Twilight Hunter (The Execution Underground)

by Kait Ballenger

  A small crash resonated from the bathroom, like the sound of cracking plastic. Damn. He walked to the door and leaned his ear against the wood. No sound. He knocked and waited for a response. Nothing.

  Worried, he knocked harder. “Francesca?”

  Muffled by the closed door, nails scratched over the wood in an eerie response.

  “All right, I’m coming in.” Jace opened the door and immediately stumbled back.

  Francesca’s clothes lay scattered across the floor, her lacy panties hooked on the rear paw of a large ebony wolf. The eyes staring at him were all too familiar, like molten liquid gold. The wolf cocked its head to the side, and its ears perked up.

  No, Francesca cocked her head to the side. He fought the urge to swear under his breath. She was a werewolf. The wolf was Francesca.

  “Am I still supposed to call you Francesca when you’re...you know?” He rubbed his fingers over his temples and stared at the ceiling. “I can’t believe I’m talking to an animal.”

  The wolf grumbled in response.

  He let out a long sigh and pushed his fingers through his hair again. “So am I supposed to call you Francesca? Bark once for no, twice for yes.”

  The wolf barked twice.

  “All right, then, Francesca it is.”

  She huffed and trotted over to the side of the bed. She leapt onto the mattress with grace, stretched luxuriantly and then curled into a ball. Jace glanced toward the door. If she was planning to sleep, he supposed he could go check out one of the other bedrooms.

  Francesca followed his gaze. She rested her head on her paws and whimpered.

  “It’s okay. I’ll use one of the other beds.”

  She made a noise between a growl and a whimper.

  He realized that she didn’t want him to go. “I can just take the floor in here, then,” he offered.

  She whined again.

  “Come on. I bet you’d be more comfortable without me anyway.” He took a pillow from the bed and dropped it onto the floor. It hit the carpet with an audible poof, and he realized it was probably softer than anything he’d ever slept on in his whole life.

  He sat down next to it and leaned back against the wall. Reaching across the floor, he took the flask, then unscrewed the cap and lifted it to his lips, ready to chug down however much whiskey was left. When nothing came out, he threw it on the carpet next to him. Damn. He would need to restock if he was going to make it through bringing a rogue werewolf to justice with a Francesca there to distract him every step of the way.

  He glanced up from the stark white carpeting. Golden wolf eyes stared back at him, monitoring his every move.

  “Do you distrust me so much that you need to watch me, or am I just that pretty to look at?”

  The wolf pawed at its muzzle and buried its head in the comforter. The thought that Francesca was in that wolf—that she was that wolf—made the gesture all the more human. He had a feeling she would have been blushing if she could have.

  “So, if we’re going to stay organized and keep one step ahead of this sicko, we’ll need a plan.” He glanced at his watch. “The sun should be coming up soon, so we’ll get some shut-eye, make our plan when we wake up, and then, when evening rolls around, we’ll head out to where the double killings were.” He looked her way to make sure she was listening. She watched him with attentive eyes. “We’ll have to touch base with David first, to find out where it all went down. The bodies will be long gone, but once we examine what’s left of the crime scene, we can take it from there. Hopefully we can still catch a trace of his scent. As long as we can find the bastard, we can take him out. Locating him will be the big problem.”

  He eyed her again. “Bark once for okay, twice for ‘I have a better plan.’ I’m sure you have something to say, as usual.”

  The wolf snarled and barked once.

  “Agreement. That’s what I like to hear. I’ll set the alarm to be sure we don’t sleep too late.”

  He pushed himself off the ground, walked over to the bedside clock and punched several buttons before he figured out how to program the alarm. The sheets rustled as Francesca shifted onto her side.

  “How are those wounds looking?”

  He sat beside her on the bed. He hesitated before he pushed aside the fur on the wolf’s collarbone. The wound was visibly healing before his eyes.

  “Looks good. You should be better by tonight.”

  The wolf laid her head on her paws and closed her eyes. Her fur was a rich, ebony black, as dark as night itself, the same gorgeous color as her long, shining hair—both beautiful and a deadly camouflage to hide her from her enemies. And man, those eyes—wild, untamed and majestic. They held an entrancing quality, one he had never encountered in a normal human being, the eyes of a free animal.

  That asshole packmaster of hers was too much of a coward to send out his troops, so she was out there on her own. What type of leader sent a female as his muscle to track a rampaging rogue? Her packmaster deserved to suffer just as the killer’s innocent victims had.

  Jace pulled his gaze away and flicked off the bedroom light. Like her, he could see perfectly in the dark, thanks to his inner wolf’s nocturnal vision, and the weight of her gaze as she watched him hung heavy on his shoulders. He moved back to the pillow. He took a deep breath, and the words slipped out before he could control himself. “For the record, you’re a beautiful wolf.”

  Without looking back at her, he lay down on the floor and rested his head on his pillow. He thanked God she couldn’t respond.

  * * *

  THE SCREECHING SOUND of the alarm rang in his ears, and something wet licked at his hand. Werewolf. His eyes shot open, and he scrambled to his feet. Adrenaline propelled him until he realized the wolf was Francesca. Right, he’d slept in a room with a werewolf all night—probably not his brightest idea. If she’d wanted to, she could have ripped his throat out.

  “What do you think you’re doing, waking me up like that?” Jace demanded as he stood and strode over to the alarm, hitting the off button with more force than was necessary.

  Francesca’s tail bristled, and a shiver ran down her spine. Jace’s eyes widened as her fur melted back into her skin. Her muzzle shortened. Her tail folded in on itself, and her ears shrank and rounded out. A moment later he was staring at Francesca, propped on all fours and completely naked.

  She threw her long hair over her shoulder and sat up. “I could’ve barked in your ear or bitten you. If I were you, I wouldn’t complain about a little tongue action.”

  He frowned. “Bite me and you’ll find a silver knife against your throat.”

  She rolled her eyes. “How gentlemanly of you.” She stood.

  Jace drank in the beautiful curves of her nude figure. Slender, muscular legs, round, smooth hips, a toned stomach, and a set of headlights that could leave a guy blind with lust.

  He ripped his gaze away from her and turned around. He felt his body grow hard, and he tried to ignore the strain against his jeans. “I never claimed to be a gentleman.”

  “Good, because you didn’t have me fooled for a second.”

  He heard her pad lightly toward the other side of the room, where her backpack lay against the wall.

  “You can turn around,” she said after several moments.

  He turned to find her wearing a white tank top and a pair of worn jeans. His gaze slid over her curved frame and his dick jerked. Damn, even when she was clothed—or barely so—he wanted to run his tongue over every inch of her skin. He forced himself to ignore the deep urge tugging at his groin.

  As if she read his mind, she glanced down at her clothing. She met his stare again and frowned. “These are my work clothes. I don’t dress like this every day.”

  “I didn’t say anything.” He tried not to dwell on the way her jeans squeezed her perfectly round ass or how her tank top framed the most perfect pair of breasts he’d ever laid eyes on.

  She shrugged. “You implied it with your eyes.”

  Ja
ce pretended he didn’t hear her comment and took his leather coat off the dresser. “Grab your things while I call David. I don’t know if we’ll be coming back here or not.” He shrugged on the coat and used the hotel phone to dial David’s number.

  After a few rings, the call went to David’s voice mail. Jace hung up and redialed, and kept redialing until David finally answered.

  “Hello?”

  “What’s with you not picking up your phone?”

  “I’m on the lam, J. I’m trying to be cautious.”

  “Yeah, and I’m hunting for a werewolf, so I’m trying not to waste time.”

  “Then hurry up and spit it out,” David said.

  “We need to know where the double killings were.”

  “We?” David asked. “You know, I really don’t like the idea of you—”

  “Mind your own business. Either help me or hang up the phone.”

  “I can’t tell you where it’s at. It’s hard to find. I’ll have to show you.”

  “Meet me at the place in an hour. You know where I mean. Make sure you ditch your phone just in case Shane put a tracker in it.”

  Jace hung up the phone without another word—David would be there.

  * * *

  After Jace thoroughly chewed out the valet for slamming on the brakes too hard when he pulled the H3 up to the hotel doorway, they drove toward the edge of the city. He ordered Francesca to check the rearview mirror every couple of minutes to ensure they weren’t being followed. He’d checked his ride religiously for tracking devices, and while nothing electronic had been attached, there was no arguing with the fact that an H3 stood out.

  “I don’t see anything,” Francesca said. He could tell from her quiet demeanor that her nerves were just as on-edge as his. The last thing they needed was to be tracked down by his fellow hunters again.

  When they reached Honeoye Falls, Jace took the back way to the Lucky Bastard. The bar was usually dead early on a Tuesday night, and tonight was no different. With the tiny lot nearly empty, he parked the car and surveyed their surroundings. David’s black 2011 Harley Super Glide, one of his many motorcycles, was parked at the side of the lot. Two nondescript cars, which Jace recognized as the bartenders’, were parked across the blacktop.

  Francesca stared at the sticker on the bar’s front door.

  Welcome to Honeoye Falls. And scribbled beneath it in thick marker: Three bars, one graveyard and four hookers. She let out a small laugh and walked inside.

  Four hookers who tried to hit him up for free on a regular basis, the three bars where his dad had drunk himself into fits of uncontrollable rage, and the one graveyard where his mother was buried. Yeah, welcome to Honeoye Falls all right.

  With one last look over his shoulder, Jace strolled inside.

  The dark cherry wood of the bar shimmered in the dim lighting. Francesca stood next to an old jukebox that only played well-known Garth Brooks and Johnny Cash songs, flipping through the selections with a blank look on her face. David sat at the bar sipping a craft beer as he watched Francesca with a wary eye.

  Jace sat down at the bar next to David and watched as the bartender cleaned a tall beer mug a few feet away.

  “Hey, John. You want the usual?”

  It took Jace a moment to respond to the bartender’s question. He spent a lot of time here, even now that he’d moved deeper into the city, but only the owner, Jimmy, knew his real name.

  “Yeah, slip me a couple bottles of Bushmills, will you? I need to restock.”

  “Coming right up.”

  He watched the bartender walk away before he turned to David again. “So where were these bodies at? I need to map where the attacks took place and check out the scene. There has to be some sort of pattern to what this psycho is doing, and if there isn’t, there’s a reason it’s random.”

  “I can’t concern myself with this for too long, J.” David sipped his beer, then set his glass on the bar top, staring blankly at the liquor shelf. “I’ve got a Chinese baby downtown who’s been possessed by that demon that’s been giving me shit, and she doesn’t have much more time. If I don’t rip that thing out of her soon, she’ll be dead and the demon will move on to its next host.” David turned toward him. “Have you ever seen a possessed baby? It’s horrifying. I can’t have baby blood on my hands.”

  “I promise I won’t keep you too long, David. Just show us the spot and then you can go save some Chinese babies.”

  “They’re not all Chinese. Just the one is Chinese. And the nationality doesn’t mean jack.”

  “No argument there.”

  Francesca walked up to the bar. “As much as I’d love to stay here and listen to Johnny Cash all day, if you guys are done making drunken small talk, I think we have more important business to attend to.”

  David set down his glass. “It’s not that simple.”

  “What do you mean, ‘It’s not that simple’?” Francesca crossed her arms over her chest.

  “The bodies were found in Manhattan Square Park, on top of that big metal piece of shit. You know, that little structure thing.”

  “Okay, yeah, I know what you’re talking about, but I thought you said it was somewhere hard to find,” Jace said.

  “I didn’t want to say much over the phone. You know how good Shane is with anything electronic. They could’ve hacked into both our phones. I’ve got a disposable cell now. I can’t give you the number, but I can call you and then throw out the phone, if needed.” He stared at his drink for a moment. “The site is easy to find, but there is something I want you to see there, and I’ll need to show it to you.”

  The bartender returned and pushed three bottles of Bushmills toward Jace, who slapped some large bills on the counter in return. He turned back to David. “Fine, I needed to restock my liquor, anyway. Finish your drink and then meet us there.”

  * * *

  COLD, DREARY AND downright sketchy, Manhattan Square Park was the last place Frankie wanted to spend her night—not that she currently had many other options. She walked next to Jace along the park’s dim pathways. Even though her natural high body heat warmed her, she wrapped her arms around her chest and pulled her jacket closer. How many times had her parents told her to stay away from here at night when she was a teen? The thought of being mugged gave her the heebie-jeebies, even though she could easily hold her own in a fight.

  She scanned the surrounding darkness, thankful for her heightened night vision. Nothing, as far as she could see. They continued on for several more minutes. Just as her shoulders started to relax, Jace reached for his gun. She heard it, too. Footsteps. He pulled his weapon just as David stepped into the dim glow of the moonlight.

  “I don’t think it’d be a good idea to blow my head off.” David grinned. “You wouldn’t get your clues, and the city of Rochester might start to have a demon infestation problem. Follow me.”

  Without a word, Frankie and Jace trailed behind him until they reached the metal structure. David climbed the aluminum steps two at a time, and they stayed on his heels. When they reached the top, he crouched down and pointed at the ground.

  “This is where they were found. Right out here in the open. But as a precaution, I scanned the place. Watch this.”

  David reached inside his leather and removed a copy of the Old Testament. He flipped to a page written entirely in Hebrew. He dug inside his pocket, then scattered rock salt across the platform as he continued to read. As his voice rose, obviously leading to the climax of his chant, he pulled a lighter from inside his coat. He stood and raised it high above his head before he knelt down again, pressing the flame to the cold metal. A trail of fire ignited, and a large symbol appeared—a perfect circle with two wavy lines perpendicular to each other running through the middle.

  “What the hell is that?” Frankie asked. For a brief second an image flashed through her mind: a blonde woman with a long sword battling an enormous man wearing wolf skins. What the hell? She pushed the thought aside, but the image was s
o vivid and clear. Where was her imagination going?

  David stared at the burning flames. “I’m not sure. A circle is one of the universal conduits, like water. It can give you full access to the beyond—usually a one-way ticket to hell.” He looked at Jace with a grim anger behind his eyes. “I don’t think you’re dealing with a regular werewolf. I think you’ve got a shape-shifting demon on your hands, and one I’ve never encountered.”

  “I have to say, I’ve been called a lot of things, but shape-shifting demon is a first,” a deep voice said from behind them.

  A chill shot down Frankie’s spine. The silhouette of a man hidden within the shadows loomed over them. She dropped into a defensive stance, bared her canines and growled. The small hairs on the backs of her neck and arms stood on end.

  “I don’t give a shit who or what you are, I hope you’re ready to die,” Jace growled.

  “I had a feeling you’d say something like that.”

  The man stepped into the light, and Frankie stared at him.

  Tall, with broad shoulders, flowing auburn hair, sea-blue eyes and loads of muscle. The heavy scent of his skin hit her full force. Her eyes widened as she sucked in a harsh breath.

  A smirk crept across the man’s face. “Seems like your bitch has a keen sense of smell.” He stepped forward. “My name’s Robert, though your papers have been calling me the new-age Jack the Ripper—surprisingly accurate. Tell me, what do you think of my work?”

  “I’ll tell you what I think. I think you’re one sick fuck.” Jace raised his gun and pointed it at Robert’s head. “One sick fuck who needs to be buried six feet under.” Jace fired.

  The sicko dodged more quickly than Frankie would have believed possible, and instead of his chest, the bullet pierced his shoulder. He yelped and stumbled back, knocking into the metal railing. Blood poured down his shirt. He clutched his hand to the wound.

  David jumped to his feet. He drew his own gun with one hand and his cell phone with the other. As the killer stumbled toward them, David snapped a picture of the symbol with his phone while he kept his weapon trained on the killer.