Hunter's Rise

by Shiloh Walker

  “What, you’re not going to take over again?” she muttered. Sighing, she shook her head. “We started it together. We finish together.”

  Then, as the night wind came blowing in through the open windows, he reached over and caught her hand. His thumb rubbed over the back of it. “Rafe already knows we’re working this together. I’ll call him. We’ll get something to give to the family— they’ll have peace.”

  Sylvia closed her eyes. “And what about the other kids he stole?”

  “Rafe’s working on that. We’ll put a witch or something on it.”

  Sylvia closed her eyes. “It’s too late.”

  “Not yet, it’s not. Some of the witches, some of the psychics, they have freaky ass talents— some of them can pull memories from a fresh corpse, if they have to. Others can visit his home, maybe find something there that can lead them to his victims— what he did there is going to linger. Somebody will be able to untangle it and find answers.” He twined his fingers with hers. “I’m sorry.”

  She was glad he didn’t mention anything about how she’d tried to act as though those other victims hadn’t been a concern. They had always been a concern. And now… Stop it, she told herself. Just stop it.

  “Hell. He’s dead. That’s justice enough.” Turning her head, she stared at him in the night. “It wasn’t for me, though. Not really. One of the boys he killed… Toby. His name was Toby.”

  Toronto waited in silence, his gaze on the road. Good… if he looked at her, this would be harder. “Toby… he reminded me of somebody. Another kid who suffered because of a monster. I wanted justice because of him. That doesn’t even make sense, does it?”

  “Yeah, it does.” Brooding, he stared straight ahead. “I didn’t want to take the job. Rafe was going to give it to somebody else, but I didn’t want anybody else near you. From the time I saw your picture, I was obsessed. But I hated that I had to stop you from killing Pulaski. The only thing that made it tolerable is that I knew how those families feel… living with unanswered questions. I’ve had them all my life. I wouldn’t wish it on anybody.”

  Her fingers tightened on his. And she laughed, but it was a strained, unhappy sound. “Aren’t we a couple of fucking badasses, Tor?”

  “You bet we are.”

  CHAPTER 22

  “I

  T looks… different.” Sylvia stared at the city, trying to take it all in. She didn’t have much time. In less than an hour the sun would rise and she’d have to go to ground, find someplace safe.

  He moved so quietly, just a whisper of sound before he was at her back. His fingers brushed through her hair as he said quietly, “You were made here.”

  “Yes.” Arms wrapped around her middle, she gazed at the jeweled lights of the skyline. Nothing looked the same. At all.

  “How long has it been since you’ve been back?”

  “Eighty-four years… I came back to kill the one who made me.” She blew out a breath. “I’d been living in California when he found me. He kidnapped me and dragged me across the country to this place… I hated this place, and I never wanted to see it again.”

  “What changed things?”

  “A vamp tried to take my home.” With a deep, shaking breath, she turned away from the city, met Toronto’s gaze. “After I left here, I ran. So hard, so fast. Once I found someplace where I felt safe, I went into hiding— only left to feed and that was it. Then a vamp showed up at my place— he was running, too, and he needed a place to hide. My place. My safe place— my home. I was ready to run, ready to let him have it… I didn’t want to die. Shit, I was such a coward.”

  “Not wanting to die doesn’t make you a coward.”

  She held his gaze. “Running away? Letting him take what I’d earned? What I’d made mine? Not putting up a fight? That made me a coward.” She shook her head and moved away from him. “He had a mercenary on his trail. A wolf… a woman. I’d gone and hid in a nearby barn, burrowed under the hay because the sun was coming. She found me— you damn wolves and your noses. There was this look in her eyes… she was so disgusted when she saw me. Disgusted. And sad for me. I saw it in her eyes.

  “She didn’t say anything. I think she knew what had happened. She just left me there. Went on to the house he’d stolen from me. Killed him while I lay hiding under straw and hoping I wouldn’t be found while I waited for the sun to set.” She blinked, a far-off look in her eyes. “It was the worst day I could remember since getting away from the one who’d made me. Then I woke up. And she was there. She asked me if I planned on living my entire life hiding like a mouse anytime somebody looked at me wrong.”

  “I take it you told her no.”

  She laughed weakly. “At the time, I was too damn terrified. But eventually, yes. That was the answer. And she was the one to teach me. It took me years to work up the courage to come back here.” In a soft voice, she murmured, “By the time I came back, he was already dead. So I left. I left, and never looked back. Didn’t plan on ever returning to this godforsaken place.”

  “And here you are.”

  She turned and stared at Toronto. “Yes. Here I am.” Her gut was a slimy, nasty pit of fear, but here she was. A wave of exhaustion flooded her, and she looked to the east. It wasn’t lightening yet, but it would. Soon. “It will be dawn before long.”

  “Yeah.” He closed the distance between them again, reached up to toy with her hair. “I’ve got a place for us. It’s small, quiet. Old. But it’s the safest place I know. You’ll rest easy there.”

  Sylvia nodded. “And you’ll do what? I haven’t seen you rest much.”

  “I grabbed an hour yesterday while you slept. I’ll grab a couple of hours before I hit the streets.”

  Reaching up, she curled a hand over his wrist. Against her fingers, his pulse beat in a strong, steady rhythm. “And if you find him that fast? What then?”

  From hooded eyes, he watched her. “You need to be a part of it, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.” She swallowed, shifting her gaze away. “I need to know who was in that house. Why he had the mirror. I need answers, Toronto.”

  “Okay.” He lowered his head, pressed his lips to her brow. “Unless I have to kill him, I’ll wait until you’re with me. But if he goes after somebody, if he’s an immediate threat, I’ll have to take him out. That’s the best I can do, though. He’s already proven he’s a crazy fuck.”

  Weakly, she smiled. “Yeah. Leaving a vamp body the way he did was a good indicator.”

  H

  E’D asked for a witch.

  And here she was, on his doorstep. The only thing Rafe could think when he saw the redhead was, Hell. At least it’s not Nessa.

  Not that Kelsey Hughes was much better.

  “I heard you needed a witch.” She smiled at him. Kelsey looked innocent and wholesome and kind… like a soccer mom. Like a PTA mom.

  She could burn things with just a thought, could heal busted, broken bodies and could ferret out the nastiest of magics. Basically, she was perfect for what Angel had wanted her for, he suspected. Of course, she was also an active Council member. She could very well be here to bust his ass or kick him out.

  Trying to keep everything locked down, Rafe just stepped aside.

  “You heard right.”

  She sauntered in past him and took a look around the house before shooting him a smile. “I love what you’ve done with the place.”

  He scowled. Once upon a time, it had been her home. Now it was his. He hated feeling awkward, but he did. He’d fucked up—

  “So, how are we going to play this?”

  Meeting her green gold eyes, Rafe asked quietly, “We?”

  “Yes.” She slid her hands into her pockets and rocked back on the heels of worn, battered boots. “We. Your land. Your problem. You need to fix it… if you want to keep it. I’m just here for support.”

  Narrowing his eyes, he crossed his arms over his chest. “If I want to keep it?”

  She smiled. “Nobody will kick you out
if you prove you’re capable of fixing the problems, Rafe. It’s not like they don’t happen. We can’t be everywhere. So, again… how do we play this?”

  “S

  O, two witches and a psychic walk into a school…” Angel said under her breath.

  The woman playing Angel’s mom— Tamara— looked tense, fine lines bracketing out from her mouth. Just meeting Kelsey had been enough to put the other witch on edge. Angel knew she probably wasn’t helping, being sort of nervous herself.

  Kelsey didn’t look nervous. Didn’t look worried.

  And she kept that easy, calm veneer up the entire time Tamara handed the office staff a bullshit story about an extended trip— she had been offered a wonderful job, and Angie would be staying with her cousin, Kelsey. Kelsey, of course, would make sure she did all of her assignments, blah, blah, blah…

  All of that shit might have been done over the phone, with a letter.

  But they needed a legit reason to get Kelsey in the school.

  Because once Kelsey walked in, she didn’t leave.

  Just an illusion of her, walking down the steps next to Tamara.

  It was a damn good illusion, too. Even though Angel knew it had happened, her eyes, her mind insisted she’d seen Kelsey leaving.

  A whisper of sound came to her ears, and inside her skull, she heard an amused voice, So. How powerful is this psychic who walked into a school… can you hear me now?

  Grinning, Angel gave a minute nod as she made her way to her locker.

  Good. You go about your business, Angel. I smell some nasty, nasty magic…

  And then, Angel was alone in her head.

  “I

  warned him, Sada.”

  She stared in horror at the still, pale child, hardly aware of the bastard in front of her. Harold stood near her, watching her with cruel amusement glittering in his eyes. “Why are you crying over him? He is the reason you are here, after all.”

  She blocked out that hated voice. The boy… that poor boy. He’d tried to help her. And this was what had happened. Reaching out a hand, she went to touch his chest, but Harold kicked him, sent the boy flying across the room.

  He never made a sound.

  Harold crouched in front of her, his green eyes glittering with curiosity. “Why do you care?” he asked. Catching a lock of her hair in his hand, he twined it around his finger, rubbing it with his thumb. “It is not as if that boy ever had anything to offer you, not as if he could have truly helped you.”

  She shoved at his hand. “Get away from me.”

  He caught the front of her shift and pulled her against him. “You forget yourself, Sada.”

  Pain lashed through her as he kissed her, his fangs slicing through her mouth when she wouldn’t open for him.

  She cared little. What had she done…

  As she started to sob, Harold rose. “Tears already, Sada? How… boring.” In an almost absent move, he kicked her as well. Startled, she screamed, but it ended as she hit the wall and her head thudded against the solid rock. She slid, dazed, to the floor, her gaze locked on the boy’s face.

  I’ll help you… even if it kills me…

  Oh, you silly child…

  “Get that waste out of there,” Harold said to somebody out in the corridor.

  Sada continued to stare at his still, pale face. His feeble, thready heartbeat was failing and he’d lost too much blood to survive. She could all but see the death on him. My fault, she thought woodenly. This child dies because of me…

  “What—”

  Still dazed, she lifted her head and stared at Harold, saw him holding the other boy. He hung in the air, dangling from Harold’s fist by his shirtfront. Dirty hair hung in his eyes and he held a knife—a bloody one. “You little animal,” Harold growled, wiping the blood from his face. He hurled the boy to the floor. “You could have made it through this, you know.”

  “I’ll gut you,” the boy promised, his pale blue eyes glittering and angry. “You’re a fucking dead man.”

  And Harold started to laugh.

  “No, boy. You are. But since you’re such a little fighter, I’ll make you get the sort of death you deserve. A bloody one.”

  “No,” she whispered. She shoved upright and lunged for the door. But the locked bars stopped her. Shoving her hand through the door, she grabbed at Harold’s arm. “Leave him alone. He has done you no true harm.”

  He just smiled at her and walked away, dragging the struggling boy along behind him.

  Moments later, she heard him scream.

  M

  Y fault—

  Sylvia opened her eyes, staring at the exposed wooden beams overhead.

  Light filtered in through the curtains— sunlight. Early in the evening, still. Turning her head, she stared at the windows. The cabin belonged to a witch— Toronto had said her protections would keep sunlight from bothering her, and she’d trusted him. Apparently, the witch knew her business.

  Kind of a shame.

  Right now, Sylvia felt like a good, scorching burn would feel… well, right. She wanted to punish herself. That dream hadn’t come on her that real, that intense in years. And the guilt was choking her. Two boys, both dead, because of her. One for trying to help, one for trying to avenge his fallen friend.

  “Shit.” Swinging her legs around, she rubbed at her eyes, then slid a hand around to the back of her neck.

  A warm palm covered hers.

  She held still as Toronto started to rub the muscles there, lowering himself to sit on the edge of the bed. He was still, so quiet. She’d known he was in the house, but hadn’t realized he’d come into the room. He threw her off guard. That wasn’t good.

  “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

  “Yeah.” Keeping her head bowed, she opened her eyes and stared at the smooth, worn planks of the floor. There were throw rugs here and there, made by hand, she suspected, just like the quilt on the bed. A lot of history in this place. A lot of love.

  And the power crackled in the air, even though the witch wasn’t around.

  “You’re not a very good liar,” Toronto said, pushing her hair over her shoulder and shifting so that he sat behind her.

  She groaned as he pressed his thumbs into her back, massaging his way down her spine. “I’m fine. Just… dreams.” Memories. “I shouldn’t be here.”

  “Why? Do you think whoever this is is going to have some pull on you?”

  A vamp’s maker could control a weaker vamp to some extent, as could others of his “family,” but the connection had to be close. “No… it’s not that.” Brooding, she eased away from his talented hands and climbed off the bed, moving to stand by the window. She lifted a hand and rested it on the windowpane, amazed that she could do it. That she didn’t burn. She could see the sun… truly see it as it sank closer and closer to the horizon. “I shouldn’t be here. Period. Shouldn’t be anywhere.”

  Swallowing, she leaned her head forward, resting her brow on the glass. “I keep remembering the weeks before he let me go. The way I killed that boy… I don’t even remember how he came to be in there. I just remember the blood. The hunger. And then the hunger was gone… and I held a dying child in my arms.”

  “Don’t do this to yourself, Syl,” Toronto said quietly.

  Turning, she stared at him. “Don’t do this to myself?” she echoed. “Why the hell not?”

  “If you don’t remember how he came to be in there, that’s because the fucker who made you probably had him bleeding and pushed him in there while you were asleep— he probably had you half mad with hunger and then put bleeding meat in front of you. What will a starved lion do when presented with food? It attacks, Sylvia.”

  “I’m not a lion.” She shook her head. “I’m still capable of reason, of thought. But I acted like an animal… I let myself become one. That boy wasn’t food.”

  “You were tortured. He knew what he was doing, and he did it damn well.” Toronto came off the bed. “You didn’t let it break you because you di
dn’t go insane with it. If you were the monster you want to think you are, you’d be like those you hunt down.”

  He came to her, cupped her chin in his hand.

  She resisted for a moment, wanting to do anything but stare in Toronto’s blue eyes. It would be easy if she thought she could find condemnation there— she should see it. She wanted somebody to hate her as she hated herself. Wanted to feel that bitterness and hurt herself with it. But there was just compassion there. It broke her.

  A harsh sob escaped her and she sagged against him, her hands coming up to fist in his black T-shirt. One of his hands cupped the back of her head. The other came around her waist, pulling her in close to him. His lips rested against her temple and as she cried, she heard the strong, steady beat of his heart.

  * * *

  “I

  found a place that feels off to me. It’s all covered with a vamp’s scent— his— but I can’t pinpoint the place.” Toronto braced his elbows on the table, watching her face as he spoke.

  She looked up from the table, her face a pale, unreadable mask. She’d cried for nearly thirty minutes. And then, just like that, she’d cut off the flow of tears and pulled away. Without a word. Toronto wished like hell that he had some way of breaking through that wall of hers, but he was clueless.

  Probably a result of living the past century stuck inside his own damn skull and not bothering to pay attention to the world around him unless it delivered a sharp kick to his ass.

  She lifted a brow and said coolly, “And you’re telling me this… why?”

  “It’s a lot of what it felt like when I was around you that first night. I should have sensed you long before I did, but until I actually saw you, I didn’t even know you were there. It’s a talent of yours, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” She shrugged. She reached into a pocket and pulled out a file, going to work on her nails. “That’s my one shining accomplishment in more than a century— I can mask my presence from other non-mortals. I have mad skills, don’t I?”