Hunter's Rise

by Shiloh Walker

  He was out there, and she was in here worrying about old dreams and old humiliations and nightmares. He was out there, damn it. She could hear his heart beating.

  Lubdublubdub.

  Lubdublubdub.

  Lubdublubdub.

  The heartbeat was about twice as fast as a human’s. He was close, but not on the other side of the door. She flexed her fingers, wondered if he was there to try and kill her. No. That idea didn’t seem quite right. Judging by the scent, he’d been in here—in the closet— hours ago. When the sun was up. If he really wanted her dead, he could have just opened the door and hauled her into the light of the room. Enough sunlight would have flooded the area that she’d be toast. Hell, for that matter, he could have just destroyed her heart or taken her head.

  If he’d wanted her dead, why not do it that way?

  Unless he was actually a fair player— Boy Scouts and do-gooders tended to do that, right? But she knew Hunters didn’t have a problem taking out vamps while they slept. They were about exterminating problems, not a fair fight. If they’d decided she needed to go…

  Okay, so he’s not here to kill me.

  Why was he here?

  Only one way to find out. Sylvia drew one of her throwing knives— one of the smaller ones she could hide in the palm of her hand. He wouldn’t be able to see it, although she still didn’t know if it would do her a hell of a lot of good against him.

  Wouldn’t stop her from trying.

  Squaring her shoulders, she pushed the door open, braced herself. The attic room was empty— she’d known it would be. Still, his scent was strong. Very strong. A silvery band of moonlight fell in through an open window and she stared at it before following it along the floor to the open window. She’d slept until moonrise. Shit. Why had that happened? She never slept that late anymore. She couldn’t take sunlight, but generally by twilight, she was up and moving.

  Also, she hadn’t left that window open.

  Stroking the edge of her knife with her thumb, she eased her way into the darker shadows of the room.

  Even before she saw the moonlight shining off his pale hair, she knew.

  He was down there, in the backyard, waiting for her. And damn it. He’d hauled her bike out. Bastard. He was leaning against it, leather stretching over those long thighs, a black T-shirt clinging to his lean chest. He had that blond hair pulled back in a neat tail at the nape of his neck, and he looked good enough to eat. In many, many ways.

  Her fangs pulsed.

  Lower, much lower, other things pulsed. Because she knew he’d be aware, she figured she’d hide one hunger within another. Standing in the open window frame, keeping her knife hand free, she murmured, “Oh, look. It’s Meals on Wheels.”

  He grinned at her. And then he leaped. Sylvia fell back, moving away from the window even as part of her wished she could stand there and just watch him move—

  She pulled another knife, but didn’t bother hiding that one. He’d go for the one she’d left in open view, she hoped.

  He came through the window, almost silent, a grin on his lips, his blue eyes glinting with humor. That hot, rich scent of his flooded her head and suddenly, she had to swallow. It was that, or start drooling.

  “Delivery service.” She waggled her knife at him. “I like that.”

  “That mouth of yours ever get you in trouble, Sylvia?”

  She shrugged lazily. “A time or two. You know, I don’t like strangers touching my bike.” Actually, she didn’t like anybody touching her bike. “What’s your name?”

  Instead of answering, his eyes dropped to her knife. “You know, if you greeted the real Meals on Wheels that way, we’d have a problem.”

  “Well, since you’re not actually on the menu, it’s not an issue.” She eyed him narrowly. He wasn’t armed. Or at least, he wasn’t holding any weapons. He probably had weapons. He wouldn’t go out to Hunt without them. But he wasn’t holding any. She could see his hands, open. Empty. Unlike hers.

  Although, hello, he was a werewolf— in a matter of seconds, he turned into a fucking weapon.

  “I hadn’t exactly planned to be on the menu.” He slanted his gaze to hers, a slow smile curling his lips. “But if you’re hungry… just put away your blades.”

  Blades—

  Shit. He was good.

  Sighing, she tucked them away. He wasn’t here to fight. If he was, they’d already be at it— she’d be bloodied, battered, and hopefully, she could at least mark up that pretty face of his a little before he killed her. Still, she was pretty certain that wasn’t what he wanted out of her.

  “Would you just go away?” she said, combing her hands through her hair. She needed a shower. She needed to change. And she was thirty miles away from the place she was renting. “I’ve got a job to do.”

  He lifted a wrist. “Are you hungry?”

  Sylvia couldn’t have been any more surprised if he’d sprouted a second head. That hunger tried to grab her by the throat, but she’d mastered it long ago. Still, she found herself staring at that wrist, the exposed veins for a long, long moment, almost mesmerized.

  “If you’re hungry, go ahead.” Toronto cocked his head. “I’ve fed vamps before. It’s not like I’ll miss a half a pint.”

  Her belly all but cramped with need and her knees got weak just thinking about it. What the hell… she wasn’t that hungry. She’d just fed last night. She could go another day before it should be this bad. Wary, she eyed him. “Why? Why would you feed me? You should all want me out of the territory.”

  “Well, for one”—he watched her, that light of amusement still in his eyes—“it’s considered polite to make sure new… visitors don’t go hungry. After all, hungry people sometimes go looking for food in the wrong place. We can’t have that. Besides, you and me? Tonight, we’ve got a killer to track down.”

  We…

  “Not unless it’s snowing in hell.” Sylvia glared at him. A killer to track down? With a fricking Boy Scout? No. Way. No way in that frozen, snowy hell.

  “Check the forecast, baby.” He lowered his hand and sauntered forward, his gaze dropping to rest on her mouth. “Did you smell me on you when you woke?”

  “I’m starting to think the crap about Masters having wicked control is just that— crap. Otherwise, I don’t think I would have woken with your scent on me. Men with control don’t go pawing sleeping women.”

  “Oh, I’ve got control.” He dipped his head.

  She held her ground, curious. He breathed in her scent, and when a groan rumbled out of him, she felt a strange warmth rush through her. Oh, this wolf was not good for her peace of mind. Not good for her… he was starting to make her want things, and this was only the second time she’d seen him. Not just sex— if all she wanted was sex, she wouldn’t get that curious little twist in her heart when she looked at him.

  This was much more than just craving sex; how was that even possible, anyway? She’d seen him twice. In under twenty-four hours. It was insane… and it was very real. She wanted to see his hair free, falling around her as he moved over her. She wanted to feed from him as he rode her. Wanted to feel his teeth on her flesh, breaking it—

  “You keep thinking whatever you’re thinking and I’ll have you naked and wrapped around me in ninety seconds,” he whispered. “And I still haven’t told you my name. After all, we really should know each other’s names before we fuck, right?”

  Oh, she was in so much trouble here. Jerking back, she gave him a narrow glare and wished there was something, anything she could do to control her body’s response to him. Anything to keep him from reading that response. She might as well waste her time wishing the sun wouldn’t rise.

  “I said it once, I’ll say it again,” she whispered, her throat dry. “Get the hell out. I’ve got a job to do.”

  “No, Syl. We have a job to do.”

  She stilled at the sound of her shortened name on his lips. “It’s Sylvia,” she said huskily. “Sylvia. Not Syl. Not any other name. Sylvia
. And we don’t have a job.”

  “Okay.” He shrugged, unconcerned. “Think about it. It makes more sense. What we need is information from Pulaski. What you want is to complete your contract. The two things don’t have to be mutually exclusive.” He reached out, toyed with a lock of hair.

  She watched as he wrapped it around one finger, around and around. Then he let it go, the backs of his knuckles brushing against the curve of her breast. “Like your Master is going to go for that.”

  “My Master…” He chuckled. Scratching his chin, he tipped his head back and studied the ceiling. “That’s a funny thing. Let me put it this way. If I produce the results he needs, I don’t think Rafe’s going to give a flying fuck what happens to Pulaski. Not officially.”

  “Not officially? What in the hell does that mean?” She sneered at him. “You Boy Scouts are all about your damn rules.”

  “Boy Scouts?” He started to laugh. He ended up leaning against a wall, he laughed so hard. “I’m a Boy Scout? And I’m all about rules? Please. Pretty please, if you ever meet Rafe, you have to tell him that.”

  “Oh, like you’re not?” Crossing her arms over her chest, she tapped her nails against her arm and eyed him. “If you’re not all about rules and being Boy Scouts, then why in the hell would you all do the shit you do? It’s not like you do it for glory or anything.”

  “If we don’t… who will?” He eyed her curiously.

  “So it’s altruism?”

  “No. It’s…” A far-off look crossed his face and then he shrugged. “Somebody has to be willing. If it’s not us, I guess it’s nobody. And that’s just not an option.” He paused then asked softly, “Do you really want to live in a world where nobody stops the monsters, Miz James?”

  Where nobody stops the monsters… Images flashed through her mind and the remnants of the dreams from the past day rose up to choke her. “Oh, go fuck yourself,” she snapped. Spinning away from him, she went back to the closet and snagged her pack. She needed to get out of here. Fast. Once she got to her bike, she could keep away from him. Even a were couldn’t keep up with a vamp on a Harley, right?

  Bending down, she grabbed her bag. When she turned around, he was there. Her breath caught in her throat as he crowded her up against a wall, his body blocking her in, one arm resting by the wall near her head, the other coming up to rest lightly on her hip.

  Too intimate—

  “Listen, Sylvia…” He dipped his head and once more breathed in her scent. “We need to get something straight. You’re not… aw, hell. You smell so good.”

  As he turned his face into her hair, she shuddered. “Okay. I’m glad we got that straight, wolf. I smell good— glad we got that nice and squared away. Now. Can you give me some space?”

  “No.” He pushed his thigh between hers.

  Shock flooded her. Heat flooded her. “What…”

  “My name is Toronto,” he whispered against her ear. “Say it.”

  “Tor… Toronto?” She tipped her head back, frowning. “That’s a…” Hated place. I hate that place, I hate that place, I hate that place…“Weird name.”

  “Yeah. So what? Say it again. I want to make sure you remember it. Because sometime very damn soon, I’m going to be inside you, Sylvia.” The last words were spoken in a growl against her lips.

  “Toronto.” She opened for him even as she reached up and jerked the band from his hair.

  CHAPTER 11

  D

  ARK. Mysterious. That was her taste. Like the night. Something exotic and sweet. Stroking his tongue along her lip, he waited until she’d curled an arm around his neck before he took her mouth in a deeper, rougher kiss.

  Her fangs were down. He teased one of them with his tongue. Hot satisfaction burned through him as she shuddered. Meals on Wheels—she’d thought she’d been being insulting when she’d said it. She didn’t know much about wolves. Much about Hunters for that matter. He didn’t mind feeding vamps— so long as it was his decision.

  It could save lives. Beyond that, vamps could make a bite pretty damn pleasant, especially if it was a female partner. And when it was a woman he wanted in bed?

  She didn’t know it, but he had every intention of feeding her at some point. He’d wanted it from the first moment he’d seen her, just as he’d wanted to feel that lushly curved body under his own. She’d just moved up the timetable. As she started to rock her hips against his, he eased back, falling on the control she’d taunted him about.

  Yeah. He had control. He just didn’t always choose to use it.

  Tonight, though, and for the next few days, he’d have to.

  Lifting his head, he stared down at her, her swollen mouth, her eyes— when she was hungry, they glowed with a strange, silvery light, almost like they were flecked with a hundred tiny stars. Lovely…

  Lashes swept down, hiding her eyes. He watched as she took one deep breath, then another.

  As she did that, he pulled his hand from her waist, lifted it. She was trying to ease away as he sank his teeth into his wrist.

  She froze as the scent of blood flooded the air.

  He pulled her back against him, turning her so that her back was against his front. “Feed,” he whispered against her ear. “You need it, I think.”

  He’d explain why later.

  She hesitated, and he pushed his wrist closer.

  It wasn’t until she covered his bleeding wrist with her mouth that he did the other thing he’d been dying to do… he slid his hand down the front of her body and cupped the heat of her in his palm.

  She arched against him with a startled cry.

  “Feed,” he whispered again, rubbing the heel of his hand against her.

  I

  T was a shocking, almost brutal assault on her senses. His blood— she’d never had anything like it. It was almost orgasmic, just that.

  But then he reached between her thighs, covering the aching heat of her sex, Sylvia came apart. Wave after wave pulsed through her, battering her senses. It was a damn good thing she didn’t have to breathe, because she couldn’t. As he stroked her, as his blood flowed into her, he continued to mutter to her, his voice a low, husky rumble in her ear.

  Then it was over, another shock to her senses. She clutched at his arm, unable to stand. Her head spun, her body pulsed and she felt… alive… almost too alive. Drunk, even. But she couldn’t get drunk. God knew she’d tried over the past century, especially those first few years after she’d managed to escape—

  No—

  A hand stroked her hair, and she forced herself to open her eyes, swallow. The wine-rich taste of his blood lingered on her tongue, an addictive one that she already wished she’d never had. She didn’t think she’d ever want to feed from another for as long as she lived.

  She might hate him a little bit for that. Hell, if she was smart, she should hate him for what he’d just done… except she wanted to strip off her clothes and beg him to do it again. And then she wanted to strip his clothes away and do it to him, and…

  Shit.

  Behind her, his body was hot and hard, cradling her with surprising gentleness. His hand continued to stroke her hair as he touched his lips to her shoulder. “I wanted to let you feed from my neck, but I had a feeling if we did it that way, I’d end up on top of you for the rest of the night. We’ve already lost too much of it.”

  “Quite possibly. You know… I should hit you for doing that.” Sylvia closed her eyes.

  He rubbed his lips over her shoulder. “I’ll let you if you want to take a shot. I can even say I’m sorry… should I?”

  “No. Because I’m not sorry you did it, you jerk.” Sighing, she shifted her gaze to the window, staring out into the night. “I never sleep this late.”

  “That’s… probably my fault.”

  She frowned at the odd note in his voice. Shrugging away from him, she moved to stand on the other side of the room. “Perhaps you should explain that.”

  “How old are you?”

  S
he made a face at him. “You know, vampire or not, some might still consider it rude to ask a woman how old she is.”

  “How old are you? Our research puts you at over a hundred. Your skill level seems to go with that. But I don’t think you’re particularly strong.” He paused, waiting. When she didn’t say anything, he sighed and glanced at the closet. “I opened the door while you were sleeping. It was only for about two seconds and sunlight hit you. You burned. That’s probably…”

  Why I’m so tired. She’d used resources healing the damned burn. Damn him. “Look, I just don’t take sunlight as well as others.” With a brittle-edged smile, she added, “You should have seen me as a mortal.”

  “You don’t take sunlight well.” He lifted a brow. “You’re not newly turned. But you can’t take two seconds of day? Again, how old are you?”

  Sylvia set her jaw. She’d be damned if she answered. “You know, how old I am is hardly any of your business. Now, while I appreciate the delivery service, I need to get to work.”

  She kept him in her line of sight as she edged around the room to get her bag. He seemed like he was going to push the issue. Apparently he decided on pushing another issue instead.

  “Look, sweetheart. I’ve already told you… we’re doing this together.” He caught her arm, his thumb stroking along the sensitive skin inside her elbow. “You probably know as well as I do, you can’t exactly beat me. So how are you going to stop me?”

  “You always this overbearing, Toronto?”

  He grimaced and shoved a hand through his hair. “Usually, I’m about ten times worse. Consider yourself lucky I’m trying to be nice to you.” After a glance around the floor, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a band, tying his hair back once again.

  “So. Do we do this the easy way or not?” He stared at her, eyes watching her closely.

  She was tempted to tell him to shove off. But Sylvia had worked pretty damn hard to build her self-worth back up. If she pushed him, they’d end up doing this the hard way. She couldn’t win against him, not without a lot of dirty tricks.