Knight Predator (19 page)

I straightened, and was grabbed from behind around the chest, my arms pinned to my sides. I tried to break the grip, but to my dismay I couldn’t.

“Hello, you fucking bitch,” Allenby said in my ear. He kissed the lobe.

I snarled and pulled forward, hoping shock would loosen his grasp.

There was a solid clunk as the side of the car buckled from the force of my lunge. Allenby squeezed me, trying to break my arms.

I levered myself up so my feet were resting on the battered door of the car and pushed back with all my might. Allenby fell backward onto the deserted road, with me on top of him.

His grip loosened, and I leaped off him and twisted so we faced one another. He climbed halfway to his feet. I growled and took him with a flying tackle so his head cracked against the dirty asphalt of the road. I sat on him and held his shoulders down with my knees as I pummeled him with my fists.

I felt the satisfying crunch of bone beneath my knuckles, and he went limp, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Hello, you fucking bitch,” I said as I glared at his misshapen face and dusted my hands off on my tee shirt.

I curled my lip and growled again, watching him for any signs of movement.

He remained still.

I got up, shaking, and walked away. He would not be out for long, and I wanted to go out for a ride through the National Park south of Sydney and to sit on the cliffs and watch the moonlight play over the ocean.

I heard the whisper of cloth behind me and half-turned and braced myself for another of Allenby’s tiresome attacks.

Something connected with the side of my face and tore my flesh to the bone, washing me with precious blood. Dazed, I sank to my knees, and the scrap piece of wood descended again, crushing my temple. My head screamed in pain as I toppled over. I had no power of resistance as the wood snapped my ribs, my sternum, and my left arm.

Shock stilled me, mercifully blanking some of it out, and I collapsed, unconscious.

The next time I opened my eyes my damaged body told me it was close to dawn. I could barely move. Allenby had taken the time to break my legs. The skin on my face had mercifully closed but my temple throbbed, and I could still feel a slight dimple from the break.

I was lying up against the fence of a nearby town house, just another drunk in Kings Cross. In the distance there was the sound of life from drunken revelers but I was too far away from them to take any blood that would heal me enough to find a hiding place for the day.

Dawn was brightening the sky, and my eyes teared in the light. I heard footsteps coming down the footpath toward me. It looked like someone was heading toward their car. I closed my eyes, waiting for them to approach.

The footsteps got louder.

“Yeah, so all she did was whinge about her ex-boyfriend from the second I picked her up. She began to cry about two minutes later, so I pulled over—”

“What the fuck?” a second male voice asked, and the footsteps rapidly approached me.

“Holy Jesus,” the first man said. “I reckon she’s dead.” I heard him drop to his knees beside me, felt the heat from his body, and smelt the bourbon on his breath.

My eyes opened and burned blue fire as they bent over me. Faster than they could blink I sat up and sank my fangs into the closer of them. He was young, all of about twenty, with beautiful, kind brown eyes.

I held his larger, chubby, blonde friend in an iron grip as I drained the brown-eyed man’s body as quickly as I could. I felt an instant of regret as the life left his body.

I gave a slight smile as I felt his blood coursing through my body, giving me strength. It was not enough to knit my bones, but it was enough to make me feel less groggy.

Predawn burned down on us as I took the fat man. His blood gave me sweet strength, removing the pain from my broken bones and giving me the strength to look for a place to sleep the day away. I flexed the arm that had been broken. It had healed but was weak.

I left the bodies lying near the fence, flinching at the cause of death.

Kings Cross would undoubtedly be a bad place to hunt for the coming weeks as the police trawled the streets for the serial killer taking young men.

I blinked and winced, and slowly and painfully dragged myself over the curb and onto the narrow nature strip beside the footpath. I looked at the first gate and swore. Behind it was a field of concrete.

I took in the next house and dragged myself toward it with my good arm.

The brick fence was seven feet high and there was a faded “For Lease” sign in a dirty front window. There were no curtains, so I could see it was deserted. Better than that, it had a thick, overgrown front yard.

I dragged myself back with both arms, favoring the one that had been broken. I reached for the gate and gave it a gentle tug, and it opened for me. I breathed a sigh of relief, eyes heavily tearing and my skin burning from the approaching sunlight. My limbs were starting to feel leaden as sleep crept up on me. I fought with every ounce of my strength to sink into the cool, damp and fragrant earth. I fumbled with the leaves and bark in the little alcove that was to be my hiding place for the day, with barely enough time to cover my face before sleep took me.

I woke up the next evening ravenous and tingling from top to toe. It was not exactly pain but not far from it, and I knew that I had been exposed to sunlight. My legs were still hurt, and by the jagged, crooked look of them I knew they were still broken.

I flexed my arms. They were fine. They had healed.

I dragged myself out of the undergrowth and peered down at my body. I had taken on an alarming shade of pink and wondered how close I had come to being burnt to a crisp by the sun’s purifying rays.

My stomach growled.

I forced myself up the footpath toward the sounds of humans and life in the main street of Kings Cross. I made my way as quietly as I could down a darkened alleyway, peering into the shadows for my next victim.

I saw her kneeling in the shadows, pale and sick, a steaming puddle of waste before her. Her face was wet with tears and her shoulders slumped.

She was so distracted, I was beside her before she knew I was coming, and her gaze was half-puzzled, half-horrified as she realized I was there.

I took her before she had a chance to move, and this time I was able to cover my marks.

I waited for what seemed an eternity as her blood roared through my system, further healing the damage to my body. My skin lost its alarming pink shade, and my legs looked whole and straight again, but were not strong enough to support me.

I sank back against the brick building that formed one side of the alleyway and grimaced. It was much easier to catch victims if one could at least walk.

I stayed there for hours in the darkness, wondering what Bronwyn was doing, disgusted with myself that Allenby had actually managed to hurt me and hoping against hope that he would not come back looking for me.

Through most of the night clusters of two and three and sometimes more wandered down the alleyway, unable to see me in the dense shadows. I let them all go. I needed a lone victim. I could not fight a group of them.

Finally, at around three o’clock in the morning, a young man strode down the alleyway. He was in a singlet and baggy jeans, heavily tattooed and with a shaven head. His dark eyes had a coldness about them that was disturbing.

I lunged toward him, grabbed his ankle, and pulled him to the ground. He slid a knife between my ribs before I had the chance to pin both arms, and I felt the precious blood flowing from my damaged body. I pulled him down, pinned his arms by his sides, and took him as quickly as I could.

When I was done I tested my limbs. My arms had fully healed, as had the deep cut between my ribs. My legs had straightened, and I slowly stood, hoping that they would be strong enough to support me.

I toppled over with a sigh. I would have to wait it out for another day in my hiding place and try to go home the next night.

Bronwyn would be panicking, I thought with a sinking heart as I staggered and crawled back to my deserted house.

This time I dug myself into the cool earth before sleep took me.

I was stuck in Kings Cross for another night before I finally healed enough to go to my bike so I could get home.

I cautiously walked to the Harley riders’ spots, looking for my bike, but it was missing.

I scanned the ground and found shards from a shattered side mirror. I winced and walked down the side street off Darlinghurst Road. There was a chunk of rubber from a footpeg and broken plastic from the fairings.

The trail of wreckage led to the rear of a pub.

My bike had been demolished, I could see. Parts of it lay scattered all through the pub’s filthy yard, amidst empty beer kegs and overflowing garbage cans. There wasn’t enough of it left to scoop up into a dumpster.

“Hello, cunt,” Allenby said in a smooth voice.

I whipped around. He leaned against the fence behind the alleyway.

I glared at him. “I’d say the same to you but I’m just not in the mood. What the fucking hell did you do that for, you rabid mother-fucker?”

I grabbed him by the front of his tee shirt and slammed him into the fence. He looked at me and laughed.

“Bitch,” he said. “I’m only sorry I couldn’t do it with you watching. When you die, mine is the last face you’re going to see.”

I dragged him along the road and into the backyard of the pub, away from prying eyes, and slammed him to the ground. I glanced around and grabbed the shattered remains of the front forks of my bike. I ground my teeth, rammed the first one through his chest with exquisite slowness, and twisted as I went. He grunted in pain as it pierced his cold, unfeeling heart. I sank it into the concrete beneath his body. I took the other fork and hit him as hard as I could across his face so he lost consciousness.

I felt sick and needed to leave, so I turned and made my way toward Kings Cross station. All I wanted was the comfort of my home.

I walked into my kitchen about an hour and a half later. My legs were sore. I had been forced to walk home. I would be going out to buy myself another bike tomorrow. The silence and darkness surrounded me, and I closed my eyes and sighed. The house was not the same without Bronwyn in it, and I wondered why I had ever contemplated not allowing her to stay with me.

I made my way downstairs, intending to have a nice, warm shower and to spend the night heckling bad movies on television. As I got to my room downstairs, I saw that I had seven messages waiting for me and I flinched.

I hit the play button, knowing it would be Bronwyn.

“Hi, angel, it’s me with my promised call. I’ll call you later . . .

Angel, still not home? Okay, no worries, I know you’re a night owl

. . . Angel, you know I wanted to call you, where are you? Okay, I’ll try again later. I love you . . . Crowley? Where are you? If you wanted to break up with me, couldn’t you have had the courtesy to do it to my face? I’ll call you later . . . Crowley, I’m sorry about what I said before. I love you. I’m starting to get worried here, so please pick up next time I call, okay? . . . Angel, where are you? I can’t get home any quicker than Sunday night, all the flights are booked up until then. If I don’t see you at my arrival gate, I’m going to make my own way home. I love you so much and I miss you really badly. I’ll find my way to you again . . . Please, beloved angel, where are you? Please be all right . . .” Her soft sounds of distress cut off as she hung up.

I walked into the bathroom and looked at my face. I had a thick, twisting scar down my cheek. I could not hide it from Bronwyn, and I prayed that she would not ask about it.

I sighed. I had no hope of hiding it. The best I could hope for was for it to fade in the two days I had left before I picked Bronwyn up from the airport.

“Crowley!”

I stood at Bronwyn’s arrival gate as she came running up the jetway toward me. Her eyes were bloodshot, and I knew she had been crying. I held open my arms, and she flew into them.

“I missed you,” I whispered, kissing her head.

She pulled back and kissed me as people poured around us.

The world slipped away as we gazed into each other’s eyes.

“God, I was so worried about you, angel. Why didn’t you—Why do you have a big scar on the side of your face?” Bronwyn touched it with a shaky hand. “You got hurt, didn’t you?”

“It’s nothing, lover,” I said.

I heard a throat cleared close to us and looked up to see two of Bronwyn’s friends staring at us.

“Are you all right now?” one of them asked.

“I’m better now,” Bronwyn said from the safety of my arms.

The second of the two treated me to an unwavering stare. “She’s been miserable, and if you don’t start treating her right we’re going to have to hurt you.” She followed this up with a glare.

“Right. Gotcha,” I said.

This time they both glared at me before walking off.

I pulled Bronwyn into motion so we headed toward the baggage carousel.

“Seriously, beloved angel, what happened to you?”

“Nothing,” I said. “I just got knocked silly. It’s nothing that a little blood won’t fix.”

She pulled me to a halt and gazed deep into my eyes, her own anguished. “Understand this. I love you more than life itself. If anything happened to you I honestly don’t think I’d make it. I wouldn’t kill myself but I’d be living a half life. Promise me, please, that you’ll always do your best to stay alive? Just for me? Please?” She nibbled her lip.

“I promise you, BronwynHunter, that I will always find a way to stay alive.”

Her green eyes were turbulent, but they had a peace in them that had been lacking when she got off the plane. We collected her luggage and then headed off to the car. It was only about ten o’clock, so I took her into Newtown. We parked in the back streets and then walked down King Street. I found a crowded ice cream parlor and got her a double scoop of cookies and cream, and we headed to a small, suburban park and sat down to enjoy the evening.

I crept my arm around her and pulled her in close as she licked contentedly on the cone.