Blood Hunt (18 page)
Authors: Shannon K. Butcher
“So have her.”
“It’s not that simple. The longer I’m with her, the more convinced I am she might be a Theronai.”
“Are you sure?”
“No, but her blood is pure enough that there is a chance. You know what happened the last time someone stole away one of the Theronai’s mates.”
“I remember. And with a truce between the Slayers and Theronai closer than it’s ever been, I don’t want anything reminding either side of why the war began in the first place.”
“Neither do I, which is why you must come. Now.”
“I cannot get away. I’ve tried. Between Grace and Tori, my hands are full. Why not escort her back to Dabyr and wash your hands of her?”
“I promised to help her find the cause of some locals gone missing in exchange for her cooperation.”
“Foolish,” chided Tynan.
“I realize that now. Too late.”
“I’ll contact Joseph. He’ll send one of his unbonded men to deal with her problem.”
“I already spoke to him. I’m expecting his men to show up at any time.” Logan didn’t like the idea. He didn’t like the thought of some giant pawing at Hope, desperate for her to save his life.
She would if she was able. The fact that she’d gone back for Logan in that basement proved she was selfless and courageous. If she thought she could save a man’s life, she’d tie herself to him. Logan was sure of it.
And the thought made a dangerous anger swell deep inside him. He didn’t want her tied to a Theronai. He didn’t want her tied to anyone except him.
“You need to come,” he told Tynan, desperation lifting his voice. “You need to take over her placement—wherever that might be.”
“You’re far better at finding good matches than I am. And I’m a stronger healer than you. My place is here, doing what I can to help Grace and Tori.”
“Then send someone else in your stead. Please.”
Tynan’s sigh filled the phone line. “I need to know you can handle this. And so do you. There aren’t enough of us left to be handing duties off to another.”
A cold wind whipped around Logan. He stared up at the sky, watching stars twinkle. “You’re right. I know this. But the things I’m feeling—”
“Will need to be controlled. Remember the goal. Think of a life without hunger. A life with children.”
Tynan wanted a child of his own and had for as long as Logan could remember. He deprived himself of the joy, knowing that any child born to them would be doomed to a life of starvation and pain. None of the Sanguinar could do that to a child. Especially Tynan.
If Logan could change the lives of his people for the better, there was no other choice for him to make. He’d keep his urges in check, stay as far away from Hope as his job would allow, and do what needed to be done.
“I’ll remember,” he told Tynan. “Joseph’s warriors will show up soon. We’ll find Hope’s mate and be one step closer to the life we want.”
Chapter 13
I
ain hid his car behind the Gerai house so it wasn’t easily visible from the street. Not that it was much of a street or that anyone would pass by.
ain hid his car behind the Gerai house so it wasn’t easily visible from the street. Not that it was much of a street or that anyone would pass by.
He let himself into the safe house and dumped all of his supplies on the living room floor.
The baby had been crying for the last half hour, and if that smell was any indication, he was tired of lying in his own shit.
Iain wasn’t a fan, either.
He stripped out of his coat and eased the child out from under his reeking T-shirt. The mess was impressive, covering both of them equally.
Iain toed out of his boots, unfastened his sword belt, and stripped naked. He made a quick call for backup, started up the shower, and carried the child inside. He’d never before held something quite as slippery as a naked, soapy baby, so he took great care not to drop him on his head.
By the time they were both clean, the boy was screaming his head off and Iain’s was beginning to pound.
He dried the baby off, diapered him, and wrapped him up in a clean, dry towel. Then he set him in the center of a bed while he dressed in fresh clothes. His boots and sword went back on.
The child was still crying.
Iain read the instructions on the can of powdered formula and followed them to the letter. It took a while for the infant to get the hang of drinking from a bottle, and he made a soggy mess, but after a few tries, they both figured out the best way to make it work.
The child fell asleep. Iain tried to remove the bottle only to have him start sucking again.
Fine. If that was the way he was going to be, then Iain might as well get comfortable.
He sat down in a recliner and eased it back. Some Gerai would be here soon to take the child off his hands. Then he’d take care of arrangements for the mother’s body and be back out there fighting right around sunrise.
Iain looked down at the tiny life in his arms. Every detail was perfect. Once upon a time he’d wanted children of his own. He remembered the fact, though he couldn’t quite remember why he’d felt that way. Babies were too much work. Their lives too easy to end.
Still, there was something soothing about the boy. Holding him settled some of the seething rage that was always bubbling below the surface. It was probably some kind of survival instinct Iain had never experienced before—something that prevented adults from simply killing a messy, loud, stinky inconvenience.
Whatever it was, it was nice. Peaceful.
Iain closed his eyes. He didn’t think about what he’d done or what he had to do. He didn’t worry about his brothers—those who looked to him for guidance when their lifemarks became barren. He simply existed.
If his eyes hadn’t been closed, his heartbeat slow, he might not have heard the faint howl coming from the north.
Synestryn.
He’d been so concerned about caring for the child he had forgotten to consider the mother’s blood. If she was blooded, every nasty within scent of her would be on its way here.
He couldn’t take the car and run. Her blood was all over it. Gerai hadn’t brought him a new ride yet.
There was no help for it. Iain was going to have to fight off an attack and hope the kid didn’t start crying and draw attention to himself.
When Logan came back inside, he was a different man. Colder. More distant. Hope tried to find out what had happened, but he avoided her and went to shower.
She sat on the couch, flipping through TV stations in an effort not to think about Logan’s naked body streaming with hot water. The door of the little house opened, interrupting her inappropriate thoughts.
Hope’s heart jumped and she sprang from the couch, holding the remote control out like a weapon.
The man who’d come in was big. Tall. Broad. He had dark blond hair and laser blue eyes. A fine network of scars crossed his face, puckering the skin. His aura throbbed with red-hot pain, consuming the other colors. She could see faint streaks of pale silvery honor and nobility peeking out through the red.
Seeing so much pain, having it blasted into her retinas made her reel back in horror. She held up her hands to ward it off, shaking and speechless.
Sadness bowed the man’s shoulders for a second. A flash of gray-blue disappointment spread out over his aura before it was eaten up by cool green resignation. “I won’t hurt you. My name is Nicholas. Logan sent for me.”
His voice was quiet and reassuring. The fact that he stayed on his side of the room was even more reassuring.
“I’m Hope Serrien. Logan’s in the shower.”
He glanced at the hearth, where the clothing had been burned and a fire still crackled away. “You were in a battle?”
She nodded.
He started forward, only to stop himself after a couple of steps. “Were you hurt?”
Hope shook her head. “Logan was. He’s better now.”
Nicholas’s jaw tightened with a pulse of anger. “Did he . . . hurt you?”
“No. Why would you ask that?”
“I thought he might have . . . Never mind. I’ll speak to him about it.” He motioned to the couch. “Please, sit down. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
Logan stepped out into the living room, his hair black with dampness. A pristine towel hung around his neck and he wore fresh jeans and a T-shirt that clung to his chest. “Nicholas. I’m glad you could come. Where are the others?”
“There’s only me. We’re stretched too thin.”
Logan nodded, his face grim. “I understand. Have you touched her yet?”
The odd question rocked Hope back on her heels. “What?”
Nicholas eyed Logan in irritation. “We’ve only just met.”
“Touch me?” asked Hope again, looking from one man to the other.
“Touch her,” ordered Logan.
Hope crossed her arms over her chest, pinning her fingers under her arms. “What the hell are you two talking about?”
“You haven’t talked to her about this?” Nicholas asked Logan.
Her voice got louder until she was almost yelling. “About what?”
Nicholas looked at her with an apology shining in his blue eyes. “I’m sorry, ma’am. You’ll have to forgive us. I know this must all seem strange to you.”
“You have no idea.”
“Just touch her and be done with it,” said Logan.
“Back off,” warned Nicholas. “Way off.”
Logan stared at Hope for a moment, then nodded his head once. “Fine. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
“Please sit down,” said Nicholas. “I’ll explain everything.”
Hope sat, perched on the edge of the seat. “Make it quick. I’m tired of all the mystery already.”
“That is a problem with Sanguinar. I’ll try to clear things up the best I can.” Nicholas lowered his body into a chair across the room from her, clearly trying to come off as nonthreatening. “I assume you know Logan’s not human, right?”
“Right.”
“I’m not either. Our question is whether you’re one of us—like me.”
“Are you a vampire, too?”
Amusement pulled at Nicholas’s scars. “No. I’m a Theronai. My people work in pairs. One man, one woman. Only there aren’t many women of our kind left. Logan thinks you might be one of them.”
“Why does he want you to touch me?” Even asking the question hurt. She didn’t want Logan to hand her off to someone else as if she weren’t good enough for him.
“Because there’s a chance that if I touch you, my luceria will react.” He held up a wide hand. On it was a simple band that swirled with flecks of color—so many she had trouble focusing on it.
She blinked rapidly, concentrating on the lines crossing his face. Whatever had left those scars had been one hell of an opponent. A man built like Nicholas would not have been easy to hurt.
“So, can we just shake hands or something?”
“Sure. If you’re okay with that. I’ve waited a long, long time to find my partner. A few more minutes won’t kill me.”
Hope didn’t want to spend a few more minutes with him. She wanted to be back with Logan. Best to just get this over with and figure out if she was who he thought.
She might not be human. The idea was so bizarre, and yet it explained a lot. Maybe that’s why she saw auras. “If I am like you, would that explain why I can’t remember anything before about ten years ago?”
Nicholas shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s possible. What I do know is that if you are meant to be my partner, I’ll do anything in my power to make you happy. Including getting your memory back.”
His earnestness touched her. She sensed he was a sweet man. A good man.
Hope held out her hand. She couldn’t stop it from shaking. She closed her eyes, cringing at her own cowardice.
Warm, callused fingers closed around her hand. His touch was gentle, careful.
She looked up at him. He stared in rapt attention at his ring as if it held the secret to life. She didn’t know what he was looking for, but she saw nothing.
After a long moment, he bowed his head in defeat. He blew out a long, weary breath and a wave of deep blue sadness smothered the vibrant red pain for a moment before it, too, got swallowed up.
“I’m sorry to have bothered you,” he whispered, grief plain in his voice. Then he turned and left out the front door.
Nicholas had known better than to get his hopes up. She wasn’t the one. She couldn’t save him.
Pain bore down on him, crushing him under the weight of disappointment. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep going. And even if he did, even if he kept fighting the good fight and miraculously managed to find a woman who was compatible with his power, what then?
He saw the way Hope had looked at him, flinching back in revulsion. He knew his scars had either frightened or disgusted her. Not that he blamed her for the honest reaction. His appearance was shocking. There was no help for it.
He heard the front door open behind him. The heavy fall of footsteps told him it was Logan and not Hope.
“I presume things did not go well,” said Logan.
“No.”
“I’m sorry for your disappointment.”
“Forget it. Time to move on. Demons to slay.”
“Will you stay?”
The last thing Nicholas wanted to do was hang around, wishing for something that wasn’t going to happen. He respected himself too much to beat himself up like that. “Why?”
“To protect her. She’s blooded. She risked her life to save mine tonight. I fear she would do the same thing again if necessary.”
Nicholas’s opinion of Hope rose a notch. “No kidding?”
Logan nodded. “I don’t know how she managed it. There were two of us, both paralyzed. She dragged us up a flight of stairs.”
Nicholas let out a low whistle. “Strong woman.”
“Foolish woman. Her blood is too valuable to spill. I need someone who can take care of her.”
“I’ll take her back to Dabyr.”
“She won’t go,” said Logan. “At least not until she finds the answer to her mystery.”
“And what mystery is that?”
“Apparently, people she knows are going missing. She’s certain of foul play.”
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