by Jess Haines
‘Why not? I’m finding this girl-on-girl action amusing.’
For a brief second, my murderous thoughts were aimed at the belt instead of Kimberly, and it distracted me enough that she got another good handful of hair to yank on again.
I screamed and tore at her wrist, my own nails biting into her skin. “Get your hands off me, you tramp!”
She gasped, shoving at me. “Trailer trash!”
“Town jizz jar!”
“Prude! Tease!”
“Cum-dumpster!”
“Skank-ass bitch!”
“Smegma-guzzling fire-crotch thunder cunt!”
That last was ridiculous enough that she paused to stare at me like I’d grown another head. Big mistake. It gave me the opening I needed to pop her a good one.
“Ow!” Blood spurted. She let go of me to clutch her nose and twisted away. “You broke by dose, you bitch!”
‘Nice work,’ the belt commented, though it didn’t really sound like it meant it. ‘Are you done with the hair-pulling and the girly fighting? Or should I put in a call to Girls Gone Wild to start filming?’
“Oh my fucking God, shut up!” I cried. Then glared at Kimberly, who was crawling away, crying. I tried to get up—only to have to grab my stomach as some painful bruise or stretched muscle protested the movement. My words came out wheezed and breathless, but I was still determined to catch her and see this brawl to the end. “Stop running and fight, you fucking whore! ”
Of course she didn’t stop. Of course nothing could be easy. I reached for one of the stakes, fumbled with the edge of the sweater for far too long, then pulled one out. Maybe the threat of silver burn would get her to talk about Chaz’s whereabouts.
Though I stumbled getting to my feet, I followed after her, giving her a kick in the side when she tried to get up to run. It sent her rolling down the slight incline until she fetched up against the bench.
She didn’t fight when I crouched down and curled a fist in that stupid pink hoodie, stretching the stained material to the point where there was no hope of repairing the damage. Blood still gushed down her face, and she was sobbing, gulping for air. Particularly as I rested the very tip of the stake under her right eye, ensuring I had her attention. If I hadn’t known what kind of person lay under that frightened mask, I might have felt sorry for her.
Might.
“Listen, you bitch,” I said, my voice low and dangerous, mostly because I couldn’t take a proper breath. “I want to know where Chaz is hiding. If you tell me, I’ll let you go. I’ll hurt you—but you’ll walk. If you don’t, I will happily kill you and leave you for the cops to find.”
She inhaled sharply, then choked on some of her own blood. Brown eyes watering, she looked at me with greater fear than before. “You bade Vic disabbear, didb’t you?”
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to. She sobbed and coughed again.
“Please, I dob’t know abyding!”
My fist tightened. “You know where he is. Tell me.”
“What the hell is going on here?”
I didn’t recognize the voice, but cringed anyway, glancing over my shoulder to search the dark for the source.
Not a cop, thank God. He was bare-chested, wearing cargos and combat boots, with a T-shirt hanging out of his pocket. But the glowing eyes and the way the hair on the man’s bare forearms bristled told me as much as the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and the alarm radiating from the belt that I was facing another Were. He didn’t look like much, but there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that he was dangerous. One of the Moonwalkers out patrolling the territory, I was sure.
“She attabbed be!”
The guy was utterly flabbergasted by the blood, the no doubt strange sight of a human pinning a beaten up Were, and the silver in my hand. The flare of recognition in his eyes was even worse.
“Z! Isabelle!” Rustling in the bushes heralded the arrival of two more Moonwalkers, neither of them looking particularly friendly. The first one took a step closer, the glow in his eyes becoming more pronounced. He still kept a healthy distance between us—most likely because I had a silver weapon in my hand and was making no move to sheath it. “You’re Shiarra, aren’t you?” No point in denying it. At my nod, he gestured at Kimberly. “Not that we mind some help now and then keeping trespassers off our territory, but that seems a little extreme. You mind telling Rohrik what’s up before you use that?”
Kimberly shifted uneasily under my hand. My gaze swiveled back to hers, pinning her in place with no more than the force of my stare.
“She took something of mine. I want it back.”
“Easy, lady,” said the other man—Z—who’d eased himself behind the first, watching me with the wary eye of one who is certain he’s dealing with a crazy person. Aside from the glowing eyes and the claws tipping his fingers, he could have passed for your average, everyday lumberjack. “We won’t let her go anywhere. Put the weapon down, back away from the girl, and tell us what’s going on.”
I considered my options. What are the odds I can take these three down before Kimberly gets away?
‘Slim to none. You’re not armored and that one can partial shift. Usually only alphas can do that.’
I know, I thought, searching Kimberly’s face. But what does that matter when I’ve got you? What does it mean?
‘It means you’ve got at least one powerful dominant on your hands. If one of them manages to fully shift—and considering there’s three of them, that’s a high probability—you wouldn’t make it out alive.’
Hell. Any other suggestions?
‘Play nice. For now.’
Slowly, and with great deliberation, I loosened my grip on Kimberly’s hoodie and stepped back. I kept the stake on her cheek as long as possible, leaving behind an ugly blister that she was quick to rub as soon as there was a little distance between us.
I wasn’t stupid enough to put the weapon away, though the Moonwalkers were eyeing it like I was holding a poisonous snake that might lash out and bite them at any moment. Lowering the stake, I took my eyes off Kimberly to see where the Moonwalkers wanted us to go.
It gave Kimberly an opening to run. Damn it. She was on her feet in a flash, zipping over the benches and down the path like a shadow. One of the Moonwalkers—the girl, Isabelle—went after her. I felt an arm on my shoulder as soon as I turned to give chase.
“Don’t—” he started.
My stake flashed up, scraping along his arm, leaving behind the sizzle of burned skin, but no blood, as he whipped away too quickly for me to do much damage. Fangs sprouted as he snarled at me, the formerly reasonable facade vanishing. I scrambled back, putting some distance between us, but Z was coming around to flank me.
“You are one ballsy bitch,” the shirtless guy said, rubbing his arm. “What the fuck does Rohrik see in you?”
“She’s a hunter, you dumb shit,” said Z. Every time I moved to keep him from getting behind me, the other guy shifted, getting just a bit closer. Soon he’d be in arms’ reach. They’d done this before. Classic hunting tactic. “Why else would she be here with those? He’s probably thinking of recruiting her.”
“I’m not here for any of you,” I said, skittering to one side as Z made a move to reach for me. “I just want her.”
“Yeah? What’s the girl to you?”
“She’s a Sunstriker. She can tell me where to find her pack leader.”
Shirtless sidled closer, moving into a crouch. He was going to spring at me any moment. “What’s the big deal? Why do you want to see Chaz?”
“Payback,” I replied, wiggling the stake in my hand for emphasis.
That brought him up short—but Z took advantage of my divided attention and wrapped his fingers around my wrist, his thumb digging into my tendons until I had to let go of the weapon. It fell with a dull clang to the hard-packed dirt. I wasn’t worried, since the runes branded into the belt would summon it back to its holster as soon as I moved a few yards away from where it landed.<
br />
The belt finally decided to chip in, though I could feel its reluctance. Why the hell it didn’t want to participate in this fight was beyond me, but it wasn’t about to let me be taken by the Moonwalkers. I kicked at Z’s instep, but he shifted his foot. Clever. Not clever enough to avoid the sucker punch to his ribs, though.
His grip loosened just enough for me to pull away. Shirtless was closing in, but I didn’t bother to engage. With a move that made my back and calves burn from strain, I slid under his outstretched arm—grabbing whatever it was that Kimberly had dropped, still shining merrily amidst the dirt and leaves—and pushed myself upright so I could launch my body over the benches and back onto the path.
I didn’t look back until I reached Fifth and Fifty-Ninth. The Weres apparently didn’t give chase, for which I was thankful. Didn’t mean it was time to slow down. Though I’d lost my shot at interrogating Kimberly properly, and surely had made some new enemies out of the Moonwalkers, it helped to know that Chaz couldn’t have gone too far, as he wouldn’t have let his piece of ass wander beyond his reach. More than likely, he’d sent her out to play fetch on his behalf. It was a good sign, as I was positive that meant he was still somewhere in the Tri-State area.
Undoubtedly, that little fiasco back there would strain any future relations with Rohrik—but then, I strongly doubted I’d live long enough to have to explain myself to him. Though I grimaced at the prospect of having to apologize to Bo for leaving him in the lurch. No doubt he was back at the car waiting for me and wondering what the hell had happened.
Slowing to a jog, brushing absently at the leaves in my hair with my free hand, I looked down at the small piece of metal and plastic I’d scooped off the ground.
Kimberly had dropped a flash drive.
A dark, cat-that-ate-the-canary smile curved my lips. Maybe this night hadn’t been a complete waste after all.
Chapter 12
I tucked the USB drive in my jeans pocket, slowing my pace once I’d put a little distance between the park and myself. Facing Bo wasn’t going to be fun.
People were giving me odd looks, but I didn’t pay them much attention, brushing absently at the borrowed sweater as I walked, trying to get rid of some of the clinging dirt and brush. The brick-red fabric, which clashed with my hair even without the additions of flecks of blood and mud, was pretty hopelessly stained. Hopefully Bo wouldn’t be too pissed about that, on top of my leaving him behind.
“That look really does not become you, Ms. Waynest.”
I froze, every hair on my body standing at attention as terror—and something else, something I didn’t dare name—bolted down my spine. The bones in my neck creaked with tension as I slowly turned my head.
The vampire was leaning in the shadows of a recessed doorway only a few feet away, hands pocketed, one booted foot resting on the door.
He looked the same as always, dressed casually in a loose-fitting gray fisherman sweater and designer acid-washed jeans. No doubt that outfit cost more than my car. His black, shoulder-length hair swayed idly in the wind, obscuring what the darkness wasn’t already hiding of his swarthy features. All I could make out clearly were the sharp line of his jaw and the sardonic curve of his lips, etched in stark relief by the shadows.
Someone plowed into me, knocking me aside as he bustled by. It broke my paralysis, but the guy did no more than flip me off when I cursed at him for his carelessness. Royce laughed softly, drawing my attention back, and I inched out of the way of the foot traffic to get closer despite every instinct I had screaming at me to get away.
‘Kill it,’ the belt demanded, a surge of something very much like desire radiating from it.
No, I admonished, clenching my hands into fists at my sides so I wouldn’t succumb to the burning need to grab one of the stakes. He’ll kill me, Isaac. Stop. Now.
The belt quieted, but my muscles still twitched with the urge to move. Hunt. Kill.
“What do you want?” While I managed to stand my ground and keep from running flat out to escape, I couldn’t hide the quaver in my voice. Damn it.
The vampire lifted his head, his black eyes locking onto mine, drawing me into a quiet place until I heard nothing—not the cars zipping by, the rustle of wind, or the voices of passing pedestrians—nothing but his voice. My world dissolved around me until the two of us were all that existed.
“You. I want you. Come back to me.”
That sent a jolt through me. I backed up a step. The movement was slow, jerky. Like moving through molasses. The sounds coming out of my mouth felt more like mush than words. “You—what you said... you said...”
“Yes, I know what I said. As much as I’d like to hear you make that apology, I’m not angry with you anymore.” He sighed, a breath of air so light I barely heard it. “I sense when you’re distressed, Shiarra. We’re in each other’s blood. You’ve been so afraid. Stop running, and let me take care of you. Let me put an end to this.”
He held out his hand, and I couldn’t resist the need to take it. His skin was cool against mine, like melting ice sliding along my skin, wrapping around my fingers. When he urged me closer, I went, drowning in the dark depths of his gaze.
“Tell me first—you did something with the Moonwalkers, didn’t you? Just now? What were you doing with Rohrik?”
‘Don’t! Don’t say a word,’ the voice whispered, even as my numb lips moved on their own.
“It wasn’t Rohrik.” The need to pull away was growing. In the back of my mind, the belt was clawing its way to the surface, pushing its will into my limbs. Making my words slur. “Kimberly. Kimberly was there. Chased her.”
Royce drew me closer, his hands sliding up to cup my cheeks. His eyes, framed by thick lashes, were so dark, glinting with cold red fire in their depths. Would it set me ablaze if I looked deeper?
“Did you kill her, sweet? Or did the Moonwalkers take her?”
‘Keep your mouth shut. Don’t answer him.’
I stared up at that beautiful face, into those ancient eyes that had seen the rise and fall of civilizations. He smelled of spice and mint, the scent of it drowning out the burn of the city smog in something cool and dark and wonderful. My mouth opened, but no sound came out, my vocal cords knotted tight.
Royce bent closer—his lips would brush against mine if he moved just a little more—and the red in his eyes became brighter, compelling, demanding an answer.
That was enough to make me instinctually balk against him. That heat burned my irises, and I closed my eyes, turning my face away.
“If you wanted information,” I said, reaching up to grab one of his wrists, “all you had to do was ask.”
Vampires as old as Royce do not startle easily, but I felt him flinch under my touch. Clearly he was not expecting me to resist his... charms.
‘Hurt it. Drive it off. Get it away.’
He recovered quickly, once again assuming that cold mask of indifference I was so familiar with. By now I’d come to realize it meant he was hiding a great deal of emotion under the surface. A weakness he didn’t want exploited.
“You,” he said mildly, “are in a great deal of trouble.”
“No, really?” My hand tightened around his wrist, and I bared my teeth in the semblance of a grin. A rush of energy blazed into me as the belt flooded my veins with adrenaline. “Has anyone ever told you it’s rude to fuck with a girl’s mind?”
My fist flew toward his face—the strength and anger behind the punch had sufficient force to crush a human’s skull—but he caught my hand, closing his fingers around mine before the blow could land. Eyes narrowed, he examined my features and dropped his attempts to worm his way into my head. The sounds and sensations of the world abruptly starting around me again struck with all the force of a freight train. The severance was so complete, I sagged, muscles going slack from the shock.
“Perhaps, Ms. Waynest, I might have asked if you had given me any indication that I could trust you without the necessity of forcing you to divulge ever
y ounce of information or cooperation I desire. You can hardly blame me for looking out for my own interests.”
I tugged to free my hand from his, but he held fast, grabbing my other hand in a move so deft and quick I hadn’t even noticed until I felt his fingers tightening around my wrist. He twisted my arms to trap both wrists at the small of my back with one hand and leaned in, taking a deep breath. Breathing in my scent? God, his fingers were so cold....
“Shiarra.” He said my name in a voice dark and husky, sending an altogether different kind of shiver tracing its way over my skin as he nipped at my earlobe. “You don’t know what you do to me. Feeling you day and night, tearing yourself apart. And for what? What are you seeking? Revenge? What good will it do? Come home with me.”
Oh, my God, he could sense my emotions? Even after this long, though I hadn’t had more than a few drops of his blood? Was that how he found me? His touch—oh, God, it made every joint in my body go liquid. If he hadn’t been supporting me—trapping me—I would have sunk to my knees. He held me so tightly, I knew he’d never let me fall.
‘Don’t. Don’t.’ The belt beat at my consciousness, tearing away the layers of hunger and need Royce was making me feel to instead imbue me with a sense of purpose that felt too forced, too fake, to really impinge. ‘You can’t. You know you can’t. He’s using you. Again. Don’t let him.’
The mixed feelings clawing at my insides were becoming painful. It was getting hard to tell which thoughts were the belt’s and which were mine.
“I can’t,” I mouthed. Not sure why. Not really meaning it.
“Tell me,” he said, cool lips traveling down my jaw and sending tremors through what little of my muscles was left to respond. “Tell me why it would be so terrible. Tell me why you can’t.”
‘Don’t forget your promise. Don’t you dare.’
That was enough of a reminder for strength to come back to me. Filled with a heavy sense of regret, I tilted my head just enough to meet Royce’s lips with mine, my tongue flickering out to taste the hints of smoke and brandy and mint lingering there. He stilled, frozen, as if either shocked or afraid of driving me away if he returned the gesture. My heart seized up in my chest as the belt protested, but it was far away, somewhere else.