How did that tiny girl spot him so easily? If she had seen him, anyone else could have. Not only that, but she had recognized him and that wasn’t good either. His talents were failing him. Which would make him an easy target in no time. He would need to retrain hours on end each day from then on out, just to make up for tonight. Maybe it’s just this cold, he thought miserably. Of all nights for all of this to happen, it had to be when I’m sick. At that, he sniffled, relieved that he didn’t have to hold it back in front of the girl.
But strangely, he felt he didn’t have to worry about her knowledge of him. His discernment had told him that the moment he spotted her. He had been overly gruff with the girl. He knew that. But he had to be. To protect her. She didn’t know the dangers that lurked just a little deeper into the woods. She’d appeared so clueless, but her strange confidence, despite her obvious fear, had given him a sense that there was something more to her. He had, after all, watched her jump that limo like it was nothing. Her ability wasn’t anything the hunter had ever seen before. Maybe there was more to the girl than she let on—more than she knew herself. But she wasn’t a problem that he needed to worry about right now. And the fact that she felt the same about him only made him all the more baffled.
He felt like he didn’t know anything anymore. Let it go, he told himself.
The one thing he did know was who and what had started the fire, and it wasn’t that tiny, slip of a girl. It had been something far more sinister.
The hunter had seen the monster come to life as he watched through the window of the abandoned warehouse. Once the creature had broken free, the hunter followed it at a distance until it barged into a well-populated neighborhood. That had been potential exposure the hunter couldn’t risk. Not with the Order so close by. It had killed the hunter to do, but he’d made his way around the neighborhood through the trees, ever aware of the beast’s general whereabouts. But by the time he’d caught up, it had been too late. The house had gone up in flames and authorities started spreading out in search of the missing woman. That dumb movie star, making messes again. It had been such a long time since the hunter’s last incident with Dorian Gray—and nothing as horrific as this. Usually, Dorian’s messes were small and easy to clean up. But surely, with something this big, the Countess wasn’t far behind. The hunter grimaced at the thought of seeing her again. He had to stop it all before the Countess got involved.
He brushed the thoughts aside as he focused on the task at hand. The creature was in the woods. Hopefully, it hadn’t heard the chatty girl and him talking. Trying to get back on track, the man pulled up his night-vision goggles and peered at the scene before him. Everything turned green and he looked off in the distance where the monster had been.
It was gone.
The hunter sighed and scowled at himself. Light-footed, he hurried over to where it had last been. When he got there, he strained his eyes in the dark, using whatever ambient light the moon provided through the breaks in the branches. On the ground, he noticed the grass was crushed in several places. Kneeling down, he ran two fingers over one of the footprints and smirked. The tracks leading away were faint. Luckily, the smell of rotting flesh was strong in the air, even through his stuffy nose, indicating the monster didn’t leave until the last moment. By the flatness of the grass and estimating a proper weight, the hunter concluded that the beast hadn’t run but walked, like it had been doing, with a limp in its left leg. All a good sign that the girl hadn’t given him away.
The hunter followed the trail of footsteps as carefully as possible for a good minute. He was as silent as he could be with a cold, trying to force air through his congested lungs. With his ailment in mind, he kept stopping and checking his surroundings to make sure the beast wasn’t close enough to hear him. Finally, after a few minutes, he saw the monster, trudging on, the dead woman cradled in its arms. It moaned softly, almost like it was mourning.
But mourning was a human emotion. There was no way it was mourning. It wasn’t human. It couldn’t be, not if Dorian helped make it. The hunter hurried up to a closer tree and hid behind it, prepping his crossbow with an arrow from the quiver strapped around his leg. When he was ready, he leaned around the tree, dropped deftly to a knee, and stared at the creature through the green scope. With the greatest of ease, he let the creature’s head fall within the crosshairs. Letting out a smooth, silent breath, he moved his finger to the trigger.
But he stopped, the hairs on the back of his neck rising slightly. Something didn’t feel right. He had the sudden unexplainable urge to turn around and leave—and quickly. He knew all too well to heed such instincts.
He gritted his teeth. But the beast is right here! I can end it all now! No more wasting time. One dead body was more than enough.
The man moved his finger back to the trigger and—
A sudden pain shot into his neck.
He sucked in a quick spurt of air, holding in any sound, almost dropping his crossbow. He reached up to the source of the pain and felt a cylindrical tube sticking out of his neck. Aggravated, he ripped it out and brought it up to his face, feeling a bit lightheaded.
It was a tiny little thing, resembling a syringe. The plunger was pushed all the way down, the contents gone. On the side was a symbol he recognized all too well.
It was a dragon, facing the left, with its forked tongue hanging out, its wings spread wide, and its talons stretched. Its spaded tail reached through its wings and hooked under its neck. Above the dragon was a double cross. The whole design sat within a circle. The poorly drawn, innocent looking picture filled him with a sense of dread as he recognized the Order’s symbol—the Countess’s symbol.
Furious, he threw the tranquilizer dart to the side and tried to stand. When he did, everything started spinning and he was forced back down to his knees, dropping his weapon as he stumbled forward on his hands. He tried to feel around for it, but everything was moving. Confused, he slumped to the ground.
He summoned the energy to roll to his back. When he looked up, a dark figure stood over him and he knew by the proud stance and evil grin that it was the Countess. How did she sneak up on him? On all nights to be sick…
“Hello, Abraham,” a man’s voice said instead.
Though the hunter was relieved it wasn’t the voice of the Countess, this voice was no more welcomed. “Dorian,” he snarled. Being found by the Countess was at least plausible. Being caught by Dorian Gray was laughable. The thought disgusted him and he fell away into darkness.
Canto VIII
Ding-dong!
Suzette jolted awake. Her eyes burned at the light that poured in through the living room windows. Throwing her heavy limbs off the couch, she forced herself to sit up, kicking her backpack over. She glanced down and scratched the back of her head. Her stinging eyes trailed to the clock on the wall. Missed first service. She sighed, trying to imagine her parents trying desperately to shake her awake for church.
Ding-dong!
She jumped again at the second ringing of the doorbell. She got up and went to the door, her hand pausing on the handle as her body rocked, fighting off the dizziness. Letting out a final yawn, she cracked open the door.
Waiting to greet her was a sight she had not seen since her father was on the force. But instead of smiling, familiar faces, the two police officers eyed her steadily, one man and one woman. She didn’t know either, and their grim expressions left her not wishing to.
“Suzette Valentine?” the woman asked.
Suzette’s heart wrenched at her own name. Her mind raced as she thought of reasons they could be asking for her. “Y-yes?”
“Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”
Not good. “Sure.”
The man tilted his head into Suzette’s field of vision. “Do you know Liza and Dante Stein?”
Suzette blinked, only feeling relief for a brief moment. “Well, yes.” She laughed nervously. “I don’t know Liza well at all, but Dante’s my boyfriend. Why?”
&nbs
p; Neither seemed surprised by the answer. Just going through the motions. “So, you haven’t been in contact with Mrs. Stein?”
They haven’t found her yet. Suzette rattled her head as her heart sank. “Last time I saw her was at her husband’s funeral.”
“When was the last time you heard from Dante?” the man asked.
“Just—” Suzette caught herself. Just last night, she wanted to say. “Just the other day.” Her franticness rose, knowing something had happened, something she missed. “Why? What happened to him? Is he okay?”
They shared a look.
The woman’s eyes softened as they trailed back to Suzette. “Liza Stein was reported missing since a fire took her house last night. We think Dante might be missing as well.”
She froze. That can’t be right. I just saw him last night! But the longer they stared, the more her heart sank. After a moment, she finally breathed out. “When did this happen?”
“Sometime late last night, after he left the hospital,” the man informed her. “We found his car on the side of the road, abandoned.”
Suzette found herself on her tiptoes, leaning out of the door, bringing her short frame closer to them. “So, what happened? Do you know anything?”
“There were unidentifiable fingerprints in the back,” he said. “His phone was sitting in the passenger seat. Your number was the last he called, so we’re following up on the lead.”
“He called?” Suzette’s strained vocal chords made her voice squeak.
“Yes ma’am,” the male cop replied. “Is there a way we can see your phone?”
She nodded and hurried toward the couch where her bag had toppled over. She yanked the zippers open and rummaged around the notebooks until she felt her phone at the bottom.
One voicemail.
Her heart clenched. “He did—he called!” She carried the phone to the door, holding it palm-up in her hand as she presented it to the cops. Setting the speaker on, she let the machine go through its lines, telling her she had one new message, made that day at two o’clock a.m. Finally, she heard his voice.
“Please be awake, Suz,” his voice whined. It ended abruptly.
She hung up and watched the phone quiver in her hand.
“Were you expecting him over?”
Suzette glanced up at the female cop, her dark, almond-shaped eyes waiting expectantly. Suzette shook her head. “No.”
The woman tilted her head as the silence dragged. “Any idea why he wanted to talk?”
Had he wanted to talk to her about all the things he said to the Onyx Fox? Maybe about the fire? His injury? It had to have been something about last night. But Suzette shook her head.
The man took a step down from the porch and set his thumb through his belt loop. “Has he been acting strangely these past few days?”
Suzette sunk back on her heels. That was a weird question. “No.” But then it occurred to her. “W-well, his brother did just die, so in a way, yes. But he wouldn’t just up and go without a word, either.” Her own words sunk in. Maybe he would, she thought. His habit of withdrawing was somewhat extreme. Maybe he got scared of the idea of marriage. But the longer she thought, the sillier it sounded. But he wouldn’t leave his parents without a note or something. Especially after Frank. Hopeful, she glanced back and forth between them. “Are you sure he’s gone? You’ve checked his house—and the station?”
He nodded. “They’ve already been checked.”
Suzette’s heart dropped. She locked her fingers behind her neck, staring at the ground for an answer, waiting to wake up from this dream. She could feel her cheeks prickle as tears started to rise.
The woman sighed. “Thank you for cooperating. We’ll let you know if we find him.”
She nodded, unable to look at them. She watched from the corner of her eye as they made their way back to the patrol car. Forcing her heavy legs inside, she closed the door behind her and leaned back on it. Her shaking hands grabbed each side of her head.
This is wrong! she insisted. I just saw him last night! He was okay! How could he be missing—where could he have gone? I should have made sure he got home safe! As she sunk to the floor, frantic prayers ran through her head, a few escaping her lips in short, quiet spurts. “God, please—!” But that was all she could manage. Please be safe, Dante…
Yet, she feared the worst. She could go and look for him as the Onyx Fox but she wouldn’t even know where to start. And no doubt the police had it covered. She would just have to wait patiently.
Dante was fine.
Dante could handle himself.
Right?
—
A small, rhythmic beeping sound reached Abraham’s ears, stirring him awake. When it grew more prominent, he could make out murmuring. As his senses slowly returned, he became aware of his burning, dry throat. He tried to open his heavy eyelids, but a blinding white pierced his vision and he squinted them shut again. When he braved a second attempt, the world stopped turning and came into focus.
A bright light hung from the ceiling and shined in his eyes. He started to bring up a hand to block it, but it stopped short.
Confused, he looked down.
Thick leather straps bound him to a cold metal table. His clothes were still on, but he could feel that all his usually concealed weapons were missing. He tried to quietly wiggle around, but the straps left hardly any budging room. Jaw clenched, he let his head fall back on the table. How could he let himself get caught? And by Dorian Gray, no less? No doubt Dorian was sucking up to the Countess somehow—
Abraham tensed. Was she there? He looked to his left.
Dorian stood at a small distance, facing away, closing that horrible, old, black book full of dark memories. The idea of that book made Abraham sneer. He still needs that thing after all these years? Can’t do it himself? I can’t believe I’ve been caught by Dorian Gray… He rolled his eyes at the embarrassing thought, unable to shake it. The Countess would scold me for sure. He turned his attention back to the man.
Standing behind the movie star, messing with a few tubes, was a redheaded man, his eyes wide and frantic. A small, fearful tremble seized his hands as he fumbled with some test beakers. The slight tremor made his voice waver as he whispered to the actor. There was a table behind the two, against the wall where Abraham recognized some of his weapons. Beyond it was a small door, chained shut.
Abraham looked to his right.
There were three other people down the line, all strapped to tables as well, unconscious. There was a lanky middle-aged woman with knotted, tawny hair directly next to him. Following that was a tall, thin, but well-built Italian-looking man. The kid from the diner, Abraham noted. The Italian hindered Abraham from getting a good look at the person who sat at the end. The main double doors of the warehouse stood beyond, two heavy metal shelves on either side. The two people that he could see had upside down stars painted inside a circle, sitting innocently on their foreheads.
Abraham furrowed his eyebrows and could feel the dried paint stretch with his skin on his own forehead. When he realized what was happening, he felt his rage ignite within him. Not again. He thought this type of stuff was just a dark, distant, horrible memory, and there he was, thrown back into the middle of it. But never had he been the victim of such a ceremony. The Countess has to be here for sure.
When he looked back to the men, the redhead was standing next to him, fumbling with a syringe of glowing blue liquid. When he saw that Abraham was conscious, his eyes grew wide.
“This one’s awake.” The man’s voice squeaked and his lips barely moved. He turned from Abraham and hurried to Dorian. “He saw my face,” he said, shaking more. “He knows it, now. He’ll go to the police! I’ll be arrested!”
Curious, Dorian turned. When he saw Abraham’s cold glare he smiled and walked up to him, chuckling amusedly. “Oh, you won’t have to worry about that. Abraham has his own justice system.” The star stopped and thought about it for a moment.
The redhead glan
ced between the two, shrinking back a foot. “What does that mean?”
“Well, he is his justice system,” Dorian said. “He’d rather kill you than send you off to jail.”
The redhead’s face filled with horror.
“Of course you’re awake first, Abraham.” Dorian chuckled again and leaned against the table. “But I have to ask: weren’t you working on your immunization to common tranquilizers and drugs for reasons such as this? What happened to that?”
Abraham let his glare bore deeper into Dorian. “I’m working on it,” Abraham explained through his clenched jaw.
“Well, I suppose it takes quite a long time to develop those kinds of immunities.” Dorian gave a blithe grin and picked up an empty syringe dart, flashing the ugly dragon logo at him. “Didn’t you make this tranquilizer before you left the Order?”
Dorian knew the answer; he only meant to stick the knife deeper. Abraham looked away, his jaw flickering as he gnashed his teeth. He’d always gotten to the Order first, not the other way around. He felt so ashamed and embarrassed.
“Thank you for giving me such a powerful dose,” Dorian said. Feigning disappointment, he gave a sigh. “I can understand why you couldn’t quite shake it.”
Abraham snarled and tugged on the straps again. “Let me go, Dorian.”
“Not yet! You’ll miss the fun part!”
“All the more reason to leave early.”
“You know what surprises me?” Dorian wondered.
“No, and I don’t care to,” Abraham grumbled.
“Why is it that you’re the professional, but you never saw me coming?” he asked. “You’ve been doing stuff like this all your life. In fact, I’ve hired you several times, and yet I—the stupid, arrogant celebrity, as you so put it—was able to get close enough to you to put you here on this table.” He tapped the metal with the tip of his finger.
Abraham looked away, annoyed by the very sound of Dorian’s voice. What made it worse was that the actor was right. How could Abraham tell the celebrity that a cold had set him back, or that a pixie of a girl distracted him?
Blind World (The Onyx Fox Saga Book 1) Page 16