by J. K. Beck
She fought it down, fought it back.
Not now. Not when she was on the hunt.
“Go,” she said, pressing her palm against his chest and pushing him away from her. “Find yourself a less dangerous game to play.”
She left him gawking in her wake as she strode outside. She’d hit the next bar. She’d find her quarry. She’d come to this town with a purpose, and she didn’t intend to be distracted. Not even by the goddamned memories of Tiberius.
They’d ruled together for centuries—first in the human world until the rumors had begun, the people whispering about the king and the queen who lived in the night and never aged—and then in the shadow world. A dark warrior rising to power within the Alliance, working to strengthen the power of the vampire race. Fighting to defend their kind against the ancient enemies—the therians. Werewolves and other shifters. Shadowers, yes. But not of their kind.
She’d stood with him shoulder to shoulder. His woman, his confidante, his heart. And his secret weapon. A warrior as fierce as he, hiding beneath the soft curves of a woman.
Never once had she doubted Tiberius’s love or his admiration. His strong arms would always be around her. His soft words would always whisper to her. They could spend eternity walking the earth, filling the night with conversation and never tiring of each other. She was as certain of it as she was of the inevitable sunrise.
Until she’d been ambushed.
Jumped in the forest. Tied up. Tormented and tortured as a full moon leered overhead.
And bitten. The wolf had sunk his teeth into her, and the weren curse had poured into her veins.
She’d changed.
She’d changed and the nightmare had begun.
Her world had turned upside down, and her love had betrayed her.
She hated him, yes.
But she blamed the weren who’d stalked her.
Blamed him … and would kill him.
A scream ripped through the night as if echoing her own need to rend and tear. She told herself to ignore it—not her problem. But the smell of fear permeated the air. Whatever was happening, it was close. And, damn it all, she was already heading in that direction.
She found them in the alley behind the bar—the two vamps and the idiot patron with Tiberius’s eyes. One of the vamps leaned lazily against the rough-hewn wooden wall while the other held the human in a mockery of a lover’s embrace, his teeth sunk deep into the male’s flesh.
She started to turn away—she wasn’t the PEC. It wasn’t her job to arrest vamps who ran around feeding on humans, even dumb-ass ones who’d been begging for trouble. Especially not dumb-ass ones who reminded her of Tiberius. And wasn’t there some sort of sweet justice in seeing the life sucked out of him?
She watched for a second, breathing in the scent of fear, the aroma of death. She watched, and then she cursed.
Goddamn it all.
Three long strides and she was right in front of them. “Funny,” she said, speaking to the one with his fangs buried in flesh. “He doesn’t look like a licensed faunt.”
“Not your business, little girl,” the one with his mouth free said. “Not unless you’re interested in sharing.”
She faced him, her hand going to her hip, pushing the leather of her coat back, revealing the knife she habitually wore there. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” she said. “I’m Caris.”
“Caris?”
She actually saw him swallow, and she had to bite back a smile. Apparently her reputation was worth something even up here on the Matterhorn.
“You should go if you want to live.”
She didn’t have to repeat herself. The one who’d been holding up the wall cut and ran. The other dropped the human, wiped the blood off his lips with the back of his hand, and then backed out of the alley, his eyes fixed on her as if she might just jump him for spite.
Any other night, and she might just have done that.
The human slumped to the ground, his cheek pressed against a slush of dirty snow. She could hear his pulse, weak but steady. She walked away, leaving him to the cold, but she pulled out her cellphone and called the pub. Told the bartender who answered that there was a man in his alley bleeding from the neck. Just her little charitable contribution for the day.
On the bahnhofstrasse, she paused to look up and down the street. She lifted her chin, sniffing the cold air out of habit. She expected nothing—so far her luck hadn’t exactly been stellar—and was surprised to catch a scent. Musky. Animal.
Weren.
Not necessarily the one she hunted, couldn’t get her hopes up yet. But she turned left, following the scent up the hill, through twisting streets, and finally out of the village and up a hiking path into the mountains.
The trail was stronger now, and she increased her pace, realizing she was gaining on him. The moon hung heavy in the sky—seventy percent waxing gibbous—and the animal within was relishing the hunt. The daemon—primed from the blood and charged from the memories—wanted nothing more than the kill.
Melting snow and fallen leaves littered the path, but she moved in silence, twisting around a copse of trees and then stopping short—he was there. And he hadn’t yet realized she was behind him.
Her hand went to her knife. She had a gun, too. A small revolver tucked in at the small of her back. Five silver bullets. They’d kill a werewolf dead enough, but this was one kill Caris wanted to make with her hands. Not her fangs—the thought of her mouth closing over this pile of flesh made her ill. But with a blade. One quick motion across his throat—face-to-face so she could see his expression, and watch as he understood that the time had come to pay for his sins.
She stepped forward, no longer caring about stealth. She wanted a fight. Craved it, in fact. Her daemon wanted to play. And so long as the weren ended up dead, she was more than happy to let her daemon get out and stretch its legs.
According to the dossier, the weren’s name was Cyrus Reinholdt. She didn’t much care—to her he was simply the enemy, the hated, the bastard who’d fucked her over. But right then, Reinholdt turned, and a flicker of joy passed through her as she saw the recognition—and the fear—in his eyes.
She tensed, but didn’t lunge. Didn’t move forward, didn’t attack, and for a split second she wondered at her hesitation. This was the weren she’d been looking for. The son of a bitch who’d destroyed her life, her love.
Inside, the daemon growled, wanting blood. Her body itched to leap, the wolf within wanting to rip this cousin to shreds.
Still, though, she didn’t move, and as the blood boiling in her head calmed, she realized why. It wasn’t the kill she wanted—not right away. It was answers.
Why the hell had he done this to her? Why the hell had he changed her into a goddamned leper?
“Why?”
The question came out as a whisper, but she knew he heard it.
“I heard you were coming to find me,” he said, and at first she thought he meant in the past, that he was answering her question. “News travels fast in the mountains.”
“And here I am. Tell me what I want to know, and maybe I’ll let you live.” It was a lie she didn’t regret telling.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a gun. Not something she usually feared, but this was the one man in all the world who would know what type of bullet would hurt her. Wooden bullets coated in silver. A weapon designed to kill either a vampire or a werewolf. Or both.
“Abomination.” He held the gun steady. “I should never—”
“Why?” This time the word ripped from her throat, and she hated her own lack of control, but dammit, she’d been waiting decades to face this man and she wanted answers. “Why did you do this to me?”
His finger moved on the trigger, and in that same instant, she launched herself sideways. The bullet sang out, burning through the leather sleeve of her coat, slicing into the flesh of her arm. But no kill shot. He’d fucked up there big-time.
Sh
e fell back into the snow and rolled, and when she came up, she had her own gun in her hands. He was about to get off another round, but she fired one shot at his head, and he stumbled backward, a neat little hole in his skull. She stood, aimed, and put another through his heart, knocking him to the ground.
The man she’d come to kill was dead.
Somehow, she didn’t feel any better.