Grief settles in my belly. “No, I’m afraid not. Delaney died two years ago.”
Doloris shakes her head sadly. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Rainey. You and Delaney were thick as thieves. I remember that much.”
“Thanks. I need to go. My uh—my boyfriend is waiting on me.” I push past her and stroll through the aisles, tossing things into the basket without putting a whole lot of planning into it. By the time I’m checking out, I’ve got three pounds of ground beef, a gallon of milk, an eighteen pack of eggs, an assortment of breakfast cereal, a shit ton of Skittles, and a large bag of coffee grounds.
I step out onto the street and groan when I realize carrying all of this is going to be impossible. So, I pull out my phone and tap the contact information for the driver who picked us up from the airport. At least I freaking remembered to put it into my cell.
“Hello?”
“Hi, this is Rainey Astor. You said to call if I needed anything?”
“Yes, Miss Astor! What can I do for you?”
“I’m standing outside Joe’s Market, and I think I grabbed a little too much to carry.”
“Not a problem, Miss, I can be there in less than five minutes. I’m just down the street.”
“Great, thanks.” I end the call and am about to put my phone back into my pocket when it rings. Jack’s name flashes on the screen, so I put it up to my ear. “What the fuck do you want?”
“Rainey? Thank God. Where the hell are you?”
“Not in Billings.”
“I got that much from Ramirez when I went to ask how to get in touch with you.”
“Why the hell are you checking up on me?”
“I wanted to talk.”
“I have nothing to say.”
“Rainey—”
“No. Don’t call me again, Jack. You can go to hell.” I end the call and shove the phone into my pocket. Logically, I know it’s not his fault, but I can’t help but hate him for what happened to my sister. Or, as I found out she might be, my cousin.
No. My throat tightens, and I attempt to clear it. Despite our parentage, Delaney will always be my sister.
“So good to see you, Rainey,” Doloris says as she steps out, two grocery bags in hand. “Do you need a ride somewhere?”
Thankfully, the driver chooses just then to show up. “No, thanks. I already called someone. Have a great day.” I toss the bags into the back seat and climb in the front before Doloris can say another word to me. Something about her—I can’t shake it.
“Back to the estate, Miss?”
“No, thanks. Drop me off at the motel we’re staying in. The—” Shit. I trail off when I realize I have no idea what hotels are in the area.
“Where?”
“It’s near the edge of town, I’m sorry, I’m completely drawing a blank.”
“The Jewel’s Bed and Breakfast?”
“Yes, that’s it. It’s near the road my family’s estate is on?”
“Yes, Miss. It’s a few blocks away from that road.”
“That’s it, thanks.” Leaning back, I watch the town as it passes by and prepare myself for the long-ass walk back to the estate.
But there’s no way in hell I want anyone knowing where we’re actually staying.
35
Elijah
One hour and forty-five minutes. That’s how fucking long it’s been since Rainey left. I’ve been pacing in the study since the thirty-minute mark. This was a horrible idea. Whoever killed her grandmother could be responsible for Delaney.
And if those vampires were responsible for her, isn’t it probable they’d go for Rainey too?
“That’s bloody it.” I march toward the door as it swings open and Rainey strolls in. I rush to her, gripping both arms and looking her over for injuries.
“What did I tell you about those hands?” she warns. I release her and step back.
“You took too long.”
“I had to walk back carrying over a hundred bucks in groceries.” Strolling past me, she moves into the kitchen and deposits the bags on the counter. After pulling the refrigerator door open, she starts unloading the bags and placing the cold things inside.
“Do you want these in the press?” I hold up one of what looks like three bags of Skittles. Rainey glances over at me, cocking her head to the side.
“The press?”
I gesture to the cabinet.
“That’s a cabinet.”
“Not where I’m from.”
“Guess you do learn something new every day. And yes.”
I help her put the rest of the food away. “Why didn’t you call the car?”
She turns and hops up on the counter before tearing into a bag of Skittles. “You were right.”
“About?”
“Someone recognized me.”
Fuck. “Who? What happened?”
“An old woman who used to be friends with my grandmother. Doloris Taylor.”
“I thought you said no one would recognize you.” The words come out angrier than I’d intended, though I can’t help it. She put herself in danger. I knew it was a possibility, and yet I let her leave without me.
“She shouldn’t have. But she said my grandmother showed her pictures of me. That she was so proud of me.”
“Makes sense if they were friends.”
“That’s the thing though. My grandmother hated that I wanted to be a cop. She turned her back on me when I went into the academy.”
“Is it possible she behaved differently around others?”
Rainey shakes her head. “My grandmother didn’t give two fucks about what others thought. She was the person she was, and that was that.”
I wonder if Rainey realizes she inherited that particular personality trait. “So you believe it was odd?”
“Yes. And she touched me.”
I straighten, uncrossing my arms. “What do you mean?”
“She reached forward and touched my han—” Rainey lifts her hand and stares at the top. “That’s weird.”
“What?” I cross the distance and take in the symbol on the top of her hand. A half-circle is split in two with a straight line that doesn’t extend all the way down but rather ends just below the moon shape. Two dots sit side by side near the inside curve of the half-circle. It’s a witch’s brand and one I’ve unfortunately seen before.
Dread surges through me even as rage threatens to overwhelm me. “Fuck!” I slam my fist down onto the counter and turn away, breathing deeply as I try to keep myself from losing my fucking mind.
“Is this from where she touched me? It wasn’t there before.”
I glance back at her. “She branded you.”
“Branded me?”
“Doloris is a bloody witch.”
“I don’t get it—”
“Your hand, Rainey. Ah, fuck. I told you it was a bad idea. You should have listened to me.” I turn away from her again, one hand running over my face, the other on my hip as I contemplate the possible ramifications for her mark.
“What does it mean?”
“It’s the mark of Blood. A moon glyph used by witches for centuries.”
“What does it mean?”
“It has quite a few meanings, depending on the motives behind the witch using it.”
“Care to share?”
I whip back around. “This isn’t a fucking game, Rainey.”
“I never said it was.” Her tone is a warning to me, but I ignore it. This is a hell of a lot bigger than she even realizes.
“That mark can be a witch’s way of branding you as a certain bloodline. The spell surrounding you will let any supernatural who approaches you sense who you belong to. It’s a homing beacon for any fucking asshole wishing to harm you.”
She pales. “What are the other meanings? You said there are more meanings, Elijah. What are they?” She crosses the room toward me, panic lacing her words.
Good. It’s about fucking time you realize you aren’t invincible. “It can also be a way
of shielding you from anyone seeking your bloodline.”
“So she could have been protecting me?”
“As I said, it boils down to the witch’s intention at the time of the brand.”
“And how the hell do we figure that out? Should I give her a call and ask?”
“Don’t be an eejit.”
“If you don’t stop calling me an eejit, I’m going to bury my foot in your ass.”
“I wouldn’t have to call you one if you didn’t behave like one.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. There goes the unspoken truce between us. “How did you feel when she touched you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Think really hard, Rainey.” I step closer to her. “You are more powerful than you give yourself credit for, so think back. What were your instincts telling you when she touched you?”
She grows quiet, and her face scrunches up as she thinks back to the contact. I can’t keep my gaze from straying to her hand.
“Wrong,” she finally says. “It felt wrong.” She looks up at me, eyes wide. “But that doesn’t make any sense. I remember my grandmother mentioning her a time or two. I know they were friends.”
“Friends make the worst enemies, Rainey. Because they know where to hit us the hardest.”
She swallows hard and stares down at her hand. “I didn’t even think—”
“Because you don’t know what you’re up against. Being a hunter is only part of it, Rainey. And it’s small in comparison to the rest of it.”
Her gaze flits up to mine, and finally, I see what I’ve been aiming for since I first showed myself to her after the alley attack. Trust. “Then teach me.”
“We need to get that damned thing off of you first.”
“How?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. The last time I came across that mark, it didn’t fade until death.”
“Who?”
I meet her gaze, my heart feeling as though the bloody thing is being squeezed through a vise. “My fiancée.”
36
Rainey
Being underground has its positives, but it doesn’t erase the one massive drawback.
There’s no natural light. At all. The room around me is pitch black except for the single strip of light from my cracked door. I’ve been in here, trying to sleep for well over three hours based on the clock beside me.
Three hours of trying not to focus on the witch’s brand on my hand or the panicked expression on Elijah’s face when he saw it for the first time. Hell, I freaked out when I saw it. I’d been so focused on getting out of the store and back here that I hadn’t even bothered to look. Besides, who the fuck checks their hand for supernatural marks after being casually touched?
According to Elijah, I should have known the moment it happened, which explains the dread. What I don’t understand though is how. Just because I supposedly have magic in my blood doesn’t mean it’s active.
I could be inactive like so many witches. A good percentage of humans don’t realize they actually belong to our world. It’s those who can tell who’s going to be on the phone before they even check the ID. The ones who sense something is coming with no logical explanation for how.
A lot of them wind up in mental health facilities because they lose their minds to the call of their power. And if what Elijah tells me is true, a lot of hunters also share a witch heritage, and yet, I’ve never come across one with active magic.
Rolling over onto my side, I stare at the door. How the hell am I supposed to sleep when my mind feels like it’s in overdrive?
“Ugh.” Shoving my covers back, I climb out of bed and head for the door. I pull it open and stop in my tracks. Elijah stands on the other side of the room, shirtless, his back to me. This is the first time I’ve had a chance to study the ink on his back since last time he was dressing too quickly for me to take it all in. So now, I shamelessly stand behind him, taking my time to absorb every detail of the intricate tattoo.
Swirls and lines make up different designs I recognize as Celtic, though I can’t place the meanings. They’re multiple symbols that separately mean something while collectively forming a completely different shape altogether. A magnificent tree that spans the wide set of his shoulders before tapering down to the narrowness of his waist.
And it’s fucking magnificent.
“It’s the Celtic Tree Of Life,” he says without turning to me.
“It’s gorgeous.”
Elijah glances over at me. “Couldn’t sleep?”
I shake my head. “You?”
“There won’t be rest for me until we figure out how to remove that mark. From what I’m reading though, we’re going to need another witch to do it.”
“Why don’t I just track her down and make her remove it?”
“Because until you’ve tapped into your power, you’re useless against a practiced witch.”
“Ouch.”
“I won’t keep you alive by saving your pride, Rainey. How many witches have you actually faced off with?”
“Counting the one today?” I pretend to tally it up. “One.”
He mutters something I can’t make out, but based on his vast knowledge of Irish insults, I probably wouldn’t understand it anyway. It took me forever to realize he was calling me an idiot when he used the word eejit.
“I’ve come head-to-head with dozens. They are not to be underestimated,” he says.
“You seem so sure that I possess an active ability.”
“You do.”
“And how can you tell?”
“Because I can sense it in you. It—” He trails off, his jaw tightening. “It calls to me.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Elijah sets the book down on the table and moves toward me. I drink him in as he moves, gazing at his muscled chest dusted with dark hair that matches the color of the loose strands around his handsome face.
Even after deciding it was a terrible idea to act on how we feel, I can’t make myself forget the feel of the scrape of his short beard against my face. The way his tongue dove into my mouth, claiming me.
And fuck me if I don’t want him again. “We’re going to need to go into town tomorrow and find a witch.”
“You can’t—”
“Cut the shit, Rainey. I’m going with you. End of story.”
Before I can argue, he storms into his room and slams the door behind him.
“This is a terrible idea.” I stand just beneath the entry up to the garden shed, staring down at Elijah beneath me.
“It’s better than the alternative.”
“Which is?”
“You getting yourself into more trouble because you have no clue what you’re dealing with.”
“I know what could happen if I do this.”
“As do I. And trust me, it’s not something I take lightly.”
“Then maybe—”
“Just do it, Rainey. I assure you it’s far more painful for me than you.”
I stare down at the blade in my hand. “What does it feel like?”
Elijah’s ice-blue gaze pins mine. “Like fire is coursing through my veins and you’re the only fucking way to put it out.”
His words crash into me, sending a wave of desire so strong it nearly takes me to my knees. “That sounds—painful.”
“You have no idea.”
I take a deep breath and run the blade over my palm. The instant blood pools to the surface, Elijah straightens and backs into the wall. His hands curl into fists at his sides. He doesn’t look at me as I reach forward and slide my palm over his face.
As I touch him, my other hand holds his shoulder, our height difference being countered by the stairs so I’m at the same level as him. “You okay?”
He nods. “Finish it.”
“Okay.” I reach up and run my bloody palm down the other side of his cheek. Just as I’m about to pull it away, he snatches my wrist, his long fingers wrapping completely around it. When I look up to chew him
out, I’m met with a bright gaze, unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
His eyes are glowing so bright it’s like they’re lit from an internal power. His grip tightens, and my stomach twists, my blood pounding in response to his magic. Desire, lust, and sexual tension so fucking thick it saturates the air around us.
Then, he leans forward and runs his tongue over the wound on my hand. Elijah’s eyes darken the moment he makes contact with my blood, his pupils dilating so wide they nearly eliminate the blue and white. I should be bothered.
Grossed out.
Fucking pissed.
But I don’t feel any of those because I’m far too turned on. My hand tightens on his shoulder as he licks the blood from my palm, his body vibrating beneath my fingertips.
“Is leatsa mé,” he whispers.
Before I can ask him what the hell he just said, something crashes above us, and he stills, a low growl emitting from his throat as he slowly drops my hand.
“Elijah?” I ask, breathless.
“I’m going to kill them,” he says softly, so low that I can barely hear it despite only being a few inches from him.
“We don’t even know who it is,” I reply.
Elijah holds his finger up to his lips, and he inhales. When he meets my gaze again, the man is gone, and the monster’s in charge.
I withdraw my blade, and Elijah’s fangs slide down soundlessly, his eyes glowing even brighter than before. He inches past me and toward the door, glancing back at me one last time before shoving it open.
Someone yells as Elijah plows out into the garden shed. I follow, slamming into the nearest body without bothering to see who they are.
“We got her!” someone yells, and I topple end over end with whoever has me pinned to the ground. He’s wearing a black ski mask, so I can’t make out features. But based on size alone, I’d say this is one big-ass human.
“You have no idea who you’re up against,” I growl.
He smiles through the mask. “We do, Hunter.” He balls up a fist, and I dodge just in time. It slams into the ground, and he howls in rage as I buck my hips, sending him over my head and into some pots stacked in the corner. I flip up to my feet and send my dagger flying.
Blood Hunt Page 23