Hunter Born
Page 1
Hunter Born
A short story companion to the Darkness Trilogy
L. M. Justus
Taurpio Publishing
Hunter Born © 2013 by Lisa Justus. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Edition
ISBN 978-0-9919368-2-3
Cover design by L. M. Justus
The image “smoke01” by cyborgsuzystock at deviantART was used in the creation of the cover image.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Other books by L. M. Justus:
WELCOME TO THE DARKNESS (DARKNESS TRILOGY BOOK ONE)
EMILY AND THE ATTIC FAIRIES
THE MASTERY OF MIND OVER MATTER
November 22, 2008
It was the moment Trudy had been waiting for. At least, she hoped it was. She had been hinting to her boyfriend Brian for a while about getting engaged on the evening of their two-year going-out anniversary. So tonight was the night if everything went according to plan.
She pulled her jacket collar tighter, tucking her scarf in to fill every gap against the frigid winter breeze. With a quick glance both ways down the busy street, she dashed across Harrison Avenue to Le Petit Caneton. Trudy was dying to sample the cuisine at Boston’s newest French restaurant, and she was just in time to meet Brian. They’d both been working late and had agreed to meet at the restaurant for their seven o’clock reservation.
A warm blast of air enveloped her when she opened the restaurant door, causing her glasses to fog up. The anticipation of her evening’s outcome had her heart beating rapidly, although the cold medicine she’d taken earlier might also have added to her feeling of excitement and nervousness.
Meeting the man of her dreams had come later in life than she’d expected, but Brian had been worth the wait. At forty-two, most of her friends were married with kids and Trudy was ready to end her single life and tie the knot at last.
The slim, perfectly groomed maître d’ approached and helped remove her jacket with practiced ease. Trudy finger-combed her shoulder length brown hair and smoothed her blouse.
“How may I assist you this evening, Madame?” the maître d’ asked in an endearing French accent.
“I have a reservation for seven o’clock, under the name Caruthers,” she answered.
“Ah, yes. Right this way, please,” he said.
She followed as he cut a path through the restaurant’s main room, continuing toward the rear of the building. Where on earth was he taking her? After a sharp turn down a narrow hall past the kitchen, the maître d’ came to a sudden halt.
“Monsieur awaits,” he said, pushing open the door in front of him.
He stepped aside, allowing her to enter the cozy room. A bay window looked over the lamp-lit courtyard behind the restaurant, and a single table was set in the center of the private dining room. Brian had stood when she’d arrived and he was positively beaming. His chestnut eyes twinkled from under his mop of brown hair. Her heart lifted as she rushed to him, and he folded his arms around her. They pulled apart and grinned at each other like smitten teenagers.
The maître d’ cleared his throat as he waited to seat her. She moved around the table and sat down, scooting forward as the maître d’ pushed her chair.
“Your server will be with you shortly.” The maître d’ bowed and left the room.
“How are you feeling, honey?” Brian asked.
“Not too bad,” Trudy answered. “I took a decongestant, so my cold symptoms are better. I couldn’t let a silly cold ruin our evening.”
He reached across the table to take her hand. “Glad to hear.”
The door swished open and a young man approached the table.
“Good evening. My name is Charlie and I’ll be your waiter tonight. I understand you’re interested in our tasting menu?”
“Yes,” Brian and Trudy said at the same time. They laughed.
“Very good,” the waiter said. “We’re proud of our tasting menu as it offers our chef the chance to showcase the best flavors and ingredients of the season. Would you care for the wine pairing as well?”
“Yes, please,” Brian answered. He looked at Trudy. “That’ll be okay even though you’ve taken cold medicine, won’t it?”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” she said.
The waiter dipped his head. “Excellent. I shall return in a moment.”
After the waiter left, they continued to smile at each other in silence. Trudy tried to sneak a look at his suit jacket to see if there might be a ring-box-shaped lump inside his pocket. Brian raised his eyebrow.
Soon the waiter was back with an amuse bouche and a small glass of rosé wine. They talked about the minutiae of their jobs and daily lives, and by the end of the third course Trudy’s head was spinning. Maybe the mix of alcohol and cold medicine hadn’t been the smartest idea, but so far the meal had been fabulous.
Footsteps on the hardwood floor heralded the arrival of their final course before dessert. However, when she glanced up there was a different man in the room. He was dressed head-to-toe in black and he had a wild look about him. His dark, shoulder-length hair looked like it hadn’t been washed or brushed in weeks, his sapphire eyes glinted with a touch of malice, and the corner of his lip curled in a cocky sneer.
He leaned toward her, locking his gaze directly on her eyes. “You will not remember any of this,” he breathed.
Trudy’s mind felt fuzzy and she was so baffled by his words that she didn’t react. The stranger slid behind Brian, who was frowning. He turned to track the odd man in black, but before he had a chance to look behind him, the man grabbed Brian by the hair. He wrenched Brian’s head backward and grasped his shoulder to hold him in place. Brian shouted as two glittering fangs descended from the stranger’s mouth. He bit down on Brian’s neck with a growl.
“What the hell?” Trudy screeched and leapt to her feet. “Brian!”
She lurched forward, getting tangled in the tablecloth. Twisting to free herself, she tripped and fell backwards. Her head smacked against the edge of her chair on the way down and pain stabbed into her neck at the base of her skull. She landed on the floor, stunned but conscious.
Trudy tried to stand, but her limbs wouldn’t obey. She couldn’t move. Why couldn’t she move?
Brian’s body slammed to the floor, and the stranger darted out of the room in a flash of movement. Trudy felt a sob work its way up her throat. Brian’s eyes were open, but they stared without focus.
No. No! “Brian!” she choked. “Somebody help!” Where was the waiter? Why couldn’t she move?
There was a soft sound, like something small falling onto the floor. Trudy gasped. A crimson-colored ring box had rolled out of Brian’s pants pocket and landed on the ground.
April 6, 2009
Trudy sat on the couch in her third-floor apartment, fiddling with the crocheted afghan that covered her lap. She stared at the framed photo on the bookshelf of her with Brian, standing atop a lookout on a hike they’d taken together last spring. Her gaze drifted from the picture over to the pair of crutches leaning against the couch.
She’d finally graduated to the crutches two days earlier, and was officially mobile enough to move back into her apartment and take care of herself. Four-and-a-half months of recovery and intense physiotherapy had helped her regain the use of her arms and legs. When she’d fallen at the restaurant and hit the base of her neck against the chair, the tissues surrounding her spine had swollen and compressed her vertebrae, caus
ing her to become paralyzed from the neck down. She was “lucky”–the paralysis had not been permanent.
But Brian was gone. Killed right in front of her in a random act of violence. Could she refer to him as her late fiancé, or was he her late boyfriend? If the killer had shown up three minutes later, the engagement would have been a done deal. The ring in Brian’s pocket left no room for doubt about his intentions to propose that night.
The worst part about the whole thing was the complete lack of rhyme or reason for the attack. Trudy knew what she’d seen–the stranger’s fangs, or extremely realistic imitations of fangs. Yet the coroner had found no trace of bite marks or puncture wounds on Brian’s neck. The official cause of death was heart failure. Trudy knew everyone thought she was crazy for declaring it a vampire attack.
You will not remember any of this.
As the killer’s words echoed in Trudy’s head, she wondered why had he said such a thing. It was as if by saying so he’d thought he could program her to forget. Clearly his mind tricks hadn’t been up to snuff because she still remembered everything. Of course, vampires weren’t real. And yet . . .
A knock on the door startled her back to the present. Trudy was not the slightest bit interested in seeing who was there, so she remained on the couch, unmoving.
“Hello? Trudy? I know you’re in there,” a woman called through the door. “Please, I’m not here to sell something or collect money for charity. We need to talk.”
Trudy didn’t