Hounacier (Valducan Book 2)

by Seth Skorkowsky

  Vimiya pounded harder, faster, pulling more of his essence.

  Tears welled in Malcolm’s eyes. He had to resist. Had to—

  The orgasm hit like a thunderbolt. He shuddered and writhed in excruciating pleasure as he pumped his life energy into her. It was like a suction drawing everything from his toes to his eyes down electric paths and into her.

  Malcolm’s vision faded. All he could see were her hateful, violet eyes. He felt heavy, but still, she milked him. Arcing his back, eyes scrunched, he screamed as she wrenched the energy from him.

  “You like that?” she asked, and then he fell from consciousness.

  Chapter Eighteen

  A squat, fluffy dog charged, yipping, as Gulmet swung over an old picket fence into a back yard, an amused smile on his lips. Fearless, it hopped and barked, angry he was in its territory. A low growl rumbled in Gulmet's throat, and the dog ran away, piss dribbling. It scurried under a dark porch and hid.

  Satisfied, he glanced at the house whose yard he'd entered. A woman sat behind the window, her back exposed and watching a television. No one paid attention anymore. Begrudgingly, he admitted the succubus was correct. Mortals no longer feared predators in the night. Hunting was so easy now.

  When Gulmet had returned to Malcolm's body, he'd found the mortal drained to near death. He'd had to feed on Quentin's cold remains to heal, like some low-born carrion-eater. A fresh kill could empower him even more, replenish all that she'd stolen. He could kill this woman, taste her blood and fear. But no. He had more important matters at hand. The woman and her brave, idiot dog could wait.

  He looked up, searching the night sky for Vimiya. Could she see him now as he contemplated breaking her orders? Matt's blood compass could detect up to one hundred yards. She was far higher than that, he guessed.

  Gulmet crossed the yard and swung himself over an ivy-coated chain link into the neighboring one. Crouching, he skirted a vegetable garden and stopped behind an old clothesline post, its arms buried beneath potted plants. The modest house appeared still. Light shone through sun-faded blinds in one room. The rest of the windows appeared dark save a green glow in the kitchen. Maggie always did go to bed early.

  Staying low, he crept closer, stopping beneath a tree. He listened. Insects, the hollow chinks of the neighbor's wind chime, cars on a nearby street, a dog's distant barking. The voodoo queen's house was silent.

  Malcolm could only pray the old priestess wasn't home. But where else would she be? After the shotgun incident, Mister Alpuente had stayed there, refusing to be at his home until Malcolm was gone. Was he still here? Malcolm hoped Alpuente had gone back and that Maggie was staying somewhere else, though he didn't dare think it aloud. The air conditioner clicked and whirred to life, dashing any hope that she wasn't there.

  He moved to the narrow porch and peeked through the kitchen window. Empty. Gulmet removed the key hidden beneath a square pot and carefully unlocked the back door. Metal rasped as he eased the door open and stepped inside.

  Vimiya's instructions were to kill everyone who knew of Gulmet's existence. While Gulmet had urged that they move against Matt and Atabei first, the torment that the old woman's death would cause for Malcolm enticed him to agree.

  Excitement priming his muscles, he silently moved through the house, checking each room in turn. The guest room was empty, no sign of Alpuente's things. Gulmet's disappointment nearly overwhelmed Malcolm's sense of relief.

  The feelings were short-lived as he turned and moved toward Maggie's door, light peeking out beneath it. Licking his lip, Gulmet touched the knob, and then cracked it open.

  Empty.

  The bed was still made. Gulmet eyed the floor lamp standing beside the curtained window. Where was she?

  Eyes narrowing, he retreated back into the dim hallway and checked the bathroom. Her toothbrush holder was empty.

  Malcolm fought back the urge to taunt his captor. Best he let the demon forget he was there, keep his guard lowered.

  Jaw tight with anger, he sniffed the air. Beneath the stink of cleaners and food, Gulmet caught a familiar citrus scent. "Tasha." He tightened his fists. Matt had guessed his move, but how? Their assumption he'd be watching Atabei's house was why Vimiya was saving it for last. And if he was watching Maggie's, where was he?

  Fear tingled in his gut, too faint for him to really notice, but Malcolm felt it. Matt had been an accomplished solo hunter years before his Valducan training. If anyone was going to stop him, it'd be Matt.

  Gulmet moved back toward the kitchen, about to flee when he spotted something he hadn't noticed before. A black, tubular camera rested on a shelf, peeking out from behind a clutter of framed photographs.

  No, Matt wasn't here now. But he was coming. Gulmet smiled. Tonight, Rajik would be avenged.

  He stepped out the back of the house and looked skyward. Thrusting one hand in the air, Gulmet pointed his index finger like a gun and moved his thumb like a firing hammer. A shadow darted across the sky, momentarily silhouetted against a cloud, then gone. Vimiya's scheming had prepared them for this of course. Now, they just needed to lure their prey into the trap.

  The all-too-familiar rush of adrenaline returned. No more stalking helpless mortals. This was an Oppressor. Gulmet hopped the neighboring fence and hurried away. He reached the street and stopped behind a decrepit van.

  Malcolm felt the mental reigns loosen but didn't risk trying to take control yet. He'd only have one chance, if that. No need to risk it.

  Five minutes later, a dark blue car turned up the street and flipped off its headlights. It slowed and stopped one house before Maggie's. Even through the tinted glass, Gulmet could see Matt inside it, wearing a low baseball cap. He'd switched cars.

  Matt stepped out, eyes fixed on the house. The light reflected off the bottle in his hand. His other hid inside a brown paper bag at his side. A new satchel hung from his shoulder, the strap tight across his chest. He glanced at the compass, looked around, and then moved toward the house.

  Gulmet watched him circle around to the back, staying clear of the neighbor's porch light. Matt moved with a soldier's grace, smooth and silent, the bagged gun automatically tracking between potential hiding places. The hunter's training was so ingrained he probably didn't even think about it anymore.

  Once Matt had vanished behind the house, the mental reins tightened again. Gulmet hurried away, stopping another block from the house and waited.

  A moment later, Matt hurried out the front door, compass before him. He searched the street.

  Gulmet stepped out from the shadows and stopped. Their eyes met. Matt's arm tightened on the gun, but as Gulmet had expected, he didn't raise it. Too far, too out in the open for a shooting. He smiled. "Chase me." He wheeled and ran.

  Gulmet raced down the block and turned at the next street. Vimiya leaned against a telephone pole ahead, casually watching him approach, like she'd been waiting there all night. The mental hold loosened. Blocks behind him, if he was still in range, Matt would see the red bead vanish.

  "He's coming?" Vimiya asked.

  "Yes."

  "I'll prepare the site." She looked off into the distance. "Run him around. Wear him out." Without another word, she strode off down a darkened path between a pair of houses.

  Gulmet continued down the street. Behind him, he heard the sound of beating wings. Malcolm fought the urge to look back, refusing to exert any control until necessary. Until then, he was the casual passenger. Gulmet hurried across the street and stopped beside a low, brick wall draped in flowery vines.

  Matt slinked around the corner ahead, visible for an instant in the lights of a passing car. He glanced at the compass and peered around. He moved up behind a row of parked cars and lowered from sight.

  Wondering if his hold was strong enough to summon the blood bead, Gulmet strengthened his control of Malcolm. Matt didn't step out. Narrowing his eyes, Gulmet searched the shadows. A dark shape slithered beneath a pickup, gun pointing his direction. Gulmet dropped behi
nd the wall as the shot rang. Bits of leaves and flowers blew out over him. Laughing at the brush of death, Gulmet scrambled away and ran.

  Weaving between cars and posts, Gulmet sprinted half a block and leaped over a fence and through a yard. Sweat slicked his skin. His heart pounded with the almost long-forgotten thrill of the chase. Oh, he was going to lead this hunter, going to push how close he could come to feeling that cursed bullet, make Matt think he had a chance then deny it. Urakael would die as Matt watched, sweetening the fear.

  Jumping another fence, he came out behind a squat convenience store and waited. Once he'd estimated enough time for Matt to find the trail, Gulmet relaxed his control to a minimum and urged Malcolm on.

  He hurried down the alley behind the shop and into a weedy vacant lot. He crouched beneath a crop of thin-trunked trees and watched as mosquitoes buzzed around.

  Two minutes later, Matt strolled up the streets ahead. He'd discarded the baseball cap and brown bag, his hand now inside the bulging satchel. He scanned the street ahead of him, repeatedly glancing at the bottle before him. Matt stopped just outside the fluorescent glow from the gas station's lights and looked around. His eyes passed over Gulmet's hiding place without response. He checked the compass again. His chest rose and fell with a deep breath, and Matt continued on.

  Once Matt had passed out of sight, Gulmet rose from his hiding place and followed. He spotted the hunter at an intersection, looking around as if trying to decide his next move. Shoulders back, Matt looked every part the Hollywood lone gunman.

  Gulmet strengthened his hold of Malcolm, sliding into his flesh like a familiar and snug glove. Matt started across the street but stopped and spun. Their eyes met, then Gulmet turned and ran. He raced across the next street then charged through yards and across driveways. He hopped a fence. Dogs barked, but he ignored them and leaped over into the next yard before the enraged animals could give chase.

  He stopped near an empty playground and waited, allowing Matt a chance to catch up. Across the park, a group of teens talked and laughed on a set of rusty bleachers. Police sirens wailed some blocks away. Gulmet assumed they were headed to where Matt had fired the gun, but they continued past it.

  Once he'd guessed Matt would be close enough, Gulmet started across the park. Something moved in the shadows to the right. Glancing over, he spotted Matt's shape moving between trees, closing in.

  "Clever."

  Gulmet bolted the other direction, toward the pack of teens. Matt wouldn't take the shot with them in the line of fire. A wiry boy in a gray tank top slapped his friend on the arm and pointed as Gulmet charged toward them with inhuman speed. Gulmet hurdled the low fence separating them, and the teens scattered out of his way. The cover gone, Malcolm expected to feel the bullet between his shoulders, but it didn't come. The metal bleachers pinged as Gulmet ran up and over the four rows and raced away.

  Once out of the park, Gulmet led Matt deeper into residential areas, careful to loosen and tighten his control of Malcolm to keep Matt moving in circles. Gulmet never stopped moving, not allowing Matt another chance to circle around him. The hunter had nearly taken him, and the thrill of that close escape excited Gulmet even more.

  Playing their cat and mouse, Gulmet headed east. Houses gave way to dark and corroded steel buildings. Long shadows cast from the few working streetlights, crossing the narrow streets, making it even harder to see than if there were none at all. It stank of diesel and burnt tar.

  Gulmet jogged deeper into the maze of warehouses and factories, past graffiti-coated loading dock shutters and stacks of rotting pallets. Finally, he came to a sheet metal fence. The sliding gate stood open a crack, its padlocked chain hanging broken. Vimiya's work.

  Glancing back, the streets appeared empty. But he knew Matt was there somewhere, Dämoren out, closing in. With a smile, Gulmet slipped though the gap and into a wide gravel area. Rusted heaps of scrap metal and stacked poles filled the lot, some standing over ten feet high.

  Broken security cameras looked down from the three large buildings walling off the yard. He searched the sky for Vimiya but couldn't see her. The skeletal frame of a crane arm loomed above. A perfect roost. Gulmet hoped she'd disabled everything in time. They had all night with their prey. Then tomorrow, workers could arrive to find the shredded remains.

  Gravel crunched as he crossed the yard. A dusty blue flatbed rested on the far end beside the rear buildings. He leaped onto the top then up onto the metal awning that stretched along the building's face, the scrap yard's name blazoned across the tin in blocky letters. With one final jump, Gulmet grabbed the roof lip and pulled himself up. A dozen box cars littered the train yard just beyond the building. Beyond it, a steep levee wall ran alongside the far canal. Keeping low to hide his silhouette, Gulmet loosened his hold of Malcolm and crouched on the far side of the ridge behind a satellite dish.

  A minute later, Matt's head peeked through the open gate. He looked around then quickly side-stepped in. Pistol drawn, he moved through the yard, eyes searching as he passed each pile.

  Gulmet smiled, seeing the hunter's tight lips, the mounting paranoia. "That's right. You saw me enter. There's no exit. Where am I, Matt?" By now, the compass' range had diminished by half. Gulmet doubted it would sense him at this distance even if he took flesh-form.

  Something pinged on one side of the yard. Matt swung Dämoren around and started toward it. Once he'd reached the open area, a dark shape dove from the darkened sky behind him like a giant hawk.

  Gulmet grinned, his mind focused on the moment to come.

  Seizing the opening, Malcolm took control and stepped from the shadows. He pointed to the sky. "Behind you!"

  Gulmet wrenched control back. Instantly, bones stretched and popped. "Damn you!"

  Matt fired and spun to face the swooping succubus.

  Dämoren's slug slammed into Malcolm's gut. He doubled over. The blessed silver burned like molten steel. Blood hissed from the bullet hole, and the freshly grown hairs around it thinned, but it wasn't enough to stop the transformation.

  Vimiya shrieked and screamed. Another shot boomed, echoing off the building walls. Gulmet looked up to see Matt on his back, pistol raised, and the succubus flapping away.

  Gulmet's clothes tightened and tore like tissue. He rose, his claws clacking on the metal roof.

  Matt looked up at the sound. On his back and upside down, he raised the gun and fired.

  Gulmet ducked as the bullet whizzed past. Injured and alone, trying to take the gunman would be suicide. He clambered to the rear edge of the roof and dropped, landing in an overgrown rock pile butted up against the back of the building. The fall couldn't hurt him, but the sudden jolt shot pain though the bullet wound. Silver slugs he'd felt before. Feeding would push them out as he healed. But Dämoren's bullet burned different, twisting inside him like a live thing made of embers. Rolling to his feet, he hurried toward the rows of tracks, one claw clutched across his bleeding stomach.

  He hobbled behind a pair of box cars and let out a pained wheeze. A pale, bald patch surrounded the wound, nearly five inches across. His hold of Malcolm was slipping. Even now, he felt the mortal thrashing inside his mind, struggling to evict him. "Need to dig it out."

  Gnashing his teeth, he slid a claw into the hole, fishing for it. The pain was unlike any he'd felt. Before, it was merely sensation of his body, but the agony the bullet gave was real. He hissed hard breaths as he probed deeper. He just needed to hook it out.

  "You!" Vimiya shrieked from above, slamming into him.

  Gulmet fell against the jagged rocks. He moved to turn, but the succubus seized the back of his head and bashed it against the train wheel.

  "How dare you betray me!" Her grip tightened to smash his head again, but Gulmet grabbed her wrist and wrenched her over his shoulder.

  "It wasn't me," he panted. "The mortal took control. He warned Matt."

  Vimiya's narrowed eyes stared hatefully from behind her black hair. "You idiot," she spat. Blood oozed
down her leg from a deep gash in her hip. A bullet hole perforated the apex of one wing. "You lost control?"

  "Apologies, Mistress, I—"

  She sprang, her claws reaching for his throat. He fell backward, the succubus on him. They rolled across the gravel, snarling and thrashing.

  The bullet burned with each movement. Gulmet clutched her wrists, desperately pulling them away. Vimiya's claws raked his skin.

  "I should have killed you when we met!" she hissed, her face contorted with rage. Vimiya flapped her wings, giving a boost as she wrenched herself on top of him. "Useless." She drove her weight down, grabbing Gulmet's neck. Her iron-like fingers squeezed, claws breaking skin, threatening to tear out his throat. She grinned wickedly down, a drop of spittle on her lips.

  The side of Vimiya's head exploded, spraying brains and blood. Purple fire erupted from the hole as the shot's rapport echoed though the train yard. She fell limp. Her outstretched wings came down around her like a spidery parachute.

  Gulmet heaved the flaming corpse off him and looked up to see Matt atop the scrap yard building, gun before him. Light from the burning blood along Dämoren's blade flickered across the hunter's face. Orange flashed.

  The shot took Gulmet in the side.

  His flesh-form dissolving, Gulmet scrambled back for the cover of the box cars as a third shot pinged off the white rocks beside him. The twin slugs seared his insides as he ran, stumbling alongside the cars. His vessel was dying, and if he was in it when it happened, he would die with it. The thirty feet from the roof to the train yard would be too far for Matt to jump. Gulmet just needed to get away long enough to move bodies.

  Reaching the end of the line of train cars, Gulmet raced across the open ground past the other tracks to where more rested. The pads of his feet had already dissolved to human, and the sharp rocks stung his bare soles. He expected to feel the bullet hit his back, but it never came. "I must be out of range." Gulmet reached the row of still cars and dove though the hitched gap to safety.