Hunter's Rise

by Shiloh Walker

  I

  T had been nearly fifteen years since he’d let himself come back here.

  Fifteen years. Not bad. For a while, Toronto had come back almost every month. Then it had been every year, and finally, he’d been able to stay away for longer stretches.

  This had been the longest he’d ever gone.

  But once he hit the city, Toronto found himself following the same path he always took. The alley where he’d been found wasn’t an alley anymore— he couldn’t even get to it, unless he wanted to walk through the middle of a busy store. Which he did. It was maybe thirty minutes before it would close. People stared at him strangely, but that was nothing new. Head bowed, senses alert, he waited… waited for… what?

  Toronto didn’t even know anymore.

  “Why do you keep doing this?” he muttered.

  But he had no answer to that.

  This place held no answers for him. It never had. It didn’t add to the riddle of his life, but it sure as hell didn’t bring any solutions, either.

  Evading the throngs of people, he made his way to the area that was close to where he’d been found. Even with a building standing over it, he knew it was the right place. He’d know it in his sleep.

  Not because he remembered. Nessa had led him here, and he’d come back time and again— he’d watched as they’d constructed the building, even, and he’d considered tearing it apart, brick by brick.

  There was a wall in the spot, barring him from getting as close as he’d like. That was where he stopped. Closing his eyes, he pulled those foggy memories from the depths of his subconscious. His first memories. Before that… nothing. Just blackness.

  He remembered nothing of the night he’d been found. Nessa had taken him back. Walked him through the night, again and again, for those first few years. He could see it through her memories, but it was like having somebody tell him about something they’d experienced. It didn’t feel like his life.

  She’d been old, even then.

  She hadn’t moved like it, though. And she hadn’t been alone. Two other Hunters had been with her. Another witch, and a vampire. The boy Toronto had been lay in a pile of broken bones and bloody flesh— the were virus had already been working on him. It should have killed him. But as the fever burned through him, the virus healed him, keeping him alive until Nessa found him.

  It couldn’t heal everything, though.

  The shattered mess that was his skull, and his scrambled brain… everything he’d been, all of that was gone.

  She’d sent the vampire after the wolves while the witch— a man— had carried the boy.

  Away from the alley where Toronto had both died and been born.

  “Sir?”

  Hearing the nerves under the voice, Toronto lifted his head and saw the security guard staring at him with a mix of bravado, nerves and fear. Instead of waiting for the standard, Can I help you please leave now, he just turned on his heel and walked out of the store, following the path of faded memories to the next spot.

  Near the edge of the city, he paused, dragging in the stink of something nasty. It was faint, and old. Vampire. It had a familiar edge to it, though. Familiar enough that it made Toronto think the vampire had come through the city more than once. More than twice… revisiting his old hunting ground the way Toronto came back to haunt these streets?

  He didn’t know, and just then, he didn’t care. He’d send word up the line. Somebody would have to start patrolling through here more regularly. Toronto felt the buzz and burn that indicated more paranormal creatures; as the human population boomed, so did their kind. They kind of went hand in hand. Made it damn hard to keep hidden sometimes.

  Pushing problems of work, of Hunters, of monsters to the back of his mind, he continued his walk outside the city. The old place was still in one piece, still in decent condition and he knew that if he walked inside, he’d find there wasn’t a speck of dust, not a thing out of place.

  It had been more than a hundred years since he’d finally emerged from the fevered Change… in this very house. It was empty now. But he still heard the echo of her voice, the echo of his own.

  His first clear memories had been of her— Nessa. Agnes Milcher. An old woman who looked frail and was anything but. She had been there through the nightmares, had been there as the hunger ripped through him, had cooled him as the fevers raged.

  She hadn’t been alone. There had been others with her.

  He’s going to go feral, Agnes—he’s too young. Watch yourself. A woman’s voice.

  No. He shall be fine. He’s strong. I feel it. He’ll need food, something big and bloody should do the trick. Mary, could you…?

  A pause. Followed by a woman’s low, disbelieving voice, You want me to hunt… for him?

  Well he needs to eat, doesn’t he?

  A man’s voice. I can bring him something.

  Then there were long moments of silence, and he’d tried to fight past the fog that wrapped around him. The hunger, so thick, so strong, tearing into him with dagger-sharp teeth.

  He had to eat— had to—

  Then his first glimpse of the woman who would be like mother and grandmother. His first friend— faded blue eyes, peering down at him. He hadn’t seen the kindness in those eyes, then. Hadn’t been able to recognize the power either. He’d just seen… meat. Felt the hunger tearing into him, his mind going blank.

  The next thing he knew, he was hovering in midair, tearing at his throat and struggling to breathe, while the old woman stood a few feet away. The younger woman watched him with disgust and pity in her eyes. I told you he wasn’t going to pull through. I’ll put him down, Nessa.

  But when the woman had reached for her belt, the other one had smacked at her hand. You’ll do no such thing, Mary. He’s fine. Look at those eyes—he’s quite lucid. No feral wolf could just hang there like that, waiting. Listening.

  Wolf—

  What had she meant… and then he heard the growl. Like it came from deep, deep inside.

  You’ll have to learn to control that, boy. But you’ll do well enough.

  Control.

  Shit.

  Yeah, he’d learned to control it well enough. She hadn’t let him out of her sight until she was certain he could.

  It had taken months, and he’d spent most of them here.

  From hooded eyes, Toronto stared at the little house, more of a cottage than anything else, searching for some answer. But, as always, there was nothing.

  I

  T was midnight when he finally left the city itself, staring at it from over the water. It sparkled with light, spread under a sky of black. But he didn’t see those lights, didn’t see the massive skyscrapers, the CN Tower as it jutted into the velvety black night.

  Eyes locked on those long-gone memories, he tried to pierce the fog of his past. But there was nothing there.

  Back then, the were virus had still been viewed as a curse, and he’d been bitten only days before the full moon. There was a cyclical thing to the bite, and more than a little bit of magic. The science-minded people suspected the reason weaker weres had to shift around the full moon was because they all believed they had to. The virus caused a hormonal spike and those hormones built in their system and needed release— almost like a climax— and that release was needed on a regular cycle. So much shit was built up about werewolves and full moons, there could easily be deep, racial memories that were tied to the shift. Because they thought the Change came with the moon, it did.

  Stronger weres could resist it longer. The stronger the were, the longer he or she could go without shifting. Likewise, the easier they could shift. There were more theories tied to complicated shit like viral loads—speculating that Master weres were created when they received a bite from either another Master, or from numerous wolves.

  Toronto’s existence seemed to support that. Those theories speculated that if a victim survived the bite, which wasn’t likely, the most plausible outcome was that the victim would go fera
l— a loss of control, usually accompanied by a loss of sanity. Always followed by death, because ferals were executed. If the victim didn’t go feral, he had a very good chance at being a high-level shifter, probably a Master.

  Toronto had been bit by five werewolves— bitten, chewed on and played with, from what Nessa had told him. For those first few months, death and madness had chased him with a passion.

  The fevers had hit hard and fast. Followed by rages ending in blackouts. Sometimes he woke in bed. Other times, he woke up restrained. And all the while, Nessa had been there.

  You’ll get through this, boy. We’ll pull you through…

  Each time the hunger, the madness tried to take over, she’d been there. She’d kept him from dying. She’d pieced his broken body back together. But she couldn’t do shit for his shattered mind.

  There was nothing she could do about his lost memories. He’d tried to find the missing pieces of his life, but he’d never even been able to find a name.

  He went by Toronto, because that was where he’d been found. For the longest time, he’d hoped he’d find some clue to his past and didn’t want to get used to a real name.

  After all this time, he knew it wasn’t going to happen— this was just rote. And he couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop hoping. Couldn’t stop half wishing something would trigger those lost memories, or that somebody held the pieces of his lost past. Couldn’t stop wishing that something, finally, would make him feel whole.

  Best to leave that past alone, Nessa had told him, more than once. Stop looking for answers that do not exist… why torture yourself so?

  “Just a glutton for punishment, old woman,” he murmured into the night. Hours bled away as he stood there, staring out over the water at the skyline. By morning, he’d have to leave. But he’d give himself the night. One night. Alone—

  Or perhaps not. He wasn’t terribly surprised when he felt the presence that whispered witch…

  He recognized her. But she wasn’t alone. There was another scent on the air, one he could have done without. He’d heard Nessa had finally found her own piece of the past, in the form of a lover who had died and somehow found his way back to her in a new life. Toronto personally didn’t have any real problems with Dominic. But the other vampire was a reminder that he’d left responsibilities behind.

  Toronto was supposed to be taking more care with those responsibilities.

  But instead, he was here again.

  Here, thinking selfish, dark thoughts and trying not to feel jealous over the fact that Nessa had found that missing piece of her soul. With Dominic, of all people. He never would have expected that one.

  As they drew closer, Toronto shoved a hand into his pocket and pulled out a pack of gum. “Sometimes a man just wants to be alone,” he said conversationally.

  “And sometimes, you just want to brood, even though it’s not good for you,” Nessa said brightly.

  Her voice, crisp with the sounds of England, was altogether too cheerful. But when she hooked her arm through his and slanted a look up at him, he saw the sympathy in her eyes.

  “I thought you weren’t going to come back here so often,” she said softly.

  “I haven’t.” He blew a bubble almost as big as his face and then popped it, mostly just to annoy her, watching as she made a face at him. “It’s been fifteen years. That’s a pretty good time-out, don’t you think?”

  Without waiting for her to respond, he shot Dominic a look. “And look at you, all mated up and happy. It’s a good look for you, kid.”

  Dominic just stared at him.

  Toronto huffed out an exasperated sigh. “Here I am, trying to be nice to him, even.”

  “Yes, you were.” Nessa beamed at him, looking as pleased as if she were a teacher and he’d presented her with an apple on the first day of school.

  Was it foolish that it made him feel absurdly proud, even as it embarrassed him? Scowling, he shifted his gaze over to the water. “The two of you… didn’t see that one coming.” Curious, he glanced at Nessa. “How did you know? Was it like wham, some sort of click and you just knew? Did it take longer?”

  “Yes… and yes.” She glanced at Dominic and then back at him, a faint smile on her face. “There were all sorts of clicks. But it took a while, too. Mostly because I tried to mess things up. But that’s neither here nor there. Why are you here, Tor?”

  “Not like I got anything better to do.” He bent over and scooped up a rock, hurled it into the water— it almost made it to the opposite shore before it touched the surface. “Hey, what should I get you for a wedding present? I could always buy you some garlic to keep the vamps away, right?”

  Nessa rolled her eyes. Dominic’s response was to reach up, cup his hand over the back of his wife’s neck. “Please tell me we didn’t spend all this time driving up here to deal with this basket case.”

  “Well, he is my favorite basket case.” She rose on her toes and pressed a kiss to Dominic’s jaw, lightly patted his chest. “He can’t help it, usually. He could stop being less of an ass sometimes. If he changed completely, he wouldn’t be Toronto, would he?”

  “That wouldn’t be a loss,” Dominic muttered.

  Toronto sighed and continued to stare out over the rolling black waters before him. The moon was a high, gleaming circle in the sky— it was full— casting its light down on the world, reflecting off the water. It was hypnotic, lovely… he could almost imagine he heard it whispering to him. He should shift… run, let the wolf have his way, but the wolf would want to run, and hunt.

  Toronto was here to search for answers— the wolf didn’t care.

  He’d like to pretend the lunar cycle had something to do with his edgy mood, but he could do better than this if he had to.

  It had nothing to do with the lunar cycle, nothing to do with the changes the werewolf virus had wreaked on him all those years ago. In short, it was just him. Him being a basket case, an asshole. All of it.

  “Nessa, stop worrying about me,” he said softly.

  “I can’t.” She moved to stand at his side, nearly as quiet as a vampire herself, quieter than any shifter. He heard her, but didn’t move. When she reached up and rested a hand on his shoulder, he wished he would have, though. “I can’t stop worrying about you, lad. You’re a friend. I worry about my friends. And…”

  “And what?” He slanted a look at her, scowling as he saw her eyes darken. He knew that look.

  She might not look like the sweet old matron who’d saved his ass all those years ago— and that had been such a deceptive appearance— but damn it, she hadn’t changed that much. That look didn’t mean good things.

  But she didn’t answer.

  “Damn it, Nessa,” he snapped, his voice edging low and rough.

  “You might want to watch how you talk to her, Lassie,” Dominic warned, taking a step in his direction.

  “Or what, dead man?” Toronto shot him a derisive look. “You haven’t been without a pulse long enough to take me, and we both know it.”

  Dominic smirked. “Well, if push comes to shove, it’s not me that you need to worry about it.” He closed a little more distance between them, his eyes flashing in the night. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you talk to her that way.”

  “Dom… don’t.” Nessa rested a hand on his chest, staring in Toronto’s direction. “It’s not like I’d let either of you go at it, and that’s another thing you both know. If push did come to shove, I’d have you both on the ground, begging for mercy.”

  Dominic covered her hand with his. “I don’t care to listen to Furface talking to you like that.”

  “Hmmm. Well, Furface is having a bad night. We all have them, don’t we?”

  Toronto hated the sympathy he heard in her voice, hated it enough that he was willing to pick a fight with a witch who damn well could put him on the ground, if she so chose. “Yeah, well, instead of standing there talking about me like I’m not here, why don’t the two of you fuck off and let me have
my bad night?” He let his wolf show in his eyes as he flicked his gaze to Dominic before he looked back at Nessa. “I’m sure the two of you are still having a lot of fun tearing up the sheets and all that jazz. Leave me the hell alone, old woman.”

  The scent of anger lit the air around them— Dominic’s. Dominic was pretty strong for a vamp less than two decades old, but he was still young. He couldn’t handle Toronto.

  Nessa, though, Nessa would leave his head ringing. That would stop any pitying talk. Except, of course, she knew exactly what he was after.

  “Don’t even think of it, wolf.” Nessa’s voice, cool and sharp with warning, wouldn’t have been enough to get through to him.

  Right then, he was so desperate to get them both away from him, to stop that infuriating pity, nothing would get through to him. But when he tried to take a step forward, he found he couldn’t and there was an unseen, warning hand around his neck.

  Witches. Strong ones were a pain in the ass. They manipulated the elements the same way others could flip a light switch, and the stronger they were, the easier it was to manipulate said elements. Nessa was the strongest witch alive.

  “Fuck, Nes—”

  That was all he got out before she tightened her grasp. “Do stop, Tor, my dear,” she said, sighing. “You’re pissing Dom off and trust me, while it would be great fun to watch the two of you wrestle around like buffoons, that’s not why I’m here.”

  She peered at him, her big blue eyes narrowing. “So, if I let you go, are you going to behave yourself? As best as you know how, at least?”

  He glared at her.

  The unseen “hand” around his neck tightened and he tried to suck in a desperate breath of air. Damn it, she hadn’t gone and forgotten he still needed to breathe, had she? Black dots started to dance in front of his eyes.

  “Toronto, you have always been so bloody stubborn.” The hand loosened, and he sagged, sucking in desperate draughts of air.

  “And you were always so damned determined to mother me.” He shoved his hair back and glared at her. His throat ached, damn it. “Mother me and then do crazy shit like fucking trying to strangle me. What in the hell do you want, Nessa?”