The Hunters Series

by Shiloh Walker

  Heaving out a sigh, she forced her eyes open and reached up, pressing her fingers to his mouth. “Stop. I’m fine. Tired. But fine.”

  Very...very tired, actually. Her lids felt weighted and she didn’t bother fighting it any more. With his hand stroking up and down her back and his body warm and strong against hers, she felt more at peace than she had in...forever. Sleep dropped down on her hard and fast.

  *

  She could have been asleep for two minutes or two hours. Sara didn’t know. All she did know was the warmth and security she’d felt while she slept in Wyatt’s arms was abruptly gone and she was unceremoniously shoved off the bed, hitting the floor on the far side.

  “Stay down,” Wyatt growled.

  Blinking, trying to force her brain to wake up, she peered up over the side of the bed as the hotel door flew open. The vampire standing there was the one who’d grabbed her the night before. He flicked her a glance, a wide grin spreading across his face and then he looked at Wyatt. She saw his hand come up. Saw her crossbow.

  She screamed.

  Wyatt dodged away, evading the other vampire with ease. Sara scrambled across the bed, reaching for her gun. A cold hand grabbed her ankle.

  Wyatt snarled. “Let her go.”

  She kicked out, connecting with a belly that felt as hard as iron but the other one didn’t let go. He tugged and she lunged, made another grabbed for her gun–and this time, she got it. Because he’d let her go–or rather, been forced to let her go. Drywall cracked as Wyatt threw him into the wall.

  Sara turned just in time to see Wyatt reaching for the other vampire–and the other vampire lifting her crossbow. Time slowed down to a crawl. There was a scream trapped inside her head, one that couldn’t break free. But as the silver tipped bolt pierced Wyatt’s chest, Sara jerked her gun up, sighted, pulled the trigger. The muffled pop sounded terribly loud, although logically she knew nobody outside the hotel room could have heard it.

  Blood, bone and more grisly matter exploded and the other vampire slumped back. Dead. Totally dead, his body limp, the top half of his head gone.

  But Sara didn’t care. She was too busy moving for Wyatt, catching his swaying body before he could crash to the floor. Under his weight, she fell onto the bed, clutching him against her. “Wyatt...”

  His amber eyes turned blindly towards her. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. “Get out of here, Sara. Somebody...probably called the...cops.” He started to cough and more blood stained his lips when the fit passed. “Get out.”

  “Not without you.”

  His lids lowered. “Can’t. Too close to the...heart. I’m not going...” his body arched and shuddered. “Anywhere. Not strong enough right now.”

  Desperate, Sara shoved him off her lap, braced his weight on his side. “You’re not dying. I’m not leaving you here.” She closed her hand around the bolt and jerked. It wouldn’t budge. “Help me, Wyatt.”

  “Get out of here, Sara!” he rasped, his voice harsh, but weaker.

  “You want me out, you help me.”

  He swore, but reached up, grabbed the bolt and ripped it out. It fell to the bed beside him as dark, dark red blood flowed from the wound. “Get out, Sara.”

  She barely heard him. She was too busy staring at the silver-tipped bolt. Her bolt. Her weapon. He was going to die because of her.

  No.

  His voice came back to haunt her as she studied the bloodied arrow. Most of the mythology surrounding vampires is either pure nonsense or highly exaggerated.

  Most. Not all. She barely remembered reaching for the bolt. Didn’t remember pressing the barbed, sharp edge to her wrist or slicing her flesh. Didn’t remember anything until she fisted a hand in his hair and guided his mouth to her wrist.

  He jerked back. “No.”

  “Yes.”

  Wyatt grabbed her wrist and shoved it away. “No. Get out of here, Sara. Get out, now.”

  “You want me gone, you’ll have to make me. You can’t do that if you die.”

  He shook his head, but even that took too much effort.

  She went cold, somehow realizing that he was out of time. Sliding off the bed, she knelt so he could see her face. “Don’t die on me, Wyatt...please don’t die. I haven’t spent the past year dreaming about you because the sex was good. I need you.”

  His lashes barely flickered. Breath rattled out of his lungs. All but blinded by her tears, she shoved her wrist to his mouth once more. He brushed his lips against her wrist. His lashes lifted and she stared into his eyes. “Please.”

  He struck.

  It didn’t hurt. That was all she could think of as his mouth worked at her wrist. It didn’t hurt–and it didn’t last more than a few minutes. Still too much time, though because as he shoved off the bed, moving far too slow and stiff, she could heard the wail of sirens in the distance. “Get out of here,” he muttered, turning his head to look at her.

  The hole in his chest was no pumping out blood but he still looked too damn pale. She grabbed her shirt from the floor, her jeans and hurriedly put them on. “Sure. You’re coming.”

  His lids flickered. But he nodded, stumbled towards the door, then outside. Stark naked. Sara followed along behind him and just barely thought to grab the keys from the table and his shirt. On the way outside, she wrapped it around her wrist in a messy, cumbersome bandage.

  “Benz,” he mumbled.

  She got the door open and he collapsed inside. She ran around, climbed in, started up the car.

  “Don’t speed,” he said, his voice thick, slurred.

  “I won’t,” she said, forced herself to smile. “I’ve been evading the police off and on for close to a year now.”

  The next thirty minutes were silent. Too silent. She kept sending him looks, terrified he wasn’t going to make it and a few times, she almost started to panic, because he wasn’t breathing. Did he have to breathe? But then his lids would move, he’d shift and her heart would start to beat again.

  When he spoke up, his voice was strong, cutting through the silence. “Pull over.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m sitting here buck-naked. Sooner or later somebody might notice.”

  A familiar blue sign reflected back at her as her headlights splashed across it. “There’s a rest stop in a mile. I’ll pull over there.”

  He was quiet. Didn’t speak at all as she pulled over or as he reached behind the seat and grabbed a bag, hauled it up and dressed. He managed to do it both gracefully, and silently–not easy considering he was sitting in the passenger seat of a car. Luxury car or not.

  “We ready?”

  “Not quite.” He grabbed her and hauled her into his lap, his eyes focused on her face. His fingers closed around her wrist, unwrapping it. Tossing the bloodied, ruined shirt aside, he lifted her wrist studied the gash. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered, lifting her wrist to his mouth. She hissed as he licked it and automatically tried to jerk away.

  “Be still.”

  “You’re licking a very sore open wound,” she said dryly.

  “Hmmm. It will help it heal, keep it from getting infected.” From under his lashes, he shot her a look. “Why did you do this?”

  She went still. “I...I don’t really know. But I had to. I couldn’t stand to think about you dying.”

  He brushed his fingers across her cheek. “You said you needed me. How can you need me? I’m a vampire. We’ve spent exactly eight days together. One week last year. And today. How can you need me?”

  She licked her lips, leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I don’t know...but probably for the same reason that I couldn’t hurt you. Probably for the same reason you told me to leave you there to die.” Looping her arms around his neck, she cuddled against him. “You’re okay, right? You’re not...” A sob escaped her lips and she buried her face against his shoulder.

  “Shhhhh.” He stroked a hand up her back. “I’ll be fine. Thanks to you.”

  She
wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t. Wasn’t. Wasn’t. And after about two minutes and dashing away her tears and sniffling, she almost believed it. Lifting her head, she self-consciously wiped the damp tear tracks from her face before looking at him.

  “So now what?” he asked.

  “I think maybe you should take me with you....wherever you’re going. After all, I’m not exactly safe to let out around you vampire types.”

  A faint smile curled his lips even as he shook his head. “You don’t want that, Sara.”

  “Why not?”

  “You come with me, I won’t ever let you go.” He sighed, laid a hand on her cheek. His flesh was still cool, too cool.

  Laying her hand over his, she whispered, “Promise?”

  His eyes glowed, for just a second, reflecting golden light back at her. “Sara, you’re asking for trouble.”

  “You’re trouble. Sexy. Broody… Not entirely truthful when we first met. Vampire. And I’m asking for you...so yeah, I am asking for trouble.” She pressed her lips to his, forgetting that he’d had his lips pressed to her bloodied wrist. By the time she remembered, she didn’t even care.

  “We don’t really even know each other,” he muttered against her lips.

  “So? We’ve got time, right?”

  A slow, reluctant smile curled his lips and then he laughed softly. “Yeah. We got time.”

  Hunt Me

  A Hunter’s Word Short Story

  By

  Shiloh Walker

  Copyright Shiloh Walker

  Cover Art by Croco Designs

  Editorial Work by d.y.m.k. productions

  & Sara Reinke

  To learn more about the Wicked Reads and The Wicked Writers, visit:

  www.TheWickedWriters.com

  * * * * *

  Chapter One

  “Hello, gorgeous.”

  The low, rich purr of her voice was enough to have Drew Quentin shifting in the miserable, busted chair. He also had to fight the urge to smile as he reminded himself he’d decided to ends things with Dakota Coulter.

  He wanted her, he was halfway in love with her…and she refused to so much as give him her damn phone number.

  He could have handled that.

  But the cop in him was a little bit disturbed by the fact that Dakota Coulter had a past that was just a little too mysterious. Oh, her background check held up—too well, actually. Something about her had his instincts quivering.

  She wouldn’t open up for him.

  “Drew?”

  He closed his eyes. “I’m here, Dakota.”

  “Having a rough night, sugar?”

  The compassion in her voice all but gutted him. Damn it. This would be so much easier if she didn’t care—so much easier if he wasn’t in love with her.

  “Yeah, you could say that.” He rubbed his temple. He shouldn’t have answered the damn phone. But shit, it wasn’t like he could avoid this forever. He looked up and saw Nicole staring at him. Nicole Halloway, the local DA with the pretty blue eyes, sweet smile and dynamite body.

  She was there, she was steady. She was the reason he needed to break things off with Dakota. He liked Nic. Cared for her—a lot. There was an attraction there, too, one that could maybe become more. But not if he was obsessed with a woman who wouldn’t ever hang around for longer than a night or two.

  “I guess you’re not up for meeting me after work, huh?” Dakota sighed. “That’s cool, sugar. I understand. I’ll look you up—”

  “No.” He continued to star at Nic. He had to get this done. “We can meet. I…I’ve been needing to talk to you anyway, Dakota.”

  Now Nic’s brows arched up over big blue eyes. So far their ‘dates’ hadn’t been much more than a cup of coffee, a quick lunch. She knew he’d been seeing another woman, knew he wasn’t going to get serious until he’d been able to break things off. It was time he did that.

  Even if it did feel a little like he was ripping out his own kidney with his teeth. Or even his heart.

  Sighing, Dakota ended the call.

  Something in Drew’s voice had her heart aching.

  “We need to talk, huh, lover? Yeah. I’ve heard that line before.” Then she tipped her head back, staring up at the nighttime sky. Granted, she hadn’t heard it much in recent years. Not since she’d slid into a crazy little world where vampires, werewolves and other things went bump in the night. Sometime back in the 70’s, she thought.

  Yeah. She smiled absently, some echo of fondness trying to lift the melancholy settling over her heart. But it wouldn’t budge. She’d been kind of happy about coming to Asheville. Now? Not so much.

  She was a Hunter without a territory or Master. Her random circuit had her rambling all over the east coast. She often ended up in this area, and she’d been just fine with that. Because this area held a lot of appeal for her, namely in the fine form of one Asheville city detective…Andrew Michael Quentin…Drew.

  Drew—the cop who was getting ready to dump her.

  She glanced down at her clothes, remembered she’d planned to change before she saw him. “Screw changing.”

  She was going shopping.

  If he was going to dump her, she was going to show him in vivid, glorious detail what he was missing.

  Maybe it would make her feel better.

  Although she wasn’t particularly counting on it.

  The splash of murderous red on her nails didn’t do much to lift her spirits, but Dakota was pleased with how she looked, at least. The dress might have been a bit overdone, but red looked good on her. It clung to her curves, stopped just a bit short of her knees. And she could still move.

  She’d passed on the really cute Jimmy Choos with the ankle straps, settling on a simpler pair of heels. She could run barefoot without falling. Even though falling wasn’t likely, running flat out in heels wasn’t as easy as people might make it seem in books or movies.

  On the job, Dakota was practical, and even if she was taking some time to get dumped, she was still working. The only time she wasn’t working was when she crashed in her cabin up in Maine or when she got pulled into Excelsior for one thing or another.

  The life of a Hunter.

  Sighing, she made one last study of her reflection, pulling the brush through her dark brown hair. It curled around her mostly naked shoulders, the ends coming down to drape around her breasts. She looked good. She was honest enough to admit that. She looked good…like a woman who wanted a man to know it, too.

  “Damn it.” She swallowed and turned away from her reflection, determined not to spend the next hour thinking about this. Next hour, minimum, because even though she wasn’t meeting Drew until midnight, she’d be circling around the city. Circling around, watching things. Making sure she wasn’t being watched. There were paranormal creatures aplenty here.

  Every damn time she came through, she had to settle trouble. None of it was bad. If it had been bad in the major category, a bigger bad-ass would be here.

  Dakota had yet to grow into full bad-ass potential.

  But she was good enough to play cop and if things got bad, call in the big guns. Part of playing cop meant being careful.

  The life of a Hunter.

  A damn lonely life.

  “So. You’re breaking things off.” Nic stared at him with a thoughtful frown. “Look, you know, you don’t have to do this. I…I can tell you’ve got feelings for her. And it’s not like we’re ready to move in together or anything. All we’ve got so far is a couple of casual dates and…”

  He caught her around the back of the neck and pulled her close. When this woman started babbling, as adorable as it was, this was the only way to stem the flow of words. She gasped against his mouth and then sighed, moving closer. Her lips parted for him and she slid her hands inside his coat.

  “Hmmm.” She hummed under her breath as he lifted his head. “What was that for?”

  “To make you be quiet a minute.” Pressing his brow to hers, he stroked his thumb across her damp lo
wer lip. “I know I don’t have to do this. But things with me and her aren’t ever going to change, and I don’t like where they are. I like where things are with us. We can’t change while she’s in the picture. Those casual dates won’t go any further until things change, right? So we change them.”

  I change them, he thought.

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “That shouldn’t sound so sweet. But it does.” Nic rested her head against his chest. “Call me when you wake up?”

  “Yeah.” He stroked his fingers through her hair, the silken blonde strands glinting in the harsh, fluorescent lighting. “You want me to follow you home?”

  “No. I’m good. I’ve got paperwork to finish up. I’ll have somebody walk me out.” She stroked a hand down his cheek. “You need to shave, baby.”

  Then she pecked him on the lips and turned around, her heels clicking on the floor. Just before she disappeared around the hall, her phone rang. He could hear her voice drifting down the hall. When she suddenly snapped, “Son of a bitch!” it made him grin.

  He was still shaking as his head as he turned to grab his stuff. But the grin had faded by the time he hit the door. He had thirty minutes.

  Thirty minutes to figure out how in the hell to tell Dakota Coulter good-bye.

  How did he tell this woman he loved that he was leaving her because she wouldn’t hang around for longer than a day? Hell, he hadn’t even told her loved her.

  If she asked why he was ending it, did he tell her he didn’t entirely trust her? And that he’d rather have the sweeter, quieter woman who was there…even if he didn’t want her quite as much as he wanted Dakota?

  Rage vibrated inside her. She hid in the darkness, clinging to the shadows she’d just learned to call, because she had to get control. Yeah. Dakota was being dumped. For another woman. She could smell the other woman, even above the smoke, the alcohol, the food…and that lovely, male scent that was uniquely Drew’s.