The Hunters 6: Rafe and Sheila

by Shiloh Walker

  Her eyes flew open, spine stiffening as she spun around in the seat, staring straight ahead. “No.” She swallowed convulsively, her eyes tearing, burning. “No.”

  * * * * *

  Rafe hated himself the second he said it, although he suspected in his gut that was exactly what had happened. He had followed that bastard Dominic, rage eating his gut into pieces. The longer he had watched Dominic, the more he had hated him, and the more foolish he had felt.

  He’d bought Sheila a stuffed animal.

  Rafe had stood staring into the shop, watching as Dominic went in and pointed out the silly panda bear in the window, the one holding a rose in its chubby paw, and bought it for her.

  Sheila loved pandas. Rafe hadn’t ever bought her a damned thing. Six months together and he’d never bought her anything. Then that grinning human had walked into her life, made her smile, bought her pandas.

  He had talked about her to the salesclerk. Rafe could hear them, the girl obviously flirting with the good looking kid, but he was oblivious, replying that No, not for a girl. A lady…sweetest lady you’ll ever meet…

  Yes. That was Sheila.

  And now she was sitting in the backseat of his Chevy with hot tears pouring down her face and her heart kicking up to a rapid pace of fifty beats a minute.

  “Sheila.”

  Her lashes lowered for a long moment and then she opened her eyes to stare at him, that pretty mouth set in an unhappy, fearful line.

  “If anything has happened to him, we’ll find the people responsible,” he said softly. It wouldn’t change what had happened.

  But in his gut, he felt he owed her that, at least. Whoever it was would pay for putting that pain in her eyes, for taking away somebody who had put a smile on her face.

  * * * * *

  He was alive—barely, Ella thought, sighing tiredly as she brushed her stringy, tangled hair away from her face. It had been touch and go for a while. His body had fought the change at first, but with help from Robbie, they had guided him across.

  The flat taste of his blood in her mouth reminded her of just how weak he was. Such low blood volume left the blood flat on the palate. She’d fed him, hating every second of it.

  But he was alive.

  That was what counted.

  The bastard had lost this one.

  Rising from the bed, she headed out of the room, glancing up as Robbie jerked up from where he had fallen asleep on the floor. His dirty face told her he had forgotten to take a bath again. The dirt was from the spells he had cast to help guide the newly changed vampire over, and from more shields of protection.

  Protection—would they work? Rubbing vigorously at her arms, she prayed so. Robbie was a damned powerful witch—but he was…slow. Not that he could help it. How a witch of his power had been born into the body of a half-wit, she didn’t know.

  Between his power though, and her brain, they weren’t a bad pair.

  “Robbie, honey, you need to go wash your face. Take a bath, eat something,” she reminded him with a forced smile.

  As he rose, he smiled down at her, that bright guileless smile only children and the very innocent have, a smile that said “all is well in the world”. Never mind that they had a monster breathing down their necks, and now a new burden in the form of a newly changed vampire.

  She wasn’t really worried about the vampire. His heart was pure. She’d felt it when she’d fed him, and prayed her blood would be strong enough.

  Weak. Useless.

  Ella shoved the hateful voice away and sighed, turning away from Robbie as he walked silently into the bathroom. As the water splashed on, Ella stared at her reflection. It wasn’t true that vampires had no reflection, although she wished desperately the legend was true.

  If it was, she wouldn’t have to see her reflection, that stunted form, forever caught in the body of a teenaged girl just edging on the cusp of womanhood. Wouldn’t have to see the hideous scarring of her face, the vicious scar that ran from her eye, downward to her mouth, causing the right side of it to pucker down in a perpetual frown, wouldn’t have to see the empty socket on the left where once a lovely eye of iris purple had been.

  A bear had mauled her, more than four hundred years ago, when she had been out in the forests near her parents’ house, just ten years old. Mauled her, blinded her on one side.

  At the time, she had thought that had been the worst thing that had ever happened to her.

  But when she was fifteen, something even worse happened. Ella had heard her mother’s dreamy, entranced voice answering somebody who had called out to her. Tumbling out of bed, she’d run to her mama’s side, begging her not to listen to that voice. It was evil, no matter how sweet it had sounded.

  But Mary White had invited the man in, as he had requested. Ella had grabbed the poker from the fireplace, jabbing it at the green-eyed man with flowing blond hair, his heavy French accent thickening his words and sending cold chills down her spine as he spoke. One blow from his hand had knocked her aside and she’d passed out.

  When she woke up, her mother was dead, and the bastard was leaning over her, whispering in Ella’s ear, murmuring about what a fun pet she would be.

  It had taken two hundred years to break free from him. Two hundred years and help from the witch Pierre had brought into his house. Robbie was the half-breed child of an Indian brave and a white woman. They’d fallen in love, best as Ella could tell from the information she had gathered over the years, but her family had learned of it, and when the Indian had come to get his bride, he’d found her beaten and nearly dead. In his anger to avenge her, he’d run headlong into the business end of the father and brother’s rifles.

  They’d killed him—but paid for that mistake when the man’s tribe had swarmed upon them in the dead of night, killing the men, and leaving the mother alone as they took Robbie’s mama back with them.

  That he’d lived was nothing short of a miracle. But he was born damaged. His mind was forever that of a child.

  How long ago that had been, Ella couldn’t say, because Robbie, like many powerful witches, seemed ageless. He had looked to be in his twenties when they’d first met, and he hadn’t seemed to age at all.

  In any way. His mind was still that of a youth and his ways terribly simple. When coaxed into using his magick, he would use it, but since Pierre, it took more and more to convince him to use it. Pierre had abused the witch’s magick terribly. Robbie was afraid it of now.

  Weary, Ella lay down on her bed, secure in the darkness. The sun rose higher and higher on the horizon and exhaustion pulled at her. But it took a great deal before she was able to rest.

  She couldn’t understand why Pierre had gone after this mortal. Couldn’t understand it at all.

  But it had been Pierre.

  She’d know his scent anywhere.

  * * * * *

  In her fury, Sheila’s fangs slid from their sockets, bulging just slightly under her upper lip. The cops had finally left the crime scene, so they could now venture into it and try to find something that would help them.

  But nothing was there.

  Nothing but the yellow security tape, the liberal splashes of dried blood on the street, and the brick wall of the building where Sheila had crouched hours earlier. No footsteps, no trail, no sign of anything.

  “What kind of vampire could move without leaving a trail?” Rafe whispered. “We should be able to smell him. But all I smell is…” He lifted his head, drawing in deep draughts of air, his lids low over his eyes. “Human, pain…magick.” His eyes moved to Sheila’s and he cocked a brow. “Did you smell the magick?”

  She scowled at him, lifting a shoulder. “I smelled something I didn’t recognize. I haven’t been around magick as much as you have. So why is there magick in the air?”

  Rafe flashed a toothy grin. “Easy. There was no way to move anybody who was bleeding as much as Dominic was without leaving some scent, or a blood trail. Something. Unless they used magick.”

&nbs
p; She caught the tip of her tongue between her teeth, cocking her head as she studied the alley. “So there was somebody here with the vampire? Helping him?”

  Rafe frowned, shaking his head. “No, I don’t think so. That would be dark magick. Dark magick leaves a mark on the air. I don’t feel anything like the stink dark magick leaves behind. Maybe somebody came behind and found him, took him someplace to take care of him.”

  “Why hide themselves?” Sheila demanded. “If they did that, they hid their trail, otherwise we’d be able to track Dominic.”

  Rafe rolled his eyes at her. “Pet, whoever hurt him wasn’t exactly a nice person. Maybe this witch didn’t want to be found.”

  Sheila rubbed her hands over her arms, guilt and grief gnawing a hole in her belly. She had to press her lips together to keep them from trembling as she studied the nasty bloom of rust red all over the place.

  “Whose territory is this? Anybody’s?”

  “Not that I know of. There’s a Hunter close to Nashville, a werewolf and his pack. A small enclave in the Smokies. And a witch in Little Rock. Far as I know, though, nobody has claimed this piece of land,” he said. Grimly, he added, “We’d better hope not—otherwise we have a killer loose here and a Hunter who isn’t taking care of it.”

  She lifted a curious brow at him.

  Rafe murmured, “Whenever some awful crime against nature happens, the earth feels it. And the land is connected to the master. If there was one here, he or she would have already shown up. Besides, I’d have raised a blip on the radar when I came into town. Eli says he can feel any new vampire that comes into his territory and the older the vampire, the more powerful the urging he has to check the person out. Same for shifters and witches. You feel it when somebody is in your territory. Goes hand in hand with being able to protect it.”

  Sheila studied him. “How come you’re so sure it was a paranormal that did it? Humans are capable of pretty nasty evils.”

  Her eyes dropped unwittingly to his mouth as it curled in a sexy snarl. Damn…she loved that mouth. She had to force herself to focus on what he was saying, and away from the shape of his lips, the memory of them on her body.

  “Just a funny feeling.” He shook his head. “I can’t explain it. But I can feel when there’s been a vampire, or a shifter, around. I can’t track him, but I know when I’m in the area of others like us. Comes with time. This wasn’t a human attack. And Dominic looks pretty strong. The average person wouldn’t be able to take him by surprise to do this kind of damage, without Dominic hurting him back. If that had happened, we’d smell somebody else’s blood.”

  In the distance, they heard a car and the skin on Sheila’s nape pricked. “I think we need to go. The cops are bound to come back here and I’d rather them not find us here,” she said, tucking her hands in her pockets and withdrawing further into the shadows as Rafe cast one last look around.

  Then they left the same way they had come, taking the fire escapes silently and retreating along the building roofs. She glanced down before she followed Rafe and saw a nondescript Crown Vic stop at the mouth of the alley. A man with world-weary eyes climbed from it.

  Cops, she thought with a curl of her lip. Leaving just in time.

  Chapter Four

  The streets were oddly quiet.

  Rafe decided he really didn’t like the silence. Although he generally preferred to be left alone, and liked silence, this didn’t feel natural.

  This was a large city. Lots of youth here. Lots of life. Places like this drew those who lived through others. Hell, New Orleans had a vampire population that was second to none in the country. He’d expected Memphis to be the same way.

  But he’d sensed only a few vampires. Should be more than that. Not necessarily an Enclave of Hunters—the land tended to chose its own Master and wouldn’t welcome just any vampire. But certainly, he’d expected to feel more than just a few vamps here and there.

  But he hadn’t expected to feel one who was so evil, so powerful that it made him want to leave. Whoever had done this had been a Master. And an evil one, to boot. The internal urge to get away from somebody stronger than him was instinctive—he should be wanting to flee.

  But he couldn’t even sense the bastard.

  That really worried him.

  Sheila moved along the streets a few blocks over, watching, as he walked down Main Street. He could feel her, feel the pulse beating in her throat, feel the buzz of sated hunger that coursed through her veins.

  She’d fed.

  As young as she was, she needed to feed more often, so she had gone sauntering into a club on Beale Street, while he watched from the shadows, jealousy eating a hole in his belly. Just moments later, he saw her blonde head out on the balcony, leading a man by his hand, guiding him farther into the shadows.

  Shadows were her companion. The southern belle was all peaches and cream, hiding in the shadows shouldn’t be so easy for her, but it was. She had moved through them like a cat and within moments, all he saw was the shadow of the man she had chosen for the night.

  Now that hunger was sated, but the edgy nerves inside her weren’t. They danced through her veins, energizing, but dangerous. Rafe could feel her inattention.

  All around him, he could place every living creature, and knew when somebody less than human, or more than human, walked by. But he doubted Sheila was that aware.

  Damn it.

  An odd scent came to him on the wind. Magick. He knew the scent of magick and the feel of it, the way it could taste golden on the tongue. Or very bitter.

  This was tasteless though. Sexless almost. Witch power tended to be very sexual in nature. Not sensual, but sexual. He could tell when the magick worker was man or woman, but not this time.

  The magick felt immature—not young, exactly. There was an aged feeling to it, but still some sort of childlike amazement in it.

  And it was strong.

  That wasn’t right. A power like that, wouldn’t they have felt it before now? Wouldn’t the witch have felt them? Come looking for them?

  Noticed them?

  That was when the sense of magick he felt focused, almost as if he had caused it. It strengthened, became more determined, almost as if it had matured in a matter of heartbeats.

  All focused on Sheila.

  Something about her had intensified the interest. Made that almost sleepy power sharpen and define itself.

  He dodged into the alley and fell into a run, his feet slapping soundlessly against the pavement as he ran, the wind blowing into his face as he sped across the distance that separated them.

  Too late…

  The internal time clock in his head sounded as he heard Sheila’s whispered murmur of shock, the surprise that flowed through her. There was no way he should be so aware of her. No reason he should feel the hands that closed over her arms, or feel the warm flow of breath on her face.

  Flying around the corner, he hurtled down the alley where he could smell her, scent her, taste the shock within her.

  His blade was in his hands. He barely remembered drawing it, but it was in his hands—deadly, menacing. Images pounded into his mind—blood flying, death… Nobody touched his woman.

  “Get your bloody hands off of her!” he roared as he dove for the tall, dark-skinned man holding her.

  “Rafe, no!” Sheila shouted.

  But he heard nothing beyond the blood roaring in his ears, saw nothing beyond the sight of a man towering over his woman, holding her close to him as he stared down into her face.

  His eyes lifted from Sheila’s face just as Rafe reached him and he let her go, shoving her behind him. Later, Rafe would see the protectiveness of that gesture, but all he saw now was a man touching his woman.

  Shifting his grip on the sword, he swung out, clipping him across the face with the pommel. But the silent giant never budged. Slowly, the man reached up, touched a hand to his high cheekbones, closed his eyes then opened them as he shook his head back and forth.

  “You
hit me,” he murmured quietly, touching big, blunt fingers to his jaw.

  “Damn it, Rafe, just like a fucking man. Always thinking with something other than your brain,” Sheila snapped, forcing her body between Rafe and her new friend. “Put that damned thing away.”

  Rafe snarled at her and said, “So you like having a stranger put his hands all over you?”

  “He wasn’t putting them all over me, Rafe. Grow up,” she said pithily, turning on her heel and looking up at the rather quiet man.

  “Are you okay, Robbie?” she asked. Rafe’s brows drew low over his eyes as he heard the soft, patient note in her voice.

  Like the way she’d talk to a child.

  Rafe’s scowl melted away as he lifted his eyes and truly looked.

  Those black eyes were blank. The air around him was all but colored with magick and Rafe could feel it beating against his mind. It was staggering, that power. He’d only met a few witches who had that intensity to their magick, that much confined power.

  But the eyes he was staring into were like that of a child—petulant, angry, afraid.

  Bloody hell, Rafe thought, bemused. Slowly, feeling like an idiot, he slid the sword back into its sheath while embarrassment flooded through him.

  “Robbie, it’s okay. He’s an idiot, but he’s a good guy,” Sheila said.

  Rafe watched as the giant’s eyes dropped to rest on Sheila’s face. “He hit me,” he whispered.

  “He thought you were going to hurt me,” Sheila said quietly. “He was trying to protect me.”

  Rafe watched as the man looked from Sheila to him. Slowly, he nodded. “Good guys protect others,” he said it as though he was repeating something he had been told many times. “No matter what it takes.”

  “That’s right,” Sheila said. “Your friend told you that?”

  Confusion and disbelief tied a nasty knot in Rafe’s belly. Those eyes bothered him. Like the witch’s power. Immature, young…yet aged. A child caught in a man’s body. Forever.