Hunter II

by Heath Stallcup

  Hunter II- Assassin For Hire

  Heath Stallcup

  Copyright © 2017 by Heath Stallcup

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Editor: Sheila Shedd

  Created with Vellum

  To the fans of vampires that don’t glitter and still kick ass, this one is for you.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  About the Author

  Also by Heath Stallcup

  Also From DevilDog Press

  Chapter 1

  LET’S SET THE record straight.

  I am a Hunter.

  I hunt my own kind.

  I do so without mercy and often without cause. Not because I’m a bastard…though I really am. No, I do it because it is my job. A job that I inherited. Well, that’s not exactly true. I was given a choice. I could either continue my employ as a hunter, or I could become the prey. Since I enjoy breathing, the choice was relatively simple. I chose to continue to hunt.

  While that may sound like a real shitty deal to most, I can say that, without exception, they, all my targets, deserve it. Not simply because they are vampires, but because even vampires live by a code, and these sons of bitches choose to live outside that code. That won’t do.

  You wouldn’t think that a group as small and tight-knit as we are would need a “code,” but, especially in these modern times, we have to be careful lest we all be outed. Imagine how the human population would react. Once, they might have cowered in their homes–but not today. Today, all would be wannabe Van Helsings, traipsing around in the dark, wooden stake or silver blade in hand. There would be pandemonium. I am the only thing standing between the bastards who would eradicate my kind and the bastards that break the rules.

  You might ask, what exactly do these vampires do that is so extreme that it warrants death? That’s a good question, and it’s one that I continually ask myself. I can tell you that murdering children is a big no-no. Turning a child, that is, forcing one living to join our immortal ranks, is an even bigger no-no. We creatures of the night live by ethics, even if we have set them ourselves. For example, say you’re peckish. Feel like munching on a few homeless people? Meh, why not. How about having a prostitute for supper? Hey, they practically put themselves on the menu. Want to hunt down and eat somebody that can put up a fight? Who doesn’t? But you’d better make it a criminal. Any drug dealer, pimp, or vandal that thinks they have the cajones to fight back…have a blast, brother. They’re wrong.

  Does this make us vigilantes of sorts? Oh hell no. It helps enforce our number one edict: Do not give humans a reason to investigate and verify our existence. Yet, we allow a certain…grey area. There are those who seek us out for more…selfish reasons. I guess you’d call them “groupies.” Some humans willingly offer themselves up as snacks…and other delights. The Council tends to overlook these transgressions, provided we all play nice. I guess they figure as long as the livestock keeps their mouths shut, well, no harm, no foul.

  Now, see, in my book, you don’t bend the rules for some offenders while others suffer consequences. Humans should be left ignorant and barred from our world. This pet-keeping just sends an inconsistent message to the masses. But that’s why I’m not in charge, nor would I choose to be. I’m four hundred years old, give or take a few years, yet I’m still considered a brute by my handlers because I come from Viking stock. I’m big, blonde and…oh yeah. I’m a daywalker.

  To my knowledge, I’m the only one. That in itself is a long story, and not one I really care to revisit at the moment. Let’s just say that I was more than pleasantly surprised to find myself in sunlight that should have meant hideously painful and instant death for me. Naturally, I’ve kept it under my hat; it’s my trump card. Besides, I wouldn’t want those in charge to decide to dissect me, literally, to figure out the ‘how’.

  I do use it though, and quite to my advantage. You see, modern vampires have gotten sloppy. Lazy, really. They arrogantly assume they are the biggest threat out there, top of the food chain, so to speak. So when they sleep during the day, they barely trouble to conceal themselves, unaware that I am free to move about, wide awake and dangerous, if I say so myself. I slip in and introduce them to Death–and by Odin, I love it. Especially meeting one of the few that are able to wake from their sleep. They are shocked to find me standing over them, blade in hand, sun shining upon my skin, fangs extended. I still find a bit of joy remembering their last thoughts: “What the fuck?” No, I don’t read minds; it’s just a phrase I hear often enough, especially from my prey.

  But those riveting tales are neither here nor there. The story I want to share with you now left me saying “what the fuck,” and not because some asshole woke me while attempting to float my ashes to the gods. No, this story…well, I’ll just say that this is one experience I had to have for myself, or even I wouldn’t believe it.

  It was like any other day. The sun was shining and I was between hunts, about to take a well-earned rest. The Council had been utilizing me as their enforcer for a couple of years now, and I had gained a reputation for being ruthless, fast, and efficient. They knew that once they turned the target over to me, it would be done, and done with style.

  I had just sent a rather nasty vampire to his eternal rest and had returned to the house that the Council provided for me. I carried with me a cooler of fresh O positive and a single grocery bag with a thick cut New York strip inside. I only require blood to survive, but I have found that I can actually enjoy foods again–something that I hadn’t been able to stomach for nearly four centuries. A very rare steak, taken in moderation, was a treat. Sinking my teeth into meat, chewing small bits of gristle…well? How would you like to be on an all-liquid diet? I just had to be careful and eat slowly.

  I pushed the door open with my foot and immediately my nose detected the scent of a creature that both set my nerves on end and gave me a sharp stab of regret.

  A Nephilim.

  I dropped the cooler and reached for the blade that I always keep in my long coat. I knew that it would do little against him, as it wasn’t a golden blade, but it was all I had on me at the moment. I pressed myself against the wall and stretched my neck to peer around the half wall that separated the kitchen from the living room.

  I saw nothing, but his scent was strong.

  I guess I should at least explain my cautious reserve at this moment in case you are arriving late to the party and have no idea why a Nephilim would send my fight or flight response to maximum.

  Remember I told you that I was a daywalker? The only one that I’m aware of? Yeah. Well…a few years back I had a partner, Orel, a Nephilim. We hunted vampires, werewolves…anything that “smelled evil” to Orel, who could, apparently, sense these things. We hunted down and killed the local Vampire Council and during that…encounter, I had the error of my ways pointed out to me. During a short discussion with the head vampire, whom I was just about to waste, I was informed me that I had the Council all wrong. Then he asked what would happen once the Nephilim and I had killed everything else that s
melled evil? Wouldn’t I, then, smell evil and need to be put down?

  This was cause for concern, so I asked my partner about it. The Nephilim couldn’t answer to my satisfaction.

  So I killed him.

  I drank from him. Actually, I gorged on him. There must have been something magical in his blood, because when I awoke from my feast, it was in broad daylight. The sunlight didn’t burn my flesh, in fact, its warmth was a gift of the gods. I feared it was temporary, but here I am, years later, still tanning on nice days.

  So, when I walked into my home and smelled this angelic half breed again…I figured he had an axe to grind. Against my skull. And I really couldn’t blame him. I would kill me, too.

  “I know you’re here. I can smell you.”

  I held the blade at the ready and prayed that my old hunting partner would give me a chance to explain first. I wasn’t prepared for the voice that replied.

  “I’m sure you can.”

  The being that stepped out from my kitchen was not Orel. No, this guy was tall, slender of build, and, if I may say so, pleasant to the eye, despite a long scar that crossed his right cheek. His right eye was milky; probably lost when the blade sliced his face.

  I tightened my grip on the blade and stepped forward. I knew that whoever this angelic being was, he could most likely mop the floor with me, but I refused to show fear.

  “Who the hell are you and why are you in my home?”

  The…man? Being? Whatever the hell he was grinned and hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “You know you’ve only got blood in that refrigerator? I was really hoping for some leftovers.”

  “Answer my question or, by Odin, I’ll slice you from gizzard to throat.”

  He held his hands up in a mock surrender and that stupid grin never left his face. “Easy, assassin. I’m not here to fight you. Rather, I’m here to hire you.”

  I relaxed my grip somewhat and narrowed my gaze on the man. “I’m no assassin.”

  He laughed. I’m talking a hard, throaty laugh. “Oh, you are an assassin.” He pointed a finger at me as he rounded the half wall and propped himself on a barstool. “Trust me on that one. You are most definitely an assassin.”

  “Then you know what I’m capable of. State your business and leave.” I kept my distance, trying like hell to remember where I had put the golden bullets and the golden blade that I had moved from my old home to this one. Damnit…I had no clue.

  “Easy, Sven.” He held his hands up again and that stupid grin was back. It took me a moment to register that he knew my true name. “I’ve got a job I think you’ll be interested in.”

  “I’ve already got a job, thanks.” I did my best to growl through clenched teeth. I was shooting for intimidating. I think it came off more like special needs.

  “Sure you are.” He slipped off the barstool and stared at me. I felt like I was trapped in that dream…you know…where you’re walking through the market square without clothing, the breeze blowing through your naughty bits and people pointing and laughing. That dream. I tried not to wither under his gaze.

  I chose that moment to sheath my blade. Obviously it would do little good against this person and he’d made no overtly threatening gestures. It gave me a chance to break from his discomforting stare and try to settle my nerves.

  In case you aren’t aware, angelic beings are tough. Like, small army tough. I worked with a half-angel and he could have ripped me apart with his bare hands if he’d so desired. The smell coming from this guy had me thinking that he was full blood. I tried not to imagine what a feast of his blood would do to me. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that the thought crossed my mind.

  “State your business so I can tell you to fuck off.”

  He crossed his arms and sized me up. “You’re full of what the humans call ‘piss and vinegar,’ aren’t you?”

  I picked up the cooler and carried it to the ice box. “Why are you here?”

  I packed away the bags of blood as he spoke. “As I stated, I’m here to hire you.”

  “As I stated, I’m not for hire. I’m contracted to the council.” I really wasn’t sure if that was a lie or not.

  He winked at me. “I think you’ll want this job. It pays rather well.”

  I packed the last bag of blood into the fridge and shut the door. “You’ve got nothing I want, Nephilim.” I was baiting him.

  “Oh, I’m no hybrid.” He stood and shrugged his coat off. The wings that he had tucked under the trench coat were impressive, to say the least. He stretched them out and I swear, they spanned the entire common area. “I’m no archangel, but I’m one hundred percent angel.”

  I shook my head in confusion. “Archangel?”

  “I’d heard you weren’t too bright. They’re the generals. I’m more of a…foot soldier.” He pointed to the scar across his face. “I fight, but it’s the archangels that lead us into battle.”

  “A minion.” I tried to belittle him but he simply nodded; when you’re an angel I guess you know your place.

  “That’s one way of putting it.” He slipped his coat back on and sat on the stool once more, the magnificent wings magically tucking back under. “Today I’m a messenger.”

  “Ok, flyboy. Deliver your message and leave.” I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to appear menacing.

  “Very well.” He pulled a parchment from the inner pocket of his coat and unrolled it. “I am to contract you in the killing of a god.”

  It was right about here that I think my mouth fell open and I stared at him stupidly. He allowed me a moment to gather myself and to his credit, said nothing while my mind tried to process his…my message.

  “You want me to kill God?”

  “Not God, big ‘G’ God, a god. A lesser god.”

  “There’s more than one god?”

  He chuckled low and nodded. “You are special, aren’t you? Perhaps if I explained?”

  “Please, do.”

  He motioned for me to sit, so I did. Something told me this would take a while.

  “OKAY, JUST TO see if I understand what you’re saying, there are numerous gods. The big two are the Jewish carpenter and the Arabic goat farmer. But all those others of legend, what about them? Where do they come from?”

  “Ah, you see, that’s the deal. There is no beginning to these beings; they rise and fall according to human needs. Whenever humans think about, study, worship…whatever, that energy is what feeds them. Each takes on a cause; let’s say the harvest. The more that god is mentioned by name, the broader they’re discussed, prayed to, etcetera, the stronger that god becomes. Their popularity waxes and wanes with the whim of a generation.”

  “Yet they don’t tend to interfere? To show themselves to gain faith?”

  He shrugged. “Most don’t. There are guidelines that keep gods separate from humans, levels the playing field, you might say. However, there are a few that have broken the rules over the millennia.”

  “Like?”

  “We call them the Zodiac. They have assumed the mantle of the gods of many different cultures. Any civilization willing to support multi-theism, these assholes literally come to earth, assume their chosen identities and then make the locals aware of who they are. It’s not so popular these days, but in the early times, it reinforced humanity’s beliefs while dividing them into sects. Meanwhile, these Zodiac gods grew in such strength that…well, until my boss came on the scene, it was really a tough call as to whether or not humanity would survive. These deities were petty; they bickered and fought amongst themselves, using their humans to wage their wars for them. They would pit their followers against each other and…it was bloody.”

  “So you’re saying that the Greek and Roman gods were–”

  “Zodiac. As were the Mayan gods, the Aztec gods, the Egyptian gods…”

  My eyes widened as a cold thought raced through me. “My gods?”

  He held his hand up. “Ah, no. And here we come to my point. Now, the Viking civilization actually
had their own unique pantheon. The Zodiac attempted to assume their identities, but damned if those maniacs didn’t fight them off.” He chuckled at some private memory then stopped abruptly and pointed his finger at me again. “Your gods are quite bloodthirsty, and one has been particularly…noncompliant.”

  I smiled inwardly, pleased that not only were my gods real, but they were as badass as we had always believed. But this still left me in a quandary. “And you want me to hunt down one of my…one of these lesser gods and–”

  “Kill him. Yes.”

  I allowed that to soak in a bit. My mind tried to imagine how difficult it would be to kill something that you couldn’t see, something that doesn’t breathe, doesn’t bleed. It doesn’t eat, so it doesn’t shit. How do you kill the wind? I think that job would be easier.

  “How?”

  “Are you prepared to take on the task?”

  I backed up a bit and shook my head. “I haven’t said that I would do it; I just want to know how one might perform such a feat.”

  He raised a brow at me. “In the event that you accept our contract, we will provide you with the weapons and knowledge you require as well as any background specifics on your target as far as we are able.”

  “But how do you kill something that you can’t see?”

  He smiled again and nodded smugly. “Like the Zodiac, sometimes these lesser gods possess a human body and live for a time here on the earth, tempting fate and enjoying pleasures of the flesh. The god we want is here now in corporeal form.”

  “What could he have possibly done to warrant this level of intercession from your boss?”

  “I do not know, nor do I wish to know; that is well above my clearance. Simply accept that my boss wants him dead. My god doesn’t make mistakes; I’m sure his sins are of a nature that he deserves such a sentence.”