Blood Hunt

by Jessica Wayne

  I glance up at my best friend as she stares disapprovingly at the share-size pack of Skittles on the counter of her coffee shop. “They have calories.”

  She puts both hands rocking bright pink nails on her narrow hips. “They are packed with sugar and all kinds of other crap.”

  I pop two red and a purple in my mouth. “Delicious crap,” I defend. I’m used to it. I’ve had to defend my Skittles addiction since we were kids and I’d search for spare coins to feed my habit. My mother refused to let me ‘poison myself’ with sugar, so I’d had to scrimp and save. I may be thirty-seven, but my love for the fruit-flavored candy has never wavered.

  Jane grins and rolls her eyes. Honestly, if I didn’t love her so damn much, I’d probably hate her. She’s absolutely gorgeous and the only woman I know who can literally roll out of bed and have perfectly styled chestnut hair. Her left eye is a light hazel while the right is half light hazel and half bright green.

  But honestly, it’s not even her looks that I’m most jealous of. It’s the fact that she gets to live a normal life while I’m forced to carry on a legacy tinged with blood. She gets to go to sleep every night and wake up, knowing exactly what her day will bring while I’m forced to confront death nearly every step of the way.

  “I’m going to make you something,” she says and leaves before giving me the chance to argue. I wash down another four Skittles with a sip of my black coffee and survey the line already forming outside of Janie’s Coffee Beans. I’m so proud of my best friend. She worked her ass off every day since she was old enough to babysit and even held two jobs as a teenager. After saving every extra penny she had, she was able to open this place up six years ago, and it’s now the most popular coffee shop in Billings.

  “You’re going to end up with a brick through the window if you don’t open up,” I call after her. Something dings back in the kitchen, and less than a minute later, she’s walking through the beaded doorway with a toasted breakfast sandwich.

  “Eat.”

  “Okay, mom.”

  She grins down at me. “Listen to me, or face my wrath.” Her voice is so soft, feminine, and it just makes her threat even more amusing. Jane is the human version of cotton candy. I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen her pissed off. She turns toward the coffee pot and starts a fresh brew. “Five minutes to open time.”

  I grunt and bite into the sandwich. Flavor explodes on my tongue—crunchy bacon, smooth avocado, salty cheese—it’s damn delicious. “Where’s Minnie?” The only staff member Jane has on hand is a sweet girl but notoriously late. My friend is entirely too kind to fire her though, so I’ve covered more than once on a busy morning.

  She purses pink lips together. “She should be here soon.”

  “You know, you could hire someone else in a heartbeat.”

  “I know, but she’s so sweet. Plus, she’s going through a rough spot with her fiancé.”

  “There will always be a reason.”

  “I can’t,” she insists and changes the subject. “What happened to your wrist?”

  I look down at the light bruising, the only evidence that it was shattered last night since the bones are all healed. I release the sandwich and roll it side to side to show her nothing’s off.

  “Not sure,” I lie. “Probably banged it up during a workout.”

  “You’ve got to take it easy on that bag,” she says, brows drawing together. “You’re going to break something one of these days.”

  If only you knew. “I have to keep my skills sharp.”

  “Yes, Rainey Astor: ass-kicker extraordinaire.”

  “Don’t ever forget it.”

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Promise.”

  “I heard there was an awful murder last night.” She speaks low as though someone might overhear us.

  “Pretty nasty. Four dead.” Would have been five if the last asshole hadn’t escaped.

  “So sad. I just.” She sighs. “I really wish the world was kinder. Things would be so much better if everyone cared for one another.”

  I purse my lips in a tight smile. “I really wish that too.”

  The coffee machine dings, signaling the brew is complete, so Jane straightens her soft pink apron. “Time to open.” Just as she’s about to unlock the door, Minnie breezes in from the back, hair in a tight bun as she puts her apron on.

  “Morning,” I greet as she moves closer.

  Minnie sniffles, and I see it—bruising barely covered by a thick layer of makeup. The cop in me comes out, and I push off my stool.

  “What happened?” I demand, reaching for her face.

  She pulls back and shakes her head. “Nothing. Fell this morning.”

  “Minnie, did Paul do that to you?” Jane asks, leaving the door and walking toward her employee.

  Minnie forces a smile and shakes her head. “No, course not. Let’s open before we end up with someone kicking the door in.”

  Tight-lipped, Jane studies Minnie before looking over at me. I nod, understanding exactly what she’s not asking me to do. And I say not because she knows I want to, and it could get me fired.

  Minnie unlocks the door, and customers file in, some taking seats at perfectly polished wooden tables, others heading right for the counter for their morning fix. I toss bills on the counter and sneak out the back.

  My phone rings. “Astor,” I say into the line.

  “Rainey, it’s Jack.”

  “Perfect. Meet me somewhere.”

  “Where?”

  “This your cell?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll text you the address.”

  “Sounds good.”

  I end the call and immediately fire off Minnie’s home address. I might not be able to do anything, but Jack’s not police, and while I’m the one who owes him a favor, he owes me a show of trust.

  Climbing on my bike, I fire it up and head up the street toward where Minnie lives. The small residential neighborhood is adorable, a picturesque example of white picket fence. Paul Thomas is a stain on that visual.

  I stop my bike just down the street, out of view, and wait. While I don’t necessarily agree with Minnie’s work ethic, I don’t have time for bullies. Human or monster—doesn’t matter to me other than the fact I can justify killing the latter.

  It’s well past time this asshole had a reality check and realizes he isn’t the biggest, baddest motherfucker in the land. A nondescript silver sedan pulls up near my bike, and Jack climbs out.

  “Morning,” he greets. “I like you better as a brunette.”

  “Thanks for not outing me last night. I wasn’t sure you recognized me.”

  “I did. But I figured it probably wouldn’t be the best idea to let your partner know that.”

  I nod and study Jack in the bright sun. He looks different today, more relaxed. Wearing dark jeans and a white T-shirt, there’s little trace of the hunter from last night. I suppose that’s fitting since I look like a completely different person than I did in that alley.

  “You up for a little bully control?” I ask him.

  He shoves both hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “What type?”

  “Human.”

  “Let’s do it. What do you need me to do?”

  “Honestly? I need you to get the douchebag in that yellow house on the corner to hit you.”

  Jack’s dark eyebrow lifts. “You want me to get him to hit me? As in, let the guy sucker-punch me?”

  “Yes. But it has to be on the sidewalk.”

  “The sidewalk.”

  “Public property.”

  “So, I have to lure him to the sidewalk and get him to hit me.”

  I nod.

  “So you can arrest him.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Jack flexes his hands, knuckles cracking. “Sounds good to me. I’m pretty good at pissing people off. When I’m done though, I’m expecting this show of faith to earn me an actual conversation. I am putting my pride aside for you, R
ainey Astor.”

  “We’ll see. Make it look good.”

  “I will.”

  I chuckle and watch as Jack crosses the street, heading for Minnie’s quaint yellow house. The lawn is so perfectly manicured you’d never know an asshole lived inside. Focusing my senses on Jack, I can hear him knock even here around the corner. While I can’t see Paul’s face when he opens the door, I can hear the conversation perfectly.

  “What do you want?” Paul asks, his tone slurred from whatever alcohol he’s been partaking in. Perfect. This’ll probably be even easier than I thought.

  “I’ve got something I’d like to discuss with you Mr.—”

  “If you’re selling something, I want nothing to do with it.”

  “Oh, come on, man, let’s have us a talk. I’m not leaving until you give me a chance.”

  “You fucking are, you lazy motherfucker. Get a real job.”

  Jack stumbles back when Paul shoves him. “There’s no need for violence.” Jack holds up both hands.

  Paul comes into view on the porch. “If you don’t get off my property, there is.” He steps toward Jack.

  “You been drinking, man?”

  “None of your damned business.”

  “You call me a lazy motherfucker, and yet here I am, working. You’re drunk. That’s pathetic.”

  “What did you just call me?” Paul asks, tone dropping to just above dangerous as he moves down the steps toward Jack.

  Here it is.

  “Pathetic. Pretty sure I didn’t slur since I’m not a drunk piece of shit.” Jack steps out onto the sidewalk and Paul races toward him.

  That did it.

  Paul’s fist cracks into Jack’s jaw, and I run across the street, badge in full view around my neck. “What just happened?” I demand.

  “He won’t get off my—wait a fucking minute. Rainey, what the hell are you doing here?” Paul narrows his gaze on me.

  “Passing by.” I turn to Jack. “Sir, did this man assault you?”

  Jack glances back at Paul and then at me. “Why yes, yes he did.”

  “He’s on my property! I was defending myself!” Paul’s face reddens, his words laced with spit.

  “Looks to me like this man came here asking you for help, and you assaulted him. And, you’re drunk, in public.”

  “This is my property!” Paul roars.

  “Actually,” I point to the sidewalk. “This is public property.” I click my tongue. “I’m afraid I’ll have to arrest you for this one.” Reaching behind me, I pull out my cuffs, and Paul’s eyes widen.

  “You did this on purpose, you bitch!” He rushes me, and I palm his throat, slamming him back to the ground.

  Rolling him over onto his belly, I yank both arms behind his back and cuff him before leaning in. “Listen up, asshole. You’ve hit Minnie for the last time. Do it again, and I won’t be coming after you as a cop.”

  “That’s a threat! You hear that?” he asks Jack, who shakes his head.

  “No, dude. I heard her read you your rights.”

  I grin up at Jack and roll Paul over, sitting him on the curb while I pull out my phone and call the precinct.

  5

  Elijah

  Tinfoil lines the window of an old house on the outskirts of town. It’s in a rundown neighborhood—the kind you wouldn’t wish to be seen in by anyone—and is only a few miles from the club Rainey was hunting last night. Both of these make it a prime location for bringing back victims without attracting too many prying eyes. These particular bastards have been extending their territory though, working their way toward the city, turning as many as six humans a night.

  Should be noticeable by the humans, right? Well, it would be, but the bastards are smart about it. They grab the homeless, the drunks, the ones no human will report missing to their ranks and steadily—silently—build up an army so they can attempt to take over the city center. Not that they’ll get that far. The vamp that runs the city center is a well-known asshole.

  That vamp being me.

  The lawn is overgrown, and as I step up onto the rickety porch, the boards barely support my weight. Lovely. The railing is peeling, but it seems as good a place as any to leave something you don’t want destroyed.

  Slowly, I remove my jacket and lay it across the aged wood before walking up to the door and slamming the sole of my shoe into the wood. I see no need for pretenses, and given the bright sun above, these bloodthirsty bastards won’t be opening the door anyway.

  It splinters inward, making the occupants inside hiss and move further into the shadows to avoid being burned up by the sunlight. The stench of death wafts out over me, churning my stomach. “Does no one clean anymore?” I ask as I step through the damaged doorway. “You lads could really use someone.”

  “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve!” a vampire roars from just beyond the living room.

  If you can call it that. The place looks like it’s one windstorm away from blowing right over. Something that I think used to be a couch has springs sticking out at odd angles, its once tan fabric stained with things I’d rather not put too much thought into.

  And to top it all off, a body lies spread eagle on the kitchen island. “No wonder for the damned smell. You’ve got this dead guy in your kitchen. And he’s wearing nothing but his knickers. You definitely need help.” I move closer and cringe when I see the fang marks on the man’s major veins. Poor bastard didn’t stand a chance. He looks like he was gnawed on for days.

  “Who the fuck are you?” the vampire who spoke earlier addresses me, so I turn my attention back to him.

  “Someone who’s going to teach you a bit of manners.” I carefully undo my cufflinks and shove them into my pocket before rolling up my sleeves.

  “Manners?” the vamp scoffs. “You’re about to die, asshole.”

  I shrug. Not at all concerned. The Gale clan is fairly new, their founding member turned only a handful of years ago. And even if he wasn’t? I’m still a hell of a lot deadlier. Being over four centuries old has given me quite an advantage over these assholes.

  A board cracks behind me, and I turn just in time to grab my would-be attacker by the throat. He’s young—maybe early twenties—red eyes regarding me with a mixture of fear and awe. “Whose bright idea was it to attack that hunter last night?” I ask. “Female, blonde, she was a real looker.” The vampire glances over my shoulder just briefly enough to give me my answer, but not obvious enough the gobshite behind me recognized the betrayal.

  I lean in, dropping my tone. “If you don’t want to die, I suggest you find a hole and climb into it until your bloodlust is over. Understand?”

  He nods frantically, so I release him, and sticking to the shadows, he disappears back down the hall he came from. I turn back to the vampire behind me. The bastard who foolishly sent his new pack up against a hunter. Two hunters actually, though I know they didn’t count on the second one showing up.

  “If you’ve come to thank me—don’t. She survived. We’re going after her again tonight if you care to join. Nothing like the taste of fresh hunter.” He licks his lips, his fangs descending. “I’m sure we can share.”

  “Who sent you after her?” I doubt a clan this new would have initiated an attack unless they had something to prove to someone worth proving it.

  He laughs. “Like I’m going to tell you so you can swoop in and take what they promised me. This is my operation. If you want in, you have to join.”

  Moron. “Then, I suppose we have a problem, don’t we?” I rush toward him, moving so fast he’s unable to get out of the way before I’m pinning him to the wall, my hand on his throat. “All I have to do is squeeze, and your head will pop right off.” I demonstrate, closing my fist around his throat as he claws at my hand.

  Just before he turns completely red, I release my grip enough for him to speak. “What the fuck are you doing? We’re on the same side!”

  “I’m on no one’s side but my own, and I need the hunter alive. So how about yo
u tell me who sent you to kill her? As much as I’m sure you’d love to believe it, I doubt you concocted such a flawless plan all by yourself.”

  “If I tell you, I’m as good as dead anyway.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but you’re dead regardless.” I squeeze again.

  A vampire rushes me from the hall to my right, and I drop the one before me, spinning and slamming my fist into the gut of the other. The one I was holding up jumps onto my back and wraps both arms around my neck.

  The feeble attempt is short-lived as I bend at the waist, flinging him forward and slamming him to the ground. Then, I reach forward and grip the second vampire around the throat. I don’t wait to question this one though, so with one hand on the greasy locks on top of his head, I pull, ripping it from his shoulders.

  Blood sprays me, and the vampire I’d been speaking to roars and jumps to his feet, trying to get to me. I grip him by the throat again and pin him to the wall. “I’m not fucking around here, so how about you tell me what I wish to know so I can get out of here?”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Someone you don’t want to cross,” I warn, a low growl slipping from my throat.

  His eyes widen. “You’re the Hawthorne.”

  Smiling, I lean closer. “And you’re about to die. The way you go out though is entirely dependent on the information you give me.” I turn, pulling him off the wall and dragging him toward the sun.

  He claws at my hand, eyes wide and terrified as he wiggles, trying to free himself from my grip. “Let me go! No! I don’t know who it was!”

  Stopping just before the single beam of sunlight shooting in from the broken front door, I lift him off the ground and glare into his eyes. “You don’t know, or you don’t want to tell me?”

  “I don’t know!” he repeats, his hands wrapped around my wrist. “They called me yesterday, said if I did this, they’d have a spot for me on the Council.”

  I scoff. “They offered you a spot on the Council for killing a hunter?”

  He nods frantically.

  “It was the Council who ordered her death?”

  “No, man. Not our Council. I’ve never heard this lady before. She just called, told me to kill her, and said I’d be rewarded with a seat.”