Hunter's Rise (36 page)

Narrowing his eyes, he crossed his arms over his chest. “
If
I want to keep it?”

She smiled. “Nobody will kick you out if you prove you’re capable of fixing the problems, Rafe. It’s not like they don’t happen. We can’t be everywhere. So, again… how do we play this?”

“S

The woman playing Angel’s mom— Tamara— looked tense, fine lines bracketing out from her mouth. Just meeting Kelsey had been enough to put the other witch on edge. Angel knew she probably wasn’t helping, being sort of nervous herself.

Kelsey didn’t look nervous. Didn’t look worried.

And she kept that easy, calm veneer up the entire time Tamara handed the office staff a bullshit story about an extended trip— she had been offered a wonderful job, and Angie would be staying with her cousin, Kelsey. Kelsey, of course, would make sure she did all of her assignments, blah, blah, blah…

All of that shit might have been done over the phone, with a letter.

But they needed a legit reason to get Kelsey in the school.

Because once Kelsey walked in, she didn’t leave.

Just an illusion of her, walking down the steps next to Tamara.

It was a damn good illusion, too. Even though Angel
knew
it had happened, her eyes, her mind insisted she’d seen Kelsey leaving.

A whisper of sound came to her ears, and inside her skull, she heard an amused voice,
So
.
How powerful is this psychic who walked into a school… can you hear me now?

Grinning, Angel gave a minute nod as she made her way to her locker.

Good. You go about your business, Angel. I smell some nasty, nasty magic…

And then, Angel was alone in her head.

“I

She stared in horror at the still, pale child, hardly aware of the bastard in front of her. Harold stood near her, watching her with cruel amusement glittering in his eyes. “Why are you crying over him? He is the reason you are here, after all.”

She blocked out that hated voice. The boy… that poor boy. He’d tried to help her. And this was what had happened. Reaching out a hand, she went to touch his chest, but Harold kicked him, sent the boy flying across the room.

He never made a sound.

Harold crouched in front of her, his green eyes glittering with curiosity. “Why do you care?” he asked. Catching a lock of her hair in his hand, he twined it around his finger, rubbing it with his thumb. “It is not as if that boy ever had anything to offer you, not as if he could have truly helped you.”

She shoved at his hand. “Get away from me.”

He caught the front of her shift and pulled her against him. “You forget yourself, Sada.”

Pain lashed through her as he kissed her, his fangs slicing through her mouth when she wouldn’t open for him.

She cared little. What had she done…

As she started to sob, Harold rose. “Tears already,
Sada? How… boring.” In an almost absent move, he kicked her as well. Startled, she screamed, but it ended as she hit the wall and her head thudded against the solid rock. She slid, dazed, to the floor, her gaze locked on the boy’s face.

I’ll help you… even if it kills me…

Oh, you silly child…

“Get that waste out of there,” Harold said to somebody out in the corridor.

Sada continued to stare at his still, pale face. His feeble, thready heartbeat was failing and he’d lost too much blood to survive. She could all but see the death on him.
My fault,
she thought woodenly.
This child dies because of me…

“What—”

Still dazed, she lifted her head and stared at Harold, saw him holding the other boy. He hung in the air, dangling from Harold’s fist by his shirtfront. Dirty hair hung in his eyes and he held a knife—a bloody one. “You little animal,” Harold growled, wiping the blood from his face. He hurled the boy to the floor. “You could have made it through this, you know.”

“I’ll gut you,” the boy promised, his pale blue eyes glittering and angry. “You’re a fucking dead man.”

And Harold started to laugh.

“No, boy.
You
are. But since you’re such a little fighter, I’ll make you get the sort of death you deserve. A bloody one.”

“No,” she whispered. She shoved upright and lunged for the door. But the locked bars stopped her. Shoving her hand through the door, she grabbed at Harold’s arm. “Leave him alone. He has done you no true harm.”

He just smiled at her and walked away, dragging the struggling boy along behind him.

Moments later, she heard him scream.

M

Sylvia opened her eyes, staring at the exposed wooden beams overhead.

Light filtered in through the curtains— sunlight. Early in the evening, still. Turning her head, she stared at the windows.
The cabin belonged to a witch— Toronto had said her protections would keep sunlight from bothering her, and she’d trusted him. Apparently, the witch knew her business.

Kind of a shame.

Right now, Sylvia felt like a good, scorching burn would feel… well, right. She wanted to punish herself. That dream hadn’t come on her that real, that intense in years. And the guilt was choking her. Two boys, both dead, because of her. One for trying to help, one for trying to avenge his fallen friend.

“Shit.” Swinging her legs around, she rubbed at her eyes, then slid a hand around to the back of her neck.

A warm palm covered hers.

She held still as Toronto started to rub the muscles there, lowering himself to sit on the edge of the bed. He was still, so quiet. She’d known he was in the house, but hadn’t realized he’d come into the room. He threw her off guard. That wasn’t good.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

“Yeah.” Keeping her head bowed, she opened her eyes and stared at the smooth, worn planks of the floor. There were throw rugs here and there, made by hand, she suspected, just like the quilt on the bed. A lot of history in this place. A lot of love.

And the power crackled in the air, even though the witch wasn’t around.

“You’re not a very good liar,” Toronto said, pushing her hair over her shoulder and shifting so that he sat behind her.

She groaned as he pressed his thumbs into her back, massaging his way down her spine. “I’m fine. Just… dreams.” Memories. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Why? Do you think whoever this is is going to have some pull on you?”

A vamp’s maker could control a weaker vamp to some extent, as could others of his “family,” but the connection had to be close. “No… it’s not that.” Brooding, she eased away from his talented hands and climbed off the bed, moving to stand by the window. She lifted a hand and rested it on the windowpane, amazed that she could do it. That she
didn’t burn. She could see the sun… truly see it as it sank closer and closer to the horizon. “I shouldn’t be
here
. Period. Shouldn’t be anywhere.”

Swallowing, she leaned her head forward, resting her brow on the glass. “I keep remembering the weeks before he let me go. The way I killed that boy… I don’t even remember how he came to be in there. I just remember the blood. The hunger. And then the hunger was gone… and I held a dying child in my arms.”

“Don’t do this to yourself, Syl,” Toronto said quietly.

Turning, she stared at him. “Don’t do this to myself?” she echoed. “Why the hell
not
?”

“If you don’t remember how he came to be in there, that’s because the fucker who made you probably had him bleeding and pushed him in there while you were asleep— he probably had you half mad with hunger and then put bleeding meat in front of you. What will a starved lion do when presented with food? It attacks, Sylvia.”

“I’m not a
lion
.” She shook her head. “I’m still capable of reason, of thought. But I acted like an animal… I let myself become one. That boy wasn’t
food
.”

“You were tortured. He knew what he was doing, and he did it damn well.” Toronto came off the bed. “You didn’t let it break you because you didn’t go insane with it. If you were the monster you want to think you are, you’d be like those you hunt down.”

He came to her, cupped her chin in his hand.

She resisted for a moment, wanting to do anything but stare in Toronto’s blue eyes. It would be easy if she thought she could find condemnation there— she
should
see it. She wanted somebody to hate her as she hated herself. Wanted to feel that bitterness and hurt herself with it. But there was just compassion there. It broke her.

A harsh sob escaped her and she sagged against him, her hands coming up to fist in his black T-shirt. One of his hands cupped the back of her head. The other came around her waist, pulling her in close to him. His lips rested against her temple and as she cried, she heard the strong, steady beat of his heart.

*  *  *

“I

She looked up from the table, her face a pale, unreadable mask. She’d cried for nearly thirty minutes. And then, just like that, she’d cut off the flow of tears and pulled away. Without a word. Toronto wished like hell that he had some way of breaking through that wall of hers, but he was clueless.

Probably a result of living the past century stuck inside his own damn skull and not bothering to pay attention to the world around him unless it delivered a sharp kick to his ass.

She lifted a brow and said coolly, “And you’re telling me this… why?”

“It’s a lot of what it felt like when I was around you that first night. I should have sensed you long before I did, but until I actually
saw
you, I didn’t even know you were there. It’s a talent of yours, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” She shrugged. She reached into a pocket and pulled out a file, going to work on her nails. “That’s my one shining accomplishment in more than a century— I can mask my presence from other non-mortals. I have mad skills, don’t I?”

Toronto smiled at her, but she didn’t smile back. “Hey, it’s not a bad skill… pretty damn useful, if you ask me. I can keep people from picking up on how powerful I am, but hiding myself completely? That’s not so easy. I spent nearly three hours combing through the city. Was like trying to find Hansel and Gretel after they marked their way with breadcrumbs. Pointless.”

She shrugged, unimpressed.

“Can you sense him, do you think?”

Sylvia’s gaze swung back around to him. Her eyes, darker than normal against her pale skin, widened. “Me?” She swallowed and looked down, focusing on the back and forth motion of her nail file.

“Yeah. If he was made by the same one who made you, there’s a connection there. Can you use it?”

She continued to sit there, head bowed, focusing on her nails. He had the feeling her nails would be nothing but nubs if this conversation lasted much longer.

In the next second, she stopped, laying the file aside. “I don’t know. I always knew when he was around. I felt like a rabbit, ready to dart into a hole to get away from him.” She shoved back from the table and started to pace, her long legs scissoring back and forth, her gaze troubled. “It was a hot burn on my skin— the closer he was, the worst it felt.”

“Did his other vamps affect you like that?”

“I felt them. They didn’t make me want to bury myself someplace dark and deep and spend the next fifty years in hiding, but I could sense them.” She stilled and shot him a look over her shoulder, a considering look in her eyes. “I don’t know if that will translate to much, though. I haven’t ever used my ability like that. I’ve never cared to.”

“If you can use it that way, it’s going to come instinctively.” He rose from the chair, wondering if she’d start shying away from him again.

Sylvia held her ground, though, watching him with that careful, blank look.

“It doesn’t mean it will come
easily
, even instinct can kick and pull from time to time, but it’s got to be better than what I’m doing.” He reached out to toy with her hair, but stopped himself when she flinched. “Sylvia?”

“Don’t.” She shook her head. “Just don’t… okay?”

Closing his hand into a fist, he lowered it. “Sure.” It was hard for her, he knew. Being here. He wanted to help, wanted to do all that stroking and soothing and patting… all that stuff he was fucking
useless
at. Giving her a tight smile, he turned away. It was hard for her to be here and she didn’t really want his lousy attempts to comfort her.