Hunter Mourned (Wild Hunt Book 3) (20 page)

“Except for her phone.”

“True, but that’s her only connection to the outside world. She’s basically a prisoner at the estate.”

Rowan straightened. “She’s not. Just last week, I took her shopping. We went to that secondhand store she loves.”

“But she had to ask you to take her.” He held up his hand. “I know I’m talking semantics here, but my point is—she has no role in the Huntsmen’s fight and no purpose other than to wander the estate.”

Put that way, Rowan could understand the girl’s despondent attitude. Just because her mother was a maiden didn’t mean Allie was special. It was Alana’s soul, not her body, that tied her to Minerva and gave her the title—handmaiden of love. The abilities that came with the role didn’t transfer through birth. If it could’ve, the world would be filled with maidens.

“Isn’t that what will happen to Minerva’s maidens if they move into the estate? They’re humans and can’t be expected to take up a blade and fight against a bunch of sluaghs.”

“I’m human.”

“Not for much longer.”

“True, but today I am, yet here I am, with you.”

Did he have to remind her how easily he could be hurt? She fisted her free hand and ignored the echo of Alana’s words whispering in her head. “I will protect you if the need arises, but I doubt I’ll have to step in. You’re strong.”

His mouth curved into a small smile, obviously pleased with her assessment of his abilities. “Point taken, but I was thinking along the terms of strategic help. They’ve experienced a lot over their lifetimes and have a good understanding of humanity, the good and bad.”

“They also understand the
other
worlds. Minerva has shared much of her knowledge with them.”

“Exactly. It’ll be much easier picking the brains of Minerva’s maidens than traveling to Hell to drag information out of your father’s mate.”

Trevor had put thought into his plan. She couldn’t help but respect that. She could do the same with Allie. There had to be something the human girl could do. Rowan pictured Allie at the estate, considered her hobbies, and grinned. “Maybe that’s what Allie can do too—help behind the scenes.”

A considering look settled over Trevor’s face. “How so?”

“She’s good with electronics, right?”

“Yes. She has a computer degree and graduated top of her class too.”

“Let’s see if she can figure out a way to make communicating with the Underworld easier. I have no idea if it’s possible, but Arawn has computers in Hell now. Maybe with Harley’s help, they can come up with something. The fairies did create a realm out of nothing. If it doesn’t work, she can take over the task of adding to the database you and Ian started.”

“I like that idea. If anything, it’ll make her feel as if she’s not just sponging off us.”

Trevor’s praise brought a smile to her lips. “It’s settled, then. I’ll mention it to Rhys when we get home. He can talk to her about it since he seems determined to solve Allie’s problems.”

Trevor pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen. “It’s after six. Do you want to head back now or search more?”

“We’ll check out this last street, then go home.”

She hated quitting empty-handed. The two leads they’d gotten earlier in the night hadn’t panned out. They were floundering in their fight against the Unseelies while Dar was probably busy selecting and training redcaps to replace the few the Huntsmen had managed to kill over the past couple of months.

The dead-end road leading deeper into the rundown city block narrowed the farther they walked down it. A dilapidated apartment building took up one side of the street. The screen door to the housing unit banged with the breeze blowing through the narrow lane, and rows of mailboxes could be seen each time the door swung open.

On the other side, a boarded-up video store and a pawn shop butted up against the rough stone church. A few of the stained glass panels had been covered with plywood, and graffiti decorated the wood and walls, but the blemishes didn’t deter from the majestic beauty of the building. She’d wandered into a couple of churches while exploring the towns near the estate after they’d regained their freedom. The artwork had amazed her; so had the sense of serenity that had blanketed the space.

The abandoned church in front of her was probably eerily beautiful with dust covering the pews and cracked and missing plaster. She wanted to see it and sit for a few minutes in the quiet building.

Trevor tugged on her hand, pulling her out of her thoughts. “Look.”

His quietly spoken word set her on edge. She followed the direction of his gaze. The Dumpster up ahead had a mark that somewhat resembled a handprint on it.

She opened herself partly to the power of the Hunt, enhancing her senses, and surveyed the area. No heartbeats, besides Trevor’s. No movement, except for the scuttling of rats behind the trash bags lying outside the Dumpster. And no thumping in her veins indicating a creature infected with Chaos was close. The stench reaching her nose told a different story, one she couldn’t quite explain.

“Blood.” She released Trevor’s hand and approached the bloody handprint. A few hours old, if she had to guess. The edges of the mark had begun to dry. She inhaled, allowing the scent to fill her lungs and feed her the information she needed to decipher the smell. “A dog was killed, not a human.”

Trevor crouched next to her. “Can you tell anything else?”

“I smell several different humans and other animals.” She looked at him. “But no hint of Chaos.”

“It doesn’t mean it wasn’t Craig.”

Unfortunately not. She swept her gaze over the area. A sheet of scrap metal was propped against the side of the church. Lying next to the gap made by the rusty metal, a backpack with a bedroll attached to it and a few plastic grocery bags with what appeared to be clothes shoved into them had been tossed on the ground. Beside the discarded items, a small bowl with the remnants of maybe cat or dog food sat perfectly centered on a piece of folded newspaper.

Whoever had been using the spot as their home wasn’t anywhere to be seen, however. The fact that the person had left their belongings behind, unguarded, didn’t offer much hope they’d find the homeless person alive.

Sympathy for the human who’d probably either been turned into a sluagh or had died at the hands of one mixed with the rage that always accompanied the tragic loss of life. She breathed deeply and fought to contain the dark emotions. They wouldn’t help. There was no immediate danger. She had to think. The presence of animal blood didn’t fit with the behavior of the Unseelie creatures.

Trevor laid his hand on her shoulder. “We’ll get the killer.”

His touch and words centered her, chasing back the emotions she couldn’t deal with at the moment. There was a very good chance whoever had hurt that dog was nearby. Retribution could be delivered tonight.

“The church.” She motioned toward the door a few feet down from them that Trevor had used as a child. “You said it’s abandoned.”

“Yeah, the redcap would probably get a sick enjoyment out of using a former sanctified building as its hiding place.” He cracked his knuckles. “Come on. I’ll lead the way. You keep yourself open to the Hunt. You might not feel the taint of the redcap or its sluaghs, but you might smell or hear something.”

“Yes. My senses are better with the power of the Hunt flaring within me.” Of course, so were her darkest emotions. It wasn’t healthy to live with them twenty-four seven. Succumbing completely to the rage was a fate all Huntsmen were susceptible to.

“Then let’s hunt.” He pushed up the leg of his jeans and yanked his blade from the holder built into the specialty combat boots he wore.

Part of her wanted to shove him behind her and face the threat alone, but she’d meant her words to him. He was strong and capable of holding his own against evil.

And as long as she was with him, he wouldn’t die. She had faith in
her
strength.
 

C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN

The moment Trevor wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his dagger, he knew the shit was about to hit the fan. Tingles skipped along his arm and centered in his chest. The sensation wasn’t one he felt often, but he understood what it meant.

“There are sluaghs close.” Redcaps made his skin crawl and left a sick feeling in his gut.

He moved toward the back door of the old church. They were inside. Somewhere.

Rowan grabbed his forearm. “How can you tell? I don’t sense them.”

Trevor glanced at the dagger he held and cursed at his stupidity.

“The blade. It was forged with Harley’s blood. She can sense those redcaps and sluaghs who are tied to her.” But Calan, her mate, couldn’t. By mating Calan, Harley had been accepted into the Teulu by default, and the power of the Wild Hunt didn’t see its own members as a threat. They were exempt from its wrath. Unfortunately, that meant the redcaps and sluaghs tied to her were spared too.

Working as a team, however, Harley and Calan were the only ones who’d been repeatedly locating and eliminating the sluaghs who belonged to Craig and his brothers.

“And you can sense those creatures tied to Harley because you’re not a Huntsman yet.”

“And until Craig and his brothers are taken out, I won’t be joining the Huntsmen.” He would not lose the advantage the blade offered. Other than Harley, he was the only one who could sense her redcaps or the sluaghs tied to them.

He moved in a crouch toward the door.

Rowan stepped into his path and pressed against his shoulders, stopping him. “We don’t know how long that’ll take. Humans get sick. You can contract some kind of disease and die on me before you can accept the mark.”

“If I get sick, I won’t die immediately. You can give me the mark before I do.”

“It’s painful. It might be too much and—”

“Stop, baby. This isn’t the right time or place to have this conversation. There are sluaghs in that church, and their souls need to be given peace before the sun rises.” Because once it did, the sluaghs would fade into the fairy realm until sunset. Their bodies could only be animated by their redcap leader under the blanket of darkness.

She nodded quickly, but the worry in her eyes squeezed his chest. He pulled her close, wrapping her in his embrace. “You need to trust in this connection between us. It’s spanned the centuries and brought us back together. Whether or not I remember our first time together doesn’t make a difference. My soul does. That’s what this soul mate thing means, right? My soul remembers loving you.”

“Yes. That’s it exactly.”

“Then, we’ll win. I’m not going to lose this chance with you.”

She squeezed him tight, then dropped her arms. “We’ll talk more about it later.”

His answer would be the same then, but he nodded. He didn’t want to fight with Rowan. They had a job to do.

He turned the doorknob. Locked. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. He hadn’t thought to bring a lockpick kit either. He knew how to use one and had even taught a class on lockpicking to his newer employees. It was a good skill to have.

“Do you have a bobby pin?” Rowan’s hair hung loose around her shoulders tonight, but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“No. Afraid not.” She pushed against his shoulder. “Let me get it.”

She could embrace her alternate form and rip the door off its hinges if she wanted. He shook his head. “Let’s try not to alert the sluaghs to our presence unless there’s no other way. I’ll try first.”

He wiggled the blade’s tip between the doorjamb and the lock plate, then pushed while he turned the knob back and forth. After a few tries, he was able to slide the bolt back. The door swung open, creaking softly. He waited a moment, but no sounds reached him, and Rowan didn’t rush forward, sensing something he couldn’t.

He entered the entryway to the back of the church. A wide counter where he’d once stood with his grandmother offered a view into the kitchen. The appliances were gone and so were the ornate drawer pulls on the tall, wooden cabinets that lined the kitchen’s workspace. The place didn’t resemble the bright and airy room he’d remembered. Dust covered everything. The linoleum had buckled, and hunks of the horsehair plaster were missing.

Nothing appeared disturbed, however. There wasn’t even a footprint on the dusty black-and-white checkered floor.

He glanced at the vinyl tiles in the hallway that led to the gathering room. Drops of blood marked a path down the hall, probably from the same dog whose blood was smeared on the Dumpster.

“It’s not human blood.” Rowan confirmed his guess.

“What has Craig been doing?”

“I could probably guess, but we might as well see for ourselves.” She pointed down the hall. “I smell a lot more blood, all animal blood.”

That was where the sluaghs were. The tingling in his arm had intensified.

Rowan kicked off her shoes and yanked the belt from the loose dress she’d chosen for the night. Claws slid from the ends of her fingers, and color leached from her skin.

She faced him. Her green eyes glowed, marking her as a demigod, but it was the physical changes distorting her features that identified her as a daughter of Hell. Her jaw had elongated into a short snout. Razor-sharp teeth filled her mouth. And blood collected in the corners of her familiar eyes.

She was deadly and hauntingly beautiful. He cupped her face before he could stop himself. “I love you, Rowan.”

It wasn’t the right time to tell her, but he wouldn’t have been able to stop the words if he tried.

She grinned, twisting her features even more, and covered his hands with her clawed ones. “And I love you, Trevor. More than I thought possible.”

The guttural edge to her voice didn’t detract from the feeling behind her words. The soft caress of her thumb along the inside of his wrist told him.

“Disable the sluaghs, but don’t kill them. I must take their heads to free their souls. Remember, no matter what they have been forced to do, they’re puppets. They didn’t choose this fate.” She dropped her hands and jogged down the hallway.

The gathering hall was vacant, except for a few boxes of Christmas decorations and old bikes stacked in one corner. The trail of blood and shuffling footprints led toward the entrance to the basement.