The Hunters 6: Rafe and Sheila

by Shiloh Walker

“If Malachi comes here…”

  A Master as powerful as Malachi would edge a new Master like Rafe into fury, Sheila knew. Shaking her head, she cut herself off and said, “No. Malachi can’t come here right now. He can’t.”

  Lori laughed. “I wasn’t planning on talking to Mal, sweets. I’m going to talk to Leandra. And I imagine she can slip away from Mal. She’s done it several times already. Mal doesn’t keep her on a leash.”

  Chapter Six

  Leandra scowled at Lori’s image in the mirror, poking out her lip petulantly. “What makes ya tink I care where dat bastard is?” she said sullenly, even though fury was burning hot and bright in her belly. Of course, she cared. She hadn’t seen a sunrise in months. Tried to watch the sunset, against Mal’s advice, and got third-degree burns for her trouble. She hadn’t eaten a damned hot fudge sundae or had a milkshake since that bastard had bitten her, forcing Mal’s hand. Malachi had changed her, reluctantly.

  Leandra didn’t blame him—in fact, she was grateful to the arrogant bastard, not that she’d let him know.

  But she hated that bastard who had forced this on her. Hated him with a passion. Wanted him dead. Eviscerated. Castrated. Then beheaded. So he died slowly.

  Lori laughed and Leandra blinked, not aware that her fangs had slid down. “That look on your face makes me think you care, Leandra. You want him or not?”

  Leandra simply stared at Lori for a long moment, but the witch just smiled sunnily at her. “Of course you want him,” Lori concluded. “There’s one slight problem though.”

  Rolling her eyes skyward, Leandra shook her head. “And what problem would dat be, Lori?”

  “You can’t let Mal come.”

  Leandra’s jaw dropped and she simply stared through the mirror’s surface. After a minute or two, she finally just grinned and shook her head. “Lori, my friend, and how am I supposed to tell him dat? He’s training me.”

  “Just don’t tell him.”

  Leandra narrowed her eyes. “Malachi is de one who brought me over, Lori. I don’t have to tell him anything. He knows.” Rolling her eyes, she leaned toward the mirror and winked. “And I do mean he knows…everything.”

  Lori closed her eyes and murmured, “I suspect Malachi was being a bad boy?”

  “A Peeping Tom.” Then Leandra pursed her lips into a thoughtful frown. “Well, it was more like—telepathic voyeurism, I tink. Since he didn’t ever show up.”

  Lori tried to stop the snicker. Leandra had to give her credit for that. But her lips kept twitching and her mouth curved up and before she could stop it, the witch was laughing, tipping her head back and giggling. The giggles turned into guffaws as Leandra scowled at her and then tears started to roll down her face.

  “Oh, that is rich,” Lori managed to gasp out. “You are so—well, you are Leandra.”

  Leandra scowled, her brows drooping low over her eyes. “I am. And why does that amuse you so much?”

  Lori’s mouth was still curved in a smug smile. “Because you might well be the female equivalent of Malachi. Given a few hundred years,” Lori snickered. “Enigmatic, intimidating…well, you don’t intimidate me, but then again, neither does Malachi. But damn near everybody else, you so much as look at them and they turn white with fear. Malachi does that to people. Nobody could better suit you. So, have you done it yet?”

  Leandra’s face screwed up. “No! With…with Mal?”

  Lori’s mouth curved in a grin. “Of course. With Mal. I can’t breathe when it comes to Jonathan, but, well… I’m not dead. And Mal could make an angel want him… We aren’t angels, Le.”

  Leandra shook her head, humor dancing in her eyes. “I don’t want him.” She shrugged, one smooth caramel-colored shoulder lifting up as she shifted her gaze, staring into the distance. “Mal is, well, he is Mal. The closest ting to a father, or a brother, that I have. And I don’t want him.”

  Lori’s brows lifted as Leandra sighed, shaking her head. “Wanting…it’s worthless. When it lasts longer than a few minutes, it brings nothing but heartbreak.”

  When Lori asked, “And who is it you want?” Leandra turned away from the mirror, and from Lori’s knowing eyes.

  Mike stood outside Lori’s door, hearing her low murmur. The exotic voice he heard speaking back to her had an odd echo. They were speaking using magick, a mirror, window, anything that cast a reflection.

  Even though the voice wasn’t terribly clear, Mike knew exactly who it was.

  His gut didn’t burn with anger, even though he still had the scar from when she had shot him.

  He did burn, though. Just hearing that voice, distorted as it was, made him hard. Made him hungry. Made him want…damn it, he’d been wanting her for so damned long.

  Even when he lay bleeding on the floor of the car, he had wanted her. Had hated himself, because she was the reason a friend was dead.

  Five seconds of staring into her tormented eyes hadn’t alleviated the self-hate.

  Seeing her eyes had.

  She’d hated who she was.

  Her father had tried to sell her into prostitution and she had run. The child she had been hadn’t clearly seen the people who had taken her in. Leandra had been brainwashed. Plain and simple.

  Only now did she look back at her life with clarity, and what she saw made her sick inside.

  Mike had seen it in her eyes, the one time they had met since she had shot him.

  Turning away, he moved silently to his room. Why did she haunt him so? Not like he’d ever seen any sign that she had similar thoughts about him. Oh, he was sure she regretted his blood on her already stained soul.

  But he imagined she never lay awake at night, or day, thinking of him. Wondering about him. Shit, she was with Malachi.

  The vampire was enough to make the hairs on his nape raise, his power was so strong. And women—they had a hard time resisting the call of a vampire. Whether they truly wanted him or not.

  As ancient as Malachi was, the bastard left a flock of swooning, sighing women behind him everywhere he went.

  Fury rippled through Mike at the thought of that. The skin on his spine went tight and for one long moment, he felt his temperature soar as the fury spiraled out of control.

  Snapping a tight rein on it, he veered away from his room and jogged for the grand windows at the end of the hallway. He needed to run. Shoving them open, he leaped from the balcony, twenty feet high, and when he hit the ground, it was in the form of a giant timberwolf.

  As Lori broke the connection with Leandra, she felt the ripple of power that rolled through the air as somewhere near, a shape-shifter changed. The fury that blistered the air during the change made her shiver.

  It wasn’t Jonathan.

  She could feel him, like an echo of her own heartbeat.

  The long eerie howl rose, filling the night, and inexplicably, Lori felt her eyes fill with tears.

  And she knew who it was.

  There was only one wolf in the enclave that was that stricken with loneliness.

  The door opened and Jonathan came through, his long, thick, brown hair hanging loose around his shoulders, chest bare. There was a mark, silvery, faintly bird-shaped, on his side.

  And long, nasty scratches on his chest. They were slowly knitting together even as she stared at him, but they looked painful. “Well, honey,” she said in a bright tone, giving him a vapid smile. “Looks like you had a rough day at the office.”

  Their eyes met and Lori felt something hot and sweet move through her.

  Leandra was good at lying. She could do it without blinking a lash, without her heart skipping a beat, without any sign at all. There was no reason at all for her to be nervous as she sauntered into the living room of the house.

  Malachi had moved them into the Smoky Mountains several months ago. She rather liked it. Especially with the ripe scent of fall in the air, the leaves changing colors…the sun setting earlier and earlier.

  She could already take a little bit of sunlight. But she liked it when th
e night came earlier and lasted longer. Gave her time to get out of the house and move, do something. Something besides brood and train.

  Of course, it was rather astounding that she had the energy to do anything. Malachi’s lazy act was just that, an act. He was a brutal teacher, pushing her body to the very limits, teaching her things she never knew she could do, refining her instincts until she could hear a whisper from a hundred yards away.

  Leandra had thought the refined senses of the vampires were purely instinct, natural. But they weren’t. She had learned to understand those skills, refine them, before she could really put them to use.

  But, damn…it was exhausting.

  “Hello, Leandra.”

  She couldn’t see Malachi, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there. His voice was a low, soothing sound to her ears, but it echoed all around. Which meant he wasn’t cloaking himself in the shadows, unless he’d learned how to throw his voice.

  So he had shifted into an indefinable mist.

  “Playing the voyeur again, are ya, Mal?” she drawled.

  He laughed, and even though Leandra was one of the few who weren’t drawn to him, that laugh stroked over her like a swath of velvet. Goose bumps broke over her body and she closed her eyes for a second, focusing, listening to the sound of her heartbeat, breathing in a slow, regular rhythm until the fog of lust cleared from her mind.

  “Life is no fun, if ye don’t play from time to time,” Malachi said, and Leandra felt the power ripple down her spine as he shifted from mist into his mortal form.

  “Then life should be plenty of fun for ya,” she said dryly, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “Seeing as how games are your favorite pastime.”

  “And it is probably rather dull for you,” Malachi returned. “You don’t play enough.”

  Perfect opening… Leandra had to fight to keep the smile from spreading across her face. Instead, she just crossed her arms over her chest and said, “Well, dat’s what I want to talk to you about. I’m going to take a few days off. Ya been running me senseless for weeks and I’m tired. Not to mention how ya keep sending me back to Excelsior every other day.”

  “Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t ye?” Malachi drawled, flopping onto the couch and staring at her with a smile dancing in his midnight blue eyes. “Ye had to go there four times, in three months. Bloody hell, Leandra, we could ha’ made ye stay there. For four years, while you trained there. Isn’t this a bit better?”

  She spun away, hiding the smile on her face. Damn. She was good. “Mebbe. Ya can’t know how aggravating it is, mon, having to answer to somebody for every little ting I do,” she said, keeping her voice harsh, aggravated.

  “Hmmm. Well, quite a while has passed since I was trained. But I do not imagine it is much pleasure being watched over all the time,” Malachi said with a shrug. Closing his eyes, he said, “Go on with ye. Just be careful.”

  She held back the triumphant grin until she was out of the room.

  Behind her, Malachi opened one eye, studying her retreating back.

  She was up to something. What, he had no clue.

  Running his tongue over his teeth he debated between following her and just letting her go.

  He could find out…if he pushed. But her head was thick, and she had been a powerful thing even before she was bitten. With her, there was no way to probe without her knowledge.

  And he didn’t really feel he had the right to intrude on anybody’s privacy—well, most of them. Leandra had certainly earned her privacy. Bloody hell, she reminded him so much of himself, eons and eons ago.

  Closing his eye, he decided to just let her go. This was Leandra, for pity’s sake. The girl knew how to take care of herself.

  * * * * *

  Rafe felt it the moment somebody new entered his land.

  A vampire…his skin tightened and his fangs dropped as tension flooded his body.

  It wasn’t a Master. The mark of a Master, Rafe thought with a smile. He understood now what Eli had felt when he looked at him.

  A Master could feel the potential of others, just as he was feeling now. Very powerful, but young. And female…there was a feline, female feel to the power that was unmistakable, something vaguely familiar.

  But beyond that, he couldn’t distinguish a thing, whether this person was a Hunter, or a feral, or even just a lone vampire who lived among mortals.

  That ability would come with time, he’d heard, but for now…nada.

  Some gut instinct whispered there was nothing to worry about—he was running on pure instinct at this point, so he accepted it, let it go.

  If it was a threat, he suspected he would know.

  Rafe heard the quiet footsteps behind him, smelled the sweet scent of Sheila’s body as he stood staring into the fire, brooding.

  “Still pissed we wouldn’t leave?” she asked quietly.

  Rafe glanced at her over his shoulder. “I don’t know why I should be. I should have known you’d be stubborn about this.”

  Her lips curved up in a smile and she said sweetly, “I’m not being stubborn.” He turned around and met her eyes, arching a brow. “I’m not. I’m being logical. I may not be the Hunter that you are, or that Sarel is…Jonathan, Eli, Lori—I could go on. But I am a Hunter. And I’m not weak. I can help. So can they.”

  Rafe ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t doubt their heart. They hate him—I can see that easily. But, Belle, Robbie is barely able to read without help and he has to be reminded to take a bath, to eat. And Ella…” His voice trailed off as he thought of the diminutive little vampire. Oh, she wasn’t the first child he had seen changed. Many didn’t survive—the body of a young one just wasn’t as capable of dealing with the change. But she wasn’t the first.

  Ella was the weak link though. She had the pallor of death, nearly gray, like a sick vampire and he suspected she barely fed enough to keep herself from starving or going insane.

  And she was weak—so weak. There were humans, he suspected, who were stronger than she was.

  Sheila gently said, “Baby, she’s weak, yes. But she’s smart. She remembers things, and she knows him. We need that. He’s ancient. We can’t beat him if we don’t know what we are fighting.”

  He spun back around to stare into the fire, feeling its heat seep into his bones, basking in it. Quietly, he said, “He’s a bad guy, Belle. That’s all we need to know.”

  She moved up beside him and from the corner of her eye, he could see her studying him. “Not every bad guy is the same, Rafe,” she said shortly. He watched as she drove a hand through her hair and glared at him in frustration. Her eyes narrowed and she whispered, “I’m right. You know I’m right.”

  He laughed. “Belle, just because I know you’re right doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  Her lower lip poked out. “Damn it, it’s no fun arguing with you when you know I’m right. I thought I was trying to convince you.”

  Rafe’s lips curled up in a grin. “I can make it fun for you. Want me to pretend I’m not convinced?” he teased, reaching out and trailing a hand up her thigh.

  She batted his hand away and he moved onto his hands and knees, crawling over in front of her, lowering his head to press a kiss to her knee. He heard her gasp and he skimmed his lips up farther, reaching for the hem of her skirt and pushing it higher.

  Sheila’s hands laced in his hair and she demanded, “What are you doing?”

  He lifted his head slightly, grinning at her wickedly. “Trying to make this fun for you?” he offered whimsically.

  Before she could respond though, Robbie came crashing through the door. His eyes were big and wild in his dark face, his hair tangled, flying around his face as he slowed to a stop, staring at them.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Robbie’s eyes jumped to Rafe’s face, but then he looked away, crossing his arms over his chest and swaying from side to side.

  Sheila rose, the hem of her skirt falling down around her ankles, a gentle smile on her face as she
crossed over to Robbie. “What’s wrong, sweetie?” she asked softly. Rafe watched as she reached up, rubbing Robbie’s arm with the flat of her hand. Robbie stopped swaying, staring at Sheila with the desperation of a child frightened by a nightmare.

  He swallowed. Tiny little lines fanned out from his eyes as he grimaced, fear written all over him. Harshly, he whispered, “There’s somebody here.”

  “Here?” Rafe asked shortly, his eyes cutting around the room. He didn’t feel anything…well, other than the new vampire who had made that blip on his internal radar.

  “I can feel her—she’s dangerous,” Robbie whispered. “And angry—she’s so mad.”

  Sheila muttered, “Damn it, this is the last thing we need.” The butter-gold of her curls was disarrayed, tousled from her hands.

  “Well, now. Dat’s not the welcome I was expecting, mon—should I be leavin’?”

  Robbie flinched and jerked away from Sheila, moving to the back of the room, cowering against the wall. Rafe didn’t spare him a glance though. He knew that voice. For a brief second, he studied Sheila’s face. There was relief there. And nerves.

  She gave him a bright, false smile and then turned away, moving to crouch in front of Robbie. Rafe tuned out the soothing murmur of her voice as he turned and studied the woman standing in the door.

  No wonder she had felt so familiar.

  Leandra still looked the same. He hadn’t seen her since the day she’d disappeared from Eli’s enclave, but he knew nothing about her was the same. She was a vampire now, not just a witch. Born a witch, made a vampire after one had attacked her. Mal had changed her to save her life.

  Of course, this was also the woman who had kidnapped Erika, and shot Mike. Mike wasn’t the same man he’d once been—and this bitch was responsible. Her emotionless, amber-colored eyes stared coolly at him. She had eyes like a cat’s. Reflecting the light back, blank and expressionless.

  Leandra was a cool piece of work. He doubted anybody knew what was going on in that head of hers. Rafe didn’t like that. A person who kept that much inside—he didn’t trust them. Everybody showed emotion at some time.