Hunter's Rise (16 page)

Shifting her gaze, she stared at the bars. A prisoner. Completely and utterly trapped. “Now, I am more prisoner than ever.”

A sniffle came from the hallway.

“Do not cry in front of me, boy,” she whispered, shaking her head.

A year ago, two years ago, she wouldn’t have dared speak in such a manner. But the girl she had been—that girl was dead. Through her lashes, she said softly, “Do not cry in front of me. You are the reason I am prisoner in this place.”

“I know.” He wiped the tears away, leaving clean streaks on a grubby face. “I’ll find a way to get you out. I don’t care if it takes me years.”

He stared at her, like he waited for something—absolution?
Understanding?

She had nothing to offer the little monster.

Averting her face, she stared at the wall.

“I’ll get you out. Even if it takes years. Even if it kills me.”

I’

Sylvia came awake with tears choking her and the bitter taste of regret heavy on her tongue.

Scrubbing her hands over her face, she groaned. “Why?” she muttered. But she already knew the answer to that. Seeing a picture of Toby was all it had taken— he reminded her so much of the boy who’d led her to the vampire. She’d spent those weeks hating him. But he hadn’t known.

All those old memories, trying to choke her.

That poor, pathetic kid. He hadn’t been a monster… and his determination to help her
had
killed him. Him, another boy, all because of her selfishness, her stubbornness, her anger.

“No.” She slammed her head back against the wall and whispered, “You did that.”

“Stop it. Shit, you have to stop this.” Shoving away from the wall, she went to swipe her hands over her face.

That was when she realized it… she hadn’t noticed it right away because the dream had been choking her, keeping her from thinking. But she
should
have noticed it.

There was a scent in the air— one that wasn’t her own.

Warm. Male. Not new, but not old.

Hissing, she jumped to her feet. That scent was
on
her. On her hand. That scent— the werewolf.

He’d been in
here
. With her. Her gut churned and she stared at the floor. The strip of light coming under the door was nonexistent, even to her eyes. Night had fallen. Reaching for one of her blades, she caught the doorknob. Listening.

He was out there, and she was in here worrying about old dreams and old humiliations and nightmares. He was
out
there, damn it. She could hear his heart beating.

Lubdublubdub.

Lubdublubdub.

Lubdublubdub.

The heartbeat was about twice as fast as a human’s. He was close, but not on the other side of the door. She flexed her fingers, wondered if he was there to try and kill her. No. That idea didn’t seem quite right. Judging by the scent, he’d been in
here
—in the closet— hours ago. When the sun was up. If he really wanted her dead, he could have just opened the door and hauled her into the light of the room. Enough sunlight would have flooded the area that she’d be toast. Hell, for that matter, he could have just destroyed her heart or taken her head.

If he’d wanted her dead, why not do it that way?

Unless he was actually a fair player— Boy Scouts and do-gooders tended to do that, right? But she knew Hunters didn’t have a problem taking out vamps while they slept. They were about exterminating problems, not a fair fight. If they’d decided she needed to go…

Okay, so he’s not here to kill me.

Why
was
he here?

Only one way to find out.
Sylvia drew one of her throwing knives— one of the smaller ones she could hide in the palm of her hand. He wouldn’t be able to see it, although she still didn’t know if it would do her a hell of a lot of good against him.

Wouldn’t stop her from trying.

Squaring her shoulders, she pushed the door open, braced herself. The attic room was empty— she’d known it would be. Still, his scent was strong. Very strong. A silvery band of moonlight fell in through an open window and she stared at
it before following it along the floor to the open window. She’d slept until moonrise. Shit. Why had that happened? She never slept that late anymore. She couldn’t take sunlight, but generally by twilight, she was up and moving.

Also, she hadn’t left that window open.

Stroking the edge of her knife with her thumb, she eased her way into the darker shadows of the room.

Even before she saw the moonlight shining off his pale hair, she knew.

He was down there, in the backyard, waiting for her. And damn it. He’d hauled her bike out. Bastard. He was leaning against it, leather stretching over those long thighs, a black T-shirt clinging to his lean chest. He had that blond hair pulled back in a neat tail at the nape of his neck, and he looked good enough to eat. In many, many ways.

Her fangs pulsed.

Lower, much lower, other things pulsed. Because she knew he’d be aware, she figured she’d hide one hunger within another. Standing in the open window frame, keeping her knife hand free, she murmured, “Oh,
look
. It’s Meals on Wheels.”

He grinned at her. And then he leaped. Sylvia fell back, moving away from the window even as part of her wished she could stand there and just watch him move—

She pulled another knife, but didn’t bother hiding that one. He’d go for the one she’d left in open view, she hoped.

He came through the window, almost silent, a grin on his lips, his blue eyes glinting with humor. That hot, rich scent of his flooded her head and suddenly, she had to swallow. It was that, or start drooling.

“Delivery service.” She waggled her knife at him. “I like that.”

“That mouth of yours ever get you in trouble, Sylvia?”

She shrugged lazily. “A time or two. You know, I don’t like strangers touching my bike.” Actually, she didn’t like
anybody
touching her bike. “What’s your name?”

Instead of answering, his eyes dropped to her knife. “You know, if you greeted the real Meals on Wheels that way, we’d have a problem.”

“Well, since you’re not actually on the menu, it’s not an issue.” She eyed him narrowly. He wasn’t armed. Or at least, he wasn’t holding any weapons. He probably
had
weapons. He wouldn’t go out to Hunt without them. But he wasn’t holding any. She could see his hands, open. Empty. Unlike hers.

Although,
hello
, he was a werewolf— in a matter of seconds, he turned into a fucking weapon.

“I hadn’t exactly
planned
to be on the menu.” He slanted his gaze to hers, a slow smile curling his lips. “But if you’re hungry… just put away your blades.”

Blades—

Shit. He was good.

Sighing, she tucked them away. He wasn’t here to fight. If he was, they’d already be at it— she’d be bloodied, battered, and hopefully, she could at least mark up that pretty face of his a little before he killed her. Still, she was pretty certain that wasn’t what he wanted out of her.

“Would you just go away?” she said, combing her hands through her hair. She needed a shower. She needed to change. And she was thirty miles away from the place she was renting. “I’ve got a job to do.”

He lifted a wrist. “Are you hungry?”

Sylvia couldn’t have been any more surprised if he’d sprouted a second head. That hunger tried to grab her by the throat, but she’d mastered it long ago. Still, she found herself staring at that wrist, the exposed veins for a long, long moment, almost mesmerized.

“If you’re hungry, go ahead.” Toronto cocked his head. “I’ve fed vamps before. It’s not like I’ll miss a half a pint.”

Her belly all but cramped with need and her knees got weak just thinking about it. What the hell… she wasn’t
that
hungry. She’d just fed last night. She could go another day before it should be
this
bad. Wary, she eyed him. “Why? Why would you feed me? You should all want me out of the territory.”

“Well, for one”—he watched her, that light of amusement still in his eyes—“it’s considered polite to make sure new… visitors don’t go hungry. After all, hungry people sometimes go looking for food in the wrong place. We can’t have that.
Besides, you and me? Tonight, we’ve got a killer to track down.”

We…

“Not unless it’s snowing in hell.” Sylvia glared at him. A killer to track down? With a fricking Boy Scout? No. Way. No way in that frozen, snowy hell.

“Check the forecast, baby.” He lowered his hand and sauntered forward, his gaze dropping to rest on her mouth. “Did you smell me on you when you woke?”

“I’m starting to think the crap about Masters having wicked control is just that—
crap
. Otherwise, I don’t think I would have woken with your scent on me. Men with control don’t go pawing sleeping women.”

“Oh, I’ve got control.” He dipped his head.

She held her ground, curious. He breathed in her scent, and when a groan rumbled out of him, she felt a strange warmth rush through her. Oh, this wolf was not good for her peace of mind. Not good for
her
… he was starting to make her
want
things, and this was only the second time she’d seen him. Not just sex— if all she wanted was sex, she wouldn’t get that curious little twist in her heart when she looked at him.

This was much more than just craving sex; how was that even possible, anyway? She’d seen him
twice
. In under twenty-four hours. It was insane… and it was very real. She wanted to see his hair free, falling around her as he moved over her. She wanted to feed from him as he rode her. Wanted to feel his teeth on her flesh, breaking it—

“You keep thinking whatever you’re thinking and I’ll have you naked and wrapped around me in ninety seconds,” he whispered. “And I still haven’t told you my name. After all, we really should know each other’s names before we fuck, right?”

Oh, she was in so much trouble here. Jerking back, she gave him a narrow glare and wished there was something,
anything
she could do to control her body’s response to him. Anything to keep him from reading that response. She might as well waste her time wishing the sun wouldn’t rise.

“I said it once, I’ll say it again,” she whispered, her throat dry. “Get the hell out. I’ve got a job to do.”

“No, Syl.
We
have a job to do.”

She stilled at the sound of her shortened name on his lips. “It’s Sylvia,” she said huskily. “Sylvia. Not Syl. Not any other name. Sylvia. And
we
don’t have a job.”

“Okay.” He shrugged, unconcerned. “Think about it. It makes more sense. What
we
need is information from Pulaski. What
you
want is to complete your contract. The two things don’t have to be mutually exclusive.” He reached out, toyed with a lock of hair.

She watched as he wrapped it around one finger, around and around. Then he let it go, the backs of his knuckles brushing against the curve of her breast. “Like your Master is going to go for that.”

“My Master…” He chuckled. Scratching his chin, he tipped his head back and studied the ceiling. “That’s a funny thing. Let me put it this way. If I produce the results he needs, I don’t think Rafe’s going to give a flying
fuck
what happens to Pulaski. Not officially.”

“Not officially? What in the hell does
that
mean?” She sneered at him. “You Boy Scouts are all about your damn rules.”

“Boy Scouts?” He started to laugh. He ended up leaning against a wall, he laughed so hard. “I’m a Boy Scout? And I’m all about rules? Please. Pretty please, if you ever meet Rafe, you have to tell him that.”

“Oh, like you’re
not
?” Crossing her arms over her chest, she tapped her nails against her arm and eyed him. “If you’re not all about rules and being Boy Scouts, then why in the hell would you all
do
the shit you do? It’s not like you do it for glory or anything.”

“If we don’t… who will?” He eyed her curiously.

“So it’s altruism?”

“No. It’s…” A far-off look crossed his face and then he shrugged. “Somebody has to be willing. If it’s not us, I guess it’s nobody. And that’s just not an option.” He paused then asked softly, “Do you really want to live in a world where nobody stops the monsters, Miz James?”

Where nobody stops the monsters…
Images flashed through her mind and the remnants of the dreams from the
past day rose up to choke her. “Oh, go fuck yourself,” she snapped. Spinning away from him, she went back to the closet and snagged her pack. She needed to get out of here. Fast. Once she got to her bike, she could keep away from him. Even a were couldn’t keep up with a vamp on a Harley, right?