The Claimed (6 page)

Another Hunter had been nearby in the water and he hadn’t noticed?
Impossible
, he thought, determined to discover who he had failed to perceive and how that had been possible.

C
hristopher snared the energy of the waters around him, creating a spiral of liquid to propel him upward. Just below the surface, he opened his arms to brake his motion. He took a moment to morph back to his human form, restoring normal circulation and allowing the skin at his throat to knit closed. He also quickly lost the thick gel membrane that had been protecting his eyes. With two immense strokes he broke the surface and immediately heard the frantic cries of the people onboard the boat.

“He came out of nowhere,” said a woman hysterically, fear alive in her voice.

“Call the Coast Guard,” another woman instructed, voice even and steady. The Hunter? he wondered, detecting the glint of power in her tones.

Christopher swam over, grabbed hold of the railing along the side of the boat, and hoisted himself over the edge. Watery streaks of blood stained the stern of the boat and as he stood on the deck, the smell of blood nearly overwhelmed him.

A man stood at the wheel, radio in hand as he frantically called for help. A woman paced beside him, wringing blood-soaked hands. “I don’t know what happened,” she wailed again.

“He’ll be okay,” said the other woman, and he peered to where she worked on the body of a young man. The injured swimmer sprawled limply in a pool of seawater and blood.

So much blood. Maybe too much for the man to survive, he thought, and dropped to his knees opposite the woman. “How can I help?” he asked, although he knew that the kind of assistance he offered would be unexpected.

The woman finally glanced upward.

Shock registered in her gaze and he knew why.

He recognized her from the roller derby match. He had been intrigued and wanted to approach her, but had unfortunately been pulled away to deal with a problem at the clan’s compound.

Clear gray eyes held a great deal of suppressed distress and that surprise, but she drove it away. She had her hands pressed along the young man’s neck and part of his clavicle. Pink bone and muscle were visible beneath a vicious gash, probably from the boat’s propeller.

“Press there,” she said and moved her hand for only a moment to point to the gash. A bright spurt of arterial blood squirted across her body from that momentary lapse in pressure.

“Got it,” he confirmed. He laid his hands across the wound, applying pressure to try to stem the flow of blood escaping from that injury. Warmth seeped from between his fingers despite his efforts. Although he loathed having
to use his power in public, he had no choice if there was to be even a remote chance to save the young man’s life.

Reaching deep within, he yanked energy from his core and sent it down through his fingers into the wound. Heat grew everywhere his skin met the human’s and he centered his attention on that healing warmth to seal the injury.

The sudden and unexpected tendrils of energy seeping through the wounded man’s body registered against Victoria’s senses. Like vines along a trellis, they twined together with the filaments of healing force she had been carefully discharging to try to knit shut the horrendous wound at his neck. The outboard engine’s propeller had cut through the man’s throat and shoulder area, nearly decapitating him and severing the man’s carotid.

The pulse beneath her hands was weak and thready, but her power had slowly sealed portions of the wound. As her healing vitality joined with the energy coming from the man beside her, the young Jet Skier’s pulse stabilized.

She took a moment to glance at her mystery man out of the corner of her eye, examining him for signs of any kind of aura. A faint hint of silvery-sapphire limned his body, too weak to be that of a full Hunter, although he could be masking his power as she was. Thankfully the aura lacked the muddying patches of darkness that would identify him as a Shadow. If he wasn’t another Light Hunter, he was likely a Hybrid and unaware of the unique powers he possessed.

His gaze met hers for the briefest moment, but no hint of the bright iridescent glow of a Hunter’s eyes existed.
Although that, too, could be hidden by a well-trained Hunter.

Strident sirens yanked her attention to the Coast Guard rescue boat speeding toward them. It would be there within minutes and with it human help, but Victoria wasn’t sure that alone would do it. Increasing the energy she was pumping into the young man would risk exposing her to those nearby, but she couldn’t let the Jet Skier die.

Opening the portals she normally guarded so closely, she let loose a larger wave of power, and beneath her hands came heat as blood vessels, muscle, and skin knitted more securely.

Beside her the man jumped and muttered a low curse. She met his shocked gaze for only a second before the gray and orange Coast Guard boat pulled up beside them. The crew members were immediately in action, coming over the gunwale to care for the injured youth.

Victoria moved to the side, allowing the men to work, but her gaze was locked on the swimmer who had come to assist. He stood across from her, examining her as well. There was no hiding that he had experienced her use of power, much as she had detected his energy. Because of that, she carefully observed her mystery man’s every move, trying to figure out just what he was.

“Miss? Miss did you hear me?” someone asked. She had been so focused on the swimmer that Victoria had not heard the Coast Guard crewman.

“I’m sorry. I’m a little… shocked,” she replied, and rubbed her hands together. Sticky blood made the action a too vivid reminder of what had just occurred.

“Did you see what happened?” the crewman repeated
and stepped into her line of sight to make sure she was paying attention solely to him.

Victoria gestured to the damaged Jet Ski and the stern of the boat. “I was kayaking and noticed the teen. He was jumping the boat’s wake. Got a little too much air and lost control when he landed. He was too close to the boat and fell forward, into the boat’s outboard motor.”

The crewman looked toward the swimmer. “Did you see the accident?”

Christopher didn’t shift his gaze from the bloodied woman as he answered. Until he figured out whether she was a threat, he had to remain attentive. “I was snorkeling. Heard the engines and a collision. When I saw the blood, I swam over to see if I could help.”

And I saw a vortex that only a Hunter could create
, he thought, though the woman across from him seemed nothing other than human. But Christopher could not ignore the wave of power that had washed over the injured young man and melded with his. Or maybe he had misread it. He had been so engaged with balancing his Equinox, that maybe this was a side effect. Maybe he had sensed a rebound of his own energy rather than a second source of Hunter power.

A sudden burst of activity from the Coast Guard crew blocked his view of the woman as they lifted the injured youth onto the larger rescue boat. Before he could say a word to the woman, the captain was asking for their names and contact info.

“Victoria Johnson,” she replied and then provided a telephone number that Christopher repeated mentally over and over again to memorize it.

“Christopher Sombrosa,” he said, more in introduction than answer, and then rattled off his own phone number. He wondered about her interest as the woman’s lips moved as if she, too, was trying to remember his information.

With that task completed, the Coast Guard leader issued final instructions to his men and the two of them. “We’ll take the boat owners with the injured man, record and preserve the accident scene, and then bring the boat and Jet Ski back to the station. Do you two need transport?”

Christopher jerked his head in the direction of the shoreline, where Ryan stood less than fifty feet away, vigilant. “I can swim it.”

“My kayak is…” The woman began, but then swiveled her head around, searching. As he followed her gaze, he realized that the current had taken the small vessel to land not far from where he and Ryan had beached their skiff.

“I can swim to my kayak as well.” She glanced at him, still hesitant. Christopher was likewise experiencing some doubt due to the power he had experienced at her side.

“We can buddy up.” Part statement, part question.

“That makes sense,” she replied, but uneasily.

He took a risk and assumed the lead, walking to her side and then jumping into the water. She dove cleanly off the edge and came up a few feet away from him.

No vortex, this time, he thought, just a measured freestyle swim to shore, keeping an eye on her beside him. Making sure she was with him during the swim until they were in waist-high water. They popped up and stood facing each other. The swim had removed all traces of blood.
With the very visible evidence of the accident erased, his attention was instead snared by her sheer beauty.

She was tall for a woman, at least six feet of elegant female lines. Only half a head smaller than him. Athletically lean, but curvy where it counted. Wide hips and full breasts were made to be touched and he had to clench his hands to keep from doing just that.

“Are you okay?” he asked as they trudged through the water toward where Ryan stood on the beach. His cadre captain had corralled her kayak and it now rested just a few feet away from their skiff.

“Fine, just a little… shaken.”

Understandable. It wasn’t often a human nearly watched another human die. If she was human, that is. For him, the possibility of death lived with him daily, whether from attack by another Hunter or from an unexpected loss of energy.

“You did an amazing job of first aid. If he lives—”

“I pray that he does,” she asserted, clearly disturbed by the prospect that he might not.

“When he does, it’ll be thanks to you.” He downplayed his own contribution, not wanting to call attention to the power he had expended to seal part of the wound. Telling himself that he had imagined the other tendrils of energy since there was nothing about this stunning woman that was screaming Hunter at the moment.

Victoria nodded and paused to dip back beneath the surface and scrub, feeling as if the teen’s blood continued to coat her skin. There had been so much of it, sickly sticky with a metallic smell. The smell of death.

When she popped back up and dragged her hair back
off her face, he was still there, waiting for her. The water lapped against a totally impressive chest and broad swimmer’s shoulders. She slowly explored that tempting physique before finally moving her gaze back up to his face. Heat flooded through her at the interest in his dark eyes and at the masculine splendor of his features, even better close up than they had been from a distance.

High cheekbones and a sharp slash of a nose. Full lips and a strong jaw with a thumbprint cleft at his chin.

Perfection
, she thought, as they slogged out of the water and onto the shore. His long legs were well-muscled and flared into lean hips below a washboard midsection. Every inch of him was a creamy olive color, with a smattering of dark hair along the broad swells of his chest and tapering down toward…

She gulped at the thick ridge revealed by the board shorts he wore and yanked her head back up to the wide width of his shoulders.

The physical beauty of his body alleviated the concern that she had about the very dim outline of energy surrounding his body. If he was a Shadow, there would have been some hint of the pox that had contaminated the Dark Ones centuries earlier. Whether a noticeable red rash or an outbreak of the raised angry pustules, the illness would be there somewhere. It was unheard of for Shadows not to have some visible hint of the disease either on their bodies or as dark smudges and threads of pestilence in their auras.

Once they were out of the water, another man approached, almost as handsome, although not as tall. Also, where the man who had identified himself as Christopher was deliciously and dangerously dark, this man
was golden as light, with strawberry blond hair, ice-blue eyes, and an easy smile that radiated warmth.

He handed both of them towels and asked Christopher, “Do you need me to do anything?”

Christopher shook his head and then slicked back the wet locks of his coal black hair. “I’m okay, Ryan.” Then he looked toward her, his gaze alive with emotion, although she wasn’t sure if it was concern or caution. “We can row you back to the mainland if you’d like.”

Victoria wagged her head and then stuck her hand out in his friend’s direction. “Victoria Johnson.”

“Ryan Adams,” the golden man said, continuing to pump her hand until his friend almost growled to warn him away. The prolonged contact, however, served to ease yet more of her tension. No buzz of unusual energy had occurred during their contact.

“Sorry,” Ryan said and released his hold, jerking his thumb in the direction of the skiff. “I’ll get it ready to go, otherwise we’ll be battling the tide later.”

When he left, Victoria returned her attention to Christopher. He was standing there, examining her intently as he briskly rubbed a towel across that too-enticing body. “I can paddle my way back, but I appreciate the offer.”

“Not a problem. Would you mind if I called you later? Just to see if you got home safely?” Christopher asked and draped the towel around his neck.