Shadow Hunter (The Execution Underground)

by Kait Ballenger

  “What kind of a vampire name is Carl?” Damon scoffed. He tugged the edges of the hospital gown to make certain he didn’t expose the family jewels for all the world to see. Not that he minded the gorgeous woman next to him getting a full-frontal view.

  She gaped. “Who cares how stupid a vampire name Carl is? You almost died!”

  Given the pounding in his head, Damon didn’t feel in the mood to bicker. “But I’m not dead, so that’s all that matters.”

  Swearing under her breath, Tiffany stood and paced to the other side of the room. Immediately, he wished she hadn’t. The warmth she’d provided slipped away fast, replaced by the coldness of her absence. Why did she have to be so stubborn? He wanted her with him.

  He grumbled, “If you want to make up for almost killing me, get back over here where you belong and lie down with me.”

  Her whole body stiffened, but she crossed the room and sat back down on the bed. Before she could protest, he lifted her legs onto the mattress and tucked her against his side. She nestled there as if they did this every night. Though he knew he would never have that, at that moment he couldn’t bring himself to care.

  “I think that’s the morphine talking,” she whispered. The heat of her breath brushed over his chest like a soft caress.

  Morphine? So that was what was giving him that relaxed feeling.

  “Nope, it’s that dress. You’re lucky every man in this place hasn’t come on to you. I’m too much of a gentleman for that.”

  She giggled, and the swell of her full breasts pushed against his side. Oh, shit. He yanked the covers up to his waist. Whoever thought flimsy hospital gowns were a good idea needed a strong kick in the ass.

  “Back to Carl,” Tiffany said. “He would have ratted us out. Every vamp in Rochester would have known we were responsible for Caius’s death, and then, even if we managed to survive, we never would have been able to stop the virus and the murders. I couldn’t let that happen. I was so focused on stopping him that I chased him and left you behind. I staked him, but then, when I came back for you, your heart was barely beating and I had to call an ambulance.”

  She twirled a single finger to indicate the room around them. “That’s how we ended up here.” She let out a long sigh. “I thought you would heal quickly—you know, with all the extra Execution Underground abilities—but you didn’t. Joseph said when Caius stabbed you he nicked your brachial artery, which is why you lost so much blood.”

  Damon mulled over the current situation. Him in a hospital with all his extra abilities was not good, and that begged the question how Tiffany had explained his injuries, not to mention what she would do about any fallout from what had happened at the restaurant. But most importantly... “Who is Joseph?”

  “A guy I knew in undergrad. He’s a couple of years older, so he’s already doing his residency. He’s kind of sweet on me.”

  Damon frowned. It didn’t matter whether or not she was his, whether or not she still hated him for what he’d done to Mark, he didn’t want any other man looking at her. He eyed the way she was nuzzling into him. Did she still hate him? He shook his head. The morphine must have hit him harder than he’d thought if he imagined she would ever forgive him for what he’d done.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I told him we were mugged, but I asked him not to call the cops until you woke up. I figured if the cops showed, you’d know how to handle them, but I think we might be able to slip out of here unnoticed before they arrive. I don’t think Joseph bought the mugging explanation for a second, but he’s eager to please me. Plus, I offered him five hundred bucks to keep his mouth shut.”

  Damon rubbed the base of his neck to ease the tension. “Where are you going to get that kind of money?”

  Shrinking in on herself, Tiffany looked away from him. She was flat broke, and he knew it from the way she’d talked in her letters. Now, with Mark dead, all she was living off of was Mark’s E.U. accidental death insurance.

  She bit her lower lip. “Well...I figured you would pay for it.”

  He chuckled. “I suppose I can file for reimbursement with the E.U. I’ll make sure to list it under bribery.”

  She frowned. “I was trying to help. If I hadn’t brought you here, you would have died. But then...it was my fault you were almost dead to begin with.”

  He lifted her chin with two fingers. “As you said, if you hadn’t brought me here I’d be dead, so I’m thankful for that. The E.U. will pay for your friend’s silence and the hospital bills. Not much to worry about.” He paused. “Aside from getting me out of this hellhole.”

  She smacked herself in the forehead. “Oh! I forgot you told me you hate hospitals.” She scrambled off the bed and pulled out his clothes from the small closet. “I made sure the EMTs didn’t cut them off you.” She tossed the clothes to him.

  “Thanks.”

  She glanced at the floor, refusing to meet his eyes. “You’re welcome.”

  She wouldn’t meet his gaze. What was that all about? He could tell she was upset, but he wasn’t sure why, and he wasn’t sure how to ask, either. Had he done something awful in his sleep?

  He swung his legs off the bed and stood. An IV dangled from his arm. Ugh. There was nothing worse than the poking and prodding of annoying hospital staff. Without flinching, he pulled out the needle. When he faced front again, Tiffany stood in silence, staring at him as he untied the back of his robe.

  A sly grin snaked across his face. “Admiring the show?”

  Her embarrassed grin coupled with her deep blush was priceless. Her voice came out in a near squeak. “Sorry.” She turned in the opposite direction.

  He dropped the hospital robe and examined the bandage across his shoulder. The wound beneath it was probably healing over already. With the extra help from the hospital to keep him breathing, a nick in his artery felt like nothing.

  He pulled on his jeans. “You can turn around now. I’m dressed.”

  Tiffany faced him, and her blush deepened at the sight of his bare chest. “I thought you said you were dressed?”

  “Tiff, you’ve seen a lot more of me than this.”

  She bit her lower lip and stared at the floor again. “I know.”

  As he pulled on his shirt, he eyed the beautiful woman in front of him. “Do I look anything like you imagined?”

  Her head shot up, and she gaped. “Who said I ever imagined you?”

  Damon rolled his eyes. “Come on, Tiff. You wrote to me for years. You’re telling me you never once wondered what I looked like?”

  She shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I imagined a few times.”

  “And...?”

  She shook her head, flustered. “I don’t know. I guess I imagined you shorter and with more hair. But I was wrong—wrong in a good way.”

  He would chop off part of his legs and grow his hair longer if it pleased her. That was the sort of thing he used to say in his letters. As far back as he could remember, he’d always been a quiet person. But over time, when he’d written to Tiffany, he’d begun to confess things to her, to speak to her in ways he’d never spoken to anyone else. In ways he now knew he couldn’t speak to her in person. With the morphine no longer dulling his pain and with all that had happened between them...how could he be the man she’d once cared for when he no longer had her faith to support him?

  “What about you?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts. “Am I anything like you imagined?”

  In his head, he told her she was more gorgeous than he could possibly have imagined, that the soft curls of her hair and the honey color of her eyes rivaled the divine, that when she smiled it was like God raining down blessings from heaven. And on a sexual level? Sir Mix-a-Lot would’ve drooled over her backside, and he himself would love to hold those sweet cheeks all night long and grab on to them while he—

  “Well?”


  “I had a vague idea what you looked like. Mark showed me a picture from when you were seventeen.”

  Tiffany looked as if she were about to be hit by an oncoming train. “Oh, man. You don’t mean the one where I’m wearing the Gru—”

  “Grumpy Bear Care Bear T-shirt,” he finished.

  She stuck out her lower lip in a pout. “If Mark were here, I’d smack him upside the head for showing you that. What an awful photo.”

  He chuckled. “I never thought you looked bad.” If he was honest with himself, at twenty-five, when he’d first eyed that picture, the only thought that crossed his mind was that she was total jail-bait. Seventeen-year-old him would have tapped that for sure.

  Of course, an overwhelming urge to pound his own head against a wall had immediately hit him. Even back then, he’d hated himself for thinking about Mark’s sister that way.

  Tiffany stared around the room, as if she were too uncomfortable to meet his eyes. “So Caius is dead.” She met his gaze at last, and something flickered behind her amber irises, something he couldn’t identify. “I guess it’s time for you to take me home, then. No more stalking me.”

  Damon’s fingers clenched into fists, and he struggled not to throw whatever object was in reach. Why the hell had he ever promised to leave her alone?

  Because she’s giving up hunting, and because she doesn’t want you in her life.

  Her safety and her happiness, that was why.

  He gave a single nod. “I’ll take you home.”

  CHAPTER 11

  DAMON TRUDGED UP the stairs of the apartment building, following Tiffany. Though Caius was dead and Mark’s death avenged, his stomach twisted into knots, dreading what lay before him. Damned if he hadn’t sent himself to hell...

  He swallowed hard, lifting one foot in front of the other, trying to act as if his one chance at happiness wasn’t about to walk right out of his life. His heart pounded in his ears. Whoever the hell had come up with the bright idea that traumatic moments moved in slow motion could eat one of his fists. He would rather climb this stairway for eternity than face the next step—and, man, the climb was going fast.

  Their goodbye had only lasted this long because he’d insisted on seeing her to her door.

  They reached the final landing. She crossed to lucky apartment number seven. No, there was nothing even remotely lucky about that number. It would be the last trace he would see of her once she closed—or, more likely, slammed—the door in his face. She seemed all too eager to get this over with.

  Pulling her keys from her purse, she reached for the knob before turning toward him. “This is it,” she said. “Are you satisfied now?”

  He bit his lower lip. Hell, no. He would never be satisfied until she was his, until he knew that every morning when he woke up she would be lying right by his side, her face as peaceful and gorgeous as it had been during their night together.

  The night she’d given him her virginity.

  He wanted to tell her that, no, he wasn’t satisfied. He wanted to tell her that she needed to be at his side. A sharp pang hit his heart, but he nodded to say that, yes, he was satisfied.

  It couldn’t have been further from the truth.

  How could he have let this happen to him? How could he have fallen so hard? The thought of her staying with him sent pulses of ecstasy and elation beating through him. But as he stared at her beautiful face, knowing he would never see it again, all he felt was pain the likes of which he’d never known before.

  He would willingly have suffered death a thousand times over rather than see her walk away from him.

  She let out a long sigh. “I never thought I’d be saying this to the man I thought was responsible for Mark’s death, but thank you. Thank you for helping me to kill Caius.” She flashed him a weak smile. “I know it’s probably not much consolation, but after what happened in the alleyway, when I left you behind, I understood why you left Mark. I got caught up in the hunt exactly like you did, and if I’d been in your place the night Mark died, I can’t say I would have done any differently.”

  Damon exhaled a long breath. He wasn’t sure what to say. All he managed to choke out was, “Thanks for telling me that.”

  Another weak smile crossed her full lips. Then she slid her key into the doorknob and twisted until it unlocked.

  His mind raced, and every function in his body seemed to shut down and come alive all at the same time. Was he really going to let her walk away?

  Say something, asshole!

  Finally he forced her name out. “Tiffany?”

  Turning toward him, she met his gaze, a slight look of happiness and hope in her sparkling honey eyes. “Yeah?”

  Say something. Say something. Say something—anything. “Uh...you should get a stronger lock than that. I’ll send someone over to install some extra reinforcement. Don’t worry about the cost, it’s on me.”

  Fuck! That was all he could say?

  Within an instant the spark in her eyes faded. “Oh, okay.” Pausing, she met his eyes one last time. “Well, thanks again. Good luck with your hunting. I trust you’ll destroy all the viral vamps.” She turned away from him and opened the door.

  He was a weak man. The woman he loved, his one chance at happiness, was about to leave him and he was going to let her. His heart stopped.

  The woman he loved... His breath caught. Did he really love her?

  Who was he kidding?

  Stepping over the threshold, she began to pull the door closed behind her.

  He raced across the hall and pushed through the doorway.

  Tiffany spun around. “Da—”

  Lifting her into his arms, he kissed her before she could utter another syllable. Her tongue met his, and they crashed together hard as he held her in his arms. Her hands snaked over his shoulders. Her touch sent pulses of energy through him. His body stiffened to attention and pushed against her soft stomach as he pressed her against him.

  Quickly, he slammed the door behind them and pushed her up against the door frame. She gasped as he lifted her and wrapped her legs around his hips. He longed to feel her hot and tight around him. She was beautiful. She was intelligent. She was driven, kind, forgiving—and he couldn’t think of a single reason not to love her. Never before had any woman driven him to his knees, but he would willingly have begged her not to leave if he’d had to. Nothing could keep her from him.

  He shoved his hips harder against hers, and she let out a small cry. Her lips brushed against his before he pulled his mouth away from hers to trail soft but desperate kisses across her collarbone. A moan escaped her lips. The delicious scent of her warm vanilla-and cinnamon-scented skin filled his nose, and she tasted just as sweet.

  He kissed her neck one last time before whispering softly against her lips, “You didn’t think I’d let you walk away that easily, did you?” Cupping her cheek with one hand, he captured her lips again.

  Several small tears trailed down her cheeks, and he prayed they were happy ones. He pulled away and whispered in her ear again. “Will you let me make love to you?”

  She nodded, and a rush of adrenaline flooded every inch of his body. She giggled softly as he carried her toward the bedroom. A more angelic noise had never graced his ears.

  Walking into Tiffany’s bedroom was like stepping back into a dorm. Then again, despite all her maturity, she was still a college student. He chuckled as he laid her down on her pale green comforter. From the brightly colored lamp shades lined with small fake crystals to the bookcases stocked with textbooks to the fluffy white carpet beneath his boots, Tiffany’s room shouted her spirit from the hilltops.

  Damn.

  He was pushing thirty, and here he was with his best friend’s baby sister. He stared down at her. The swell of her ample breasts lifted with her quick breaths. He ran his h
and over the soft curve of her hips, admiring every feminine detail. For someone who tried so hard to appear tough and callous, beneath the surface she was anything but. And right now she was staring up at him with pure sexual hunger.

  Without a word, he dragged her dress off over her head, unhooked her bra with one hand and drew the pink tip of one nipple into his mouth. She moaned beneath him as he teased her breasts with his mouth and hands. She rocked her hips against his, eager for him to take her.

  He released her from his grasp and stood before her. He shrugged his coat off and threw it onto the nearby desk chair before kicking off his boots. She pulled herself up and knelt on the bed in front of him, then toyed with the hem of his shirt before slowly lifting it over his head. She tossed it to the side and unbuttoned his jeans.

  Pausing, she leaned her head back and gazed into his eyes. She wrapped her arms around him, hugging his middle. “My heroic B.” A small smile crossed her lips. Then she unzipped his pants and thrust them down around his ankles.

  He was on top of her within seconds, straining with need as he positioned himself outside her entrance. She was already so wet for him.

  She ran her fingers over his naked chest, then wrapped her arms and legs around him. “You have no idea how many times I dreamed of this,” she whispered.

  * * *

  A LUMP FILLED Tiffany’s throat, and she fought back tears. She hadn’t exaggerated. She’d dreamed of lying beneath B, beneath Damon, countless times. He was even more handsome, even more incredible, than she had imagined. A shiver ran down her spine.

  Their first time turned out to be nothing compared to the intimacy she discovered in his touch now. She didn’t wish it any different. This time there would be no pain, no fear or reluctance.

  In one quick push, he penetrated her. Her warmth wrapped around him as he slid deep inside. He filled every inch of her core, and she cried out. With strong but sensitive movements, he thrust into her, the rhythm sending waves of pleasure through her. Every nerve, every inch of her skin, was alive and on fire.

  The scent of his skin filled her nose. He was everywhere. His hands, his mouth, his tongue reached every part of her, leaving no spot untouched, as if he was discovering her body for the very first time.