Judging by the way Toronto aligned himself at her side, he didn’t like it, either.
She wanted to remind him that he was supposed to be outside. Watching. Ready to chase…
Except some part of her didn’t really want him gone, and another part of her suspected whoever was down there wasn’t going to take off on them. If he was, he’d have done it already.
Swallowing the metallic taste of fear that had risen in her throat, she started down the steps. Memories slammed into her.
He’ll pay you—
I’m so sorry—
He wouldn’t listen—
I’ll gut you—
I’ll get you out… I’ll get you out… I’ll get you out I’llgetyououI’llgetyouout—
“You got out…”
The voice tripped her up.
It caught her off guard so badly, she almost tripped and went to her ass.
That voice. Oh. That voice.
Stunned, she turned her head, seeking out the speaker. Shadows danced along the edges of her vision, distorting everything she saw. A hand touched her shoulder. “It’s him. He uses shadows,” Toronto murmured, his voice all but inaudible. “He’s there.”
Glancing back, she saw where he was watching and she followed that line, staring through the shadows… and just like that, the illusion of darkness faded. She saw… a ghost.
“No.” She shook her head. “You… you’re dead.”
He stared at her, his eyes bleak, haunted. And mad. The light of insanity glinted there.
“You got out,” he whispered again.
“You died.”
He rose from his crouch on the floor, dragging his tongue across his lip. And she saw the fangs. Fangs that seemed too large for his mouth. He had been a skinny boy, she thought distantly. A skinny, sad little boy who’d just wanted to try and undo a mistake…
Tears blurred her eyes. “I’m sorry, Christopher.”
He flinched. “Don’t say sorry to me, boy,” he parroted, his voice mocking.
Then he cocked his head, looking puzzled and confused. “You got out, Sada. How did you get out? I kept coming back, looking for you… but he said he killed you. Just like he killed Solomon.”
The pain in his seemingly young voice, the pain she saw in his insane eyes… it was real. “He didn’t kill me. After he was done playing with me, he just let me go.”
“He…” The man-boy looked down, thin shoulders stooped. A harsh sigh escaped him. “He let you go.”
“Yes.”
A harsh roar escaped him and he turned, driving one fist into the wall. The rock shattered under the impact, and Sylvia stared. Power rolled from him and she realized one painful fact. The boy she’d thought she’d killed… he was stronger than she was. He was insane. And he was strong.
“He killed Sol,” Christopher whispered. “He told me he killed you. After he made me drink his blood, he threw me out on the street and told me that I’d burn.”
Christopher turned a tortured face to stare at her. “All these years, I made myself pay for failing you… and he let you go.”
Small, hard muscles bunched— Sylvia saw it coming. But she was still too dazed to move.
Toronto didn’t have that problem. He moved her aside and she felt another ripple of power roll through the air.
When he moved in front of her, he wasn’t the pretty, laughing blond, nor the brooding silent stranger of the past few hours.
He was a hulking thing from the depths of a nightmare— torn between wolf and man and towering almost seven feet in the air, the werewolf caught the vampire as it came for them.
* * *
I
T was disconcerting, Toronto had to admit, facing the illusive Kit. He’d been changed when he was still a teen, a young one, at that, possibly underfed. He didn’t look much older than fourteen, with dishwater blond hair that hung in his eyes, a thin face and big, summery blue eyes that somehow managed to look innocent despite the depravity that lurked behind them, despite the wild light of madness.
This was no innocent child he faced— Toronto knew that. But it threw him for a moment. It wasn’t until the vampire came for him, mouth open to reveal fangs, that Toronto was able to really get his brain on board with what his body already knew.
This was a killer.
A monster— one who was quickly losing any bit of sanity he might have once possessed. And Toronto’s job was dealing with the monsters.
This one just happened to come in an innocent-looking package— a strong, wiry one. Toronto threw the strong, wiry little bastard across the room after he sank vicious fangs into Toronto’s forearm, tearing it open. He went flying, crashing into the wall, and Toronto went after him. The boylike monster didn’t stay down long— strong, and fast, he was up and moving before Toronto reached up.
Catching him, Toronto hurled him across the room again, this time in the other direction. He wasn’t in the mood for a battering contest. He wanted the answers. He had to have those answers, and he wanted this over with.
Sylvia looked lost. He needed to get her away from here.
As he moved past her, he bent, grabbing one of the blades he’d dropped during his shift. It was a sleek piece of work— a mix of titanium and silver, one of his favorites. Custom-made, stronger than silver alone. As the vampire surged to his feet, Toronto aimed and threw. It went straight through a thin shoulder and buried itself into the stone wall. The vampire screamed. As the shock of the pain and the silver hit him, Toronto grabbed another blade— a longer one, this time, and drove it into the vamp’s belly, skewering him and pinning him to the wall. Peering down into dazed, pain-filled eyes, he growled out, “I take it you’re the one called Kit.”
The vampire spat in his face.
“That’s a yes.” He could speak in this form— the words weren’t perfect, but they were understandable. Laying a clawed hand on the vamp’s throat, he squeezed. “Know what I am?”
“A furry, cock-sucking bastard?” With a wild grin, Kit jerked against the silver blades pinning him to the wall. His eyes were half-mad. It wasn’t just the pain doing it, though. It was more. Pain wouldn’t leave him smelling like that… like something inside him was rotting away. He was crazy.
“I’ll take that as another yes.” Flexing his claws, Toronto let them scrape gently over the thin neck. “We can do this fast. We can do this slow. I don’t really give a fuck. You know you’re going to die. You decide how it goes. I’d like to know why you changed Pulaski, but that’s a waste of time— you’re an evil little bastard and that answers that. So let’s get down to the big question— why expose us? Why did you leave a body for mortals to find?”
Kit panted. Then he coughed, a trickle of blood coming out of the corner of his mouth. “Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Fun and all. Besides, you wanted him dead, didn’t you?”
Snarling, Toronto bent over and snapped his jaws shut, just a hair away from Kit’s face. In this form, he could practically bite the vamp’s head off. Not that he would— he didn’t want any of that foulness stuck inside him. “Dead is one thing… publicly dead is different. Why?”
“Why not?” Kit smiled at him, and that mad glitter in his eyes seemed to increase for a moment before a fit of coughing seized him.
Disgusted, Toronto jerked the blades out of him. “Crazy son of a bitch. I hope you’re ready to die— let’s see how loud you can scream.”
He jerked the longer blade free, ready to plunge it into Kit’s heart and be done with it. He had the answer he needed to give to Rafe— the man was crazy. He was a powerful vamp, trapped in the body of a young teenager— spending eternity like that would be strain enough, but this guy’s mental state was already unstable. Somewhere along the way, he’d just lost it or maybe he’d come through the Change like this.
Didn’t matter. The madness had been eating at his brain for a good long while.
As he went to drive the blade into Kit’s chest, Kit moved… Toronto was prepared for
that.
What he wasn’t prepared for was Sylvia, and as he went to catch Kit, Sylvia caught Toronto’s arm. Kit reached up, grabbing the silver blade from his shoulder and swiping out, trying to get to Sylvia with it.
Snarling under his breath, Toronto pulled her back as Kit stumbled a few feet away, blood oozing from his wounds in a slow flood. Silver-wrought wounds wouldn’t close easily and Toronto planned on killing him before he had a chance to heal up.
“Wait,” she whispered, her eyes dark and tortured.
“Wait?” He shook his head. “He can’t be left alive, Syl.”
The boy-man laughed, the sound depraved and mocking. “No, no… we can’t have that. Never mind that it’s her fault I’m like this, right… Sada?”
Although he was watching the vampire, Toronto saw her flinch.
“It is my fault,” she said quietly. “And that’s why I’ll be the one to finish it. And we’re not going to play cat-and-mouse either, Christopher. Come on. Let’s get this over with.”
As she went to move, Toronto caught her arm. He saw the furred gray of his clawed hand and he swore. Grappling with the wild, angry power of the wolf, he called it back inside. It went reluctantly, the fur sinking back into his skin— the wolf wasn’t quite done burning off his rage, either.
Bones realigned, shifted, broke and reformed. Toronto just couldn’t stand to see his wolf’s hands on her— those hands were tools of violence. Just violence. Setting his jaw, he said quietly, “You don’t need to do this. Whatever happened all those years ago wasn’t your fault.”
“It was. In some part, whether I was completely to blame or not, it was my fault… he died because he tried to help me. And I mocked him. Threw his kindness in his face. This is my last kindness for him… he won’t be tortured or played with, Toronto, and I don’t want to listen to him scream. I’ve heard his screams in my nightmares already.” She shifted her gaze back to Kit. “Come on, then.”
With a sneer, Kit started for her, moving with lazy ease, despite the injuries he’d taken. He had enough years in him that he could function despite the pain. “Don’t worry, Sada… I won’t be too hard on you.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t accept the kindness you tried to offer, Christopher,” she said softly. “Or the apologies. I accept it now, and I offer my own.”
“It’s Kit.” He glared at her. “Christopher died the day you attacked me. The day he changed me. The day he killed Sol… and you can shove your apology up your ass, bitch.”
He lunged for her. Sylvia met the lunge with one of her own. She’d been aiming for his heart— quick and simple, get it done. He needed to die— she knew that. And she wanted to tell him she was sorry. She’d done that. It was time to end it.
But he was fast… very fast, especially considering he was wounded. Dark, near-black blood trickled down his belly, his legs, leaving little streaks and puddles wherever he went. She couldn’t hope for that to slow him down or trip him up. Whatever Christopher had been doing the past century, he hadn’t just been lying around or changing murdering psychotics— the vamp knew how to fight.
He evaded each strike, moving away with ease, circling her. She didn’t get the method of madness, though, until it was too late.
When Toronto had been at the cabin, he’d been loaded for bear. Or crazed vamp. He’d had numerous knives on that sleek body of his, although she didn’t know why he bothered. His wolf form was a weapon in and of itself. When he’d shifted, the sheaths had ripped, as had his clothes, and all those weapons were now on the floor.
Idiot, idiot, idiot—
If she’d just let Toronto kill him, this would be done.
But now Christopher— Kit— had a blade in each hand.
Sylvia always had one advantage over a lot of her targets— she was smaller and could use her body in ways they couldn’t, despite their speed, despite their strength. Agility was a wonderful thing.
Kit had all her agility and more.
He circled around again, twirling one of his stolen blades. It was the one that was red and wet with his own blood. “Come on. Let’s see how much I can make you bleed now. Will you bleed as much as I did, Sada?”
“Sada died that day as well,” she said softly.
He sneered. “Don’t make it sound like you’re sorry. You kept throwing that in my face, remember?”
Don’t tell me you’re sorry, boy…
“Sylvia.”
She didn’t dare turn to look at Toronto. But the sound of his voice steadied her. “Just get it done,” he said quietly.
Kit threw him an ugly look and then swung his head back around to look at her.
It was almost comical… the way he opened his mouth, that twisted look of hate on his face. And how it all froze as he looked back at Toronto, a cartoonish sort of double take.
It was so… strange that Sylvia found herself following his look. He took a step toward Toronto, one small staggering step.
What is this? She held herself ready, certain he was trying to set her up. But the rage had leeched out of him. And the glitter of madness seemed to be fading from his eyes, leaving what looked like nothing more than a lost, lonely boy.
“Your arm,” he whispered, staring at Toronto, dazed. A soft, broken little sound left him and he sounded like the boy he had been. “You… you have a scar on your arm.”
Toronto narrowed his eyes. “I don’t have time for this. Sylvia, end it. Now. Or I’m doing it.”
“Solomon?”
Toronto’s lids flickered.
And Sylvia stared. Her heart kicked up in her chest and she found herself looking into those pale, silvery blue eyes. They were icy and distant now, as they had been all night. But always before today, when he had looked at her, it had been with humor or heat or hunger… or all three. Sometimes with a little bit of frustration thrown in.
No… She started to close her eyes, but Kit moved and she jerked up her blade. He wasn’t coming toward her, though. Like a man caught in a dream, he shuffled toward Toronto.
“You get any closer, and I’m going to gut you,” Toronto warned.
Gut you…
Unable to help herself, she shifted her gaze to the wolf, as well. Staring at those pale, silvery blue eyes.
I’ll gut you for this… you’re a fucking dead man.
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.
She saw a face, one that swam up from the depths of her memory. She rarely thought of him. He hadn’t been the one to take her to Harold. Hadn’t been the one to lie, or the one to promise to get her free, or the one to die under her hands.
He simply hadn’t mattered to her.
He had just been a sullen, silent boy who had been almost a man… and he’d been furious when he saw what had become of his friend. The face wasn’t right. But it wouldn’t be, would it?
I was a teenager when I was bitten. Five weres attacked me…
A teenager. Thrown to a pack of werewolves, by all logic, he should have died. Harold had promised him a bloody, painful death. He’d been thrown to a pack of feral wolves… did it get much bloodier? Much more painful?
“Shit,” Sylvia whispered. The sound of her own voice jerked her out of her stupor and she looked up in time to see Kit taking another stumbling step in Toronto’s direction.
He responded by twirling one of the knives he held. “Vampire, I’m about ready to cut you into ten different pieces. Come any closer, and it’s going to happen— I’ll start with your dick.”
“Your arm,” Kit babbled. It was like he didn’t even seem to realize Toronto had said anything. “That scar on your arm. It’s from when we broke into the warehouse— right after he dragged us here from San Francisco. I sewed you up, right and proper, don’t you remember?”
A muscle twitched in Toronto’s cheek, his lashes sweeping low to shield his eyes.
Swallowing, Sylvia said softly, “He doesn’t remember his past, C
hristopher. He was attacked by feral werewolves here in Toronto over a century ago. He doesn’t remember anything before his attack. All he has is what happened after.”
“You…” Kit sagged, going to his knees. “Harold said he threw you to the wolves. That’s what you deserved for trying to get him after what he did to me. He’d let you fight for your death.”
Sylvia watched as something flashed through Toronto’s eyes— shock. This… this just wasn’t happening.
“Christopher, I—”
She never had a chance to finish her sentence. The blackish red blood was already spreading across the floor. Toronto lowered one of the blades he’d carried— the long one, nearly the length of his forearm, more a short sword than a knife, and wicked sharp.
Kit’s head lay a few feet away from the toes of Sylvia’s boots. “What…?”
He’d just…
No.
Staring at Christopher’s decapitated body, she closed her eyes. The image of it was burned on the inside of her retinas and she knew she’d see that for a good, long while. This not-boy had been a monster… she knew that. She’d spent a century blaming herself for his death, yet he hadn’t died. Instead, he’d let himself become like the man who’d made them. Evil.
But still… once upon a time, he’d tried to help her. This had happened because he’d tried to save her.
Swallowing around the knot in her throat, she swung her gaze around to Toronto and found that he was doing the same thing she’d been doing— watching Christopher’s lifeless body.
The odd, detached look on his face bothered her a hell of a lot more than it should have, she decided. Especially since they were supposed to just walk away…
“Why did you do that?” she demanded. “He could have given you answers— he knew who you were, damn it!”
“I know who I am,” Toronto said quietly. “I’m a fucking Hunter and I had a monster to put down.”
“He…” She wanted to argue with him.
“He what?” Blue eyes flashed as he glared at her.
Sylvia stared at him, uncertain of what she was even going to say. Damn it, she knew how this would play out. She’d come here with the sole intention of making sure the man who’d made Pulaski a vamp would die. People who could turn serial killers into vamps were a unique breed of monster. She knew that. But this… shit. Turning away, she went to shove a hand through her hair only to come across the sticks holding it in a topknot. Pulling the sticks out, she tucked them into an inner pocket of her jacket and stared at the wall.
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