He closed his eyes. Sylvia. Was she any part of this? “No.” Because she didn’t want to be any part of anything that had to do with him.
Turning around, he faced Rafe. “Sorry I caused you problems while I was here. And I’ll hang around while we clean up the mess with the schools and shit. When you don’t need me anymore, though, I think I’ll head on out.”
Rafe watched him with narrowed eyes.
Somehow, Toronto suspected the vampire saw more than he’d like.
CHAPTER 25
P
ACKING didn’t take long.
Not at Rafe’s, not at his place. He’d sold the house to the vampire, figured somebody else could use it eventually. The few things he needed to take— weapons and clothes— didn’t take much time to pack up.
Sad, really.
More than a hundred years and all he really laid claim to were his weapons.
“Where do you plan on going?”
At the sound of Nessa’s voice, he winced. Damn it. He’d wanted out of here before she made it back around. When she hadn’t been in the house when he returned, he’d thought maybe he could avoid those all-seeing eyes. Apparently not.
Straightening up, he turned to look at her, giving her a smile that felt strained at best. Faked and frayed, worn around the edges. “Hey, old woman,” he said.
“Harrumph. Old woman.” She squinted at him and abruptly, a sad smile curled her lips. “Oh, Tor. You went and fell, didn’t you?”
A dull flush climbed up his neck.
Turning back to his weapons chest, he continued making sure everything was secure. “I found a guy who claims he knew me— recognized the scar on my arm. Says I got it when we were climbing into a warehouse window.”
“Hmmm.”
Slanting a look over his shoulder at her, he said, “And what does, hmmm, mean?”
“Not much. What else does he have to say?”
“Dunno. He can’t say much— I cut his head off. He was a vamp— a crazy one. Had to die. No time to chat with him before I killed him.” Unable to pretend he was still inspecting the chest, he shut the lid and turned to face her. “How much do you know about what happened to me, Nessa? Honest— for once, be honest.”
“I never was dishonest, Tor.” She sighed and came into his room, lowering herself into a chair, settled on the edge. “You were covered in bites. You were near death. But there was a vamp’s stench on you, too. I always suspected you’d been tossed out as a lesson of some sort. With that kind of history, how pleasant could your past be?”
Watching her closely, he tried to decide if she was being upfront with him or not. If anybody had more pieces of his past— other than Sylvia— it was Nessa. It didn’t matter, though. He’d finally accepted it. It didn’t matter.
Taking a deep breath, he blew it out and then grabbed the straps of the trunk, hefted it up. “That’s probably exactly what happened— the vamp, I guess we knew each other. When he was attacked, it sounds like I went after the vamp who made him. He threw me to the wolves for interfering.”
“And how are you with all of this?” Nessa studied him closely. “You always wanted answers— always searched for the pieces of who you were.”
“Answers don’t change who I was. Or who I am.” He shrugged as he started for the door. “That’s the one thing I finally figured out.”
A hand touched his shoulder. Pausing, he looked into Nessa’s blue eyes. They looked a lot like his own, he realized. She really did look younger than he did. This woman was both mother and sister to him. Yet she looked a good five years his junior. Except for those eyes… those wise, ancient eyes.
“Who you were never really did matter,” she said quietly. “I always knew you could be something amazing. If you would just let it happen.”
“It hasn’t happened yet.” He tried to smile, but couldn’t. “I’ll stop disappointing you, Nessa. I swear.”
“You never disappointed me, love. You always disappointed yourself.” She rose on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Now… I’ve an idea of what you can do with yourself, if you’re of a mind to listen.”
He was tempted to just walk away.
But he couldn’t. That was something he’d done too much of. “And what’s that, old woman?”
D
OMINIC found Nessa in the front yard, staring at the rapidly fading headlights of a souped-up van with a picture of the Death Star painted on the side.
She had a sad look on her face, and it pissed him off.
“What in the hell did he do to upset you?”
“Oh, hush.” She reached up, patted his chest absently, all without taking her eyes off the back of the van.
“Hush?” He cupped her chin and drew her face toward his, until her gaze met his own. “You look about ready to cry, damn it. Look, I know you like that bastard, but—”
“I all but raised him, you know,” she said softly. Blowing out a breath, she reached up and gathered some of her hair into her hands, absently started to braid it, something she did when she was distracted… or hurting. “We found him when he was a teenager— we came on him as five werewolves were having themselves a lovely little snack… and taking their time with it.”
Dominic, still riding the wave of what he’d thought was very righteous anger, went quiet, eyeing her with suspicion. “Did you say five werewolves?”
“Yes. It was a bloody, and I mean that literally, mess. Do you know Mary Kendall? I had her with me, and a witch, Vax. He’s not with us anymore— not a Hunter, at any rate, or a witch.” She frowned, her eyes far-off and confused. “Sometimes, it all gets in a muddle, still. What was I saying… oh. Mary, Vax, they were ready to just kill him. It would have been a kindness, in a way. The virus was already working on him, healing him up as they went, keeping him alive so they could make him hurt even more.”
She reached up, touched the back of her skull. “They damaged his brain— scrambled it. Like an egg. Fortunately, they’d already infected him so that the virus healed the damage, but his memories, his life… all of it was gone.”
“Gone…?”
“He doesn’t know who he was. He found a few pieces, it seems. But he’s lived all his life with a hole in him. And a memory.” She glanced at him. “Do you know what one of his earliest memories is? Mary— saying she’d put him down. Like a dog. A mangy, rabid dog.”
Nessa sighed. “I love that girl, dearly. But all of his life, he’s lived with that in him. Feeling like not much more than a mangy, rabid dog.”
“Shit.” He scowled, and shot a look toward the van. It was out of sight now. “Look, I didn’t… fuck. Screw that. He had a rough childhood, plenty do. He still acts like an asshole.”
“Yes.” Nessa started to laugh. “He does. And I love him. He’s like a son to me, and I want to wring his neck for the way he lets everything trip him up. I think…” She paused and took a deep breath.
When she looked back at him, some of the sadness had lightened. It was still there. Just not so heavy. “I think he fell for the mercenary he was working with… and she walked away. Toronto just had his heart ripped out. Sometimes, it takes that to really wake up. He can start to heal now.”
“You…” Dominic scowled, trying to follow her line of thinking. He couldn’t. She had a few hundred years on him in the thinking department and he just couldn’t keep up. “You’re smiling because he had his heart ripped out. You’re good with this.”
“Oh, no.” A light glinted in her eyes. “But he’s figured out he’s been holding himself back. And he’s done with it. I’m good with that.”
TWO MONTHS LATER
It hadn’t been that long ago when Toronto had been facing another angry, pissed off non-mortal. That one had gone crazy.
This one was pretty damn close.
And he was expected to keep the kid on the sane side of the line.
As the young Alpha came at him, Toronto waited until the very last moment before he moved. When he did, he caught him b
y the scruff of the neck and hurled him to the floor.
Lifting his head, he stared at the small crowd gathered around. A few of them were shifting on their feet. Others were growling quietly, watching with rage flickering in their eyes. And fear. Baring his teeth in a snarl, he let some of the power inside him break free. Seconds later, the majority of them were cowering on the ground, whining low in their throats, their eyes swirling as they fought not to shift.
They were learning. A month ago when something like this had happened, they had all gone furry on him.
It was the Alpha causing the problems.
Crouching down by him, Toronto waited until the fogged eyes started to clear. He’d smacked his head hard enough that it took a minute. Blood was seeping out from under him— the kid had split his hard head open. Probably not enough to knock any sense into him, though. It also didn’t do much to knock any of the anger out of him.
“I’m guuna keel yuu,” he snarled, the words mangled by his altering form, his body heating, flowing under Toronto’s hands as he shifted.
In response, Toronto whipped out a blade and plunged it through his shoulder. It was almost pure silver and enough to stop the shifter in his tracks. The youth lying on the ground wasn’t a were. He was a natural-born shifter, and he reacted to silver differently than a were would. Silver would have pushed a were on the verge of shifting right in to the Change. For a natural shifter, it slowed it.
“You can’t kill me,” Toronto said quietly. Looking around what the pack called the war room, he studied their audience. “Leave. Nobody leaves the compound without my consent.” Narrowing his eyes, he added, “If they do, I’ll be the one tracking you… and you’ll be dealing with me.”
There were a couple of grumbles, a couple of swears. But even as the youth on the floor snarled out, “You’re my fucking pack— stay here,” they were heading out the door.
“I’ll kill you,” the kid said again. The words were clearly spoken— he’d reverted back to his human form and he couldn’t think past the pain now to shift, although his eyes shifted from green to yellow and back again as rage swirled inside him. He had to be hurting, but he didn’t show it.
“Matt, you don’t have what it takes to kill me,” Toronto said. With his hand curled around the knife, he peered into the shifter’s eyes. Werewolves and natural-born shapeshifters weren’t always the easiest of friends, but this kid needed to learn control and he had to do it fast.
A roaming pack of ferals had come and attempted to wipe the small band of shifters out, but they’d been hit with more resistance than they’d expected… and this kid had killed three of them. His father, the previous Alpha, had killed nine.
The boy was strong, and there was no denying he’d step into his father’s shoes. But he had to get his rage under control or he’d become the very thing that had all but decimated his pack.
The shifter bared his teeth and despite the silver in his body, he managed enough power to make his face shift— a partial one, his face forming a muzzle, teeth elongating to fangs, fur spreading in a slow crawl over his skin. “I killed three weres… and I had fun with it. You’re only one.”
“Yeah. But I’m not a brainless, mindless murderer. You don’t have the control it would take for a were like me.” He wiggled the knife and watched as pain splintered through Matt’s eyes before he managed to hide it. The partial shift he’d managed faded, melting away into his skin like it had never existed. “If you can’t control yourself enough to shift even with the pain, then you can’t control yourself enough to handle me. If you can’t handle me, you can’t handle the pack.”
“It’s my fucking pack!” Matt growled, and he swung out.
Toronto reacted by leaning his weight on the knife. “Yeah. And your fucking pack is losing its mind to your rage. Think back, kid. Your dad must have seen the signs in you— he knew what you’d be, knew who was going to take his place. What did he tell you about letting your rage color everything? What would it do to the pack?”
Matt’s lanky, too-skinny body tensed. And then, Toronto watched as the rage drained out of him, replaced by grief.
“I never wanted to do this,” the boy whispered. “It shouldn’t be me. Dad should still be here.”
“Yeah. You’re right. He should. But he’s not. He gave you the tools to handle this, though. It’s up to you whether or not you decide to do it.”
T
HAT night, they hunted as a pack.
Toronto stayed in his human skin, trailing along behind them and watching.
Matt kept his head, kept his cool, and for the most part, acted like the Alpha Toronto knew he could be.
It wasn’t done. Most of the survivors were still kids— the few adults that had lived weren’t strong enough to lead, but enough of them had lingering guilt or enough resentment to cause the kid grief.
It was going to be months, maybe even a few years before Toronto’s work was done here, he figured.
Maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.
If he was here, focusing on something else, he wasn’t able to spend time wishing he was somewhere else. With someone else.
S
YLVIA had moved to Miami, thinking the party city, the higher crime rate and the warm nights would do something to keep her occupied. She could find work— easily. Even if she wasn’t taking jobs, there was no shortage of people who needed to die.
She could spend the nights out by the pool in the back of the house she’d bought years ago.
And she could join the party crowds and have plenty of young, hot men who could feed any hungers she might have.
They did sate the most basic hunger— Sylvia had just fed off a musician who had already forgotten all about her. But nobody did anything to fill the void inside her.
He shouldn’t have left such a big hole. It didn’t make sense. But maybe that hole had already been there… and he managed to fill it. He’d fit into those empty, aching spots of her life that she hadn’t realized she’d had until she met him.
Was that love?
Did it come that soon?
Sighing, she leaned against a bar, staring out at the mass of bodies and listening to the throb of music, trying to let it wrap around her and make her forget.
An unwelcome brush danced along her skin and she glanced up, met the gaze of a man standing under a streetlight, head tipped so that his face was in shadow.
A faint smile curled his lips and she caught a quick glimpse of his fangs, saw the sheen in the back of his eyes before he hid it. Bored, she looked away. She wasn’t on anybody’s formal territory. She’d made sure of that, and she was in a mean enough mood that she’d be happy to… discuss… things if he felt they needed to discuss them.
Turning her back on him, she met the gaze of the bartender. She wanted to get drunk. But there wasn’t enough liquor in the world to do it. Sighing, she shouted for a beer over the crush of the crowd and tried to tell herself she was having a good time.
She was still attempting to convince herself ten minutes later when she heard the cutoff scream.
Nobody else would have heard it, not in this crowd.
Just as nobody would have scented the blood.
Sighing, she studied the bottle she held.
It wasn’t really her concern, was it? She wasn’t one of the do-gooders, some altruistic Boy Scout— or Girl Scout— out to rid the world of every bad little shifter, were or vamp in the world.
So it’s altruism?
Closing her eyes, she tried to block out the memory of how his face had looked when he’d stared at her, as if he couldn’t completely explain it. As if he couldn’t even understand it. Somebody has to be willing. If it’s not us, I guess it’s nobody. And that’s just not an option. Do you really want to live in a world where nobody stops the monsters, Miz James?
Shit.
Slamming the bottle of beer down on the counter, she followed the trail of the scream… and the scent of blood. It was possible to feed without making the
m scream, damn it. She did it all the time. It was possible to feed without hurting them. She did that, too.
So why did she smell pain and terror in the air?
The woman was unconscious by the time Sylvia made it to the alley where he’d taken her. She’d already palmed one of the few blades she was carrying. As she sauntered into the alley, his eyes rolled up to stare at her over the woman’s body.
He paused and looked up at her, smiling. “You’re new.”
“You shouldn’t be so rough with your… dates,” Sylvia said, skimming a look over the woman, snapping her fury under control as she saw the ripped dress, the bruises that were already forming.
He chuckled. “This? This isn’t a date. This is a meal. When I’m done, if you like, you and I could have a date. You can tell me why you came into my city and why I shouldn’t kill you.”
“Hmmm.” Sylvia studied him, weighing the age. He wasn’t young, but wasn’t old. Her age, she thought. And his power level was higher. She’d handled worse. Eyeing the woman, she listened to the heart, counting the beats. “You like taking so much blood you make them pass out?”
He shrugged, pulling a snowy white handkerchief out of his pocket to dab at the corner of his mouth. An affectation— he didn’t have a drop of blood on him. “Well, there’s something about taking almost too much, you know?”
“Actually, no.” She flipped her blade up, watched as his eyes dropped to it.
“Oh, now, come on.” He dropped the woman, kicking her out of his way like she wasn’t much more than a used hamburger wrapper or something.
To him, she probably wasn’t, Sylvia realized.
Had he killed before, when he went just a little over that line? Probably. As he crossed the alley to stand in front of her, she found herself remembering that conversation again.
Do you really want to live in a world where nobody stops the monsters, Miz James?
No. She really didn’t.
I
T was nearly dawn before she let herself back into her house. She was dragging, too, although it was a mental weariness, not anything physical.
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