Hunter Mourned (Wild Hunt Book 3) (28 page)

The Huntsman’s mark on her upper chest flared. She opened herself to her hound and looked through its eyes to see what had caused the animal to reach out to her. The empty gaze of a sluagh met hers. Its blond hair and familiar features sent a wave of rage through her that stirred the darker side of her persona. The male had been the only one out of the group of college kids at the bar that Jen had worked at who hadn’t caught her mare’s interest, which meant he hadn’t caused a crime worthy of suffering in Hell. A poor choice in friends didn’t count.

Trevor stopped a few treads down from her. The question showed in his eyes—
what’s wrong?

She closed the distance between them.

“There’s a sluagh in the alley behind the pizza place we ate at yesterday. He’s a fresh kill.” And that meant he’d be stronger than a human. All sluaghs were more powerful than mere humans, but as the sluagh’s body decayed, it lost the strength in its muscles.

“Shit.”

Choices pressed down on her. Both Craig and the sluagh needed to die by her hand, and she couldn’t allow either to take a life. Dammit, she couldn’t be in two places at once.

“I’ll direct you to the floor Craig is on, then I’ll go keep the sluagh occupied until you can kill Craig.”

Trevor voiced the only option she could come up with too. If she allowed her hound to watch the sluagh by itself, the dog would rip the sluagh’s throat out if it so much as looked at a human with hunger in its eyes, and it wouldn’t matter to the animal if other humans saw it make the kill. No amount of warning from Rowan would stop it. The beast’s instinct to protect the living was too strong. Trevor would keep the sluagh away from humans, however, and once she killed Craig, the sluagh would die, releasing its soul. As long as it belonged to him, of course.

“It’s the only way.” Trevor squeezed her gloveless right hand, the one that still showed the jagged mark reflecting her curse. The line hadn’t lengthened, but it hadn’t thinned either. She’d made no progress in her challenge since the evening by the lake.

She glanced from the mark to Trevor’s eyes. “Don’t you dare die on me, Trevor. I won’t survive losing you again.”

“I promised you I wouldn’t.” He stroked his thumb over her palm, tracing the mark.

She nodded and motioned him forward. Trevor picked up the pace, racing down the stairs and skidding on the landings.

Finally, he stopped. “This one.”

And that meant good-bye.

She kissed him, a quick press of her lips to his. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

He squeezed her hand, then continued down the stairs. Her chest constricted, making it hard to breathe. She wanted to go after him. Wanted to protect him. Wanted to drag him to Calan so Trevor could be given the Huntsman’s mark.

She forced herself to turn away and opened the door leading to the floor where Trevor had sensed Craig. An older man and his wife stood waiting at the elevator farther down the hall and a teenager was feeding money into the snack machine a few feet away. Their presence posed a threat. So did the security cameras mounted near the ceiling. She couldn’t be caught on tape either attacking Craig in her human or her Huntsman’s form. Sure, she could obscure their images, but her sudden disappearance wouldn’t be so easy to explain.

She stepped onto the industrial carpeting and glanced at the doors lining the hall. Which one hid her prey?

She walked slowly, letting her presence be the trigger that flushed out Craig and praying it didn’t urge him to kill Jen. Rowan held on to the hope the maiden was still alive. The alternative was too depressing. It also angered her. Jen’s decision to meet Craig here, if that indeed was the reason she’d checked in, was a “too stupid to live” move. Then again, Jen was tired of this life.

And she thought to save the soul of the man she’d once loved.

The elevator marked the halfway point. Still no Craig. Rowan slowed her steps more, silently urging the redcap out. She reached the end. None of the doors opened. Was he waiting for her to walk by?

Of course he is.
She clenched her fists, her frustration mounting. He was probably amused by her presence, thinking he was safe from the wrath of the Hunt.

At the end of the hall, another set of stairs offered access to the upper and lower floors. Across from the steel doors sat a table with a vase filled with fake flowers. Above the vase, a mirror was mounted. She lifted the mirror off its hook and propped it against the vase, offering a view down the hallway. Then she retreated to the stairwell and waited with her gaze locked onto the mirror.

The Hunt would succeed tonight, capturing Craig. She only hoped she’d have someone to celebrate her victory with tomorrow.

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WENTY-
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OUR

Nine blocks. The pizza shop was nine freaking blocks away. Trevor cursed and pushed his body harder. He weaved through the crowd on the sidewalks and dodged cars on the streets. Those people who saw him sprinting down the block got out of the way. They probably thought he was either running from the cops or crazy. Whatever the reason, they moved. Every time he had to avoid colliding with someone, he wasted precious seconds.

Without a connection to Rowan or her hounds, he was running blind. He had no clue what the sluagh was doing, if it had remained in the same spot, or even if it was still alive.

The pizza shop came into view. He scanned the area around it. People walked normally. The lack of hysteria calmed him some. If someone were being attacked, there’d be chaos. He slowed his steps so as not to send the sluagh running.

In those years before the Huntsmen were released, he’d had his share of encounters with sluaghs. How well fed or newly killed they were determined their cognitive abilities. Rowan had said this one was fresh. That made the situation more dangerous. The sluagh would still retain its human instincts and fight to protect itself or flee.

A flash of red caught Trevor’s attention. He glanced toward the minivan parked along the road. The decal on the driver’s door identified it as belonging to the pizza shop. It had a dent in the side and whitewall tires. Nothing on it would’ve flashed and drawn his eye. Something did, though. Hopefully, it had been the red eyes of Rowan’s hound. If the sluagh had gotten that close to the busy road, there was going to be trouble.

Trevor moved purposely but calmly toward the van. There was no sign of the hound or sluagh, and the dagger strapped to his calf remained silent. He wasn’t close enough to the walking dead for the warning the blade offered to kick in.

He bypassed the parked vehicle and turned down the alley. The flash of red he’d seen earlier drew his gaze to the shadows. One of the female hounds stood there, partially hidden by a garbage can. The Huntsmen’s dogs resembled a beefier and taller version of Dobermans, but their red eyes, wickedly sharp teeth, and deadly claws tipping their paws turned them into vicious predators.

He lowered his hand, palm side up. The immortal dog rubbed against his skin, a simple caress that let Trevor know the hound was on his side. That was a good thing. He couldn’t command the animal the same way the Huntsmen did. He simply had to hope the dog would listen to him. In a fight, that distinction made a world of difference. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a lot he could do about it. He wasn’t a Huntsman. Yet.

He hunkered down next to the animal and whispered one of the simple commands the Huntsmen had taught the animals. “Where.”

The dog took a few steps, then stopped. Its gaze remained locked on a distant point at the end of the alley. Trevor stepped forward, but the dog didn’t move. It probably couldn’t get any closer without alerting the sluagh to its presence. That was another thing Zeph had told Trevor. The hounds had been bred to hunt the Unseelie creatures. It would sense the range it could safely remain in to avoid detection. Zeph hadn’t gone into details about how they could pull off the feat, and Trevor hadn’t asked.

He scanned the alley, looking for the sluagh. A Dumpster obscured his view, but the side door leading to the pizza place was lit up by a neon sign. A few feet down from the kitchen door, Chinese lanterns brightened the display window of a tarot shop. The soft glow from them offered a splash of light to the area around it. Nothing moved. He couldn’t see anything past that. It was too dark.

If he remembered correctly from when he’d walked down this street with Rowan, there was a sub shop at the other end and an entrance to apartments next to it. Both of those places would have people walking past the sluagh. Trevor needed the undead creature in his sight so he could act if the need arose. The trick was pulling that off without alerting the sluagh to Trevor’s presence.

He pulled his dagger free and took slow steps so as not to draw the sluagh’s attention. After a couple of feet, the first tingle announcing the sluagh’s presence spread up his arm. Each step he took intensified the feeling. It paled in comparison to what he’d experienced in the hotel. Then, it had felt like he was being bitten by thousands of red ants. The stinging had left his muscles twitching and pulse racing. With the single sluagh close, he barely felt the sparks dancing over his skin.

Rowan’s argument came back to him. It was going to be incredibly hard for one man to locate Harley’s redcaps or their sluaghs. He’d have to be in the right place at the right time. Discovering Craig today had been more a case of the redcap’s cockiness in thinking it no longer had to hide from the Huntsmen. Craig liked to play games too. The stacks of crime reports involving him that were sitting in the Huntsmen’s library proved Craig considered himself above the law.

Was the slight chance Trevor would stumble over another redcap or sluagh worth Rowan’s stress? It had lingered in her eyes. He hated being the cause of it. Couldn’t do anything about it. Craig had to die, and this redcap had to be watched.

Trevor let the thoughts go and focused on what he had to do—make sure he was in a position to act.

He crouched behind the Dumpster and peered into the shadows. He picked out a couple of Styrofoam soda cups, a balled-up wrapper from the sub shop, and a soggy newspaper. No sluagh. He rounded the Dumpster. The door to the apartment building stood open. His gut clenched. Somebody could’ve forgotten to close it as they’d left, but with no other places for the sluagh to hide, the likelihood of that happening was slim.

He gripped the hilt of the dagger and jogged to the building’s entrance. It was time to hunt.

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WENTY-
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IVE

Years of training with not only Arawn but his elite guards had honed Rowan’s skills and taught her the importance of patience. At the moment, however, it was taking all her self-control to remain still. Every fiber of her being demanded she go to Trevor. She couldn’t. Killing Craig and hopefully saving Jen’s life came first. Trevor was strong and disciplined. She’d seen him fight. He could handle himself against a single sluagh. That knowledge didn’t erase her instinct to protect him.

She glanced at the mark of her curse. It still ran the length of her forearm, but it wasn’t solid. The spaces where her tanned skin showed through had gotten wider in the last few minutes. She was making progress. The sight gave her the strength to lock her knees and not seek out Trevor. The Triad wanted her to accept Trevor as her partner completely. That was the only explanation she could come up with. The timing of the mark’s deterioration to her personal growth was too coincidental.

Her challenge had nothing to do with Lucas. It was no wonder he’d allowed her to walk away from him. Rowan was glad. She
wanted
to overcome the guilt of her past. If it took the Triad’s game to help her finally wipe away the regret she’d suffered for centuries, then she’d embrace its lesson.

Those years had been hard. Every time she’d been forced to relive the night of Kai’s death, she’d suffered, but it hadn’t been the same kind of trauma her siblings had endured. They’d paid their price to the fairy curse in blood and pain. Not her. No, her price had been her tears. How pathetic was that?

I was weak. Too weak to handle more.

No. She worked her jaw back and forth.
Let it go. I’m healing.

With the thought strengthening her, she relaxed her muscles and waited on the landing of the stairwell. Craig would know she was here, but what other option did she have? He wouldn’t actually open the door for her if she knocked.

The sound of pounding feet reached her. She glanced over the rail at the Huntsman running up the stairs. Rhys was too bulky in his human form to sneak up on anyone without the influence of the Hunt.

“Where is he?”

“In one of those rooms with Jen. I didn’t want to set him off.”

He nodded. “Understandable, but you realize she’s probably already—”

Rowan pressed a finger to her lips and pointed at the mirror. Craig stood at the elevator. Alone. The doors opened.

Rowan moved a second before Rhys. Rage swept over her. She’d turned her attention to Rhys for a few seconds and had almost missed Craig. No. She wouldn’t lose her prey. Craig’s blood was hers to take. He’d been the one to expose Trevor to the fairy realm.

The redcap looked her way the second she stepped into the hallway. His black eyes locked onto her. A grin spread over his face. He slipped into the open elevator. The doors slowly closed.

No!
Aware of the cameras in the hallway, she ran as fast as her human body would allow. Rhys’s heavy footsteps sounded behind her. She reached for the closing doors. They snapped shut before she could stop them.

Rhys cursed. “We missed him.”

She focused on the changing lights above the door, indicating what floor the elevator was passing. “He’s going up.”

“Text me what floor he stops on.”

She grabbed Rhys’s arm before he turned. “I didn’t bring my cell. Trevor has one.” Her outfit didn’t easily allow for one.

“Go to the lobby, then. I’ll wait to see what floor the elevator stops at, then go after him.”