Hunter's Fall

by Shiloh Walker

  She squirmed around until she could turn onto her back. When his gaze dipped lower, she gave him a cheeky grin. “Don’t you know who I am? Trust me, I can handle this.”

  Dominic shook his head. Focus, he told himself. Focus on something other than the fact that she’s lying here with those beautiful breasts bare. On something other than the fact that she’s all but naked.

  It wasn’t easy. His cock swelled—ached. His fingers itched, longing to reach out and touch her. And his mouth watered—longing to taste. He realized he was lowering his head to do just that, and he swore, stiffening as he pulled away.

  “You only think you can handle this. You don’t know what you’re getting into—because if you did, you never would’ve started down this road.”

  Nessa smiled at him and reached for his hand. “Must we talk now? I can think of so many things that would be far more fun than talking.” As she spoke, she brought his hand to her breast. Then she reached out and curled a hand around his neck, drawing him closer. “Come to me . . . kiss me. It’s been too long since we were together like this . . . I feel so empty without you.”

  “This isn’t a good idea.” Even to his ears, the muttered words sounded halfhearted at best. He let her pull him lower.

  His fangs throbbed in their sheaths, but he didn’t let them emerge. Carefully, he used the straighter, blunter human teeth, raking them across her soft, sun-warmed flesh. She tasted like coconut lotion and woman—sweet, so sweet. Groaning against her, he sucked one pink, swollen nipple into his mouth.

  Beneath him, she whimpered and arched up, pressing herself closer. “Don’t be silly. I think it’s a fine idea.” She pulled him over her, her hands strong and certain.

  As she pushed his swimming trunks down over his ass, he caught the strings of her bikini bottom and tore them. She laughed against his mouth, breathless. “Yes . . . now you see, this is much better than talking.”

  Dominic growled and slanted his mouth over hers. He ached to press his mouth to her neck, pierce her flesh and feed from her as he sank his cock into her body. But he didn’t.

  She reached between them and caught his rigid flesh, stroking him with a teasing, light touch. He crowded against her, trapping her hand between them as he nudged the head of his cock against her slick, wet heat.

  “A lovely thing about dream sex,” she murmured. “We won’t get sand everywhere.”

  “Quit talking now.” He nipped her lower lip and caught her hands, guiding them over her head. “Open for me, Nessa . . . open . . .”

  She brought her knees up, hugging them to his hips. As he pushed inside, she whimpered in her throat. “Faster. Harder. More.”

  “No.” He brushed his mouth against hers and began to retreat, pulling back bit by bit, and then surging inside her. She was tight, so tight around him, her silken tissues caressing and squeezing him even as she resisted him. She whimpered in her throat.

  “Shhh . . .”

  He trailed his lips over her neck, biting her gently, just above her pulse. She shuddered, pressed closer. The taste of his own blood filled his mouth—a warning. His fangs slid lower but before he could pierce her flesh, he tore his mouth away.

  Her legs twined around his hips, and she arched, rubbing herself against him. “Please don’t leave me . . .” she begged. “Promise you won’t leave. Let’s just stay here . . . always.”

  Her desperate plea tore through him, like a poison blade, leaving pain and death in its wake. What he wouldn’t give to be able to make that promise, to know he could keep it. “Dreams don’t last forever,” he whispered against her lips.

  “But one day, I will find you. Once I find you, I won’t lose you again.”

  He ran a hand down her side, cupped her breast. Gently, he pinched her nipple, rubbed it back and forth between his finger and thumb. Kissing a path from her mouth down to her swollen flesh, he worked his arm beneath her, locking her lower body in place.

  He sucked on her nipple, drawing it deep, pressing it against the roof of his mouth with his tongue. Under the fragile shield of her skin, he could scent her blood, feel it coursing through her veins. He shuddered, trembled, as he fought the urge to mark her, to bite her, to bind her to him.

  Her nails tore across his back. The sharp, quick sting brought a harsh groan to his lips.

  Nessa caught his face between her hands. She rubbed her thumb over his lower lip. From under her lashes, she watched him. “You’re holding back. Please don’t hold back . . . not here, not with me. I want everything, everything you are, everything within you.”

  She didn’t know what she was asking. But then it was just a dream . . . right? Swearing, he fisted a hand in her hair and pulled, angling her chin up and to the side, baring her neck. He scraped her skin lightly with his fangs. Reaching down with his free hand, he cupped her ass, canting her hips up. He drove into her hard, fast.

  She screamed.

  Dominic twisted his hips, rubbing his body against her right . . . there. Her scream died abruptly. She bucked in his arms, thrashed and whimpered.

  This time, when he tasted his own blood, he didn’t pull back. His fangs dropped and he pierced her flesh, just as she started to come. As her blood flooded into him, he emptied himself into her.

  IT was nearing sunset. Dominic dreaded it—once the sun set, he’d waken and the dream would end.

  Already his body tried to wake him, but he didn’t want to leave the dream. Pulling her closer, he nuzzled her neck. “Tell me you’ll be careful.”

  “I’m always careful.” She tipped her head back and smiled at him.

  “No, you’re not. If you were careful, you wouldn’t be in the trouble you’re in right now.”

  Golden brows drew low over her eyes and she scowled at him. “You keep telling me about this trouble, but I’m telling you, I’m fine.”

  Feeling cold, Dominic pushed away from her arms and sat up. He stared out at the ocean, watching as the setting sun painted it a thousand shades of gold. “You’re not fine. You killed somebody the other day—you wanted the blood.”

  But she acted as though she didn’t hear him. She trailed a hand over his back, and Dominic couldn’t help but remember the phantom pain of the knife piercing his flesh—right where she touched. “You seem so real.”

  “I am real,” he said quietly, cupping her face. “I am real. And stop changing the subject. You need to be careful.”

  She rolled her eyes and asked, “What are you so afraid of? I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. What has you so worried?”

  He shook his head and whispered, “You have me so worried. I’m terrified . . . scared I’m going to lose you before I even find you.”

  “So real,” she murmured again, stroking his face. “If you’re real, then where are you? How I can find you?”

  He reached around and caught her arm, pulling her into his lap. Nuzzling her neck, he murmured vaguely, “Tell me where you are.”

  “I asked you first.” With a devilish grin on her lips, she straddled him and linked her arms around his neck. “Tell me your name.”

  “Tell me you’ll be careful,” he countered.

  She opened her mouth, but even as she started to speak, she faded away.

  Dominic awoke in the next second, jerking upright on the couch in the empty hotel room.

  Alone.

  “So . . . do we have a deal, Ms. Wakefield?”

  Morgan wanted to tell the man to shove it. She wanted to turn on her heel and walk, keep walking. She’d find Jazzy and the two of them could disappear.

  Peter Sanders smiled, as though he knew every thought running through her head. “I wonder what Social Services would think, you taking care of your baby sister, and no idea where your mother is. She’s only fifteen. You’re not her legal guardian.”

  “It’s so good of you to be concerned for her welfare,” Morgan said scathingly.

  Peter shrugged. “Tell me, did your mother say anything before she disappeared? Did she run off wi
th one of her johns?”

  A sharp pain twisted through Morgan’s head—for one second, she could see her mother, superimposed over her vision. She was laughing, and in one hand, she held a bloody knife.

  Then it was over.

  With a lazy shrug, Morgan replied, “I have no idea where she is. And I don’t really care. I can take better care of Jazzy, anyway.”

  Peter tapped a finger on the arm of his chair. “You’ll have a hard time doing that once the state gets a look at you. You never graduated from high school. You don’t have a job.” He smirked and added, “Although I suppose you can put robbery down as your sole source of income. That will impress them.”

  Then he leaned forward. The smile on his face was cruel, cold. “She’d be taken away from you. And that’s just the best case scenario. Things I could do . . . things much, much worse. Your sister is a pretty girl. She still has that look of innocence—so young, so fresh. She might even be a virgin.”

  Fear wrapped a cold fist around her heart. She crossed her arms over her chest, fisting her hands so tight her nails bit into her palms and drew blood. “Don’t even think about it,” Morgan murmured. “Don’t.”

  Satisfied that he’d made his point, Peter pointed to the chair across from his. “Have a seat, Morgan. We’ll talk business.”

  CHAPTER 13

  “You can’t be serious.”

  Morgan stood in front of the bathroom mirror as she finished weaving her hair into a tight braid. She’d taken a nap, but she still felt groggy, half-sick, completely exhausted.

  She definitely didn’t feel up to facing Peter Sanders again.

  In the back of her mind, she heard a voice murmur, Walk away. Just walk away.

  Disoriented, she shoved it aside and looked at the mirror, meeting her sister’s gaze in the reflection. Jazzy stood behind her, a worried, angry look on her face.

  “Look, I know you don’t remember a lot of things. Or anything,” she mumbled under her breath. “So you’re going to have to trust me on this. Peter Sanders is bad news. Very. Bad. News.”

  Jazzy took a deep, unsteady breath. “We have to leave. Now. The bastard has people all over the place who feed him information, but if we get out now, we might have half a chance.”

  “We’re not leaving,” Morgan said.

  “Damn it, Morgan. You can’t work for him.”

  Ignoring the cold slippery ball of fear in her belly, Morgan said, “I’m not working for him. I’m working with him. We have similar goals. This is more a partnership than anything else.”

  Jazzy shook her head. “Yeah, I can just guess what sort of similar goals you have. Sanders wants to get rid of all the dealers who don’t work for him. And he thinks you can do it.”

  That cold, slippery ball expanded.

  “What the hell happened today?” Jazzy demanded. “You need to tell me.”

  Morgan reached up, stroked a hand down Jazzy’s hair. “Honey, please don’t worry about this. I’m going to take care of you.”

  Jazzy knocked Morgan’s hand away. Fury glinted in her eyes and her voice all but shook as she said, “I’m not the one who needs to be taken care of right now. I’ve been taking care of myself ever since you left. You just disappeared, remember? Disappeared and left me alone. You don’t actually think our mother gave a damn, do you? I wanted to eat, then I had to find food, had to buy it or steal it. I needed clothes? It was up to me to get them. I don’t need to be taken care of. Hell, I’m not the one getting ready to go work with Sanders.” She said it so scathingly, it almost hurt to hear the words. “You’re the one who needs a damn caretaker.”

  Morgan closed her eyes. The pain in her head exploded, lancing throughout her body, spiraling through her chest.

  Remnants of a forgotten dream whispered to her from her subconscious.

  You don’t know what you’re getting into.

  You have to stop now before it’s too late.

  A low, warm voice, masculine and rough, familiar but not. Hands stroking over her body. Dark velvet eyes, full of concern and worry.

  Forcing her eyes to open, she stared at her sister. Haltingly, she said, “Jazzy, I’m sorry, but I don’t have a choice.” She licked her lips and shifted restlessly on her feet. Finally, she took a deep breath and made herself look her sister square in the eyes. “You were right to have a bad feeling about Hedges. I did kill him. And I don’t know how, but Sanders saw me. He didn’t say outright just what he saw, but he saw too much. Now he knows what I can do. I have to work with him. He’s not giving me a choice.”

  Jazzy blinked. The warm flush of anger faded from her face, leaving her pale. Under her breath, she muttered, “I knew it.” She backed out of the bathroom, but she didn’t leave. Instead, she paced the narrow hallway, her hands jammed in her back pockets. “Damn it. I knew it.”

  A minute passed, and then she stopped. Her face was still ashen, and there was fear in her eyes, but her face was set in stubborn lines. “We’ll leave. That’s all there is to it—we will just leave. Yeah, he’ll be looking for that, but it’s not like we can’t give him the slip. He doesn’t know what all we can do. We can get away.”

  “If I try to leave, he’s going to hurt you. I’m not risking you.” She caught her sister’s arm, tugged her close. Slinging an arm over her sister’s narrow shoulders, she touched her brow to Jazzy’s. “We’ll be okay. I’ll figure a way out of this. But you have to trust me.”

  Jazzy backed away. She stared at Morgan with cold, distrusting eyes. “I already knew a way out of this—we don’t get into trouble to begin with. If you had listened to me, if you had trusted me, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  The bitch of it all? Jazzy was completely right.

  IT was late. After one. The streets of St. Augustine, Florida, were mostly empty.

  Dominic was exhausted—bone-deep exhaustion, the kind brought on by stress, heartache and worry.

  Where was she?

  In another few hours, he’d have to call it a night. There was a Hunter safe house in St. Augustine and he’d be bunking there for however long he was here. No more hotels, thank God. At least not for a few days.

  The good news about the safe house—he’d been able to arrange to have his bike brought in, too. It had been waiting for him when he got into town late last night—or rather, early this morning. He’d traded the car Malachi had loaned him for his bike. Lindsey had taken the car off his hands. He had his bike and he’d fed.

  He should have been good to go, but he was drained and dragging and so damned frustrated.

  As tired as he was, though, he wasn’t turning in yet. Not yet. Had to keep his mind busy, had to keep from thinking. Worrying. Wanting.

  He kept to the shadows as he prowled the streets. Some of the bars were still open, the smells of tobacco smoke and alcohol mingling with the night air. He blocked those out, relying on his ears and instincts for now.

  Those instincts were screaming at him right now, clawing. He felt as though he was being jerked in a dozen directions all at once. He just couldn’t figure out which was the right way to go. So he walked. Gradually the sounds of the night life faded, the pulsing rhythm of music slowly replaced by the sounds of the night.

  He could hear breathing. The occasional snore. The soft buzz of music coming from a radio. And infomercials—the cure for insomniacs everywhere.

  The air cleared as well, the stink of cigarette smoke replaced by the salty tang of the ocean.

  He breathed it in, checking.

  He scented no blood, no fear, no violence.

  Nothing.

  And still, he felt something calling him. Pulling at him.

  He was so focused on that, at first he didn’t recognize the familiar roar of the motorcycle cruising down the street. His motorcycle—son of a bitch. His bike—that bike he’d put together himself, over a period of three damn years, and somebody was trying to steal it?

  He took off at a quick run, swearing under his breath. He caught sight of black paint
, silver chrome—and a petite form perched upon his bike, waiting nonchalantly at a stoplight, like she hadn’t a care in the world.

  You’re about to have a fucking care, he thought. The signal turned green and he put on an extra burst of speed, closing his hand around the leather collar of her jacket just before she could take off. She whipped around—fast.

  But she wasn’t vampire fast. He caught her fist in his hand and focused the weight of his gaze on her face.

  She wore his helmet—a safety-conscious little thief. It was too damned big for her. Behind the visor he glimpsed blue green eyes, now wide with terror.

  Young eyes. Young kid, he realized. Just a scared kid.

  A scared kid who stole my bike.

  Then he caught a familiar scent on her skin.

  Very familiar.

  His instincts, already kicked into overdrive, went on red alert, screaming.

  It took less than a second for him to make a decision.

  “You’re going to scoot back,” he ordered, flatly.

  Those blue green eyes took on a glazed, glassy appearance. Docile as a lamb, she scooted back.

  Dominic mounted the bike in front of her and took off.

  Low in his gut, anticipation began to bloom.

  Anticipation that bled away into apprehension.

  He smelled something in the air now . . . blood. Death.

  And power.

  THE blood.

  Thick and slick.

  The power of it sang in her veins and Morgan almost went to her knees, sick with the knowledge of what she’d done. It hadn’t been intentional . . . but it didn’t matter.

  His energy, his life force now buzzed inside her. No remnant of her lingering weakness remained. Physically, she felt strong—invincible.

  She also felt like a murderer.

  The door opened. She didn’t have to look up to know who it was.

  Morgan stared at the blood staining her hands and then looked up at Sanders. “I thought I was supposed to be helping you take care of ‘business’ competitors.”