Deadly Pursuit (A Blood Hunter Novel, #2) (19 page)

Chapter
Four

Christ,
he
was
hungry.

Jon
was
heading
back
to
his
cabin,
but
he
really
needed
to
eat.
He
raised
his
head,
sniffed,
and
caught
the
faint
trace
of
food
in
the
air.

The
smell
led
him
to
the
galley
at
the
center
of
the
ship.
It
took
him
a
moment
to
figure
out
how
to
work
the
food
dispenser,
but
he
eventually
managed
to
get
himself
a
serving
of
something
that
resembled
stew
and
tasted
almost
like
real
meat.
After
wolfing
down
the
first
bowl,
he
got
another,
and
sat
at
the
table
to
eat
it
more
slowly.

Things
weren’t
going
too
badly.
They
could
be
much
worse.
But
even
so,
his
nerves
twitched.
He
didn’t
work
well
with
people.
It
was
a
long
time
since
he’d
even
tried.

After
his
pack
had
been
killed,
he’d
spent
the
following
years
tracing
the
people
responsible
and
making
sure
they
paid.
Afterward,
he’d
lost
his
urge
for
killing,
but
he’d
continued
anyway
because
he
was
good
at
it
and
he’d
found
there
were
plenty
of
people
around
who
would
pay
him—and
extraordinarily
well—to
use
his
talents.
But
he
always
worked
alone.

Long
ago,
he’d
taken
a
vow
never
to
change
anyone—he
didn’t
want
any
other
wolves
relying
on
him,
looking
to
him
to
save
their
miserable
lives.
He’d
proven
how
crappy
he
was
at
the
whole
protection
thing.
And
he’d
never
come
across
another
werewolf
either.
The
occasional
rumor
came
his
way,
but
if
it
sounded
like
his
kind,
he’d
turned
around
and
gone
in
the
opposite
direction
as
fast
as
he
could.

He
was
better
off
alone.
He
liked
it
that
way.
Women
he
took
when
the
need
got
too
strong,
but
always
women
who
knew
the
score,
who
wouldn’t
ask
for
more
than
he
was
willing
to
give,
which
wasn’t
very
much.
Women
who
could
look
after
themselves.
Women
who
were
definitely
not
virgins.

The
Virgin
Bride
of
the
Everlasting
God
.

Who
would
have
guessed
it—a
High
Priestess?
He
waited
for
the
rush
of
hatred
to
overcome
him.
After
all,
she
was
Church,
and
he
ought
to
hate
her
as
he
hated
the
rest
of
her
kind.
But
she
obviously
wasn’t
too
keen
on
them
herself
or
she
wouldn’t
have
run
away.

His
lips
curved
at
the
memory
of
her
discomfort.
The
sensation
was
strange.
He
didn’t
smile
a
lot.
A
red
flush
had
swept
over
her
creamy
skin
as
they’d
teased
her.
Whether
it
had
been
from
temper
or
embarrassment,
he
didn’t
know.
Probably
both.

He
had
a
flashback
to
the
feel
of
her
lying
beneath
him,
and
heat
coiled
in
the
pit
of
his
stomach.
She’d
felt
feminine
but
delicate,
small-boned
and
fragile.
The
sort
of
woman
who
needed
protecting.
Not
his
sort
of
woman.
And
no
breasts.
He
liked
breasts.
If
he
needed
sex,
then
the
other
redhead
would
be
a
much
more
sensible
option.
And
she’d
had
breasts.
But
although
he
tried
to
picture
her,
he
couldn’t
really
remember
what
she
looked
like.

The
cryo
was
obviously
still
messing
with
his
head.
He
needed
to
forget
about
women
and
concentrate
on
what
to
do
next.
Not
that
he
had
many
choices.

Maybe
he
could
try
and
get
rid
of
the
crew,
but
he
couldn’t
manage
a
ship
the
size
of
El
Cazador
alone.
Or
he
could
make
a
break
for
it.
Take
one
of
the
shuttles
perhaps.
But
why
bother?
Trakis
Two
was
his
only
option,
his
only
lead,
so
why
not
go
there
aboard
El
Cazador
?
He
chewed
a
mouthful
of
stew
thoughtfully.
At
least
the
food
was
good.
For
now,
this
was
probably
his
best
bet
for
getting
around.
He’d
regain
his
strength.
Treat
it
like
a
holiday.

And
once
he’d
seen
his
contact,
he
could
decide
what
his
next
move
should
be.
It
would
be
easy
to
ditch
them
on
Trakis
Two.
Especially
if
he
acted
like
he
was
cooperating
now
and
they
lowered
their
guard.

Unfortunately,
cooperation
had
never
been
a
strong
point
of
his,
and
he
was
a
crap
actor.
Maybe
he
could
get
the
women
on
his
side
at
least.
Maybe
he
shouldn’t
limit
himself
to
the
redhead.
From
the
way
the
women
on
this
ship
were
acting
around
him—freaking
out
over
a
damn
shirt,
he
reckoned
he
could
have
them
all.
Well,
except
Al
—
he
really
wasn’t
going
to
allow
himself
to
go
there.
From
now
on,
she
could
keep
out
of
his
way.