Hunter's Fall

by Shiloh Walker

  They both hurt. They both worried. After so many years alone, it seemed as natural as breathing to press herself closer and take comfort in his nearness.

  She wasn’t alone any longer.

  Neither of them was.

  He nuzzled her neck then sank his fangs into her. Kelsey shivered as heat danced through her veins. She could feel his mouth drawing against her flesh, feel his cool body warm. The tension in the air grew thick, hot, wrapping around them.

  When he pulled away, she groaned, instinctively trying to draw him back to her, but it was too late. He licked the small wounds at her neck and she felt the faint tingle as her body healed it. Lifting her head, she stared up at him and trailed her fingers across his mouth. She needed him. She needed the strength of him, the warmth of their love. The comfort they could offer each other.

  “Take me to bed,” she murmured softly.

  Malachi’s dark, midnight eyes glowed. He lifted a long-fingered hand and cupped her cheek. “You have students and teachers awaiting you, pet.”

  She reached between them, stroking him through his jeans. “I don’t care.”

  “Well, then.” A smile curled his lips and he lifted her into his arms.

  BECAUSE she knew she’d come too close to death, Nessa didn’t leave the school the minute she had the strength to climb out of her bed.

  She should have felt at home here. After all, she’d taught in this school for many, many years . . . back in that other life. That other life. She smiled without humor. She could break her life into two parts now . . . no, three.

  Life with Elias. Life after Elias. And now . . . life after death.

  Nessa didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to be around another soul—not a friend, not a student. Nobody. She couldn’t risk it. Another loss would destroy her.

  Where’s your strength now, you stupid old bitch?

  The sly, insulting whisper of Morgan’s voice stirred something inside her, the first embers of anger, selfdisgust. Something. But she couldn’t very well get angry, now could she?

  After all, the girl wasn’t wrong.

  Nessa’s strength was gone. She couldn’t find that strength again, and she didn’t want to.

  She just wanted oblivion and if she couldn’t have that, then she wanted peace and solitude.

  If she was alone, then she wouldn’t come to care about anybody again and if she didn’t come to care, she wouldn’t be shattered by another loss.

  “Too many losses,” she murmured to herself. Far too many.

  As her strength slowly returned, so did lucidity. Clear thoughts weren’t particularly welcome, but she had to face the facts. She couldn’t keep doing this to herself. Even if she didn’t particularly want to live, she didn’t want her friends to pay the price, and sooner or later, that would happen if she kept to this road.

  Kelsey visited often, using books, movies and bribes of French chocolate and plum wine to draw Nessa out of her shell. As fond as Nessa was of her shell, though, she let her friend coax her outside.

  As little as she cared for her own neck, for her own life, she did still care for her friends and she was tired of making them worry.

  Within a week, her energy was back.

  Thanks to the food they’d been pushing on her, she’d put on a few pounds.

  And her mind was all too clear. That was the bothersome part about taking care of herself. It was harder to avoid thinking about things.

  Memories taunted her, and the ever-present Morgan renewed her assault with glee.

  She was tempted—for the first time since she’d realized that the bitch had taken to haunting her—to tell somebody else about her hitchhiker, see if anybody might have a clue how to get rid of the annoying ghost.

  But she didn’t. If she seriously put her mind to it, she could probably think of a way to rid herself of Morgan.

  It’s a sad thing in life when one hesitates to rid oneself of an enemy. But if nothing else, Morgan was a constant in Nessa’s life.

  “How low I’ve sunk,” she whispered, staring off into nothingness. She tolerated the presence of a murdering ghost, just because it meant she wasn’t alone inside her head.

  The irony wasn’t lost on her.

  SHE came awake to hear the high-pitched chatter of laughter and she groaned, rolling onto her stomach. She tugged the pillow over her head and tried to block out the sound of the students, but to no avail. She’d left the blasted window open the night before, forgetting that the students resumed their studies today.

  For the past week, it had been relatively quiet. The students had been on spring break, but now the time for quiet was over. School was back in session.

  Kicking her legs over the edge of the bed, she rose and stormed to the window, half tempted to mutter a spell that would darken the room again. She could pretend it was still nightfall.

  Staring out the window, she watched them. They were laughing amongst themselves. A few were griping about an assignment they’d failed to do over the break. Others were loitering here and there, with that feigned air of apathy teenagers had long since perfected.

  Across the broad expanse of green grass, Nessa could see the front steps of the school. Kelsey was there, along with some of the other instructors. They spoke to the children, answered questions and waved the students on when they lingered too long.

  On the surface, it looked like most any other school. That was exactly what the mortal world saw—a school for the gifted and troubled. Gifted meaning highly capable, though, since naturally the mortal world didn’t tend to think in terms of witches, shapeshifters or vampires.

  And Excelsior was a damn fine school—it provided a top-notch education, one of the finest private educations money could buy. It provided that . . . and a lot more. Many, though not all, of the students had no family to guide them through the training needed to attain control of their gifts.

  Once the sun set, a new set of students would emerge from the secured, safe rooms under the school—the newly Changed vampires—there to learn control over their bloodthirst.

  Excelsior was small. No fewer than two hundred minor students and maybe half as many adult students. A little world, isolated from the rest of mankind.

  Nessa closed the window and jerked the heavy curtains into place. Turning, she stared at her room. She dismissed the bed without even looking at it. There was no way she could rest now. A headache pounded behind her eyes.

  There was a neat stack of books on the little table near the window. Yet another offering from Kelsey. Depressed and tired, Nessa moved to the chair and sank down. She blew out a breath and glanced at the paperback on top. A pretty girl, dressed all in black. She flipped it open and saw another image just inside. The same girl, this time with a man. They stood close, not quite embracing.

  Blood roared in Nessa’s ears as she stared at the man. Black coat, worn open over a bare chest, the long ends of it flapping about his legs.

  Nessa’s hands trembled. Her heart began to slam against her ribs.

  Dark hair . . . a strong jaw. She couldn’t see his face well, but her imagination was quite content to fill in the void. In her mind’s eye, she could see him.

  Her dream lover . . .

  The book fell from her slack hands, but she didn’t notice.

  His face. There was something about his face . . . then the image faded away—or perhaps she faded . . . into the image, for the girl was no longer there. It was him. He lifted his head, staring at her. His face—almost too pretty for a man.

  You’re too pretty, she’d told him.

  Dark, velvety brown eyes.

  Long-fingered hands . . . almost elegant.

  Her heart skipped a beat as her imagination kicked into overdrive. He was touching her and she was helpless as he lifted a hand to cup her cheek, angling her head back.

  Tears burned her eyes.

  Just before he would have kissed her, she flung herself out of the chair, landing in a heap on the floor.

  �
��No,” she whispered, shaking her head. She couldn’t do this. She’d refused to let herself dream of him in the past year, refused to let herself take comfort in his presence. In those dreams, she’d felt almost happy . . . and she couldn’t be happy. Would never truly be happy and having it in her dreams, only in her dreams was just too much.

  Too painful.

  “No,” she whispered again, shuddering.

  The spell was shattered and Nessa found herself on her hands and knees, staring at the book. It lay just inches from her hands.

  Swearing, she shoved upright and kicked it away. It ended up under the bed, but she didn’t bother retrieving it.

  Nessa cast a look around the room.

  Enough. She’d had enough.

  “Damn it.” She shoved a hand through her hair, fisted it in the blond strands. She jerked at it, hoping the light tug would help clear her mind, but it did nothing.

  Her head ached, her heart ached.

  Confusion and chaos reigned inside her.

  All from a bloody picture on a damned book.

  And she was so fucking tired of it. So tired.

  “I’m stronger than this,” she muttered. Slowly, she turned and stared into the mirror hanging over the fireplace.

  She was stronger than this.

  “By God, it’s time I started acting like it then, isn’t it?” Lifting her face upward, she gathered her magic, and in moments, she was gone, letting it carry her away.

  CHAPTER 5

  “I’M not doing very well, darling.”

  Nessa was talking to a stone angel.

  The marble headstone held Mei-Lin’s name, her date of birth and the day she died. Such a short time she’d walked this earth. Seventeen years, to the day.

  Below the dates there was an angel, etched into the marble with amazing delicacy. Brushing her fingers over the wings, Nessa said, “I’d be ashamed if you could see me now, what I’ve become.”

  There was no answer, but she hadn’t expected one.

  The past week had passed with startling, unpleasant clarity. Ever since she’d left Excelsior, she’d been all too sane, all too aware. She hated it, and some part of her yearned for the oblivion of the past year. She hardly remembered much of it. It was a vague, hazy blur, one she longed to find again.

  But it wouldn’t be so easy this time.

  Grimacing, she touched her neck. The skin beneath her fingers was smooth, unscarred, no sign of the nasty bite that could have killed her—it likely would have, if she were human.

  Or if God had any intention of letting her die.

  Damn Malachi for saving her. Damn her own hide for collapsing and giving him the opportunity to get her to Excelsior.

  Just being at the school had reminded her. She knew who she was. She knew what she was meant to do with her life. Finding her own death wasn’t in the plan, no matter how much she longed for it.

  Pushing her hair back from her face, she stared off into the night. It was past midnight. The cemetery was closed and she wasn’t supposed to be here right now.

  Not that she cared. Nessa didn’t listen to or follow rules that kept her from doing what she wanted. If she wanted to visit a loved one’s grave, why couldn’t she do it at whatever hour she chose?

  The mild spring breeze teased her hair, carrying with it the scent of rain and blooming flowers. It smelled of life, and of new death. Why did people always feel the need to offer flowers to their dead?

  “I can’t keep going like this, can I, darling?” Nessa stroked the marble headstone and then pushed herself to her feet.

  Tucking her hands in her pockets, she said, “I think it’s time I say good-bye.”

  Since Mei-Lin’s death, Nessa had made it habit to come visit her grave as often as possible. She’d done it in part because she wasn’t ready to let the girl go, but also because she wanted to remind herself—punish herself. Using the pain, deliberately inflicting it upon herself, like jabbing a needle into an open wound.

  Logically, Nessa knew there was nothing she could have done to save Mei-Lin. It had been an accident—a horrible, terrible accident in which four young women lost their lives.

  She needed to let the girl go, and she needed to let go of her grief. She rested a hand on the headstone. “I’m sorry, Mei-Lin, so sorry. You should have grown up, found a man who looks like Daniel Day-Lewis and lived happily ever after. I’ll miss you, darling. But I need to let you go.”

  Tears rolled down her cheeks and she wiped them away.

  “Good-bye.” She turned on her heel and strode away from the stone, refusing to look back, no matter how much she wanted to.

  There was one more good-bye she needed to make.

  One more dream to kill.

  Once she was out of the cemetery and away from any prying electronic eyes, she lifted her face to the sky and called her magic.

  It carried her away, sweeping her across miles and miles, over land and ocean. It was nearing dawn when her feet alit on the ground.

  She breathed the air in, filled her lungs with the scent of the forest—trees, moss, the morning dew. She stared around her, amazed to realize she barely recognized the place. Centuries had passed since she’d seen this bit of land. No sign of Oneoak remained and logically, she hadn’t expected to see anything of the long-gone village.

  Even the trees were different. The land. Peering up at the sky, she searched for something that she recognized. But there was nothing.

  Swallowing the knot in her throat, she started to walk.

  Although the land no longer seemed familiar, she knew where he rested. She could have found his grave had she been forced to stumble blindfolded through a snowstorm.

  There was nothing to identify it. No marker, no stone. But she knew. Deep inside, she knew. Settling on the ground next to his grave, she rested a hand on the earth and said, “Hello, lover.”

  HELLO, lover . . .

  It was a bad time to get distracted. Dominic barely managed to evade the werewolf’s clawed hand, aimed straight for his throat.

  The woman’s voice echoed in his ears and he scowled, blocking it out of his head.

  Not now. Can’t lose my mind right now.

  No way could he afford to get distracted right then. He wasn’t fighting alone—Sheila, one of his fellow Hunters and his best friend’s wife, was with him. If she got hurt because he couldn’t pull his head out of his ass, he’d never forgive himself for as long as he lived. And that wouldn’t be very long.

  Rafe would kill him.

  Gripping his knife, he waited until the werewolf came at him and ducked under the strike, using the wolf’s speed to his advantage and driving them both to the ground. He plunged his knife deep, and the stink of burning meat filled the air.

  The heart—had to destroy the heart. He twisted the knife, making sure the wolf was completely and utterly dead before he shoved himself upright. The dead body was changing back to his natural state, revealing a middle-aged, slightly plump man, his body nude.

  Dominic lunged for the other wolf just as the creature went to belt Sheila. Judging by the bruises on her face, she’d already taken quite a beating. Oh, yeah. Rafe was going to have his hide. He wrapped his arm around the wolf’s neck and pressed—unlike vampires, werewolves did still need to breathe, and Dom used his strength to choke the wolf into submission.

  “Don’t kill him,” Sheila warned. “Rafe wants to know where the rest are holed up.”

  Dom grunted as the were tried to smash his head backward. “Maybe he could save us the trouble and just tell me now.”

  “Go fuck . . . your . . .” The were gasped, struggling to breathe. “. . . self.”

  Dom grinned. “Be nice. There’s a lady present. Tell us where the rest of them are and you can die nice and fast.”

  “Fuck off.” He tried to drive an elbow backward.

  “Fine. Have it your way—the Master will get it out of you if he has to bleed you one drop at a time.” He squeezed tighter, tighter, until he felt the
wolf go slack. He held another minute or so and then he let the unconscious sorry bastard fall to the ground. Reaching for the reinforced silver cuffs at his belt, he gave Sheila a narrow look.

  “Well, that was fun,” Sheila said, her face pink and her eyes gleaming at him despite the bruising around her left eye.

  Normally, Dominic would have stared at her and laughed. She was black-and-blue, and that was her idea of fun? But just then, he heard another whisper. It’s long past time that I do this.

  What . . . ? He staggered, all but swamped by a wave of misery—her misery. His woman . . . his witch. Pressing the heel of his hand to his temple, he braced the other against the brick wall nearby, barely aware of Sheila’s odd, worried gaze. “Hey . . . you okay?”

  No. No, he wasn’t.

  He was hearing her voice again. He could hear her. Clear as day. Clear as a bell. Like she was standing right next to him, murmuring in his ear.

  Past time she do what? he thought, half panicked. He was so focused on her, on her voice, he wasn’t aware of anything, of anybody else.

  I have to let you go. All these years, I waited for death . . . knowing I’d finally be with you, and now, death has denied me. I’m not meant to find you.

  The hell she wasn’t—he wanted to scream. To snarl in sheer frustration. Over a dream. Over a woman who didn’t even exist.

  The blood roared in his ears. Dimly, he heard Sheila shouting his name. Heard the scrabble of claws on concrete. There was a howl. Danger—danger—His body tried to scream the warning at him, but he was lost, caught in the spell of his woman’s voice as she continued to whisper inside his head.

  I don’t know why. But I’m not. So I need to let you go.

  Good-bye, my love . . .

  His heart no longer beat that much, but it still functioned and as her voice echoed in his mind, Dominic felt a tearing pain, unlike anything he’d ever known.

  Unlike anything he had ever imagined. It was worse than the pain he’d gone through when he Changed. It was worse than the sickening, terrifying nightmares that still haunted him—the nights he’d spent helpless as a feral Master toyed with him.