Deadly Pursuit (A Blood Hunter Novel, #2) (3 page)

Well,
that
was
really
sweet,
except
he
didn’t
have
any
family.
So
what
the
fuck
was
going
on?
“I
don’t
have
a
sister.”

Al
shrugged
again.
“Anyway,
you
should
stay
here.
The
captain
will
keep
you
safe.”

Jon
didn’t
want
anyone
keeping
him
safe.
He
worked
alone,
and
he
liked
it
that
way.
But
it
occurred
to
him
he
should
find
out
a
little
about
where
he
was,
who
had
gotten
him
out
of
prison,
and
what
they
wanted
in
return.

“Where
is
here?”
he
asked.
“What
is
this
ship?”

“It’s
the
El
Cazador
.
El
Cazador
de
la
Sangre
.”

The
name
sounded
vaguely
familiar,
but
he
couldn’t
place
it.
“What
sort
of
shit
name
is
that?”

“It’s
old
Earth
talk.
It
means
The
Blood
Hunter.”

Jon
breathed
in
deep
and
caught
again
the
lingering
scent
of
death.
“Well,
that
figures.
Who’s
the
captain?”

When
he
didn’t
get
an
answer,
he
frowned.
“Well?”

Jon
belatedly
realized
Al
was
still
juggling
the
clothes
and
the
tray
and
looked
about
to
drop
both.

“Sorry,
I…here.”
The
boy
held
out
the
tray,
and
the
bundle
tucked
under
his
arm
tumbled
to
the
floor.
Jon
took
the
food
and
put
it
down
on
the
small
table
by
the
bed,
his
stomach
rumbling
again
as
the
smell
drifted
up.
Then
he
picked
up
the
clothes.
Black
pants
and
a
black
shirt.
After
dropping
the
towel,
he
pulled
on
the
pants.
They
fit—just.

He
glanced
up.
Al
stood
frozen
in
place,
staring
as
though
he’d
never
seen
a
man
before.
Jon
ignored
him
and
shrugged
into
the
shirt.
It
was
tight
across
the
shoulders,
but
it
would
have
to
do.
He’d
chucked
his
own
clothes
down
the
recycling
shoot
to
rid
the
cabin
of
the
stench
of
prison.

Al
was
still
gawking
at
him.
Jon
opened
his
mouth
to
tell
the
boy
to
piss
off
when
a
loud
boom
rang
in
his
ears,
and
the
ship
jolted
sideways.
Jon
reached
instinctively
for
the
kid,
wrapping
his
arms
around
his
skinny
frame
as
the
force
hurled
them
both
to
the
floor.
He
crashed,
and
Al
landed
on
top
of
him.

Swearing,
Jon
gripped
the
boy’s
shoulders,
intending
to
toss
him
away—he
wasn’t
in
the
business
of
protecting
anyone
these
days—but
another
shock
hit
the
ship,
flinging
them
across
the
room.
This
time
they
came
to
rest
with
Al
beneath
him.

Jon
stayed
still,
waiting.
Al
wriggled,
but
he
ignored
the
movement.
If
the
ship
was
hit
again,
the
floor
was
the
best
place
to
be.

“I
can’t
breathe.”
Al’s
voice
sounded
weak,
and
a
small
hand
pushed
between
them
and
shoved
at
Jon’s
chest.

After
a
minute
when
nothing
else
happened,
Jon
levered
himself
up
slightly.
For
the
first
time
he
really
studied
the
face
beneath
him.
The
gray
eyes,
the
irises
circled
in
black,
thick
dark
lashes,
creamy
skin,
the
small
nose,
and
the
wide
mouth.
Something
wasn’t
right.
Closing
his
eyes,
he
breathed
in
and
allowed
his
other
senses
to
take
over.

When
he
looked
again,
the
new
knowledge
must
have
shown
because
Al’s
eyes
widened
with
panic.
He
wriggled
again,
but
Jon
held
him
still,
his
hands
curved
around
a
narrow
waist,
then
slowly
he
pressed
his
hips
down.
Shock
held
him
immobile.

Al
shoved
hard.
This
time,
Jon
didn’t
try
to
hold
on.
Instead,
he
watched
through
narrowed
eyes
as
Al
twisted
from
beneath
him
and
scrambled
to
his
feet.

“I
have
to
go
find
out
what
happened,”
he
said,
his
tone
breathless,
and
then
he
whirled
around
and
vanished
through
the
door.

Jon
sat
on
the
floor,
his
back
against
the
wall
and
watched
as
the
“boy”
disappeared.
Though
one
thing
was
for
sure—Al
was
no
boy.
He
remembered
the
curve
of
her
waist,
the
feminine
cradle
of
her
hips.
She
was
also
older
than
the
fourteen
or
fifteen
years
he’d
first
guessed.
He
shifted
in
the
too
tight
pants,
frowning
at
the
unfamiliar
ache
in
his
groin.
How
long
since
he’d
allowed
a
woman
to
affect
him
that
way?
Too
many
years
to
remember.

Jon
dismissed
the
thought.
It
was
none
of
his
business
what
or
who
Al
was.
He
just
wanted
off
this
ship.
Preferably
before
someone
blew
it
into
tiny
pieces.
At
least
the
attack
appeared
to
have
stopped.
He
pushed
himself
to
his
feet
and
glanced
around
the
room.

“Shit.”
His
dinner
was
on
the
floor.

…

Alex
hurried
down
the
narrow
corridor,
but
when
no
more
blasts
hit
the
ship,
she
slowed
her
pace
and
finally
came
to
a
halt.

Holy
Everlasting
Life
.

Her
heart
hammered
against
her
rib
cage,
but
she
was
aware
it
had
nothing
to
do
with
the
attack.
This
wasn’t
fear
racing
through
her
blood.
Her
body
tingled
where
he
had
touched
her,
and
the
imprint
of
his
fingers
burned
at
her
waist.

Closing
her
eyes,
she
pictured
Jon
as
he’d
appeared
when
she
opened
the
door.
His
huge
body
hardly
covered
with
that
tiny
little
towel.
She
swallowed
and
wiped
her
clammy
hands
down
her
pants.
Her
breasts
ached
where
she’d
bound
them
tight
beneath
her
shirt,
and
she
had
to
resist
the
urge
to
run
her
hands
across
them.
What
would
it
feel
like
if
Jon…

She
was
a
sick
woman.
There
was
no
doubt,
and
she
should
probably
fall
down
to
her
knees
and
pray.
But
she
didn’t
want
to
pray.

He’d
been
so
big
and
bulky
with
massive
sloping
shoulders,
a
lean
ridged
belly,
and
long
muscular
legs.
His
shaggy
hair
had
hung
down
to
his
shoulders,
a
blend
of
dark
brown
and
gold,
the
colors
repeated
in
the
stubble
on
his
chin
and
the
smattering
of
dark
hair
over
his
chest.

And
when
he’d
fallen
on
top
of
her
he’d
felt
hard.
Everywhere.

Had
he
known?

He’d
certainly
spotted
something
he
hadn’t
been
expecting,
and
she’d
seen
the
shock
in
his
eyes.
They
were
beautiful
eyes—amber
with
thick
lashes.
Skylar
had
told
her
Jon
was
an
assassin,
but
nobody
with
eyes
like
that
could
be
really
bad.

Alex
forced
herself
to
move
on.
She
needed
to
get
to
the
bridge
and
find
out
who’d
shot
at
them.
Was
it
the
Collective?
Had
they
found
Jon
already?