Semi-Human (Harper Hall Investigations Book 2)

by Jordan, Isabel

“I haven’t taken a scalp in…oh, probably five hundred years,” he said, his voice deadly calm. “But I imagine it’s like riding a bicycle. I’m sure it will all come back to me.”

  Leon screamed as Hunter moved to press the blade into his hairline.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa…wait!”

  Hunter lifted his eyes to hers. “Yes, love?”

  “You can’t really mean to…” she gulped “…scalp him, can you?” Here? On her white carpet?

  “Yes. It won’t kill him, if that’s what you’re worried about. At least, not if I do it right.”

  Leon started to whimper, but Hunter merely kept his stoic expression firmly in place. She lifted a brow at him, and he winked at her.

  She let out a relieved breath. Jesus. He wasn’t going to scalp Leon. He was just really, really good at playing bad cop.

  “Leon,” she said, injecting a note of panic into her voice, “you better agree to help Harper. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep him from hurting you.”

  Leon immediately stopped sniveling and blinked at her. “Harper? Harper Hall? The Harper Hall? You need the antidote for her?”

  “Yeah. Does that make a difference?”

  His eyes went wide. “Shit yeah, it makes a difference. I remember when she would come visit you at TEV.” He shuddered as if chilled and grinned in a way that made Mischa cringe. God only knew what kind of perverted little fantasies were rolling around in that giant cranium of his.

  “Harper is hot,” Leon added. He turned to Hunter. “She looks like Seven of Nine only with darker, curly hair, you know?”

  Hunter glanced at her, one brow raised and she shook her head, silently telling him it wasn’t worth his time trying to figure out the inner workings of a sci-fi geek’s brain. He was an ancient vampire, for God’s sake. He certainly didn’t need to know anything about Star Trek: Voyager.

  Hell, Mischa was a little ashamed to admit she knew anything about it.

  Leon looked back at Mischa. “If I can get the antidote, will you introduce me to her?”

  Hunter let go of Leon’s hair, looking a little disappointed that his knife would no longer be necessary.

  Mischa shrugged, but cringed inwardly at the thought of having to introduce Harper to this little loser. Knowing Harper, she’d be nice to him, which would supply him with material for his spank bank for the rest of the year. He soooo didn’t deserve that. But what choice did she really have at this point? Letting Hunter scalp him wasn’t really a great option, either.

  “Sure.” She shook her head, feeling elated and a little defeated all at the same time. “I’ll introduce you. But I’m not letting you cut a lock of her hair or anything, you little perv.”

  His expression was positively gleeful, especially considering he’d looked ready to vomit only a few moments ago. “Great. Now, untie me and take me to Dresden Labs.”

  “It’s as easy as that?” Hunter asked. “All you need to cure Harper can be found in the lab?”

  Leon shot him a condescending, scornful glare. “Well, no, Dances with Wolves, it’s considerably more complicated than that. But fortunately for Harper, I’m the brains of this operation and not you.”

  Hunter leaned forward, fist raised, then eased back and smiled when Leon huddled down in his chair, eyes squeezed shut, bracing for a punch. Mischa couldn’t help but bark out a laugh, which ended in an unladylike snort. She slapped a hand over her mouth, but Hunter captured it and pressed a quick kiss to her fingers.

  “Don’t ever hide from me,” he said quietly. “There’s nothing about you that isn’t beautiful.”

  Her knees threatened to give out. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He gave her a short, old-fashioned bow—along with a not-at-all old-fashioned, sexy-as-all-hell half smile that would probably be forever branded on her brain.

  Leon glanced between them. “I would’ve sworn you were a lesbian,” he eventually said to Mischa.

  She didn’t take her eyes off Hunter as she muttered in reply, “Everything in my life would be so much easier if I was. You have no idea, Leon.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Arena was built under a casino somewhere on the Strip. Riddick had no idea which casino, because they’d been blindfolded and driven around in circles for a good half hour before they’d been shoved into a locker room where the Vrykolakas’s fighters were preparing for battle.

  “Sit down, Harper,” Romeo hissed at her as he taped Riddick’s hands. “You’re supposed to be an owner, not a nervous girlfriend. You look ridiculous bouncing around biting your nails like that.”

  Harper shot him a withering glare and took a seat next to Riddick. He smiled at her, doing his best to project nothing but calm energy. “It’s going to be all right. Don’t worry.”

  She smiled back at him, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

  “Tell me about what’s going to happen,” she said to Romeo.

  Romeo frowned at her. “Are you gettin’ senile in your old age, Harpy? I’ve told you a hundred times.”

  “Maybe hearing your voice calms me,” she said with unbridled sarcasm. “And give me your phone while you tell me.”

  His brow furrowed, but he handed her the phone. She typed out a quick text as he gave her the basics of what was going to happen in the Arena.

  “The Lykoi never pit their best fighters against a newbie, no matter what that newbie’s background or race is. So, Riddick’s first fight will be with one of the scrubs—someone who hasn’t proven himself as a fighter.”

  He wrapped another length of tape around Riddick’s left hand. “The fight will last ten minutes, or until one of the fighters is unconscious.”

  Harper started biting her nails again at the word unconscious.

  “You never went over the rules,” Riddick said.

  Romeo stopped taping and met his eyes. “That’s because there aren’t any.”

  Shit. Harper wasn’t going to like that.

  The look she shot Romeo was incredulous and furious and threatening all in one. He’d never met anyone in his life who could pull off a look like that.

  God, she was amazing.

  “No rules at all?” she said in a low, controlled voice that—Riddick knew—meant she was barely keeping her temper in check. “So, kicks to the groin and biting and breaking bones…that would all be legal?”

  Romeo nodded. “Encouraged even.”

  Harper shook her head, mumbling something he didn’t quite catch under her breath as she typed out another text.

  “No way for anyone to get weapons in?” he asked Romeo.

  He shook his head. “You’ll be scanned before you go in. The crowd is checked, too. Someone once snuck in a shiv that wasn’t made of metal, but they made an example out of that guy. It won’t happen again.”

  Harper looked up from the phone. “Did they make an example out of him before or after he killed his opponent with that shiv?”

  Romeo averted his eyes and went back to taping Riddick’s hand, his silence answering Harper’s question better than words could.

  “That’s just great,” she grumbled. “I swear to God, Romeo, if we all live through this, I will make it my life’s mission to fuck with every little bit of your life and ensure you never know a moment of peace. Mark my words, dickhead. You will suffer.”

  The phone beeped, indicating an incoming text. She glanced down at the phone and smiled an evil smile that reminded Riddick of the Grinch cartoon Harper made him watch at Christmas. “And let the suffering begin,” she said.

  She tossed the phone to Romeo who caught it, glancing at the screen. He tipped the screen upside down, looking confused. “What is this?”

  “That’s my cousin. She always had a crush on you, so I texted her and told her you were single. That photo is her reply.”

  He still looked confused. “So, what is this supposed to…”

  Suddenly, absolute horror dawned on his expression, and he dropped the phone with a screech, sounding like a little girl who
’d just seen a big hairy spider.

  “Looks like she bought a thong,” Harper said matter-of-factly. “She’s real flexible now that she’s been doing yoga twice a week.”

  Romeo pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Sweet Christ, I need to bleach my brain.”

  And with that, he turned on his heel and left the locker room.

  “Your cousin sent him a nearly naked picture of herself?” Riddick asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Which cousin?”

  “The smoker with the skin like a handbag. The one you call Skeletor. The one that groped your ass at the last family dinner.”

  He grinned. “Nice.”

  She smirked. “I thought so. Tomorrow I sign him up for free samples of every erectile dysfunction drug and adult diaper I can find.”

  “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

  “I wish I could do more, but petty torments are really all I have for him right now.” Her smile faded as she shifted so that she was sitting on his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her forehead on his. “Promise me you’re going to be fine,” she said quietly.

  “I promise,” he answered instantly.

  Which would be great, except both of them knew damn good and well he could promise her no such thing.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Arena itself appeared to be built by the same crew who recreated the Coliseum for the movie Gladiator. The space was huge and open with a sand and dirt floor. There were enough harsh fluorescent lights overhead that Harper was pretty sure she’d get a tan if the fight lasted the full ten minutes.

  The seating was stadium-style, with each chair upholstered with lush red velvet. The fight floor was surrounded by a tall cement wall that was splattered with blood and various other… fluids.

  Harper tried not to dwell on those walls as she and Romeo found their way to their seats in owners’ row, right up front.

  She glanced across the pit and caught Archer’s eye. He gave her a mock salute and raised a cup of blood to her. She gave him a curt nod and purposefully turned her gaze into the crowd.

  “Why is Archer’s body guard giving you the stink eye?” Romeo asked.

  She glanced back over toward Archer and saw that indeed, Sparky the vampire was glaring rather sternly in her direction. She shrugged. “He’s just pissed because I stole his sword.”

  “Okay, Riddick told me you’d disarmed the guy, but why the hell would you steal his sword?”

  “I like it. I’ve named it Katy Perry.”

  Romeo blinked. “Dare I ask why?”

  “Because it’s very pretty, yet deadly.”

  “Katy Perry is deadly?”

  Harper nodded. “Her music makes me want to kill myself.” At his blank stare, she asked, “What? That’s just me?”

  He shook his head and patted her knee fondly. “Yep, darlin’. That’s definitely just you.”

  Harper shifted her attention to the crowd. The fight fans were a surprisingly diverse group of humans, vampires, and shifters. Every color of the ethnic rainbow was represented.

  “It’s like a freakin’ Benetton ad in here,” she grumbled.

  “Fighting is the universal language,” Romeo responded with a grim smile.

  She’d always heard that love was the universal language, but judging by the crowds packing the stands, Romeo could be right.

  There was one thing the UN ad of a crowd had in common, Harper noticed.

  Money.

  The whole place was full of Rolex-wearing, Republican-looking, luxury-car-driving, trophy-wife-having, Lifestyles-of- the-Rich-and-Famous types. She’d be willing to bet this particular audience could probably cover the national debt with pocket change they found in their collective couch cushions.

  Most of them were sitting in their seats with little opera glasses, wearing their finest attire, looking like they were at Madame Butterfly, or some shit. All giddy at the thought of witnessing bloodshed and (fingers crossed) death.

  Harper hated every last one of them.

  Romeo nudged her with his elbow. “There’s our boy.”

  Harper sucked in a sharp breath as the gate at the opposite end of the Arena was lifted and Riddick stepped out.

  Her stomach flip-flopped as he moved to the center of the fighting pit with his usual predatory grace, eyes shifting over the crowd restlessly.

  But then he saw her and their gazes locked. She leaned forward, hands clenched together so tight that her knuckles ached. Was he having second thoughts about this? Maybe Hunter’s meditation techniques, which she’d taught him earlier that day, weren’t working and he was afraid he’d lose control during the fight. Should they just try to make a run for it? Shit, what if-

  Then, he somehow managed to smile up at her with his eyes, even though he didn’t move a single muscle in his face.

  She released her breath. He was fine. His blood pressure probably hadn’t even gone up. Unlike hers, which seemed to be jamming to a punk rock concert only it could hear.

  Suddenly, from the other end of the Arena, a gate opened and a burst of smoke machine fog puffed out, preceding the most flamboyant fighter Harper had seen since Apollo Creed strutted out to fight the huge Russian in Rocky IV.

  He looked to be about Riddick’s height and weight, but was Riddick’s polar opposite in every other way. He had carrot-orange hair and milk-white skin dotted with so many freckles he looked like he’d been splattered with beige paint.

  And while Riddick wore a beat-up gray t-shirt, faded, broken-down jeans, and his black shit-kicking boots, this joker wore what appeared to be Daniel-san’s fighting outfit from one of the Karate Kid movies. He even had the weird little headband on, for Christ’s sake.

  The fighter moved toward Riddick, punching and kicking the air as if he heard Eye of the Tiger in his head. Every now and then, he’d pause and mean-mug Riddick, who stood stock-still, brow raised, one corner of his lip curled up in a smirk.

  Even though the guy looked completely ridiculous to Harper, the crowd certainly seemed to appreciate the show. They were on their feet cheering as if he actually was Apollo Creed.

  To each his own, Harper supposed. But this certainly didn’t elevate her already dangerously low opinion of the crowd.

  When the two fighters were face to face, one of the most beautiful women Harper had ever seen strolled into the Arena from the same door Carrot Top had entered through. She was about six feet tall, with most of that height being in her legs, with white-blond curls that fell to her firm, rounded tush.

  And Harper knew the woman had a firm, rounded tush because she was buck-ass naked.

  Again, the crowd went wild.

  “That’s Christy,” Romeo whispered in her ear. “The Arena’s equivalent of a ring girl. She’s neutral in all this. Her salary comes from both the Vrykolakas and Lykoi equally. She’ll bang the gong over there to start the fight.”

  Harper had a few questions about why an underground fight club would need a ring girl, especially a naked ring girl, but she didn’t get a chance to ask. As she watched, Christy fell to her knees, bones sliding around and popping under her perfect, smooth skin, not stopping until the shift was complete.

  Harper blinked. “She’s a tiger shifter?”

  “Yep.”

  Shit. Harper hadn’t even known there were tiger shifters. Bears, rats, wolves, coyotes…sure. But tigers? That was a new one.

  And Christy was as beautiful in tiger form as she was in her human shape. She had snow white fur and big blue eyes that scanned the crowd as she ran a quick lap around the Arena.

  She paused as her big blue eyes latched onto Romeo.

  She hissed, then tossed her head and finished her lap.

  Harper glanced over at Romeo, who had the grace to look a little embarrassed.

  “Did I mention it was Christy who got me invited to Archer’s table in the first place?” he asked.

  Harper pursed her lips, not bothering to respond. Given the tiger’s r
eaction, she imagined it hadn’t been a friendly breakup. Shocking.

  Christy shifted back into her beautiful, long-legged self by the large, ancient Chinese gong and hip-bumped it to signal the start of the fight.

  Riddick fell into his usual easy, loose-limbed fighting stance. Daniel-San, on the other hand, unleashed a flurry of kicks and punches and mid-air acrobatics, all while making weird Bruce Lee noises.

  Romeo snorted. “Talk about Enter the Dumbass.”

  He wasn’t lying, Harper thought. Sentry had taught their slayers early on that fancy tricks and aerial maneuvers were fine for the movies, but utterly useless in a street fight.

  She glanced back at Riddick, who didn’t even bother to move away from the flailing fighter. His eyes just tracked his every exaggerated movement until finally, he was within arms’ reach.

  When Daniel-San stopped moving for a split second, Riddick hit him with a right hook to the jaw that sent him sailing comically through the air, back at least six feet. He landed on his back, releasing a huge, wheezing puff of air as he hit the ground.

  And he didn’t get up.

  One, two, three, four, five…yep, it was over.

  The crowd went so silent, Harper could hear the steady, low hum of the fluorescent lighting in the Arena.

  Riddick glanced down at the fallen fighter, then up at her. He shrugged.

  And with that, the crowd found their voices and went absolutely wild, cheering and screaming and waving their arms.

  “Sev-en, Sev-en, Sev-en,” they chanted.

  Riddick shook his head in disgust and turned his back on the crowd, walking back to the locker room.

  His obvious disdain for some reason excited the crowd even more, and Harper had to cover her ears to block out the dull roar of the bloodthirsty fight fans all around her.

  “Will all the fights up to his last one be this easy?” she yelled in Romeo’s ear.

  His answering smile bordered on pity. “No. The real fights start tomorrow.”

  Well, shit.

  Romeo could be a despicable bastard, and he’d lied to her a million times. And now was when he started telling the truth?