now blood-covered shawl from the chair and wrapped the material tight around his shoulder to slow the bleeding. Man, she looked like an angel as she cared for him. His heart thudded against his rib cage. He couldn’t be sure whether it was Tiffany or the blood he’d lost that was making him delirious.

  “Damon, we have to get out of here. All you have to do is make it to the car. All right?”

  He clenched his teeth and nodded. With her help, he stumbled to his feet and hobbled from the room as fast as he could, though he was teetering on the brink of passing out. Loud gasps and shrieks filled the restaurant as Tiffany led him out the front door, holding his arm around her shoulder to help steady him.

  The sweet smells of food faded from his nose, and the fresh air of the cold Rochester night blasted him in the face. He coughed, fighting to breathe. “S-s-sorry I ruined your dinner.” He was trying to joke even as his visi
on spun. He wanted to be strong for her, show her it was okay.

  Tiffany joked back. “Oh, yeah, I was really looking forward to some of that pink Himalayan crap.” She forced a small smile.

  But hard as she tried, even in his fading consciousness, she couldn’t fool him. Her eyes told him everything. He knew how she felt...and she was terrified.

  CHAPTER 10

  A LARGE MOUNTAIN of sailor-level profanities wouldn’t have been enough to express the deep shit Tiffany was in. Damon slumped against her shoulders more heavily each minute, quickly losing blood. He needed to get to a hospital as soon as possible. The bleeding wasn’t slowing, despite the makeshift pressure bandage she’d placed on it.

  As if that wasn’t enough, pure horror clutched her hard as she stared at the familiar face looking at her from inside Caius’s Bugatti Veyron, the metallic finish of the limited edition Pur Sang glaring beneath the orange streetlights. Damn it all to hell.

  Caius had brought his vampire chauffeur.

  Carl looked at her and Damon, taking in all the blood. His eyes widened, and she could practically see the lightbulb flicker on inside his head. Once an average man who’d served as Caius’s Host back in N.Y.C., Carl flashed his elongated fangs. He’d been a vampire for two years, and there was nothing average about him any longer. A fiery blaze lit behind his eyes. His master was dead, and he knew it.

  If Carl reported Caius’s murder to the local nest, the death would infuriate the local vamps. With every vampire in the city on their tail, Tiffany and Damon would be dead within hours. And apparently Carl knew that, as well, because he ripped his gaze away from them and shifted the Bugatti into Drive.

  Shit.

  Damon groaned and swayed, barely holding himself upright as Tiffany released his weight. Pushing aside his leather trench coat, she snatched the Desert Eagle and her stake from his belt. She wasn’t bad with guns, but she sure as hell wasn’t a sharpshooter.

  Still, she had to try.

  Carefully but quickly aiming, she shot at the passenger-side rear tire. Her bullet hit the diamond-cut finish of the hubcap and ricocheted.

  Damn.

  She squeezed the trigger again, hitting closer to the hubcap.

  Come on, just a little closer.

  She held her arms steady as the Bugatti rounded a corner.

  Last chance.

  One eye closed for a more accurate aim, she pulled the trigger for a third time.

  The rear tire of the Bugatti exploded. Rubber flew in all directions. The awful scrape of metal against concrete hit her ears, more nerve-racking than nails on a chalkboard. She gripped Damon’s elbow and pulled him forward.

  “Come on, Damon. You have to run.”

  She kicked off her heels and bolted full speed toward the damaged car. Like a champ, Damon jogged behind her despite his bleeding wound. Carl threw open the door, briefly locked eyes with her then ran full speed down the nearest alley. A grin crossed Tiffany’s face. He was fast, but not fast enough. He might be strong compared to what he’d been like as a human, but he wasn’t nearly as strong and fast as an ancient master like Caius. Having been the star of her high school track team never failed to be useful when hunting.

  A loud groan echoed from behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Damon crumple to his knees. All the color had drained from his face, leaving his lips a pale white. He gasped for air. Tiffany skidded to a stop. Should she give up the chase?

  The image of the victims’ mauled flesh seared its way to the surface of her mind. If she didn’t stop Carl, the news of Caius’s death would race through Rochester like wildfire, and there would be no way in hell she and Damon could ever destroy the viral bloodsuckers before the virus spread out of control.

  Damon was a hunter, a member of the Execution Underground. His wounds would heal.

  She ran after Carl.

  Bursting into the alley, she spotted the vamp racing along the far side, in the shadow of an office building. She launched herself into a full-on sprint. The muscles of her legs burned in protest, and the freezing concrete tore through the bottoms of her feet.

  But she had an advantage: Carl didn’t think she could take him.

  When the leech reached the end of the alley, instead of rounding the corner onto the next block, he halted. Spinning to face her, he bared his fangs and hissed. The bastard was fooling himself if he thought she was scared. Two minutes of sitting with Caius across the dinner table was scarier than this guy threatening to kill her. The man couldn’t weigh more than one-seventy soaking wet. It wasn’t him she was scared of, it was what his words could do.

  Before she stopped running, the vampire lunged. He knocked her to the ground, snapping viciously at her neck as he writhed on top of her. Really? That was all he could do?

  She jammed her elbow upward and clocked him straight in the jaw. His head flew backward, and before he could return to attack she pulled the Desert Eagle and fired a shot straight into his forehead. The kick from the larger-than-average gun slammed her shoulder against the pavement. The wind rushed from her lungs. That was going to hurt in the morning. The monster screamed, falling onto the ground in pain as blood and brain fluid seeped from his head. Though the wound sealed itself within seconds, he clearly wasn’t used to being shot in the head.

  Wimp.

  As he clutched his healing skull, she threw her body weight forward and landed on top of him, her stake held tight. He gripped her neck, cutting off her breath and holding her off him, but not before she positioned the stake between her breasts. With all the strength she possessed, she contracted her abs and shoved the weight of her chest downward. The sharp end of the stake pierced his skin and into his flesh.

  He released her throat and grabbed her shoulders in an attempt to push her off, but it was too late. One more good shove and her weapon sank through to his heart. His undead body shattered in a burst of blood, and she flopped onto the concrete. Her elbows scraped the asphalt, and fresh blood coated her hair, face and dress.

  For a moment she lay sprawled on the pavement. She squeezed her eyes shut. Her heart thumped, and she felt a slight soreness in her chest where she’d braced her weapon as she stabbed Carl. There was sure to be one hell of a bruise there later. The skin of her elbows burned, and she let out a small groan.

  Her lids shot open.

  Damon.

  She scrambled up from the pavement and ran back down the alley. A small cry ripped from her lips as she rounded the corner. Damon was lying on the cold winter ground, unmoving. She rushed to his side. Her heart stopped, and bile rose in the back of her throat. She couldn’t tell if he was even breathing.

  Dislodging his arm from beneath the dead weight of his body, she fingered his wrist, searching for a pulse. A faint beat still remained, though she could tell it was quickly fading.

  Somewhere in her mind, she was vaguely aware of the sound of her own screaming as she pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed 911. She tried desperately to lift him. They needed to get out of there so the cops, who were surely headed to the restaurant already, couldn’t find them. All she needed was an ambulance. Tears streamed down her face, clouding her vision. She couldn’t think straight. Only one thought held firm in her mind.

  She’d left B to die....

  * * *

  AN INCESSANT BEEPING noise echoed in Damon’s ears. It sounded in rhythm with every thump of his heart. The pounding in his head matched his pulse.

  Man, he felt like shit.

  A blinding light hovered overhead, but his vision was so blurred that he couldn’t tell what it was. He squeezed his eyes shut. It felt as if there was tubing in his nostrils. Though his arm weighed a thousand pounds, or at least it felt like it, he gripped the thin tube and ripped it away from his face.

  “Damon, no!” a panicked voice cried.

  The
smell of antiseptic assaulted his nose. It smelled as nasty as a...

  His eyes shot opened, and he frantically scanned the hospital room. He was wearing an awful white hospital gown, barely long enough to cover his upper thighs. Before he could say anything, the smell of Tiffany’s sweet vanilla perfume wafted into his nose and her arms were wrapped around his neck. The smell was comforting, bringing to mind memories of the perfume-scented letters she used to send him.

  Her body shook as she cried into his shoulder.

  He blinked, taking it all in, before he gripped her by the waist and dragged her from the chair beside him onto the bed. She sat next to him, tears filling her honey-colored eyes.

  “What in blazing hell is going on?”

  Her lip trembled before she burst into another round of tears.

  Damn it.

  Pulling her into his arms, he cradled her against his chest. Though she’d obviously washed herself off, her gown was crusted with blood, but damn, the slinky thing still looked good on her. “Shh. Shh. Stop with the waterworks and tell me what happened.”

  She let out one last sniffle and sat up again.

  “Are you all right?” he said.

  She stared at him for a long moment, then blurted out, “I almost killed you.”

  He stared at her as if she’d grown six heads. “What do you mean, you almost killed me?”

  He racked his brain, but the last thing he remembered was the pain of his knees hitting the restaurant’s marble floor after he’d killed Caius.

  He’d killed Caius.

  If he hadn’t been lying in a hospital bed, he might have done a victory dance. Hell, yes. The bloodsucking bastard was dead.

  Tiffany wiped her eyes. “After you killed Caius, you’d lost so much blood. I managed to get you out of the restaurant, but then Carl was there.”

  “Who the hell is Carl?”

  “He is—was—a vampire. He was Caius’s chauffeur.”