Hunted By The Others

by Jess Haines

  Most of the rest of them sent me flowers. My hospital room looked and smelled like a goddamn florist shop. Even Janine stopped by at one point with a “Get Well Soon” card and a mumbled thanks and apology. I’m happy to report that she’s warmed up to me quite a bit since I saved her sister’s life.

  Royce, thankfully, never showed up at the hospital. He did send a bouquet of white roses with a card bearing a picture of a sunrise or sunset on the front. I recognized his, or perhaps a secretary’s, neat penmanship from the note he’d left me a lifetime or two ago when I first met him at his office.

  Ms. Waynest:

  My humblest apologies for these inconveniences you have endured.

  Wishing you a speedy recovery.

  —Alec

  Inconveniences. Right.

  When the doctors finally got around to answering all my questions, I almost wished they hadn’t. Apparently I’d needed emergency surgery to fix my rib cage, pull bits of shattered bone out of one of my lungs, and some other nasty stuff that should have, but somehow miraculously didn’t, kill me. Arnold told me it was a mix of the belt and his interference, via Bob, that had kept me alive. I’m thinking it was mostly the belt.

  A mysterious benefactor anonymously paid the rest of my hospital bills. I haven’t been able to figure out whether it was The Circle or Royce. Either way, it doesn’t bear thinking about. If it was The Circle, it means they still want something from me. If it was Royce—that’s the part that really doesn’t bear thinking about.

  A couple of days after I woke up, the police came to my hospital bed and took my statement about Veronica and Allison’s deaths and the mess they found above Royce’s restaurant. Turns out that sometime between Sunday and Monday, Mr. and Mrs. Borowsky had also been found murdered in their own home. No, I didn’t know anything about that. Yes, the circumstances—bodies found in a circle burned into the floor and suffering a mix of vampire and Were bites—sounded like David and Anastasia’s handiwork.

  The police had taken statements from Royce, Arnold, Chaz, Sara, and a whole shitload of Weres at the time of the incident. Apparently, during the scuffle, a diner in the restaurant had called the cops when a stray bullet shattered his soup bowl and embedded itself in the table. Never mind the screaming or howling coming from above everyone’s heads.

  That’s what saved my life, because an ambulance came with the cops to treat some guy who had a heart attack from the excitement of running for his life out of the fine establishment with the rest of the diners.

  The police never found out which Were worked with Anastasia to kill Veronica Wright or Allison Darling. The bodies of David Borowsky and Anastasia Alderov? Never found. Presumed dead. Heh. So no charges were filed, probably because the cops couldn’t figure out who the hell to arrest, and it was hard to keep a whole pack of werewolves, particularly during the full moon, enclosed in a jail cell. Plus, I imagine it must have been awkward taking the statements of a few dozen naked people who were bone tired from fighting for their lives, staying up all night, and going from furry to human in the course of a few hours.

  So after a month and a half of going stir-crazy between physical therapy sessions and daytime soap operas, Chaz picked me up at the hospital and took me home. We swung by a grocery store so I could restock my fridge. My parents promised to drop my car off in a day or two. Everything was going back to normal.

  Chaz helped me take everything upstairs, including the belt, holster, and body armor. Normally the hospital personnel just cut the clothes off you when they’re trying to reach your vitals to save your life, but in this case they were too damned hard to cut. So I still had most of my ass-kicking outfit. Alas, the trench coat did not make it. They also sliced through, rather than take off, the gun holsters. The charm necklace never came off and was tucked safely beneath my T-shirt.

  By the time everything was put away, it was almost eight and I was a bit sore and exhausted, but pleasantly so. I kicked Chaz out with the promise that he could come by the next night, and we’d watch some movies. For now, I just wanted to get some rest.

  I puttered around a little, refamiliarizing myself with my home. All my plants were still alive. I had a ton of e-mail, mostly get well wishes, a few inquiries from journalists and the usual spam. The place was just as I’d left it; even the dirty clothes I’d forgotten to toss in the hamper were still lying on the bathroom tile. Damien’s gift was still sitting in the back of my hall closet, untouched. Apparently nobody had busted in while I was gone. Everything was as it should be.

  Except for the note I found on the bedside table. The neat block letters read:

  DEAR HUNTER,

  YOU’RE ONE OF US NOW. WHEN YOU’RE READY TO JOIN THE CREW, YOU KNOW WHERE TO FIND ME.

  JACK

  I crumpled the note and threw it in the trash before I slid into bed, gingerly touching the new scars on my stomach. They didn’t hurt anymore but I’d never be able to wear a bikini again. Not really wanting to look at the scars and too tired to deal with the rest, I kicked off my sneakers, left my jeans and T-shirt on, and lay staring at the amber bars of light from the streetlamps reflecting through my blinds.

  The White Hats could find someone else to play their games. I was done dealing with supernaturals. Except for Chaz, of course. And Arnold. And the Moonwalker tribe. Oh, hell, you know what I mean.

  Chapter 48

  Just as I was drifting off to sleep, there was a knock at my door. If it was Jack or some other White Hat, someone was really going to get hurt.

  With a pained groan I got up, muttering darkly about the injustice of it all as I stumbled toward the door. Somebody knocked again before I was halfway there.

  “For Chrissakes, I’m coming! Hold on.” The knocking stopped.

  Through the peephole I saw a man standing with his back to the door. I couldn’t really make him out and was too tired to play games. I left the chain guard locked and pulled the door open a crack.

  “What do you want?” I didn’t quite mean for my voice to come out in such an unfriendly growl, but there it was.

  Royce turned to face me, an amused smile curving his lips. He stood with one hand in the pocket of a well-cut black suit, which showed off his wide shoulders and flat, lean waist. The other hand held a bundle. I nearly backed up a nervous step but caught myself.

  “I came to see if you were well. I didn’t wake you, did I?” he said.

  Bastard. “No. I’m okay. If that’s all, thanks for stopping by.” I started to shut the door, but he put his hand out, catching it before it could close. A herd of elephants couldn’t have pushed it shut against that casual lean.

  “Please. May we speak for a moment?”

  I thought about it. Mostly I wanted to tell him to go to hell, but in a way I kind of owed him. Worse, he owed me for pulling his ass out of the fire and saving him from David and Anastasia’s tender mercies. Also, he did say please. I wasn’t that rude. After a purposely noticeable hesitation, I undid the chain and pulled the door open, stepping aside and folding my arms.

  He slipped inside past me, black eyes glancing around, taking in the small kitchen, cheap dining set, and mismatched living room furniture. Him in his expensive suit, which probably cost more than all the furniture in the apartment put together, looked dreadfully out of place, but I wasn’t about to apologize for my living standards. I shut the door and headed for the kitchen, carefully keeping my eyes off him.

  “Possibly a stupid question, but can I get you anything?”

  “Water would be fine,” he said, his voice and manner deliberately bland. I wondered if it was for my sake or his.

  I got him his water, and a soda for me, before easing myself down on the couch. He waited until I sat before choosing a place for himself, an overstuffed recliner, which tilted forward awkwardly when he sat down. I felt enormously frumpy in my I HAVE PLENTY OF TALENT AND VISION, I JUST DON’T GIVE A DAMN T-shirt and faded jeans but wasn’t about to change on his account.

  “So what did you want
?” My voice was flat and unamused. I tucked my socked feet under me and leaned against the arm of the couch. I was tired, cranky, and in no mood to deal with vampires. Though I suppose one never is.

  He tried, and failed, to hide a smirk behind the glass of water. After taking a sip he put down the glass, offering me the bundle of black cloth he carried. I hesitated again, just for a moment, before shrugging off my worry and taking it. My brows about lifted to my hairline when I unfolded the cloth and revealed my guns. They weren’t with the stuff I took home from the hospital, so I’d assumed the police had found and confiscated them.

  Now that I had my weapons back, I wasn’t sure what I would do with them, but it did seem to warrant some kind of response. “Thanks,” I said, carefully refolding the cloth and setting them aside.

  “I wanted to apologize for my behavior,” he said with what sounded like regret. His eyes still sparkled with suppressed mirth, but I wasn’t about to point out the inconsistencies. A man like Royce apologizing for his behavior. Fancy that.

  “I won’t lie to you. David was speaking the truth. I had thoughts of turning you, or at least binding you in the hopes that you would be able to maintain your will but still operate within my interests and perhaps take the focus from the two of them. It is probably for the best that it was destroyed.”

  “That’s great,” I said, shifting uncomfortably and looking away. This was not a subject I was comfortable speaking about. Particularly when I was alone and in pain from the beating of my life, with a vampire sitting five feet away. “So you came all the way to my neck of the woods to tell me this?”

  He sighed and rubbed his fingertips against his forehead as if he were trying to rub away the first signs of a headache. A human gesture from an inhuman creature. No matter how good he looked, no matter how warm and sincere his smile, I couldn’t put the thought out of my mind that it was the living, or maybe unliving, dead sitting across from me. When he looked at me, the amusement was fading, a small frown curving his lips.

  “You do make things difficult. I’m trying to apologize. As you might imagine, I don’t do this very often.”

  The first hint of sheepishness was creeping into my voice, but I bit back on it as best I could. I was pretty sure my cheeks were red, too. “Look, that’s great. I’m glad you’re getting in touch with your softer side. However, I’d like to remind you that you came damned close to tearing my throat out more than once and that doesn’t exactly give me warm fuzzy-bunny feelings toward you right now, no matter how sorry you are.”

  He seemed to be a bit nonplussed, like he wasn’t sure whether to be offended or amused. Eventually, he offered a neutral “As you say.”

  Warming up to my theme, I switched the soda to one hand so I could level an accusatory finger at him. “It’s probably been a long time since you’ve been human, but I know you felt a very mortal kind of terror for me, not just when I got my hands on the focus but also back in your office. You want to control everyone and everything around you so you won’t have to face the fact of your own potential mortality—it’s why you wanted the focus for yourself.”

  He flinched as if I’d slapped him. In a way, I had. There was no way I could have known that without having had the focus to help me see into his thoughts. Maybe it was cruel of me to abuse the knowledge this way, but I needed to get my point across.

  “As far as I’m concerned, there’s a part of you that’s still afraid that some nice, sunshiny day, I’ll come find your daytime resting place and put an end to you. You know I’m not afraid of you anymore.” The funniest part about that was how true it was. I hadn’t been afraid of him, really afraid, since I realized that he was more scared of me than I was of him. “That’s why you’re here making nice now, to win me over so I won’t turn you into a crispy critter. Am I wrong?”

  He stared at me, his entire body gone into that odd, deathly stillness, only his eyes betraying some alien thoughts I couldn’t comprehend. Eventually, he dropped his gaze and looked away from me. His voice, normally smooth and confident, came out in a whisper. “No. You’re not wrong.”

  “Great,” I said, though it seemed a hollow victory.

  Summing up the reserves of whatever politeness was left to him, he straightened and looked pointedly into my eyes. Maybe he was trying to use his powers to spell me, or maybe he was just playing it straight. Either way, it was intense, charm or no charm to block his…uhh…charms.

  “I would normally never turn someone without their consent. Believe what you will, but if I’d had a choice, I would not have done things the way I did. Like any other creature, survival is my priority. And—I mean this—I’m sorry for manipulating you the way I did.”

  I took a deep breath to steady myself, ignoring the dull ache it caused in my ribs. With as much graciousness as I could muster, I said, “I accept your apology.”

  He seemed relieved. Fancy that. “Good. There’s one other thing I came for tonight,” he said, dark eyes glittering with some emotion I couldn’t place. Whatever it was, I didn’t like it.

  “What?” I finally prompted when he paused longer than seemed necessary.

  In the blink of an eye, he was suddenly there, right in front of me, his lips pressed to mine and his fingertips lightly cradling the back of my head so I couldn’t pull away. I was too shocked to think, move, breathe as he kissed me. I’d never seen anything move that fast. The only thing my mind managed to register around the cool, velveteen softness of his lips was the fact that there was not even the slightest hint of fangs behind them. That, and the desire I felt, brief and intense, that shocked me almost as badly as his touch.

  Before the thought of struggling even entered my mind, he pulled back, the fingertips of one hand lightly trailing under my jaw, before he stood. I stared at him, open-mouthed, in pure shock. Just then, I didn’t know whether to be angry, flattered, or afraid. So I simply gaped at him as a hint of that wicked, melt-in-your-mouth-sexy smile he’d won me over with back at The Underground curved his lips.

  “Good night, Shiarra. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon.”

  With that, he turned, adjusting the lapels of his jacket as he walked over to and out my apartment door. I was still gaping when it shut quietly behind him.

  Chapter 49

  So that’s the story of how I became a vampire hunter and came to see Others as just another, if scary, kind of people. I haven’t actually hunted down any vampires since Anastasia but I keep finding little white cowboy hat pins in my apartment, my office, even one left on the passenger seat of my car one morning. I’m not sure how much longer Jack will let me ignore his little calling cards, but I’m willing to find out.

  Arnold helped me put some spells on my doors and windows to keep the bad things out. Somehow, in the crazy aftermath of the fight, he and Sara had tumbled into each other’s arms and are now dating steadily. Stranger things have happened, I suppose.

  Like the fact that Chaz comes over any night we’re both free. We’ve decided to give the whole relationship thing another shot. He promised not to come by during the full moon or shift in my apartment, and I promised not to freak out if he accidentally lost control and did it anyway. We go on double dates with Sara and Arnold sometimes. Talk about oddball relationships.

  Royce has left me a couple of notes, sometimes in the mail, sometimes delivered as little cards with flowers. They’re all invitations to see him again. I’ve done my best to ignore each and every one, though some perversity has led me to keep them in a little wooden box in my bottom dresser drawer, the same red cloth–lined box that cradles a pair of matched guns. Next to the box is a coil of leather with three identical silver stakes sheathed all in a row. I wear the belt when I’m alone at night so it has someone to talk to now and then. I won’t tell if you won’t.

  Like I said in the beginning, I’m a private detective, not an assassin. Since I’m human, without outside help there’s no competing with Others, so I’m doing my best to stay out of their world.


  Unfortunately, they all seem to want in to mine.

  Please read on for an exciting

  sneak peek of the next

  Shiarra Waynest novel,

  TAKEN BY THE OTHERS,

  coming in January 2011!

  I don’t usually have people pointing guns in my face. Or in my direction at all, really. I’m a private detective, so I know some people have certainly thought about shooting me after I reported their illicit activities to my clients or the cops, but looking down the barrel of a forty-five was a new experience for me.

  “Jack, can we talk about this without the gun?”

  Jack was precisely as I remembered him. Tall, slender, with close-cropped blond hair and the coldest blue eyes I’d ever seen. His flannel, long-sleeved shirt was rolled up to just above his elbows and left unbuttoned for easy access to his shoulder holster. He’s clean-cut, looks like the poster boy for some white bread good ol’ boy magazine, and crazy as a loon. He belongs to a group of extremists and vigilante hunters who call themselves the White Hats.

  His thin lips quirked in a polite smile. No real emotion shone through the empty mask. I was praying he was just using some of his psycho scare tactics again. I deeply regretted leaving my own guns in my bedroom all the way across town. Fat lot of good they did me there. Maybe I should have our receptionist frisk the clients before letting them into my office from now on.

  “Shiarra, I’m disappointed. I’ve left you a number of invitations to come work with us. Why didn’t you get back to me? Did you succumb to Royce after the little fiasco this spring?”