A Cold Day in Hell (The Hellcat Series)

by Hannaford, Sharon

  She hadn't seen him much since that first full moon after he'd lost his leg during the raid on Jason's compound. Gabi didn't have the kind of personality that dealt well with the feeling-sorry-for-oneself phase of grieving. Not that Derek hadn't been through a fair-sized shit-storm in the last two months. Coping with the Change to Werewolf, attacking your own sister, and having to watch her go through the Change too, then losing half your leg would break some people.

  The memory of the night he lost his leg was still starkly imprinted in her mind. The scene would haunt her dreams for months: a huge, beautiful, chocolate brown Werewolf snapping and snarling his rage and pain to the small crowd of Vampires and Werewolves keeping him contained; his hind leg savaged and hanging on by only a small strip of skin; severed tendons, muscles and bone all clearly visible; blood pouring from the horrific injury over mangled flesh and fur. It had been one breath shy of impossible to centre herself enough to push her will towards the almost demented wolf and calm it, convince it that they meant it no harm and it needed to let them help.

  It was a lucky thing she'd accidentally discovered, just weeks before, that her ability to control the emotions and reactions of animals also extended to the wolf side of a Werewolf. It had taken precious minutes, but she'd finally calmed him enough that he could Change to human form and the medics could treat him. They'd stopped the bleeding and saved his life, but not even a Werewolf could heal a leg that badly damaged.

  Jonathon, the City's resident Vampire doctor, had had to perform an amputation. It had affected every person who'd been involved. Losing a Werewolf to death was one thing, having a live one trying to cope with a disability was something else entirely.

  There was no longer any chance of Derek resuming his career as a stunt double for action movie stars, and his chances of making it as an SMV Hunter were now slim. It was one thing to be in human form, where a prosthetic leg combined with his Werewolf strength, balance and speed still gave him an edge over most opponents, but once he Changed to wolf form, he was one leg down and at a severe disadvantage. He viewed himself as a cripple, as damaged goods with no future. If he continued to see himself like that, then that's exactly what Gabi feared he would become.

  "What's wrong, Bo?" she continued, deliberately goading him as he tried to breathe through the anger. "Does the truth hurt? Is it hard to hear that you're acting like a spoilt three-year-old? Would you prefer if I left you to your precious little pity party?" Her cruel jibes broke the shock of her initial attack, and he roared, diving at her in a mad rush of mindless temper. The injury had done nothing to make him slower or weaker than your average werewolf, so he hit her with the force of a charging buffalo. It took every ounce of her self-control not to jump out of his path.

  She felt pain explode in her chest as her breath left her in a whoosh, and a couple of ribs groaned warningly. He pounded her into the floorboards, his body like a pillar of concrete over hers, one fist raised. She had to mentally remind herself that this was all part of the plan. Luckily her Dhampir blood, strengthened by a recent intake of well-matured, Master Vampire blood (the memory almost drew a blush despite her current activity), would heal any physical damage within hours.

  She squeezed one eye shut, trying to draw breath as he suddenly froze, his rage turning to contrition in an instant. Nex's sheath dug into her spine, and she squirmed a little.

  "Gabi," he gasped, "I'm sorry. Gabi, fuck, I didn't mean to…" He looked appalled as he rolled off her, then leaned in, his hands anxiously moving to check her for injury. "Did I hurt…" Before he finished his sentence, Gabi drove a fist into his solar plexus. He reared back, grunting in surprise and pain just as she caught his head between her knees and twisted, flipping him over her body flat onto his back on the other side of her. His leg caught a small coffee table and sent it skittering into a wall, splintering it into several pieces and leaving a dent in the plaster.

  She lay for a moment gasping, drawing in painful lungfuls of air, but the fight had energised her like nothing else had in weeks. Derek rolled onto his knees, coughing, glaring at her in hurt astonishment. But she wasn't letting him get off that easy. It was time for the anger stage, and he needed to let rip on someone. Gabi wouldn't allow it to be Trish, and she knew if he picked a fight with Kyle or one of the other Werewolves or Vampires, it would turn deadly serious. It was the dominant Werewolf 'thing'. The same 'thing' she was relying on to keep him from actually trying to kill her; she didn't want to put him out of his misery quite that permanently. Werewolves were notorious for being protective of women, even though most of their women were more than capable of looking after themselves.

  "Come on, Mr Self-pity," she taunted him again, "is that the best you've got?" She sprang lightly to her feet, staying in a low fighter's stance. He flipped quickly to his feet, well, foot; he had to position the prosthesis back on the floor before he was properly balanced. He never took his eyes off her face, though. He knew her well enough to know she'd wipe the floor with him if he wasn't very careful. Gabi smiled a small, vicious grin and then whirled toward him, aiming a lightning-fast kick at his ribs. He caught her foot, but hadn't anticipated the follow-up roundhouse kick from her other foot, catching him square on the side of his face and sending his head snapping to the side. She landed in a crouch and took in his expression; in an instant she knew it was game on.

  He growled, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth, but the rage had been usurped by excitement, determination and wolf cunning. He prowled closer to her, circling, testing her reflexes. She allowed his assessment for a few seconds, feeling the wolf in him sizing her up: its amusement at her petite stature, its respect for her speed and agility, its readiness to play. She feinted to one side, hooking a wooden chair with one foot, flicking it up into the air before grabbing and swinging it hard into Derek's left side. It smashed against his arm and torso, disintegrating into pieces. He took the blow with a grunt and then lunged for her again.

  Luckily the cottage was furnished with only the basics, it was one of Julius's spare housing blocks and was rarely in use. Derek had started off pulling his punches, not laying into her like he would with a man. He was superb at timing after his years as a stuntman, but Gabi didn't allow him the same consideration, and as she gradually notched up the bruises and broken bones, he began to fight more seriously.

  Gabi knew every weak spot there was on a Werewolf, she'd grown up sparring with Kyle, her best friend, and she often trained at SMV headquarters against one or more of the other Hunters or trainees. In contrast, Derek knew almost nothing about her fighting style and martial arts training. Up until two months ago Derek had only known her as an experienced animal trainer who dealt largely with big cats and other potentially-lethal-to-man animals on movie sets. He'd been trying to get into her bed for years, but she'd kept him at arm’s length because he was a norm. It’d led to some uncomfortable moments between them lately; she hoped to hell he was finally getting over his interest in her as a bed mate.

  They must have been at it for over half an hour when a knock at the door distracted them. They paused, but didn't dare take their eyes from each other.

  "It's Patrick," called a deep male voice from the other side. He was Julius's daytime Head of Security, a military veteran and also a Werewolf. "Julius sent me to ask if you two will call a truce so that he can get some rest."

  Guilt slapped Gabi in the face. The mental connection between her and Julius had grown so strong recently that he'd probably felt every kick, punch, and body slam, never mind the adrenalin high.

  She swiped at the sweat dripping into her eyes with the back of her hand. Her breathing was harsh and laboured. She was bleeding from a couple of places and could feel bruises and contusions forming all over her body. She finally dropped her fighting stance and relaxed, releasing Derek's gaze to run her eyes over the whole of him. He was in even worse shape than she was, but there was a sparkle in his eyes, and the dark cloud that seemed to have been part of him when she arrived had dissipat
ed.

  "Thanks, Patrick," Gabi called back towards the door, "I think we're done for now."

  A grunt of acknowledgment and his light footsteps moved briskly away.

  "I'm done for the next month," Derek declared, collapsing to the floor in exhaustion. He sprawled on the floorboards, arms spread-eagled, his breathing coming in short, sharp gasps. The prosthetic leg was lying at a funny angle, but he didn't seem to notice. Gabi hoped it had come through the fight unscathed. She’d tried to be careful about it; they weren't cheap or easy to produce. "I guess you didn't get the memo from Jonathon about me only doing light physical activity," Derek asked, his gaze following her as she paced, walking off the pain and exertion with her hands on her hips.

  "Ha," she snorted. "Jonathon's just too soft on his patients." She should know; she'd been his patient far too many times for comfort in the last few months. He was a great doctor, though; guess that’s what happens when you've been practicing your trade for nearly two hundred years. "It's you who'll get it in the neck anyhow; he knows better than to lecture me," she reminded him.

  "I won't tell if you don't," he said, his voice heavy with conspiracy.

  "You'd better hope that your leg is still in one piece. That’ll give us away for sure," she pointed out. Her breathing had calmed to almost normal, so she picked her way through the bits of broken furniture to the kitchenette and pulled two bottles of water out of the fridge. She tossed one to Derek and, after a brief survey of the room didn't turn up any unbroken chairs, hopped up onto the kitchen counter instead. After downing most of the bottled water in one go, she reached back and unbuckled Nex's sheath, gingerly flexing her back muscles as she removed it. She was pretty sure there'd be a vivid bruise the exact shape of the sheath down her spine.

  "Damn, you had that bloody knife strapped to your back all this time?" Derek asked. He was sitting now, realigning the prosthetic and checking it over. His hair was almost black it was so soaked in sweat, and his T-shirt was plastered to his athletic body.

  "She's not a knife, she's a short sword," Gabi corrected. The Kris had been the find of a lifetime when Gabi had accidentally walked into the shop of an elderly sword-maker on one of her trips to Indonesia. The man had barely looked at her before offering her the sword to look at; then he'd graciously allowed Gabi to trial the blade. The Kris was a sword imbued with mystical properties, and it was said they chose their owners, not the other way around. Gabi had been drawn to the blade from the moment she set eyes on it, and it had rarely been out of her presence since that day. It had an uncanny ability of finding its way back to her when they did occasionally get separated.

  "Okay," he said carefully, as though talking to someone slightly unhinged, "but why didn't you use her in the fight."

  Gabi frowned at him indignantly. "I didn't come here to kill you," she said, in a tone that implied she was speaking to someone rather slow at catching on. "I just came here to knock some fight into you."

  "I think you just knocked the fight out of me." He began to laugh, but then choked it off, groaning. His ribs must feel as bad as hers. Then he sighed, staring at his leg. "What do I do now, Gabi? Being a stuntman is all I've known since I was sixteen. I'm not cut out to be a salesman or someone who answers the telephone. I don't have any computer skills or the aptitude to study for a whole new career. I can't sit around and do nothing either. I've been working since I was fourteen."

  "You're being too narrow minded," she groused. "You need to take off your blinkers, open your eyes to the possibilities."

  He glared at her, his jaw set stubbornly. "What do you think I've been doing the past two months?" he growled. "I've had nothing but time to consider the possibilities."

  "No, you've been moping around, lamenting the things you can't do anymore," she pointed out. She knew she sounded callous, even cruel, but he needed to hear it. "Try it like this, then. You must have put some thought into what you would do one day when the knocks became too much to carry on with the stunt work. What had you imagined you would do when you retired?"

  His anger drained away, and he cocked his head, his eyes unfocused as he considered the question.

  "Well," he said finally, "I guess I always saw myself moving into stunt coordinating or even starting a training academy. But I needed more time to develop a name for myself before that would be really viable. It would take months, if not years, to get enough credibility."

  "Stop with the 'but' attitude," she grumbled, annoyed. "Stop looking for reasons not to try something. You have years of martial arts training, you've made an excellent name for yourself in the local movie industry. There’s no reason you can't start a stunt academy or begin consulting. If you need some cash to get yourself set up and tide you over during set-up, the SMV is always on the lookout for experienced people to work with the trainees and to set up exercise routines and training programmes. None of the Hunters really have the time to do that kind of thing. It would be paying work for as long as you wanted it."

  Derek mulled this over in his mind for a short while, then nodded. "You're right. It's time to stop acting like an ass."

  Gabi chuckled. "Go shower, shave, and put on some decent clothes," she told him. "I'll leave a number here for you to call. Go and see him today. No more excuses."

  "Okay."

  "And don't," she warned sternly, "make me come back here." She grabbed her sword and waved it warningly in his direction before sliding gingerly off the counter. As Derek made his way towards the bedroom, she scribbled down a name and phone number on a notepad, which she recovered from under a splintered piece of dining chair. Then she dragged her weary body from the cottage into the sunlight.

  It seemed like an awfully long walk to her car, if you could call it a car. It was parked back at the newly rebuilt manor house, about a quarter mile away. It had taken a bit of time to get used to driving her new Lamborghini SUV, a gift from Julius after her beloved Mustang Shelby was used, Trojan-horse fashion, to bring a bomb onto Julius's estate. It wasn't quite as exhilarating to drive as the Mustang, but it did have more storage space for her gear, as well as enough room to fit a large Rottweiler in the back when she needed to. In fact, she could probably fit a Werewolf in wolf form in the back, and with her life as it was, there was every possibility that she might need to do exactly that one day.

  The manor house was also something to get used to. The previous building had been several decades old, with a 'ye olde' country house feel, complete with ivy growing over the brick walls, and rose bushes out front. The new building, completed in record time with teams of Vampires and Werewolves working on it day and night, was much more modern, with clean lines, large windows, elegant balconies and more integrated technology than anyone knew how to control. It oozed modern, understated wealth. Gabi didn't like it much from the outside, but inside, once she could feel Julius's presence, it felt like her second home.

  Thinking of Julius made her glance up towards a large bay window on the third floor. Julius would be falling into his daysleep behind the special sunlight-blocking blinds and thick curtains. She could feel his reluctance to relent to the daysleep, wanting her to come back to him. Memories of the early hours of this morning made certain things deep inside her clench with renewed desire. It was a good thing that her fight with Derek hadn't caused any of her clothing to tear; her body was covered in small red and purple bruises as well as a couple of neat puncture marks. Julius's presence was suddenly strong in her mind; her desire had been strong enough for him to sense it. He sent her images of the empty space in his bed, waiting for her. She smiled, drew a determined breath, wincing at the pain in her ribs, and sent him a mental kiss. She had work to do today.

  She climbed into the SUV and pressed the ignition button. The car purred to life as she felt Julius finally capitulate, and his presence in her mind dimmed to gently glow in a back corner. Feeling like she’d accomplished something with Derek left her with a sense of contentment. Then she noticed the dark sedan tailing her as she drove out o
f the estate.

  CHAPTER 2

  The dark car behind her held two occupants, both of them Werewolves working for Julius. Now that he was asleep and she was driving, she finally had time to mull over something that had been yammering for her attention for several days. After being relieved of her Hunter duties for the SMV and Derek's near-death-experience, she'd thrown herself into the first movie jobs that had come her way. There was never a lack of animal handling and training work for her, and she'd been neglecting her day job for several months as she, Julius and the SMV had dealt firstly with Dantè, the Vampire who'd tried to flood the City with Demons, and then with Jason King’s campaign to create as many Werewolves as he could.

  In many ways it felt good to be working with animals again, they were her respite in all the chaos sometimes, but it also meant she had to deal with norms, and that meant she had to rein in her normally blunt attitude and volatile temper. It became tiring after a while, keeping up the charade. And then there was the part of her that simply craved excitement. She supposed some might call her an adrenalin junkie. Unfortunately she was a high-end junkie; jumping out of a plane or taking a racing car out onto a race track or skiing down a double black diamond slope just didn't do it for her. Even a training session at her local dojo didn't do more than take the edge off. She needed to get back to work with the SMV, but she wasn't sure that she wanted to, even if they exonerated her or decreed her suspension as sufficient punishment. She knew in her heart she wouldn't feel comfortable supporting them until they resolved the issue she felt so strongly about.

  So, being consumed with her own inner conflicts, she hadn't taken as much notice as she should have of Julius's state of mind. He was such a powerful presence, so supremely confident, that it was hard to think of him as still having human emotions sometimes. To think that he may have problems he couldn't deal with alone seemed almost like an insult. In her defence, it was largely his own fault; he was well schooled at hiding his own internal conflict, in not sharing his problems with anyone.