Hunter's Fall (7 page)

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Authors: Shiloh Walker

Tags: #Romance, #Contemporary, #General, #Paranormal, #Fiction

BOOK: Hunter's Fall
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A cold ache spread out from the slow-healing vampire bite in her neck. He’d sought to bleed her out and he’d been low enough on his own blood that his vampiric gifts hadn’t been particularly strong. When vampires wanted, they could leave bites that were almost surgically neat and their saliva had a rather miraculous healing effect. At least they did when the vampire wasn’t hovering just this side of death.
She finished up her hot dog and then turned the corner, heading for the subway. The red line would take her close enough to where she needed to go and it would save her much-needed energy.
She moved slowly down the steps, hating the weakness in her body, hating how heavy her legs felt, how gritty her eyes felt. She plugged some money into a machine and got her ticket before joining the other bodies waiting on the platform.
The train came to a halt in front of her and she moved on, surrounded by commuters, college students and construction workers. She breathed in the scents of life and felt a curl of envy whisper through her. These people were rushing home, rushing to work, living lives that revolved around work, family, dates.
Everything Nessa wished she could have.
Everything she never would.
The envy flowered into full bloom. Nessa glanced around at the faces of the mortals and wished she could be anywhere but here.
“Then go. No reason you can’t be anywhere but here.”
That insidious cow. She couldn’t linger for long, but she could sure as hell speak up often enough to drive Nessa completely insane. Or try to tempt her into something foolish.
On a good day, Nessa could ignore the bitch.
But today wasn’t a good day. On the bad days, it wasn’t just lucidity that took a vacation. It was her common sense and self-preservation. On a good day, she’d never even dream of using her magic where mortals could witness it.
Today, though, was obviously a bad day and if she was just a little stronger, she might have even done what Morgan wanted and let the magic carry her away.
Weak and tired as she was, flying wasn’t just unwise, it was dangerous. The ability to move herself from one place to another, miles away, was almost as easy as breathing when she was at full strength.
Nessa hadn’t been at full strength in months. Logically, she knew she needed to take better care of herself. On her lucid days, she did try. But there were other days when it seemed insanity had the stronger hold. Days when she couldn’t tell reality from the nightmares inside her head, days when she couldn’t separate the future from the past.
When she was stronger, the lucid days came more often. Those days, however, came with painfully clear memories. Memories she would do nearly anything to avoid having. Keeping her mind occupied helped—which meant Hunting like a demon. Or letting herself become weak enough, tired enough, that she slipped out of lucidity. Usually a combination of both worked best.
Except doing both tended to make people fuss over her like she was some kind of daft old bat or a reckless young child.
With a curl of her lip, she muttered, “I tried the daft old bat route—it wouldn’t stick.” So now she was stuck inside the body of a reckless youth.
Morgan had been young when they had stopped her murderous rampage.
If Morgan had lived, she would have been in her twenties, Nessa thought. She wasn’t sure. The years had all run together on her, but she knew this body was still in the bloom of youth. She wondered how many more years she was going to be trapped inside it. How many more years of emptiness and loneliness she must endure.
It was enough to infuriate her. A sharp hiss escaped her and she shoved to her feet. Danger be damned. Common sense be damned. She forced her way through the bodies, heading to the back of the train, looking for just a little bit of privacy. The closest she was going to get was the second to last car. One drunkard, a bored-looking woman who Nessa suspected was a prostitute, and a dozing commuter who would probably end his trip minus his wallet and briefcase if he didn’t wake up.
She met the insolent gaze of the woman and held it. Standing up, Nessa imagined the other woman would probably have a good six inches on her, and easily forty pounds. But physical presence didn’t always add up to everything.
Attitude counted for a great deal. Attitude and arrogance. Those two things Nessa had in spades.
Their gazes connected and Nessa smirked at the other woman, watched as the gaze fell away. In that second, when nobody was looking at her, Nessa let the magic take her.
In the back of her mind, she felt Morgan’s delight.
It left Nessa feeling more than a little sick, and downright furious.
She alit on the front stoop of the worn, run-down house on the lower east side of Chicago. “Honey, I’m home.”
CHAPTER 3
 
D
OMINIC hated heights.
He hated heights, and he couldn’t stand outside during the midday, not even on a cloudy one. Unless he wanted to burn to a crisp. At least not yet. In a few more decades, he might be able to handle it.
But right now, he couldn’t. And even if he could, he wouldn’t be outside
here
. Nausea hit him and he knew where he was. Chicago. He’d been to Chicago before and he’d even been in the Sears Tower—no, the Willis Tower. They’d renamed it. But he’d been inside before.
In
the tower, not on
top
of it.
“I’m not really here now, either,” he muttered, shooting a look at the sky.
He was dreaming.
He didn’t even have to see her, didn’t hear her voice to know he was dreaming. He just knew.
He heard voices. Two of them—both women. Although they sounded the same, they weren’t. One was accented, with the crisp, lyrical sound of England, and the other was good old American with the slow, lazy drawl of the South.
“Why don’t you just jump?”
“I won’t jump because that would be too easy for you. Too easy for us both.”
“Easy . . . what in the fuck do you care if it’s easy for you? You want it over, so just end it already. Be done with it.”
Dominic felt his fangs throb in their sheaths, ready to emerge. His body tensed, ready to attack as he searched the rooftop for the other woman. He’d kill the bitch—whoever she was, taunting this woman to jump, he’d kill her.
But there was no other woman.
Just the witch.
Just
his
witch.
Looking at her made him ache.
It had been months since he’d held her . . . even in his dreams. You’d think a man’s libido would kick in and he could at least have her in his dreams, but not lately.
Not since the dream where she’d stood crying in a field of stone.
Since then, his dreams had taken a drastic turn, and not a good one. Either he was reliving that dream where she held him as he died, or he was in one where he was nothing more than an observer, watching as she drifted through life like a heartbroken ghost. Dreams where he couldn’t touch her, couldn’t hold her, couldn’t talk to her.
Because she wouldn’t let him.
She had isolated herself, even in her dreams.
No . . . not
her
dreams. They were
his
dreams.
Whatever . . . none of it made sense, and he couldn’t try to make any of it now, either, not when she was there.
He wanted to go to her. Hold her.
He wanted to tell her to come away from the ledge, that she wasn’t alone up there on the roof. That she wasn’t alone, period. He was there . . . he was with her.
And then she wasn’t alone, but Dominic wasn’t the one standing just behind her.
It was another vampire.
Dominic couldn’t reach out to the witch. Couldn’t touch her, couldn’t make her hear him if she spoke. Couldn’t save her if she tried to jump.
But the vampire could.
Don’t you let her jump, you big bastard
, he thought darkly.
And still, in some part of his mind, he wondered why he was so worried about a dream-woman jumping off the Willis Tower. It wasn’t like she was real. It wasn’t like it would hurt her. The next time he slept, she’d be there . . . waiting for him.
Not if she jumps
, he thought.
If she jumps, I’ve lost her.
He knew it. If she jumped, she was lost to him. Somehow.
 
 
N
ESSA swayed as a wave of dizziness washed over her.
Had been a bad idea, flying here. It was too late to walk away now, though. Besides, if she knew Malachi well enough, he’d show up. He’d be here to back her up. As she checked her reserves, she flexed a hand, an absent gesture. She frowned as she realized just how very low her energy was. She didn’t even know if she had fumes to operate on.
But she couldn’t walk away. She felt the pulse and ebb of the vampires inside and despite her lack of interest in life itself, she still had a keen interest in fighting the good fight.
“A good Hunter never leaves the job undone and all that rot,” she mumbled to herself.
They were resting now—or rather, two of them were. The older one had enough years behind him that he didn’t immediately collapse when the sun breached the horizon. He had been the one to bite her.
For a few moments, she’d almost let him win. Blood loss would kill her. That was a certain fact—all animals needed their lifeblood, and witch or no, she was just another animal.
But then she’d heard the wail of sirens. Somebody had called the police, some kind soul probably thinking they were doing something good. Or maybe it had just been somebody annoyed by the noise.
It didn’t matter, though. The police had been coming and they weren’t equipped to deal with vampires. If she died, then the police would stumble blindly into something they couldn’t handle.
So, once more, with death just a wish away, she’d fought back. Hating every last second of it.
She reached for the doorknob but a wave of weakness washed over her. In the back of her mind, Morgan laughed. Even in death, the bitch continued to taunt Nessa.
Go on inside, old woman. He could use a tasty treat.
“Hmmm, perhaps. The silver I pumped inside him will be munching away at his insides by now, though.”
It had been sheer luck on the vampire’s part that he’d managed to bite her at all. They’d both been weakened by the battle, but the vampire had been running perilously low on blood. He had a gaping wound in his gut that wasn’t healing as it should and there’d been internal organs trying to slide out as he fought to pin her to the ground. She’d stopped fighting long enough to shove the vial of silver nitrate inside him, and that was when he’d bit her.
Her blood had given his body the strength to start healing, but he had a slow, insidious poison inside his body. If the vampire hadn’t been as old as he was, if he hadn’t had her blood rushing through his veins, it would have already killed him.
Now, she imagined he just wished it would. Silver nitrate would eat at him like he’d been injected with battery acid. He’d have to feed heavily to recover his strength and sunlight had kept him trapped all day. If she knew vampires, he’d send the two younger ones out as soon as dusk fell and whoever was brought to him wouldn’t live through it.
There was little that Nessa cared about in life anymore, but she wasn’t going to let that monster kill another innocent soul.
Somehow, Morgan was aware of Nessa’s thoughts and as Nessa stood there staring at the door, the bitch laughed. It was a ghostly echo that none save Nessa could hear and it chilled her, infuriated her.
Let him just kill you, precious. That would make both of us happy.
“Precious,” Nessa crooned aloud. “Please don’t be so ridiculous. What on earth made you think I’d even consider making you happy?”
She reached out and closed her hand around the door. She concentrated a bit, using her magic to manipulate the elements on the other side of it. The air formed itself into a “hand” of sorts and turned the lock. It opened with a quiet snick and she pushed the door open.
Darkness greeted her and when she took in a deep breath, she could smell him. Smell the silver that was poisoning him, smell the stink of burning flesh as it ate away at his body.
As she stepped over the threshold, she felt a rush of wind behind her and she glanced back, smiling as Malachi materialized. She might as well have a homing beacon on her, she decided. He was just that good at tracking her.
But Hunters always seemed damned good at sensing each other.
“Crashing the party?” she asked. Some part of her, the part that had tried to chide her into resting, recovering, was glad to see him. That part of her, the part that wouldn’t give up, was glad to see him, glad that she wasn’t going to walk into a fight she couldn’t survive alone.
“Bloody fool witch,” he growled. He stormed past her, sending her an icy look. “You might not give a damn if you live or die, but I do.”

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