Hunter's Edge

by Shiloh Walker

  But she didn’t just play mama hen. Once he’d come back here, Sheila had been one of his trolling partners. New Hunters weren’t allowed out on their own and she’d been one of the few of partners who hadn’t outright refused to Hunt with him after more than one or two weeks.

  He knew from experience that Sheila might look soft and sweet, but she could kick ass just like any other Hunter. She didn’t think much of her abilities and Kel knew it wasn’t just an act. She wasn’t one of the strong ones, she’d told him. Over time, he figured out what she’d meant.

  The strong ones usually ended up seeking out their own territory, driven by some instinctive need. They would be their own Master and they wouldn’t have to fight some overbearing urge to submit to a stronger vamp.

  Rather like Kel had to do here with Rafe.

  Another thing Sheila was good at—playing mediator when her hard-ass husband got too domineering.

  Which happened a lot. Might be a trait of Master vamps, or might just be because the guy was an arrogant S.O.B. She was the wife of the vampire who had saved Kel, a Master by the name of Rafe. At times, arrogant didn’t even come close to describing Rafe.

  For the longest time, Kel had hated that man. Rafe had known too. And from the sympathy he’d seen in the man’s eyes a few times, Kel knew the guy understood. Sucked when even the meanest vamp around could see Kel’s misery—and sympathize.

  That sympathy didn’t make it easier at all.

  “You didn’t feed yesterday,” Sheila said. Her voice was soft, but he heard the accusation all the same.

  Lifting a shoulder, he said, “I’m fine. I’ll feed when I need to.”

  Lifting a golden brow, Sheila studied him.

  Kel knew what she saw, a man who could stand to put on some weight. He often looked gaunt since he went too long between feedings. A too-young face and world-weary, old eyes. Kel had been nineteen when he was Changed. Until the day he died, he would have the face of a young man. Heavily lashed green eyes, thick, wavy brown hair he rarely bothered to cut, it all added to the pretty, young package.

  Some guys would probably love to have an eternally young face and never have to worry about going bald. The face he had, coupled with the lean, rangy body and that hated vamp appeal drew women like honey drew bees. Most of the women didn’t give a damn that he could stand to put a few pounds on.

  Yeah, some guys would love it. But Kel hated it.

  “You look like you need to now.”

  Need to what? He almost asked. Then he remembered. Feed. Yeah, she was here to nag him into feeding. Again.

  Instead of answering, he bent down, tied his tennis shoes and then stood. Tension had every muscle on his body knotted and out of habit, he rolled his neck in an attempt to relieve the tension. It didn’t help.

  His wallet was on the plain, utilitarian dresser, along with the keys to a motorcycle. It looked like an ugly piece of crap, but that bike could move. It all but growled and rumbled with power when he revved the engine. Sometimes, when he went speeding down the highway with the speedometer edging up over 120 m.p.h., 130 m.p.h., 140 mph, he could feel his heartbeat speed up, just a little, as adrenaline flooded his system. For a few minutes, he’d almost feel alive.

  But when he went to scoop up his keys, he saw the fine tremor of his fingers. Swearing, his hand clenched into a fist. He heard her moving behind him, but he didn’t move away quick enough to evade her hand as Sheila reached out and grabbed his wrist.

  His freaking bony wrist. Until that moment, when Sheila’s slim, small hand easily encircled his wrist, he hadn’t realized just how pathetic he must look.

  “You’re not fine,” Sheila said, a thread of steel edging into her soft Southern drawl. She squeezed gently and then let go, eying him with a mix of frustration and disgust.

  “You’re not doing yourself any favors by starving, Kel.”

  “I’m not starving.” But as if to countermand his words, a wave of hunger washed over him, hitting him with an intensity that nearly drove him to his knees. Sheila said something else, but he didn’t notice. The only thing he was aware of was that she’d fed recently, that somebody’s blood, hot and potent, was pumping through her veins.

  Her lips moved but he was fascinated with the sound of her heartbeat. Sheila’s sweater had a cowl neck that hid the ugly scars on her neck, scars she’d received when she’d been Changed. Kel found himself staring at her neck, envisioning how her soft white flesh would look, how she would feel, how she would taste.

  The deep, booming voice was an intrusion, one Kel really didn’t care for. He was focused on the ripe pulse of life flowing through Sheila and he wanted it—wanted it with an intensity that would shame him later—although it wasn’t her he wanted.

  But the intrusion wasn’t going anywhere. If he could have swatted it away, he would have. It pushed between him and Sheila and Kel was more interested in going around the obstacle. When he tried, the obstacle moved with him, blocking him yet again.

  His lips peeled back from his teeth in a snarl as the hungry beast inside him rose a little closer to the surface.

  Then the obstacle grabbed him by the front of the shirt and jerked him forward. Reality came crashing down and Kel found himself literally nose to nose with one very pissed-off vampire.

  The crushing, oppressive weight of Rafe’s will as the Master forced Kel’s hunger back into submission and his attention away from Rafe’s wife.

  Fury glittered in the black depths of Rafe’s eyes but when he spoke, his voice was soft. “You’re feeding tonight if I have to drag you out of this house and find a woman for you, kid. You got me?”

  Fear, the need to submit and do whatever the Master demanded, rode hard on Kel’s shoulders, but his own will kept him from meekly agreeing. He dropped his gaze to Rafe’s hand, still fisted in the front of his T-shirt, and then he looked back up at Rafe and gave him a mocking smile. “Gee, Dad, can I pick out what I eat or are you going to do it for me?”

  Behind him, Sheila snorted. Rafe sent his wife a narrow look and then slowly loosened his grip on Kel. Common sense screamed that Kel should back away now, back away, get the hell away from Rafe and do what he’d been told. But Kel had stopped listening to common sense years ago. So instead of backing away and getting at least the pretense of safe distance between them, he remained where he was, not even an inch away from Rafe.

  The two men settled into a staring contest and Kel’s misery, his rage, even his hunger fueled him, letting him meet the older, stronger vampire’s glare with his own. It was Rafe who ended it, falling back first one step, and then another. But not because Kel had backed him down. Kel wasn’t delusional enough to see that happening any time soon. Ever. No, Rafe backed away because he felt like it, and for no other reason.

  Knowing that pissed Kel off even more than the smirk on Rafe’s face. “I don’t know why in the hell I like you so much,” the older vampire muttered, shaking his head.

  Instead of responding, Kel turned away and headed out of the room. Behind him, Sheila gave Rafe a warning glance and he just rolled his eyes, but fell into step behind Kel silently.

  Rafe might have been the local Master, but there was little question about who really ran things in the enclave. Soft, pretty, with a deceptively sweet face and that slow Southern drawl, Sheila was one of the weaker Hunters and she’d never be a Master.

  But she had Rafe wrapped around her little finger.

  She had him so wrapped, he’d never get untangled from it and Rafe knew it. He adored her with all his heart and soul and losing her would kill something inside of him.

  “You plan on following me around all damn night?” Kel demanded, shooting Rafe a narrow glance as he mounted the stairs.

  “No. Just until I see you feed.”

  Kel’s eyes narrowed. But he kept whatever he wanted to say to himself as he moved through the house. The main level was mostly quiet. The other vampires living in the enclave were either out Hunting, feeding or doing whatever they pre
ferred when they weren’t on rotation.

  Most of the shifters, by preference, preferred to sleep through the night. The only shifter awake now was Toronto, but that was nothing new. The shape-shifter tended to live a very nocturnal lifestyle.

  But he didn’t show his face as Rafe followed Kel through the library, the dining room, on through the kitchen to the back of the house. A huge garage had been added since Rafe had taken over this piece of land, housing the vehicles of the Hunters living here.

  He didn’t head for the garage, though, just slipped between the hodgepodge collection of buildings. A gym, a greenhouse, the grouping of smaller, recently built homes for those who didn’t want to live in the main house. They weren’t big, designed just to sleep one or two people. Sooner or later, when money allowed, Rafe planned on adding a few more.

  Kel slid past all the houses, bypassed the utility shed at the far end of the grounds and disappeared behind the tree line. Rafe kept right behind him and tried not to get too irritated over the fact that he was babysitting one of his Hunters when he could be back at the house and making love to his wife.

  Even as that thought circled through his head, guilt surged through him. When the night was over, Rafe would return home and crawl into the bed with Sheila, hold her soft, sweet body against his as they slept.

  While Kel spent the daylight hours alone and caught in the daytime prison-like sleep that came over the younger vamps, unable to fight the dreams that would come on him. And knowing when he woke, the memory of those dreams would still be there to haunt him.

  Rafe couldn’t imagine the hell Kel must be going through. Kel never talked about it, but the kid had the shitty luck of living in close quarters with the type of people who didn’t need him to say a word for them to feel his misery, taste it or scent it on the air.

  Every emotion had a unique feel, a unique taste, a unique scent. The scorching scent of rage, the sweet tang of joy or amusement. The bitter taste of rage, coupled with the acrid burn of misery, they hung around Kel so thick, so strong, the only time they eased was when his hunger spiraled out of control.

  Rumors circulated around Excelsior about the girl who Kel had bonded with, a girl who nearly went crazy after Kel disappeared from her life. Feeling his hunger, his bloodlust, his depression—falling into the death-like sleep of the newly Changed.

  A soul-mate bond, Rafe suspected, one forged between the two mortals before Kel had been yanked unceremoniously out of his normal, happy life. Sometimes, he was amazed the two of them had survived. Rafe had heard rumors of soul-mated pairs among non-mortals who’d lost their mate and ended up dying shortly after. Death by loneliness, he could get.

  Sheila had left him once. Each day she’d been gone, he had felt as though he died a little more inside. But he hadn’t physically been fading away. Neither had she.

  He loved his wife, but theirs wasn’t a soul-mated love. If it came right down to it, he preferred it that way just because it meant they were together because they loved each other.

  Not because they had to be.

  The star-crossed, soul-mated deal was a bitch as far as Rafe was concerned. Hell, look at what it had done to these two. The pretty lady Kel had been forced to leave behind almost went crazy because of their bond.

  Kel had spent the past twelve years miserable and alone. Rafe had given up on him ever getting over the girl.

  Shit, the girl. She was another responsibility he didn’t want, and a human one, no less. He had his hands full with his enclave and watching his territory, but that hadn’t kept fate from dumping the welfare of one Angel Pierson in his lap.

  The feral who had attacked Kel had never been caught. Slimy bastard had slipped away and disappeared. Rafe wasn’t the optimistic sort and he knew the vamp was probably still alive and preying on innocent people, but he hadn’t ever come close enough to set Rafe’s radar off. Without that radar, he had no way of tracking him, no way of finding him and killing him.

  No way of getting justice for what had been done to Kel or Angel.

  Not that justice would help Angel much. Because of the attack on her, she was vulnerable.

  Vulnerable in a way that could get her killed if they didn’t watch her and if Kel hadn’t damn near pushed her straight into madness, none of them would have known.

  A few months after Kel’s Change, word came down from the Council that there might be some trouble brewing for the girl left behind. By an unspoken code of the Hunters, Rafe had been charged with checking on the girl.

  She’d been close to the end of her rope, hanging onto sanity by a thread. What Rafe had seen upon his reluctant visit to Greenburg was a woman who would most likely find death a sweet release. She was so filled with pain, so tormented by what she thought were hallucinations, Rafe wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d already tried to end it a half dozen times over.

  It had been coming. Rafe had sensed that without any trouble, at all. The older man who intervened was the reason she was still alive, of that Rafe had no doubt. It hadn’t taken much work for Rafe to learn that the older man was Kel’s dad. Angel, the poor girl, only had a mother who didn’t really give a damn and a step-dad who barely knew her.

  If it hadn’t been for Jake Saunders, Angel probably would have just ended it.

  And that would have been on them. On him. Rafe hated realizing how close he’d come to letting some innocent girl grieve herself to death.

  Hunters ended up stepping in on a lot of lives, he knew that. Trying to help, sometimes succeeding, but sometimes coming too late, like in Kel’s situation. Rafe was an arrogant bastard, but he knew he couldn’t take on the welfare of every single human life that might somehow come in contact with his Hunters…even on the fringe side.

  But the families of the victims, when he failed, they were his responsibility. Angel had been a responsibility and he’d failed her. It wouldn’t happen again. That was a promise he’d made himself, standing in the shadows and watching as a middle-aged mortal helped a young woman place one foot in front of the other, walking down a pretty, flower-lined path. She’d signed herself into a mental health facility and it hadn’t come soon enough.

  Rafe could still remember how painfully thin the girl had been, how grief-stricken, and the look of utter dejection on her face.

  Beyond that driving pain, though, Rafe had seen something else, something that made him feel that much more a failure.

  Shooting Kel a dark look, Rafe wished the kid would at least speed up his pace a little. Long-ass walks like this through the woods made for entirely too much thinking time.

  Angel had been attacked that night too. Kel still wouldn’t talk about it, but Rafe figured Kel had walked in on the attack and by either divine intervention or just plain dumb luck, he’d distracted the vampire before he could drain Angel. Which would piss off any predator. Taking away a predator’s meal could make you the replacement. Rafe figured that was what had happened with Kel.

  For all Kel’s attempts to save his lady, he hadn’t been able to stop something from happening to her. Angel hadn’t emerged from that night unchanged. At some point, between biting her and attacking Kel, the feral had also forced some of his blood down Angel’s throat.

  From time to time, some vampires outside the Hunters took on a regular feeding companion. It wasn’t exactly forbidden—the Hunters couldn’t damn well police every single non-mortal in the world. They were charged with watching those who were a threat to humanity. They weren’t there to babysit each and every last vampire, witch, shifter and were in existence. Just the ones that were a threat.

  The problem started when a civilian vamp took a regular feeding companion and shared blood. That, in and of itself, posed another problem. The risk of exposure was too damn high. The typical vamp had the common sense to wipe away, or at least alter, any memory of a blood sharing. But there were idiots everywhere and vamps weren’t excluded.

  With a few minor exceptions, the few times there been a decent risk of exposure, they’
d been able to move in time, sending in a vamp with enough power to wipe away memories whether the mortal wanted it or not—and dealing with the vampire dumb enough to get caught in the situation.

  Those exceptions were, from time to time, seen in tabloids or on websites, places where nobody would give it much attention. But sooner or later, Rafe suspected it was going to happen to somebody who could garner attention from some place other than tabloids or some of the Goth communities.

  It was part of the reason he forbid any vampire in his territory to have a regular, mortal feeding companion unless the mortal was somehow already aware of their existence. The Council had resisted trying to forbid it among the general population, but they left it up to individual Masters to decide how they’d police their territories.

  It was a problem Rafe didn’t need or want, so the few times it happened in his land, the offending vamp ended up getting a visit he’d rather not get.

  But how he ran his territory wasn’t going to make a lick of difference to what had happened to Angel. Sharing blood didn’t automatically make a mortal a vampire. Some mortals could take a sip or two of vamp blood and it wouldn’t do much of anything to them. Others, like Angel, underwent a change of their own, and usually one they weren’t even aware of.

  Vampire bait.

  For some mortals, something about the blood-sharing altered their makeup, made their blood that much more enticing. Over the past few years, there’d been a couple of scientific types among the non-mortals who were bent on figuring out answers to centuries-old questions.

  Why the Change killed some and not others.

  Why some were born with magick and others weren’t.

  Why they were even real creatures, instead of myth.

  Those science-minded types had a theory. Not all mortals who shared blood with a vampire were going to end up vampire bait. Not all of them would have their blood and genetic makeup altered in the least. It only happened to a fraction of them.