Hunter's Rise (8 page)

All she needed to do was find Pulaski… and get the hell out.

T

“No time for you. If you haven’t made that decision— get your brooding ass out of here. Actually, if you haven’t made it, that’s decision enough and I still want you out and gone,” Rafe said.

The abrupt tone of Rafe’s voice, coupled with the fact that they now had an audience, teased the edges of Toronto’s temper and he had to work to keep the fire down. He had agreed to serve Rafe when he came here— either he abided by the rules or he left. Although the people serving under Rafe were the good guys, too many of them had predators’ instincts, and those instincts only worked
together
when a certain sense of order was followed.

They had order, they had rules, they all got along better. Usually.

Though Toronto liked to jerk Rafe’s chain, for the most part, he respected that sense of order.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he snapped, his voice harsh, edged with temper.

“Yeah.” Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “You’re here. And just like always, you’re being an asshole. Either lose the attitude or get the fuck out because I don’t have time for this
shit
.”

Toronto’s hand closed into a fist. Part of him wanted to say
Fuck it
and just leave. Or just give into the burning rage, the wildness inside him— have that bloodshed Rafe had promised.

The other part, though, was louder. And for the first time in what might have been forever, he felt the temper ease back, felt the edginess settle down. He wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t.

You’ll have to learn to control that…
Hell. Nessa hadn’t just been talking about the hunger.

“I’m here— my decision was made.” Folding his arms over his bare chest, he leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb.

Rafe stared at him, his black eyes glittering. And then he gave a short nod. This was it, though. He and Rafe might be at a fragile truce, but Toronto needed to come to peace with the monster inside him, or he’d have to leave.

If he left, he would no longer be able to call himself a Hunter— he wouldn’t deserve it. That whole
lead, follow or get out of the way
thing. He wouldn’t lead, so that meant he’d have to follow… or just stay the hell out of the way.

If he stayed and answered the challenge Rafe had put out, he’d be done as a Hunter as well. He was supposed to be one of the good guys— whether he won or lost the fight with the vampire, he’d be done.

A good guy didn’t go for somebody’s throat just because he was having a bad day.

Toronto wasn’t going to go that low. Eyes hooded, he watched as Rafe lifted up a small device from his desk. The lights in the room dimmed and a screen descended from the ceiling.

Rafe liked his gadgets.

An image flashed across the screen.

It was a boy— human, probably twelve or so. It was hard for Toronto to judge the ages of human children sometimes. He had bright eyes, though. An infectious smile.

“His name was Toby Clemons,” Rafe said, his voice flat, his eyes unreadable. He didn’t look at Toronto, didn’t look at anybody. Just stared at the screen. Anybody who didn’t know the guy might have thought he didn’t feel anything— he could have been discussing the weather for all the emotion he showed.

But those in the room knew otherwise. They sensed the rage Rafe barely held in check.

“He was twelve. He was killed by a scum-sucking piece of shit who had a predilection for pretty, preteen boys. This sorry bastard’s name is Alan Pulaski.”

A couple of the Hunters in the room muttered— the name was familiar. Pulaski’s case had sent shockwaves rippling through the city once his crimes had come to light. The depravities had left many people reeling. And he’d somehow gotten out on bail.
House
arrest, as if that made a difference. He was still
free
. And
alive
. Dead and ripped apart would have been the most ideal resolution.

“He was confined to his house. Nobody ask me
why
they let that piece of shit out when he should have rotted in a hole for the rest of his life. Pulaski skipped out, managed to get out of the ankle bracelet they’d put on him. That was found smashed apart a few blocks from his house. So far, mortal police aren’t having much luck finding him.”

Lindsey, one of Rafe’s younger wolves, sat with her back against Rafe’s desk, staring at the image of Toby’s face. The werewolf’s dark eyes were like obsidian ice in the paleness of her face. “I take it we aren’t listening to this for kicks. You know where this scum-sucking piece of shit is? Can we have a race? Whoever gets him first gets a pizza party or something?”

She flicked her black hair out of her eyes and despite the light tone, a storm brewed in her gaze and thundered in her blood. They could all scent it.

Rafe paused by her feet, bumped the toe of one booted foot against her thigh. “You get him, sure, I’ll order you a pizza. Shit, I’ll buy you a damned pizza parlor. But there’s more to it than that.” He pointed the remote at the screen.

The image changed, now showing a young man, probably in his midtwenties.

He looked like a fucking schoolteacher. A preacher. A doctor. Somebody
safe
, Toronto thought, absolutely disgusted. Golden brown hair cut in that hip, shaggy fashion, a friendly, affable smile on his face, dressed in the clean-cut clothes of a well-off but not exactly rich American male.

The other image was his mug shot. Not quite so appealing.

But he didn’t look like a monster.

Then again, most of the monsters didn’t really
look
like monsters half the time.

“This is the scum-sucking piece of shit. His name is Alan Pulaski. He was one of Toby’s counselors at a youth retreat last summer.” He paused, and the icy edge of his rage danced across the air like the first kiss of winter. “There was video found in the house after his disappearance. I’m not going to inflict that on any of you. There is no doubt of his guilt— well, not in our minds. We know how lawyers in the mortal world like to twist things, but they’ve got enough evidence to hold him solid and his running really screwed things up. Once they get him back in jail, he’ll go away. For a long, long time.”

A sinking feeling hit Toronto’s gut.

They had no problems dealing with scum-sucking pieces of shit on their own. Sometimes, sure, they turned things over to mortal hands, but not all the time. Certain bastards just needed to be dead and in Toronto’s opinion, this was one of them.

What was Rafe up to?

Once more, Rafe pointed his remote at the screen. Three more young boys flashed on the screen. “Video of these boys was also found in Pulaski’s house. If they are dead, their families deserve to know what happened. If he dies, they don’t get that. Life can suck bad enough— most of us know that. Living your years without any sort of closure, that’s a level of hell all its own,” Rafe said, his voice quiet.

Toronto blew out a disgusted breath. Shit. Shit. And double shit. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, Rafe could have said that would have hit him on a deeper level.

Absently, he reached inside his pocket, hoped there was
some gum in there. There was— one half-smashed piece. He popped it in his mouth and half-choked on it two seconds later as another image came up on the screen.

Damn…

Absurdly, he found himself thinking of what he’d flippantly said to Nessa only the day before.

Was it like
wham,
some sort of click and you just knew?

There were all sorts of
clicks.

All sorts of clicks? That made a lot of sense to Toronto, because just looking at the picture of the woman on that screen was making everything inside him
click
… and a few things roar.

She was vampire. Toronto recognized that instinctively, even though nothing about her physical image actually gave that away. He just knew.

She was also the sexiest damn vampire he’d ever seen, despite the lousy, grainy image.

“And this is our final complication. Her name is Sylvia James… or at least that’s the name she is using now. She’s something of a mercenary, something of a bounty hunter and something of a pain in the ass,” Rafe bit off, although a blend of amusement and respect glinted in his eyes. “Authorities tend to frown on her methods— a lot of her targets end up dead. Very dead. She’s very good at evading capture, very good at evading detection. The cops don’t have shit on her. She is, in short, excellent at her work.”

Over by the wall, there was a low, soft chuckle. It came from a petite blonde who spoke with a lazy southern drawl. Her eyes were a soft blue and though she hunted, she was more at home fussing with the house than kicking ass. She did enjoy the occasional ass-kicking, though.

Which was good. Her name was Sheila, and she was Rafe’s wife. Any woman married to him would have to know how to kick ass, otherwise he’d run roughshod over her.

“Yes, authority types do frown upon vigilantism,” Sheila murmured. Then she winked at her husband. “So try to keep the smile out of your voice in front of the kids, okay? And try not to drool much more.”

A faint smile curled Rafe’s lips. “I’m not drooling.”

Rafe might not be, but Toronto almost was, even as his mind was dancing around the fact that this woman was a mercenary. They definitely had a few of them among their kind. Most of them steered clear of the Hunters, which wasn’t a surprise. As long as they didn’t cross the line, the Hunters wouldn’t mess with them. But if they ended up crossing each other’s paths, there would be problems.

A bloodbath waiting to happen.

For that reason, mercenary types and Hunters tended to avoid any sort of close contact. He might not mind risking that close contact in this situation, though, especially since he was still feeling all those weird little
clicks
.

Want
… the wolf inside him whispered.
Want…

Yeah, boy. Me, too.

She was a looker. The image showed her stats, even a rough guess at her weight. Five feet five. One fifty— she’d be compact and curved, he figured. A powerhouse of curves and muscle. Shit, he
was
about to drool. Her hair was dark, as dark as his was pale. The image wasn’t clear enough to show the color of her eyes, but he’d guess they were equally dark. Something about the set of them was faintly exotic, a slight slant.

She had a wide, lush mouth, and he wanted to feel that mouth under his, then he wanted to feel it at his throat as she fed from him.

Shit.

His cock pulsed, throbbed.

As his hunger started to color the air, several sets of eyes shifted his way, curious, then moved away.

“According to my info, somehow Toby Clemons’s parents got news of Sylvia James. I don’t know how. She’s fairly discreet, expensive as hell— the Council has a file on her, but she’s always played within the rules— doesn’t do anything that would make them come down on her. She’s got a name in the human world, if people know where to look.”

“I guess the parents wanted him dead badly enough that they figured out where to look,” Lindsey muttered. As Rafe glanced at her, she shrugged. “I can’t say I blame them.”

Rafe didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes said he
didn’t, either. “Of course, money isn’t an issue for his folks. They are, to put it lightly… loaded, but word has it, there are certain jobs that James will do for free.”

Lindsey shifted on the ground, looking slightly miserable. “She’s trailing after the perv who killed their kids and you want us to stop her, don’t you?”

Rafe hit the remote, and the image changed once more. To the three boys. Nobody in the room moved. The wave of anger and agony was enough to choke them. Most of them would never have kids— were females didn’t carry to term easily. Vamps couldn’t breed.