Ghosts and Hunter Boys (Misfit Academy Book 2)

by A. Vers

  “Do you trust me?” I asked, tracking my gaze over the smooth plains of her face.

  Her lilac eyes widened. “Of course.”

  “Then calm down and enjoy the movie.”

  She smiled shyly and studiously faced the screen as the projector began to flicker over it in the start of the previews.

  We missed the main feature and got stuck watching the 1982 version of Return of the Swamp Thing. But Morgan didn’t seem to mind, and I spent more time watching her than the screen.

  With every cheesy jump scare, she unwittingly moved closer and closer to me until the side of her back was pressed into my chest. Heart speeding, I slid my hand around her waist, drawing her closer.

  She went still.

  My hand lifted and I opened my mouth to apologize. Her palm pressed mine back to her flat stomach, interlocking our fingers. My pulse beat harder. At this rate, I was going to be too dizzy to protect her.

  Too high on having her even this close.

  I pressed my chin to her shoulder and stared at the screen. “This was never one of my favorites,” I murmured.

  Her laughter was soft as she reclined more naturally against me. “I cannot fathom why.”

  The teasing lilt to her voice made my eyes flutter. Yeah, I was so screwed where she was concerned. “Green has never really been my favorite color since I saw this as a kid.” She laughed again. “I also won’t go near a marsh. Ever.”

  Her head turned.

  From so close, I stared, transfixed by the pretty lilac swirl of her eyes. It wasn’t vampire mind tricks. It was my attraction to her. My desire for her.

  “Ever?” she asked. Her breath was warm on my cheek and faintly scented with the strawberry jam of the sandwiches we had eaten before coming here. Sweet. She licked her lips as my attention dropped to them.

  “Not a chance,” I told her.

  I could just make out the distant crackle of the speakers for the movie, and the intercom for the concession stand. But there was only Morgan in the shadows of the trees.

  “Morgan?”

  Her eyes sparked and she turned a bit more to face me. “Yes?”

  “Can I ...” I trailed off.

  God. It seemed stupid to ask, but I wanted to be sure. To know without a doubt that she wanted this as much as I did.

  “Can I kiss you again?” I blurted, heat rising into my face.

  Her lips popped open on a soft o. Then she was kneeling beside me and her hands were cupping my face. Her head dropped. I rose enough to meet her as her lips grazed mine in the softest, most erotic glide I had ever felt.

  My gut flipped and squirmed.

  I made a sound and cinched my arm around her waist, pulling her until she climbed in my lap, her long, supple legs straddling my hips. I drove my hands into her hair, fisting and kneading at the silken tendrils as I swiped my tongue over the plump bottom swell of her mouth.

  Her moan sent heat into my stomach.

  I parted her lips and tangled my tongue with hers, tasting and drawing back. Nipping at her lips and pressing harder as she did the same. My hand caressed her back, the soft curve there, the gentle sway. I wanted to touch her skin. Needed to. My hand found the hem of her shirt and I pulled it up.

  Some of my desire faded.

  Wait.

  “Morgan.” She nuzzled my face, kissing me again. The world spun as I pulled back, panting for every breath of air to cool what I was feeling. “Morgan, wait.”

  She rocked back in my lap. “Ryder?” Her voice was that sultry rasp that I liked so much.

  Dammit.

  I palmed her soft cheek. “I don’t want to force you, okay? Or to go too fast.”

  Her eyes flashed with frustration. “And you’re not.” I stared. Some of her obvious annoyance faded and she smiled. “You told me to tell you when you got tunnel vision.” She grabbed my hands and planted them firmly on her waist. My thumbs scrubbed back and forth without my permission as I swallowed hard. “You have it now.”

  “I want you, Mor. But I don’t want to pressure you. Please. Slow down and think about this. Do you want to do this here? Now?”

  She indeed stilled. Her head turned, taking in the distant cars, the flickering lights. The people. “Well ... No. I suppose not.”

  Though I had been the one to stop first, I wouldn’t deny the small bang of discontent.

  “Then let’s put the brakes on this.” For more than one reason. “For now?”

  Morgan climbed gingerly from my lap, her lips darker and her hair tousled from my hands. “Okay.”

  I hurriedly grabbed her fingers and kissed her knuckles. Some of the tension drained from her shoulders. “I want you, Morgan. Badly.” She flushed. “But it doesn’t have to happen all at one time. I asked you to a movie. We can worry about the rest later.”

  “You are right,” she said. “We are not prepared for anything here. It is too open.” Her teeth dug into her lip again. “Ryder ... I have never ...” Her flush deepened. “But I want to. With you.”

  My heart slammed. Then slammed again.

  Shit.

  I eased over the blanket until I could wrap my arms around her. I had never been anyone’s first. And Morgan would not be mine.

  But I was damned if I was going to let her first time be in an abandoned house riddled in mold with a ghost watching.

  After the movie, we walked back through town. I sent Morgan for a pizza to change up from the sandwiches, while I ducked into a drugstore for protection.

  I hadn’t lied to Morgan. I wasn’t going to rush things with her. But I didn’t want to postpone her future or mine by being irresponsible. She deserved more than that.

  We took the pizza to Forest River Park, sat at a picnic table, and devoured several slices apiece. It was comfortable being with her like this. Just the two of us.

  The Horn had made no appearance since the church and I was finally able to breathe.

  “I think South is a good idea,” she told me as she wiped her long fingers off on one brown napkin. “No one would think to look for us there.”

  I paused, slice of pizza in hand. “It would be fine for a while, Morgan. But how long do you plan on running?”

  Her expression grew cold. “As long as I have to.”

  “Morgan. You can’t stay away forever. You’re going to transition eventually. And then what?”

  She held up a hand. “I won’t go back to my family’s colony. I won’t. Either I will join another colony far away, or I will register as a rogue.”

  My lips tightened as I wisely didn’t speak.

  Some supes needed others of their kind for simple reasons, like companionship. Or procreation. But vampires thrived in colonies. They had access to ample blood, via donors or blood banks, and many were productive members of society.

  I got that she was upset, but to go rogue?

  I set my slice down and said, “I get—”

  “Well, you two are out late.”

  The voice left the hair on the back of my neck standing on end.

  I turned my head.

  The male hunter from the church was nearby, his arms crossed as he leaned against a thick maple. He tracked his gaze from Morgan to myself, then to the food between us. A sure sign that Morgan was still mostly human.

  I swore in a torrent under my breath.

  “I was unaware Salem had a curfew,” I said louder.

  His gaze sharpened. “The city doesn’t. But your parents should.”

  “My Dad is lenient,” I retorted. Morgan stayed perfectly still, her hands mottled around the napkin in her lap. I laid my hand on her thigh. “But her parents aren’t. Thanks for the reminder of the time.” I climbed carefully over the bench and Morgan followed suit.

  The guy took in the picnic table between us and how I pushed Morgan a step behind me. “Of course,” he said. “Always happy to help.”

  Morgan wound her fingers into the back of my shirt. Grabbing the box off the table, I started walking backward and she kept pace, a
lmost pulling me where the guy couldn’t see.

  We hit the sidewalk and I finally turned around, but every sense was on high alert and I knew he was watching. Looking to see which way we went.

  Dammit.

  “We are going to have to lose him,” I said under my breath, knowing she could hear.

  “How? I can hear his heartbeat still. He is following us.”

  I didn’t turn around. Walking past a trash can, I tossed the remains of our dinner into the bin. I would need my hands free if this asshole pressed his luck. But I also wasn’t crazy enough to believe he was alone out here. Hunters normally worked in twos or threes. Groups when you could manage.

  As we neared the corner, I tugged a little harder on Morgan’s hand. “Get ready to run,” I told her.

  She gripped my fingers tighter in response. We hit the edge of the block and I broke into a dead sprint, Morgan easy on my heels.

  We raced over the cobbled walk, but it wasn’t long until the steady footfall of numerous pairs of boots sounded behind us.

  “Ryder,” Morgan panted, her tone quivering with real fear.

  I could only urge her faster.

  Sweat trickled down my spine as I scanned the city around us. Sanctuary?

  Where could we go?

  No one would invite us into their homes. Not in this day and time.

  Churches were out. The Horn of God was created by the very institution hundreds of years before the Crusades. But we couldn’t run forever.

  A low iron fence came into view at the end of the street.

  A graveyard.

  It was the only option.

  I hauled Morgan to the archway and we barreled inside. I didn’t bother to bar the path in, merely drug her into the shadows. We took pathway after pathway, zigging and zagging around grave markers, mausoleums, and half crumbling crypts. My pulse roared and I knew it was deafening to Morgan. It had to be.

  But she did not speak, saving her breath as we neared a dead end at the rear of the small cemetery.

  I drew to a stop, the sound of my own sawing breath drowning out everything but the pounding in my ears. “Shit,” I hissed through my teeth.

  “They are coming, Ryder,” she told me, her hands squeezing my arm.

  I scanned the brick wall, taking in the ivy and the thin branches of a nearby crape myrtle.

  There was no way to get both of us over. Not without them seeing. And they would just follow us.

  I turned frantically in place.

  The dark opening of a mausoleum sat in the gloom beside us. Its door was hanging nearly off the rusted hinges.

  I tugged Morgan into the space. A crypt sat above the floor, the sides holding cement vases meant for loved ones to leave flowers.

  A series of shelves rimmed the top of the small space, narrow windows sat broken at the top. I looked at Morgan. Her lips quirked into a smile.

  We ran to the crypt, climbed on top, and jumped for the beams. She was agile, hauling herself up beside me without my assistance. And I swear I fell in love as she dove for the window without my prompting.

  It took maneuvering for me to get my shoulders through after her, but we climbed onto the mausoleum roof and laid down flat as footfalls sounded on the path below.

  “I swear they came this way,” said a soft, feminine voice.

  “I know. I saw them, too,” the hunter from the church said.

  “Did they go over the wall?” Came another male voice, this one deeper and holding a southern drawl.

  “What’s on the other side?” I did not miss the annoyance in the hunter from the church’s voice.

  “It dead ends into a neighborhood,” said the woman. “I’ll radio the others and head over.”

  “Good. We’ll check the crypt.”

  Morgan’s hand found mine and we both stilled as the footsteps neared the front of the mausoleum.

  We waited, neither of us daring to breathe as they scoured the space. And only when I heard the broken door slam again did I let out the breath I was holding.

  “Kid is good.” The voice belonged to the second male.

  “He’s better than good,” came the hunter’s disgusted reply. “Come on. Let’s see if the others had any luck.”

  Their steps faded again and I sagged onto the rooftop.

  Morgan turned her head to me and smirked. “They are right,” she still whispered. “You are better than good.”

  I felt a flush travel from my toes and my face got hot. Trying to hide how much her compliment affected me, I rolled onto my side and kissed her hard. Her spine arched, pressing us together, and I had to pull back or take her on an old crypt roof.

  “I told you I would keep you safe,” I said against her full mouth. “But the fun isn’t over yet. We still have to get out of town without being seen again.”

  Her nod was stilted so close. “You lead, and I will follow.”

  I kissed her once more and rose into a crouch before moving to the side of the crypt. Checking to make sure the way was indeed clear, I dropped down in the shadows beside the stone wall and caught Morgan as she alighted beside me.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  Her smile was bright. “As ever.”

  Hand in hand, we broke from the cover of the dark and raced for the far side of the cemetery.

  Chapter 11

  Morgan

  My feet ached and the heaviness of the pizza sat on my stomach hard. Ryder seemed undaunted as he pulled me through the back streets of Salem. We passed the inlet for the Jeep twice and finally doubled back when he assured me we were not being followed. And since I could not hear any heartbeats but our own, I didn’t argue.

  We climbed into the vehicle and drove for another hour. Every meaty beat of his pulse echoed mine. Or perhaps my pulse was beating in time to his.

  At the edge of town, Ryder scoured the car from front to back before declaring it clear. “We can head back now,” he murmured, his hazel eyes darkened in the dimness.

  I slumped in my seat in relief. All the running we did, coupled with little true sleep the night before, made my eyelids droop.

  Tired. I was so tired.

  So much had happened in the last day alone that the world seemed upside down. But not in a bad way. It was almost as though my previous view of the world was wrong and this way was right.

  As Ryder drove us back to the abandoned farmstead, I stared out the window through heavy lids, wondering what tomorrow would bring.

  “Hey,” Ryder’s voice was soft and I startled awake. He was leaning inside the Jeep on my side of the vehicle, his lips curving in a slow smile. “You want me to carry you in?”

  Heat washed through me. “No. I will walk.”

  Disappointment flashed through his gaze before he stepped back. I wanted to reach for him, to assure him that my reasons were my own and had nothing to do with him.

  But as reality pressed back the dregs of my small sleep, the hunger returned. I did not trust myself with him. Did not trust myself not to fall on the smooth, tan skin of his neck. To beg to taste what I had sampled the night before.

  It was over two weeks since my last real feeding. And every day I expended more energy. Human food could not replenish what I was losing. Soon, I would have to feed, in truth, or risk fading.

  Climbing from the car, I shut the door and walked to the porch. Ryder followed.

  Once inside, I found my sleeping clothes where I had left them, their silken fabric cool under my fingers. Picking them up, I went back out to the porch and used some of the collected lukewarm rain water to rinse my skin before redressing.

  The night was peaceful, no sign of storms or hunters. Just the gentle sway of the trees and the cooler night air. I stayed on the porch for a long time, letting the lull of the quiet temper my thirst until I was sure I could abstain from hurting Ryder.

  He was already lying down when I returned, one arm behind his head and the other splayed over his bare midsection. It was a casual pose. With his eyes closed, I could almo
st believe him to be asleep. But the rapid beat of his pulse belied what my eyes saw.

  I could still feel his touch from the drive-in. The easy way he held me in the curve of his human heat. How strong he had seemed. How fierce.

  I shivered and twisted my clothes in my hands.

  “Come to bed, Morgan. I know you’re tired.” His voice was that low whispering timbre that spread through my limbs like velvet.

  I wanted to climb over his lap as I had earlier.

  Would he stop me this time?

  Should I want him to stop me?

  I dropped my clothes onto the floor, telling myself I would straighten them in the morning. Sitting down on the bouncy mattress, I tried to gingerly climb into place beside him.

  “I’m not going to go flying,” he said, amusement coloring his voice. I peered over to find his head turned and him watching me with that same bright light in his gaze. “I weigh more than you, remember?”

  My cheeks burned. “Maybe I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  His good humor faded. “You could never ‘disturb’ me, Morgan. But it’s late, and you already fell asleep in the Jeep. Lay down. I don’t want you getting sick or anything because you’re not resting like you need to.”

  I tried not to be swayed by his worry, but there was very little about Ryder that did not sway me. I respected his unwavering resilience, his ferocity, his humanity. He possessed a keen, swift wit and the gumption to use it. To work through problems and scenarios that would leave me stranded or captured merely for what I am.

  Ryder was so much stronger than his father gave him credit for.

  Laying down, I pillowed my head and shifted a bit. My hands clenched into fists at my sides. He snorted.

  “Yeah, that looks comfortable,” he said, lifting up to gaze down at me.

  I glowered. “Then how would you like me to lay down?”

  “On me, preferably.” My temper turned to a different kind of heat and I gasped. His grin was plain wicked in the dark. “But again, I know you’re tired. Come here.” He laid back and lifted one arm.