Hunting the Dark

by Karen Mahoney

  I glanced at his mouth and caught the slight movement of his tongue as he moistened his lips.

  Oh God. Why me?

  I still wanted him, even after everything that had happened. Everything I had become – and how I knew there was absolutely no chance for anything to happen between us – I still wanted him to kiss me.

  A traitorous voice piped up in the back of my mind: Why wait for him to kiss you? You could kiss him. He came to you for help, after all. He didn’t have to do that. Maybe he really does like you.

  He’s just using me, I told myself, pushing that other voice to one side and giving it a stern look. I wouldn’t let Jace use me. I won’t let anyone use me like that.

  His lips moved closer, and fear rose up in me like water from a burst pipe.

  I couldn’t let this happen.

  I shoved Jace away with ease, backing up against the door and staring at him for a moment that stretched out too long. I thought that maybe he’d say something mean, try to make me feel small. I don’t know why that’s the first thing that sprang to mind – self-preservation, I guess – but I couldn’t have been more wrong.

  His mouth twisted and he turned away, but not quickly enough that I didn’t catch the look in those oh-so-expressive brown eyes. He was hurt. I’d hurt him by pushing him away. But that was crazy.

  Wasn’t it?

  He cleared his throat as though nothing had happened. ‘So, do you believe me?’

  I tried to ignore the memory of his warm body against mine.

  ‘I believe that it wasn’t you who killed Nicole,’ I said. ‘But I don’t believe that you don’t know anything at all.’

  He huffed with frustration. ‘Quinn isn’t even here. I called him when I got back into the country. He must be out of town or something.’

  ‘Why would you call him? This is sounding more and more . . . wrong.’

  ‘I told you, he’s an old friend of my dad’s. A good friend. They were partners and I’ve known him since I was a kid. I was just checking on him.’

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘He’s disabled, Moth. Living alone.’

  ‘And . . .?’

  ‘And he usually has good intel,’ he finally admitted, looking away.

  ‘Like . . . information about who might be planning to kill powerful vampires? Even Elders?’

  ‘Hunters don’t broadcast their plans on Facebook, you know. The hunting network doesn’t work that way. I just meant that he tracks down a lot of solid intel, and he keeps records that we can all use.’

  Hmm . . . That sounded promising. ‘What kind of records?’

  ‘Moth, just drop it. I was looking into something else entirely.’

  I watched him, desperately looking for a sign. Something I could hold onto and trust. A sliver of the truth, no matter how painful it might be for him to share it. Jace had lost both his parents to vampires, and yet here he was in my apartment asking for my support. It didn’t make any sense, and yet I had the strangest feeling that he was being sincere.

  Even if he was hiding something, that didn’t make him Nicole’s murderer. There had to be other active hunters in the area – if not in Boston itself, then maybe in Massachusetts. And Nicole was from New York. What about hunters who lived there? I just had to find some evidence to support my convictions, otherwise Theo would have no problem snuffing out Jace’s life – no matter how much I might beg for mercy on the wannabe hunter’s behalf.

  I laughed at myself, the sound harsh and bitter. Wannabe hunter. No wonder Theo thought I’d lost my mind. Or my heart. Or my senses.

  Or perhaps all three of those things.

  Jace was watching me like I’d already lost the plot. ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Went somewhere else for a moment.’

  ‘My apologies for boring you with my fast-approaching demise,’ he said stiffly. ‘I’ll get out of your hair.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. I’m just trying to figure things out.’

  He shrugged. ‘I should probably go, anyway.’

  I said, ‘You can stay here, if you like.’ I almost slapped my hand over my mouth. Why did I have to say such dumb things? Ugh. What was I thinking? Quite clearly, I wasn’t thinking; that was the point. But I’d always been someone who wore her heart on her sleeve – it seemed to have gotten worse during the last year. Ever since I’d been Made.

  The corner of Jace’s mouth lifted in a slow quarter-smile. ‘Right here?’ He gestured at my disheveled bed.

  ‘No!’ I shouted.

  He grinned.

  ‘No, of course not,’ I said, much more calmly. ‘I meant, in the apartment.’

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ I muttered. ‘You knew what I meant.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  I picked up the nearest thing I could find – my hairbrush – and threw it at him.

  Jace caught it instantly, his reactions impressive for a ‘regular’ human. He started laughing.

  I scowled. I hate it when he laughs at me. ‘You can take the couch,’ I said. ‘Holly would smell you if you slept in her room.’

  That shut him up. I allowed myself a smile of victory as I took him into our little living room and tried to remember where there might be a spare comforter and pillows. My roommate wouldn’t be back until at least tomorrow night – she couldn’t walk about in daylight, and the Boston tunnels didn’t exactly run door-to-door. Jace would be safe enough. These days it felt more like I was living here alone, Holly was so busy. If you’d asked me a few years ago if I wanted an apartment all to myself by the time I was eighteen, I would have laughed that you even needed to ask.

  Now? Now I was just beginning to realize how lonely it could be.

  Ten minutes later, I had Jace settled in on the couch. He’d unlaced his boots and kicked them off, but that was the only thing he’d done to prepare for sleep.

  He folded his pillow into a strange, squished shape and propped himself up to look at me. ‘Don’t expect to find me here when you get up. I’ll let myself out.’

  ‘OK,’ I said.

  ‘It’s cool of you to let me crash here.’

  ‘I know.’

  A smile ghosted across his tired face. ‘I’ll get moving in the morning – put some real distance between myself and the city.’

  ‘Where will you go?’ I didn’t want to think about him leaving again, but of course it was the most sensible move.

  He yawned. ‘Not sure yet. Don’t worry about it, you’ve done enough for me already.’

  ‘I’d do a lot more to help, if you’d actually trust me enough to tell me something I can use to clear your name.’

  ‘Don’t start this again,’ he said. ‘Quinn’s a lone wolf. He’s no threat to you or anyone else, and I’m certainly not going to give up somebody else just to save myself.’

  Jace had thrown his jacket on the armchair sitting at right angles to the couch, and I’d seen his cell phone in the pocket. All I had to do was wait for him to fall asleep and I could try snatching it – get a look at his contact list. No matter what Jace said to the contrary, I figured that Quinn would be a good place to start – even if I was only looking for alternative suspects.

  I didn’t expect Jace to be a heavy sleeper – especially not right now, with his life in danger – but he did look dead on his feet. Metaphorically speaking. If he slept at all, even a little, I figured I was stealthy enough to grab his phone without waking him. Jace had apparently called Quinn after getting back to the US, which meant I could find his phone number. Maybe I’d get lucky and find an address to go with it.

  It was worth a try.

  ‘Goodnight, Moth,’ Jace said, his eyes drifting shut.

  ‘Sleep well,’ I replied, trying desperately to stop my eyes from flickering in the direction of his jacket.

  I made sure to be a little more noisy than necessary as I left the room, half closing the door and peeking back in at him. Within ha
lf an hour he was fast asleep and I’d already pick-pocketed him. It was easier than I’d imagined; he must have been exhausted.

  I snuck back to my room, clutching my prize and figuring Jace would be safely out for a good few hours. Plenty of time for a little snooping. Once I’d grabbed what I needed from his phone’s contact list, I changed into black jeans and a dark sweater. I laced up my purple Catwoman sneakers – all the better to sneak around in – and pulled on my trusty leather jacket, before slipping silently from the apartment.

  I was going to pay the mysterious Quinn a visit. Even if he was as innocent as Jace claimed, he would more than likely have information that I needed. I figured that I’d have no trouble gaining access to the ‘records’ he apparently kept. And if he really was out of town, so much the better.

  Famous last words, right?

  Chapter Six

  Door Number Two

  The hunter’s house crouched in total darkness, which made sense considering how close it was to dawn. If he turned out to be here after all, and Jace had been wrong (or lying) about his current whereabouts, I sure hoped he wasn’t an early riser.

  All I wanted was to find a nice, convenient list of vampire hunters currently belonging to the unofficial hunters’ network – maybe ask Quinn a few questions if he was here. And I had to hurry before Jace woke up. He would definitely try to stop me, and I couldn’t face another fight with him. Of any kind.

  I prowled around the back of Quinn’s place, noticing how sheltered everything was. The perfect home for a hunter – retired or otherwise. Moonlight frosted the trees, a wide ring of them that surrounded the property like silver-topped sentries. I forced myself to take a breath and question what I was actually doing here. I’d been lucky enough to find the location and to return Jace’s phone without him even stirring. Shouldn’t I just turn Quinn over to Theo and the other vamps? It seemed the safest option. Why did I always have to play hero?

  Perhaps I was losing my mind. I mean, for real. Perhaps Nicole’s death was already beginning to have some kind of magical effect, via Theo. Perhaps we would both begin to slowly unravel in the wake of the beautiful Elder’s demise.

  Because, this? This was crazy.

  I pushed away all thoughts of my impending trip to Crazy Town. Far away. Now was the time to act, not to stand around getting overwhelmed by fear for Theo – and what it might mean for me as one of his fledglings. He never would tell me how many vampires he had Made. Believe me, I’d asked him. Many times. All he would tell me is: Not as many as you seem to believe.

  To which I would always reply: Then why don’t you just freaking tell me?

  He just growled at me that it was none of my business, and that when I was older I’d understand. Honestly, being a vampire is sometimes worse than being a teenager.

  An owl hooted somewhere above me, making me jump and shaking me out of my confused inner monologue.

  I chose a window at the rear of the house. Shadows seemed to flow across the grass as a gust of wind blew through the yard, disturbing tree branches and nightlife alike. My original plan had been to gain access via the roof to reduce the chance of leaving a trail – being a vampire meant I was good at climbing – but for someone who was supposed to be light on her feet, I could be pretty accident-prone. It was embarrassing. I figured I was safer down here with my feet firmly on the ground.

  The most easily accessible first-floor window was locked up tight behind a screen. Who had screens over their windows in the center of Boston? Maybe they were meant to keep out larger bloodsuckers than mosquitoes. I removed the screen with a quick tug and rested it against the wall, then forced the window by jerking hard and sharp with my vamp-strength. The dull crack seemed to echo through the night air like a gunshot. I cringed as glass fell.

  ‘Oops,’ I whispered.

  Luckily the glass shards hit soft carpet, but still . . . Probably better just to get this over with in case Quinn was asleep inside. I didn’t think he was, though. The house felt quiet and empty.

  I paused for a moment before climbing inside, just to make certain. Nothing stirred. Knowing my luck, the hunter would have a particularly vicious guard dog, but that didn’t appear to be the case so I soldiered on. Dogs liked me, anyway. The O’Neal family dog, Oscar, hadn’t treated me any different since I was Made, a fact I took great comfort from. Maybe I didn’t smell dead, after all.

  I jumped into the darkened room beyond, getting tangled in moth-eaten (ha!) velvet curtains and almost tripping over as I landed softly on the carpeted floor of a living room. Righting myself just in time, I scanned my surroundings. Everything was eerily visible in the pre-dawn grayness that streaked the sky and filtered through the gaps in the curtain. Even if it had been pitch dark, I would still have been able to see pretty clearly with my enhanced sight.

  Now to check the place really was as empty as it seemed. Never take things at face value, I reminded myself. Remember what Kyle – God rot his soul – taught you. He might have turned out to be a back-stabbing traitor, but Theo’s old Enforcer had known a thing or two about stealth missions.

  I let my eyes adjust to the half-darkness of the room, sniffing the air and wondering what the smell was that made my nose wrinkle and my stomach contract. It was a strange and familiar combination of scents. Complicated, and yet also simple: hot and cold at the same time. Thick and cloying and metallic.

  Blood.

  I could smell blood in the home of my number one lead in Nicole’s murder. My admittedly rather hopeful shot at clearing Jace’s name.

  The enticing scent surrounded me, intoxicating.

  I trotted out of the room and headed for the stairs. The blood called to me, leading me in the direction that I needed to go.

  The kitchen was on the way, so I made myself stop and poke my head inside. An old-fashioned wall oven and stove took up one corner, while a small refrigerator hummed in another. I could detect the faint whiff of garlic and chilli, meaning that someone had most likely been cooking recently. It smelled good – the whole garlic thing is a myth, in case you were wondering.

  Sighing, I headed back to the staircase and crept to the landing above, to the source of the blood. The house was a double-decker, so there were only two levels to worry about in my search. I counted three bedrooms in all, one with the door ajar so that I could see it had been converted into an office. The bathroom door was wide open, a towel discarded in the center of the white-tiled floor. The towel was a dark color that I couldn’t quite make out in the gloom, but it looked creepily like a pool of blood. I turned away and kept moving.

  The thick coppery smell I’d been following filled my nostrils once more, hitting me so hard it felt like someone had slapped me in the face. Hunger twisted through me, hot and violent and demanding. Crap. I should have fed before traveling here, but I had no idea that I’d find something like this. Whatever this turned out to be.

  I opened door number two, my nose leading the way.

  The monster inside me licked her lips, making my stomach churn. I shivered, denying the urge. Grabbed hold of it and pushed it down, deep down into the very bottom of my being where I hoped it would stay put. Of course, that didn’t mean she – the other me – wouldn’t come back to haunt me later, but I’d worry about her then. Tonight I had to handle myself.

  But by then I was fully focused on the scene before me and had to swallow an explosive wave of nausea . . . chased with bottomless hunger. ‘Crap,’ I whispered. ‘Crappity-freaking-crap.’

  It became immediately and horrifically clear that the vampire hunter wasn’t going to be answering my questions any time soon. All the effort Jace had expended trying to protect his dad’s old buddy now seemed pointless.

  Quinn was dead. Savagely, and very definitely, murdered.

  Chapter Seven

  Regular Superhero

  I stood looking down at the body and tried to hold back the visceral desire to fall to my knees and taste the man’s blood.

  This is what I had beco
me. This is what I tried to tell Caitlín, no matter how much she still loved me and believed in me. I’m a monster, through and through, no matter how many jokes I crack and no matter how much I want it not to be true.

  Freshly killed human being? I could feel the disgust and desire mingling in my stomach and making my mouth water. My fangs extended and I had to dig my nails into my palms – hard enough to draw my own blood – just to resist the urge to feed. Hunger scraped me hollow and I almost gave in to her . . . to Moth.

  I would not do this. I couldn’t let myself do it.

  ‘I’m not an animal,’ I whispered. ‘I will not be a monster. My name is Marie Katherine O’Neal and I’m better than this.’

  With trembling hands I fumbled my cell phone from my pocket, flipping to the photo I’d taken of Caitlín just the other day. I searched every detail of her face, gazed into those familiar, laughing eyes . . . anything to get a hold of myself. Anything that might remind me of who I really am – or, at the very least, who I want to be.

  ‘Bring me back,’ I whispered to my sister’s static, smiling image. ‘Let me stay with you.’

  Slowly, the bloodlust began to fade. The ache in my gut remained, but at least my fangs had receded and I could look at the body again without seeing my next meal.

  I didn’t drink from humans. Not like this, not ever. I only fed from blood bags, ‘liberated’ from the local hospital – because that made it oh-so-much better, right? That’s what I told myself, anyway. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t lose control. I was still too new at all this, too vulnerable. Maybe I should rethink my dream of returning to college. Could I trust myself?