The Hunters Series

by Shiloh Walker

  That she heard, even though she wished she hadn’t. The vampire lowered his mouth to her neck, running his teeth along the arch. “Come any closer, Hunter, she dies.”

  She focused on Wyatt’s face. She could see him now, moving through the alley, a smirk on his lips. Light and shadow played across his face and those piercing, pale amber eyes of his were glowing. “You know how this ends, boy. Let her go. I might even give you a head start. But that’s your only chance.”

  The man at her back tightened his hand, forcing her head into an unnatural angle that hurt–shit, it felt like he was going snap her neck before he could bite her. “I know what happens if I let her go.”

  Wyatt smiled. It was a mean smile, full of threat and menace. “That’s going to happen anyway. You just get the choice—painfully slow or mercifully quick.”

  Behind her, the vampire tensed. His arm came up, angling across her upper body and his hand spread across her neck, gently, almost lover-like. “I got a better choice.”

  “Like hell.” Sara snarled and reared back with her head. He either wasn’t as quick as Wyatt, or he’d been fooled by her silence, because he didn’t move out of the way in time. She hit him with a force that left her head spinning, but she heard bone crunch. At the same time, she lifted her foot and brought the heel of her booted foot down on his.

  What happened next was too quick for her to process. One minute he had her, and then she was flying, careening through the air and hitting the wall with jarring force. Her head smashed into the brick, brilliant lights exploded behind her eyes.

  Distantly, she heard her name. Wyatt. There was a roar. A rush of wind.

  The pain in her head throbbed, blocking out anything, everything else. Hands touched her face. Gentle. Soothing. “Sara...look at me.”

  Too hard. Opening her eyes just took too much effort. But he brushed his fingers down her cheek and she realized she had to see him. Lifting her lashes, she stared at his face, watched as it swam in and out of focus. His amber eyes were dark with worry, anger. Despite the pain radiating through her, she had to smile.

  He actually looked like he cared.

  But vampires couldn’t care.

  *

  Wyatt sat in the chair by the window, brooding as he watched the sun sink below the horizon. As time passed, some of the stronger vamps could tolerate ever-increasing amounts of sunlight. Wyatt’s Change had been nearly eighty years ago and he could take enough sun to watch as it made its disappearance.

  His skin itched and burned, just like it would from a sunburn and it felt like there were blisters forming. But as the sun’s rays faded, his body started to repair the damage.

  He knew when she woke, heard the subtle change in her breathing, in her heartbeat. Still he wasn’t prepared for the low, throaty sound of her voice. “I didn’t think vampires could handle sunlight.”

  Closing his eyes, he steeled himself to see her face before turning to look at her. She was pale, but alive. The past thirteen plus hours had been awful. He’d fought his body’s natural instincts, remaining awake throughout the day to watch her.

  Watch.

  Worry.

  Brood.

  And worry some more. It had been more than eighty years since he’d graduated from medical school and saying that things had changed was putting it mildly. Still, a concussion was fairly basic and that was all she had. One thing about being a vampire, if she had been bleeding internally, he would have scented it.

  She was still staring at him wide-eyed and Wyatt sighed, glanced over his shoulder at the darkening sky. “Most of the mythology surrounding vampires is either pure nonsense or highly exaggerated.”

  “Like the sight or scent of blood turns you into a maniac?”

  Wyatt shrugged. “Older vamps have better control than that. A new one? Possibly. But new vamps are supervised until they have some sense of control.”

  “You make it sound like there are laws.”

  “There are.” Wyatt didn’t bother elaborating. She wouldn’t care about their laws, about his purpose, about anything.

  “Apparently the laws aren’t serving much purpose,” she said, her voice bitter.

  Gently, Wyatt pointed out, “Humans have laws. But humans still kill, still steal, still rape. The law gives us a way to punish the guilty but as long as free will exists, there will be those who break the law. Mortals and vampires.”

  She looked away but not before he glimpsed the pain, the anger in her gaze. “The law failed your brother and his wife. I’m sorry for that, Sara. But you can’t continue on this mission of yours. It’s going to get you killed.”

  Her laugh was soft and bitter. “You think I don’t know that?” She paused and looked back at him. “These laws...somebody has to uphold them. Can somebody find justice for my brother? His wife?”

  “Sara.” He waited until she looked at him and then he slid off the chair. There wasn’t anything he could to take this pain from her–even if he shared all he knew, nothing would undo the pain. This much, though, he could give. He knelt in front of her and wished he could touch her, wished she could want his touch. “It’s already been done.”

  She blinked. Her throat worked as she swallowed. Her tongue slid out to wet her lips and even though it was an innocent gesture, Wyatt’s blood warmed and hunger flared to life. He had to focus to even understand her next words.

  “Already done?”

  He couldn’t not touch her, Wyatt realized. She’d pull away, he’d feel a fool, but he had to do it. Lightly, gently. All he did was brush her hair back from her face, a quick caress that lasted just a heartbeat. Her breath froze in her lungs and he braced himself. But she didn’t pull back. She didn’t flinch. Her eyes didn’t freeze over with disgust. Her eyes lifted and met his and slowly, Wyatt reached out, cupped her cheek in his hand. “Done. They were dead before the sun set the next day.”

  Sara slumped, dropping her head down. “Dead.” She was motionless for a minute and then she stood, brushing past him to pace the room. “Dead. You tell me they’ve been dead for a year. And you expect me to believe you. Just like that?”

  Rising, Wyatt tucked his hands into his pockets, watched her long, jerky strides. “I don’t expect you to believe me, Sara. Not over this. Not over anything.”

  She came to an abrupt halt and turned, facing him. “Then why do I? Why do I trust you? How come I look at you and I don’t have this urge to run, when I know I should?” There was naked emotion in her eyes, confusion. Doubt.

  And need.

  The need hit in square in the gut, because it seemed to echo the one inside him. His voice was rusty, hoarse as he said, “It’s your brain that’s telling you to run, Sara. But some other part of you realizes I’m not a danger to you.”

  “How can you not be?”

  A fist closed around his heart. Wyatt took one slow step in her direction. Followed by another. Another. He was close enough to reach out and touch her, but he wouldn’t let himself. “How could I? How could I possibly hurt you?” Instead of touching her, he reached behind him, pulled the Glock from his waistband. Then he allowed himself to touch her, but gently. Only her wrist. Wrapping his fingers around it, he pushed the gun into her hand and then lifted it, pressed the muzzle to his chest. “Can you hurt me, Sara? It’s still loaded–there’s one missing because I shot the one who grabbed you. But there are plenty of bullets left for me. If you really believe I’m a soulless monster, then you should pull that trigger. I’ve faced my share of monsters and believe me, I don’t hesitate.”

  She jerked against his hold, but he wouldn’t let go. “You’re crazy,” she whispered. “You think I won’t? Think I can’t?”

  Wyatt smiled sadly. “Oh, no. I know you can pull the trigger. I know you have...and if you really believe I’m nothing but a monster, then you need to pull the trigger.”

  Her breath hitched in her chest. Her gaze lowered to the gun pressing into his chest. This close, there was no way the bullet could miss his heart. He’d be
dead before he even hit the ground, just like a mortal.

  “No.”

  She pulled against his hold and this time he let her go, watched as she put the safety back on, carefully...oh, so carefully. Then she laid the gun on the bedside table and rubbed her hands down the front of her pants. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I can’t.” She shook her head and turned to face him. “I can’t.”

  There was a look in her eyes that might have made him do something that would have totally humiliated him–like reach for her, like tell her that he’d spent the past year wishing things could have been different, that he could have spent it with her. That he could spend the rest of his life with her, after just one week together—and what a fantasy that was.

  She was mortal. She’d die in a few short decades. He was vampire. He could die, and probably would, considering his line of work. But the odds were that he’d be walking the earth years after Sara went to meet her Maker.

  But even that ugly fact wasn’t enough to keep him from touching her. No. What stopped him was the slow, careful way she backed away from him. What stopped him was the blank, expressionless mask on her face that crept across her face with each step she moved away from him. By the time she was at the door, the look on her face was as smooth and blank as a doll’s. She reached behind to open the door without looking away from him.

  He was tempted just to let her leave.

  He’d known this was an exercise in futility, but he couldn’t just let her walk away. And it had nothing to do with orders from the damned Council, either.

  As she eased the door open, he moved, crossing the floor, moving too fast for her gaze to follow. Her eyes went wide and his ears picked up the telltale skip of her heart as he reached over and pressed a hand to the door, keeping her from opening it. “You can’t leave just yet, Sara.”

  Her chin angled up. “Why the hell not?”

  “Because what you are doing has to stop.”

  The fear he sensed inside her had already faded and she shoved past him. Her elbow dug into his side and automatically, he rubbed it. Mean little brat. “We have laws, Sara. Laws to protect innocent people–and innocent vampires. They do exist, Sara.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. Because bloodsucking doesn’t actually hurt people, right?”

  Reaching out, he stroked a hand down her neck and said, “Actually, you’re quite right. It doesn’t have to hurt, and there’s no reason to kill.”

  She smacked at his hand. “Don’t touch me.”

  The ice in her voice stabbed at him, cutting into more than just his pride. He eased a little closer, but whether he was trying to soothe wounded pride or something deeper, he didn’t know. Advancing on her, he followed her as she backed away until she bumped into a narrow table.

  “I remember when you begged me to touch you,” he whispered. He pressed his finger to her lips and remembered her taste.

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “Do you need a reminder?” Wyatt asked. “I don’t. I remember all of it. Every...last...detail.”

  Her sea-green eyes darkened to jade and her breathing hitched. He heard the acceleration of her pulse, scented the change in the air around her. “You remember too, don’t you?”

  The thick fringe of her lashes fluttered, shielding her eyes. But he didn’t need to see them to know the answer. He slid his hand down, curving it over her neck, his thumb resting the shallow notch at the base.

  “I’m the same man now that I was then,” he told her, his voice harsh. “The same man you picked up in a bar, the same man you followed to his hotel, and the same man who made love to you and held you when you cried. If I didn’t hurt you then, why would I do it now?”

  Her body shuddered and Wyatt tore away with a curse. He stalked away but the sound of her footsteps on the floor behind him made him pause. “Sara–” he turned, certain she’d be running for the door again.

  But she wasn’t. She took another step towards him. Another. Another. “You can’t expect me to unlearn everything I’ve believed in over the past year, Wyatt,” she said.

  “I don’t.”

  She didn’t even seem to hear him. “I’m not an impulsive person...or at least I didn’t used to be. I didn’t pick up men in bars. I didn’t go to hotels with strangers. I never would have believed I could develop some bizarre Buffy obsession and start hunting for monsters who can’t exist.”

  Am I doing this? Without a doubt, the answer was yes. And it was what Sara had wanted to do from the time she opened her eyes and saw him sitting in a chair, his gaze focused on the setting sun. She’d watched as his face flushed red, as though burned, watched as blisters formed and then faded moments later as the sun disappeared.

  If she’d harbored doubts over what he was, they would have died in that moment. But even the knowledge of what he was didn’t stop her.

  She doubted anything could.

  There was no reason in what she was doing. Couldn’t be. Nothing rational, nothing sane...but she still didn’t stop. She took another step towards Wyatt and this one brought them so close, their bodies all but touched. “And I also wouldn’t have thought, even a few hours ago, that anything could change my mind about what a monster is. What a monster isn’t.”

  She lifted her head, stared into his eyes. “I’m not willing to change my mind on it. Not yet. Maybe never. I don’t know if I’m ready to give that up.”

  Reaching up, she traced a finger across his lips and whispered, “But I can’t change my mind on you either...” She pressed lightly and he opened his mouth, slowly, just a little, as though he didn’t to want at all. His fangs weren’t showing, but she could remember how they looked, found herself wondering why they weren’t visible now. “Even with these.”

  Sara thought back. He could have hurt her at any time during the day while she slept. Or on any number of occasions a year ago and he hadn’t. Deep inside, she knew he wouldn’t...couldn’t. As strong as her grief and rage was, her belief in him was even stronger. Her knees went weak as his lips closed around her finger, sucking lightly, nipping on her fingertip as she slowly pulled her hand back. “I dream about you and I know I’m not ready to give that up.”

  His pupils flared, a harsh breath escaped him. Pushing up onto her toes, she pressed her mouth to his.

  For the next thirty seconds, he stood almost frozen as she kissed him. Still, so still she was starting to develop a complex but then his hands came up, grasped her waist. “What are you doing, Sara?”

  “Can’t you tell?” She slid her hands under his shirt and forced herself to smile at him. “We did it last year...I thought you said you remembered everything.”

  The hands at her waist shook, a convulsive, involuntary tightening that pulled her closer. “Are you sure about this?”

  “No,” she replied honestly. “But I am sure about you. You wouldn’t hurt me. I’ve spent the past year dreaming about you and I’m tired of dreams.” Holding his gaze, she pushed up onto her toes and pressed her lips to his.

  And this time...he kissed her back. His arms banded around her, pulling her off the floor. The room spun as he pivoted, walking backward to the bed and falling down on it, taking her with him. The year between them ceased to exist as they fought free of their clothes. His body was hard, cool against the warmth of hers but with every passing minute, his body heated until his skin seemed to burn as hot as hers.

  His hands raced over her, touching her with a desperate greed that she recognized. It seemed as though Wyatt was as greedy for her as she was for him. He nipped her lower lip, kissed his way down her neck, took one aching nipple in his mouth. As he suckled on her, he wedged his hips between her thighs and pressed against her. She moaned on his name, fisted her hands in his hair and tugged until he lifted his mouth back to hers. His taste–it was like nothing she’d ever known. She loved it. It was addictive.

  Just like his touch. Just like his hands and his body...the way he looked at her, the way h
e stared at her as he played with her hair, the way he whispered her name as she drifted off to sleep in his arms. All of him. Everything.

  He pushed inside her and she tore her mouth away from his to suck in a desperate gasp of air. His lips brushed against her cheek, to her neck. He kissed a hot, burning path down to her neck, across her collarbone before he pushed up onto his hands and stared down at her as he started to move. “You wouldn’t believe how often I’ve wanted to do this,” he rasped.

  She reached up, brushed her fingers across his upper lip, lingering at the faint bulge just underneath. He tensed, tried to turn his head away, but she slid her hand behind his neck, tangled her fingers in his hair. “As often as me?” she asked, tugging his head down towards her. “Kiss me.”

  He did, but it was careful. Cautious. She hated it. Instinct drove her and she deepened the kiss, took it rougher. She felt the response inside his body, in the hard, driving rhythm of his hips against hers. Not enough...again, it was instinct that had her pulling back from his kiss–just a little. Just enough. Enough so she could sink her teeth into his lower lip and bite. He froze. A smug smile curled her lips as she met his gaze.

  A rough growl escaped him. His eyes dropped to her mouth and he swore, crushing his lips to hers. At the same time, he slid a hand down her side, palmed her bottom and lifted her. One deep thrust...another. Another. It hit hard, fast, hot, slamming through them with hurricane force. Tearing her mouth away, she cried out his name while he buried his face in her neck, groaning.

  Blood pounding in her ears, struggling to breathe, she closed her eyes. He rolled off her and pulled her up against him, stroking a hand up and down her back. “Are you okay?”

  “Hmmmm.” Sara couldn’t quite find the energy to lift her lids, but that was okay.

  “Not an answer...damn it, you’ve got a concussion. What in the hell was I thinking?”