Dayhunter

by Jocelynn Drake

  “David Perry,” Tristan suddenly said, a faintly far-off quality to his voice. His mind was half with me, half with the human. “Thirty-six. Ex-marine. From Birmingham, Alabama. He’s—” His words were broken off with a harsh hiss and his eyes glowed pale blue when he looked over at me. “He’s a member of the Daylight Coalition.”

  “Tristan!” I barked, lurching to my feet as the nightwalker started to reach for the unconscious man. He halted, but still growled in the back of his throat, and I couldn’t blame him. I would have been happy to rip the human’s throat out at that second too.

  The Daylight Coalition was a group of humans within the United States who knew of the existence of nightwalkers and sought our total extermination. Humanity believed them to be a cult of insane fanatics and didn’t take them seriously. Of course, that didn’t erase the fact that members of the Coalition had staked a number of nightwalkers during the daylight hours. Regardless of whether you resided in the United States, all nightwalkers knew of the Coalition. We all feared they were the future we faced if we came “out of the coffin,” so to speak.

  But for now my concern was not the little zealot at my feet, but the witch and lycan he traveled with. All our information said that the Daylight Coalition was exclusively human, wisely avoided by the other races. In fact it was against our law to work with the Coalition. One turncoat could result in all out war. This was not a good development when we already had a war brewing with the naturi.

  “Focus,” I snapped, standing beside Tristan. “Who was the woman?”

  Tristan stared down at the man, radiating a lethal mix of anger and fear. “Caroline…Caroline Buckberry, but he wondered if it was her real name…” The anger started to ebb as his focus tightened on the man’s thoughts, causing his eyes to drift closed. “He didn’t know her. He was sent by the Houston branch to fetch the woman and the man. Harold Finchley. That’s all.” Tristan opened his eyes again and looked up at me. “He was told to go to London and bring them back to Houston. I don’t think he even knew what they were.”

  “He didn’t have to know,” I murmured. “Perry is just a foot soldier. He follows the orders he’s given.”

  “Do you think they were to be plants by the witches and lycans?” Tristan inquired. I didn’t miss the hopeful note in his voice.

  “No,” I replied with a slight shake of my head. “The witches and warlocks have no business with the Coalition. Either one of them could have said something to explain their association with the human. But instead they attacked because they know the law.”

  “But—”

  “Forget what you saw,” I said, cutting off his next comment. “We have bigger problems.”

  “The naturi.” His hands curled into fists and the muscles in his jaw tightened.

  Yes, the naturi were coming and they would destroy us all, human and nightwalker, if given half a chance. In comparison, the Daylight Coalition was nothing; a fly on a rhino’s ass.

  Standing, I propped my right shoulder against the alley wall and let my eyes drift shut for a moment. I hardly recognized my world anymore. A few nights ago I had been standing in my own domain back in my beloved Savannah, the warm summer air filled with the scent of honeysuckle and lilacs. It had been five hundred years since that night on Machu Picchu. The naturi were a distant memory, a dark nightmare from my past that could no longer touch me. The Daylight Coalition was just a fringe group with no contact with the others. But now both were threatening. My world was crumbling at an alarming rate and it all started with the hunter, Danaus. But there was no need to kill the messenger…yet.

  Thoughts of him brought a faint smile to my lips as I pushed off the wall and opened my eyes. Tristan was watching me intently, waiting. He needed me alive to fulfill my promise to him. There was still time.

  Briefly, I looked around the alley until I located the gun the human had used. There was no hesitation. There was no gray area in this law. Standing close, I fired a single bullet into the head of the lycanthrope. He had betrayed not only his own kind, but all the other races. He endangered our secret. And now he paid the cost with his life.

  But his death didn’t dissolve the cold knot in my stomach. The Daylight Coalition’s main target had always been nightwalkers, but we were all confident they would attack any nonhumans eventually. Had Harold Finchley been a wolf acting alone, or was he part of a larger movement against nightwalkers?

  “Wipe the memories of both men,” I said, motioning toward the drug dealer Tristan had fed from only minutes ago. Walking over to the Coalition member, I wiped the gun off on his shirt and dropped it by his body. “Then return to my hotel room.” Danaus would already be waiting there for us. From the hotel, we would head to the airport and grab my jet to Venice. If we were to have any hope of stopping the naturi and the coming war, we would need to first go to Venice and meet with the nightwalker Coven. They would know the best way to deal with the growing threat. They were the only ones who could summon an army.

  “Where are you going?” Tristan asked.

  A broad smile lifted my lips, revealing a pair of long white fangs. “To hunt.”

  TWO

  I ran several blocks, merging with the shadows until I was nearly a mile from Tristan. A horrible trembling had started in my limbs and began to vibrate through my entire body. I throbbed and ached with a mixture of fresh wounds sustained during the past few hours and old wounds not completely healed from the night before. The world was an angry swirl of pain and noise and glaring lights. Pushing it all aside, my focus narrowed to a single pinpoint of finding prey.

  Hunting had been a solitary act almost from the moment I was reborn. For me, it was a personal moment. Most nights I was particular about my prey, choosing him or her based on history or personal philosophy. I would listen to my prey’s thoughts until something finally enticed me to move. And then there were nights like tonight, where I grabbed the first poor fool to cross my path.

  She was nineteen, and for a second she thought I was a rapist. Grabbing a handful of her dark brown hair, I jerked her into the deep shadows of a doorway. She pushed against me, tears gathering in her wide hazel eyes. I sunk my fangs into her throat as a scream rose to her lips. Out of some latent kindness, I pushed her thoughts down into a deep sleep as I drank. Swallowing her blood, I let its warmth and life fill me, and I drank until my memory of the night grew blurry and distant. The monster in my chest, hiding behind the remnants of my soul, was briefly appeased by the offering.

  Reluctantly, I released her as her heart slowed to a lethargic beat. Holding her in my arms, I stared down at her smooth young face. I didn’t know her. She could have been a college student or a young mother on her way home. I hadn’t taken the time to sift around in her thoughts, learn her hopes or her fears. I didn’t know her dreams for the future and I felt cheated. Hunting and feeding were more than a power rush. It was my last contact with humanity, the last thing that kept me bound to a race I had once been a part of. While I felt rejuvenated, a more subtle ache had started in my chest. A type of weariness that might have worried me if I allowed myself to dwell on it, but there simply wasn’t time.

  I gently sat her against the doorjamb and healed the wound on her neck. It was a gift of evolution, I think. We could heal the puncture wound caused by our fangs so we could remain hidden. Unfortunately, I couldn’t heal knife or bullet wounds, forcing me to watch more than one injured human companion die in my arms.

  Before leaving, I wiped her memory clean. It was better that my kind not be remembered just yet. But it was more than a need for our own protection. She didn’t need to recall the momentary horror of being held in my arms.

  On my way back to the hotel I fed twice more, using the same care as with the young woman. While I never bother to learn their names, they would never remember that they had been stopped. I walked down the winding London streets, angling back toward the river as I slipped through the crowd of people. Those few remaining on the lamplit streets were oblivious to my
presence. My bloodstained appearance would have caused a panic.

  The night air was thick with moisture, as if the skies were preparing to open up in a late night summer shower. A slim mist hovered just above the ground and wound its way around the occasional tree. Thin and wispy, it seemed little more than a ghost, or maybe the forgotten soul of this old town.

  Wandering the streets, I let the warm summer air dance around me as I thought of my home in Savannah and walking along River Street. After a night of entertainment at the bars in the area, I would stroll through one park after another that dotted the neat little city, heading back toward Forsyth Park. I would smile at the scantily clad young people as they hurried to and from the row of bars, restaurants, and nightclubs, oblivious to me even if I wasn’t using an enchantment. Their laughter and voices lowered to rough, giggly whispers skipped about me like leaves caught up in a breeze, bringing a twinkle of amusement to my eyes.

  At Forsyth Park, I would pause at the enormous fountain bathed in yellow lights. Seated on the edge, I’d close my eyes and listen to the steady hum of traffic as it swirled around me. The leaves would rattle and the Spanish moss sway in the breeze, whispering to me old tales of love and death and loneliness. From there I could feel the pulse of the people in my city.

  But trudging along the streets of London, covered in dried naturi blood, I couldn’t hear my city or the soft murmur of laughter from her people. For the first time in a very long time, I was homesick. I missed my city’s streets, dotted with old oak trees and tidy little parks. I missed her fountains and the river that caressed her banks. I would have liked to see her one last time; to stroll along the historic district and gaze up at row after row of vintage homes restored to their pre–Civil War beauty. To enjoy just one last dance at the Docks, where the music pounded in loud, angry beats and the air was thick with the scent of sweat and blood.

  Just days ago I had been queen of my little mountain, or as we preferred to say: Keeper of my domain. Then Danaus waltzed in and destroyed my world. The vampire hunter brought news that the naturi were threatening to escape their bindings and enter our world for the first time in centuries. While Danaus obviously held no love for nightwalkers, he at least understood that the naturi were worse.

  Guardians of the earth for centuries, the naturi had finally decided that the only way to truly protect the earth was to destroy all of mankind. So a war was waged over countless years, resulting in the deaths of hundreds of naturi, humans, and nightwalkers. We finally succeeded in locking most of the naturi in another world, separate from earth but forever linked. But it was temporary. With naturi on both sides of the seal working to open the doorway, we knew it would be a constant struggle to keep them contained. A triad of nightwalkers kept the seal protected, but all went strangely quiet for roughly five centuries, and despite our long memories, we forgot to pass along information to the fledglings we created.

  The end result was a series of deaths that should have never occurred. After nights of struggling to reform the nightwalker triad that sealed the naturi host away, I not only failed to protect Thorne, who was to join the triad, but also lost my precious bodyguard. Michael, my guardian angel with golden locks. Adding to my worries, I discovered that I was to be the weapon wielded by the triad, which now included a vampire hunter.

  With a sigh, I looked up and found myself standing in front of the Savoy. It was time to return to the task of saving the world. I was tempted to say the hell with it all, but I would be losing my beloved city as well. And if I didn’t protect it, who would?

  Smiling grimly, I slipped inside the hotel and rode the elevator up to my room, where Tristan and Danaus were patiently waiting for me. Well, one more patiently than the other.

  When I opened the door, Tristan was lounging on the sofa, hands behind his head, ankles crossed. His cheeks were flushed and he radiated blissful satisfaction. He had fed again after I left him and was obviously feeling quite pleased. It also probably helped that he’d showered and was clean of all the blood that once covered him. He was still wearing his bloodstained clothes, but I knew he couldn’t care less. There was something about having a full stomach that made a nightwalker much more tolerant and amiable. It also didn’t hurt that Sadira, our controlling maker, was already in Venice, giving him an extended break from her.

  The vampire hunter, on the other hand, was standing at the window, arms folded across his chest. He was still in his torn, bloodstained clothes, but like Tristan, the blood had been washed from his skin. His dirty hair was pulled back from his face, revealing high, strong cheekbones and vibrant eyes of deep cerulean blue. His chin and jaw were covered in a shadow of dark stubble, giving him an even grimmer appearance than usual. I imagine he wasn’t used to patiently waiting around for anyone, much less a nightwalker.

  Shaking my head at him, I wordlessly darted through the suite to the bathroom. I quickly stripped out of my clothes and turned on the hot water. I had just stepped under the spray when I heard the bathroom door open.

  “We have to leave,” Danaus said irritably.

  “I’m not traveling like this,” I shouted over the noise of the falling water. “Five minutes.”

  Danaus grunted, leaving me to assume that he accepted my decision and was going to wait “patiently” in the other room. The hunter was a puzzle I was positively itching to work on, particularly with his informative, monosyllabic replies guiding me. Yet, for all his irritation and threats, I was becoming accustomed to his presence.

  “Wait!” I called out when I heard him turn the door handle to leave. With my left hand, I grabbed a handful of the mauve shower curtain and pulled it back just enough to poke my head out. I cracked one eye as water ran down my face. Danaus stood half turned toward me, with the bathroom door partially open so he could beat a quick retreat if he needed to.

  “What do you know about the Daylight Coalition?” I asked, running my right hand over my face to get some of the water out of my eyes.

  Danaus released the door handle and gave the door a little push shut. Folding his arms across his broad chest, he leaned his hip against the white marble sink. “Just humans hunting vampires. Sounds like a good cause to me.” His hard face was expressionless but his sharp eyes were intent upon my face.

  Throwing one last scowl at him, I jerked the shower curtain closed and moved back under the water. As I grabbed the washcloth to resume scrubbing, Danaus laughed. Actually, the hunter didn’t make a sound, but I could feel him laughing on the inside. He was teasing me, trying to get under my skin.

  Earlier in the evening he had touched my hand and sent his powers through me. Our connection was still strong when we were in close proximity. We had killed the naturi and survived, but we were still working out all of the repercussions. I couldn’t quite make out his thoughts, but his emotions flowed easily to me. And I had a feeling he could just as easily pick out my emotions.

  “Bastard,” I grumbled, scrubbing my right forearm. I did not doubt that he heard me over the water. I didn’t know what Danaus was, but he wasn’t human. At least, not all of him. He felt human, but his hearing appeared to be as keen as any nightwalker’s. He had the speed and agility of a lycanthrope, but not their strength. He couldn’t cast spells like a warlock, but had a dark ability that allowed him to boil a creature’s blood within its skin. At the very least, this combination had taught me to be wary of him.

  “They’re fanatics,” Danaus said after a moment. His voice sounded tired, worn down to a smooth murmur. “They’ve killed as many humans as they have actual vampires. Why?”

  “Tristan and I encountered a trio tonight,” I said. I soaped up the washcloth again and ran it over my stomach, relieved to find the hideous gash I received that night was completely healed. “No, that’s wrong. We encountered a member of the Coalition, a lycan, and a witch.”

  “Traveling together?”

  “Yes. The man had been sent to fetch the witch and lycan.”

  “Did you kill them?”

>   “Danaus!” I shouted, my fist tightening around the wet washcloth.

  “Did you?”

  Throwing down the washcloth, I turned and pulled back the shower curtain again so I could look at him. “Does it matter that they attacked us first and they were trying to kill us?” I snapped.

  “No.” While his face and voice were calm when he replied, I felt the flutter of something else in his chest. A flash of anger and frustration. Maybe a bit of fear. But he had his emotions back under tight wrap before I could clearly identify any of the swirling maelstroms within his mind.

  “The human is still alive,” I said between clenched teeth, jerking the curtain back into place, the metal rings holding up the divider letting out a little squeal. “I broke the man’s hand and knocked him out. The witch disappeared after trying to flambé Tristan and me.”

  “And the werewolf?”

  “The lycan is dead,” I bit out. Werewolves can heal from a lot of things, but a bullet in the head while you’re low on blood isn’t something you come back from. “He broke our law. If I hadn’t, he might have told the Coalition about us all.” I said the words and believed the rationale, but something knotted in my stomach for a second time. It was my complete lack of remorse. The fact that I hadn’t even hesitated in my decision to kill him. Knox, my assistant in Savannah, once called me a mindless killing machine. The description had been kind.

  I stood under the hot water, trying to wash away the memory of the encounter and Danaus’s words. Our occasional teasing and joking meant nothing to him. My respect for his skill and his sense of honor were worthless. In the end he wanted all of my kind dead. He wanted me dead because he saw me only as a killer

  “Damn it, you’re missing the point,” I said into the water.

  “No, I’m not.” His words were softer than they had been. “A witch and a lycan were traveling with a member of the Daylight Coalition. I’ll call Ryan and see if he knows anything. Do you know the name of the witch?”