by Maya Daniels
I grin.
“Zoltan?” Not taking my eyes away from them, my mind is spinning with ideas that the vampire behind me is going to hate. My grin widens.
“No,” he hisses, not wanting to even hear what I have to say.
“Let’s say I stay back and observe this fight so I can familiarize myself with the hunters.” Ignoring his naysay attitude, I keep eyeing the hunters that are getting closer.
“You’ll stay back and observe, there is no, ‘let's say’ about it.” Grumbling behind me, he wiggles behind me in attempt to get a better look. The moment he is level with me, his body stiffens, and my smile hurts my cheeks.
“But if they bring the fight to me …” my words trail off when my eyes lock on hazel ones.
The hunter freezes, his eyes widening slightly before narrowing into slits. I’ve seen hatred many times. I’ve been hunting criminals and whack jobs most of my life through the streets of Sienna. I’ve never seen evil like the one staring me in the face right now. There is nothing humane in this human hunter. Like black holes that will swallow everything around them, those eyes darken the longer I keep looking at them.
“Jack,” Zoltan says from next to me, and it breaks the connection between the hunter and me.
I shiver, pulling back for a moment. Unless there is something in the air making me hallucinate, I could swear his face is morphing in front of my eyes. The smooth skin visible from the facemask covering the lower part of his face is wrinkling and bunching up, turning leathery and definitely not human.
“You know one of them?” I’m hoping a conversation can shake off this uneasy feeling running through me.
“We need to get you out of here.” Ignoring my question, Zoltan stands up, lifting me along with him. “We can go to the roof. If they need to come up, it’ll be easier to hold them back.”
I’m listening to him speak, but I do not hear a word. Something inside me wants to face that creature disguised as a human and teach him a lesson. A new heartbeat starts inside my chest, getting louder the longer I think about it. My senses stretch out, reaching for something that shouldn’t be in this world of humans, and the moment I feel the hunter near, my energy recoils from it. My heart slows down to barely a beat. The hunter is so close I can hear him breathing. Zoltan clenches his jaw, his eyes flashing bright blue, the pupils expanding like small suns. No time for running up the stairs because the fight found its way to me. The calm washes over me and my vision changes, bringing every microscopic detail into focus.
Thump.
12
My hand shoots out, twisting in Zoltan’s shirt and yanking him back. My back bows, the end of my braid curling on the floor behind me, and I feel the stirring of air on my chest from the long sword piercing the wall. The vibrating blade is pulled out, disappearing from view, and I straighten, releasing my hold on the vampire. I shove him to the side and his back hits the opposite wall while my foot kicks out, hitting the blade stabbing through the wall again. The steel bends but it doesn’t break, the tip stopping between Zoltan’s hands only an inch from his chest.
The Daywalker holds the sharp sword between his palms for a breath before he steps aside, twists around, and wrenches it through the drywall. Plaster explodes in a cloud of dust and debris, letting the deadly weapon clutter to the ground.
Thump.
A fist punches through the same wall, making the hole bigger. The clenched hand is large and scarred with ripped, bloody knuckles caked with grit and grime. Black swirls crawl up the forearm, but I have no interest in looking at them. Taking hold of the wrist with both hands and planting both feet firmly on the floor, I tug it as hard as I can, snapping the arm at the elbow. The cracking of the bone breaking sets my teeth on edge. The arm bends at the wrong angle and the deafening scream is like music to my ears.
Zoltan pounces, pushing off the floor with so much strength his body passes through the drywall like he jumps through an open window as he disappears from my sight. Not wanting to be left behind, I jump through the hole, too, landing on the other side right next to him. We are both facing a pissed-off hunter cradling his broken arm to his chest. The hunter stares icily at me, snapping his bone back in place with a sickening crunch. I don’t have time to wonder how he heals so fast when he throws his body at Zoltan, his fist is aimed at my head.
I watch him move in slow motion.
His feet push off the ground, the muscles of his thighs flexing in the tight clothing he wears and propelling him forward. I see the fingers of his left hand curling up, reaching for the tip of a dagger sticking out from under his sleeve. He aims it at Zoltan’s chest while his right fist moves in an arch, coming directly at my face. Bending my knees, I crouch down and slide under the hunter’s body before I pull my arm back like a sling shot, shooting my flat palm up into his chest. My hips twist, the power of the hit coming from my lower body and giving it more strength than is necessary, resulting in a shattered ribcage.
Thump.
The hunter drops dead at my feet, blood trickling from his lips and pooling under him from his chest. I grin at Zoltan, but he is not looking at me. His glower is aimed at something in front of us, so I follow his line of sight. The evil one is still alive—the one with the shifting face—standing behind a wall of hunters surrounding us in half circle. The dead hunter at my feet is just a random, unfortunate soul who must think it a fun idea to pick a fight with freaks like me.
Metal flips through the air, a curtain of shuriken, the deadly throwing stars coming at us from all sides and cutting the space with laser precision. My heart kicks up a beat, harshly lurching a thump, thump too loud for my ears. I can see the metal stars splitting the air slowly, but they might be too fast for the Daywalker next to me. When the first one gets near, I slap it aside from him, embedding it in the wall behind us. To my surprise, Zoltan does the same, covering my back and moving as fast as I am. Stopping back to back, we start moving like in an orchestrated dance, punching, kicking, twisting, and whirling.
Thump.
Sidestepping Zoltan, I kick my foot over my head, bringing my upper body low to the floor as I sweep one of the stray shurikens. When I raise up, I flick it at the hunter who had my full attention from the start. Before he has time to move, the star sinks into his shoulder, painting his white clothing red. At the sight of his blood, my fangs drop.
Zoltan tenses but doesn’t stop moving, his body twisting and turning like a contortionist on crack. The faster the attacks come, the more natural his movements—and the more accurate for that matter. Four of the hunters surrounding us are already littering the ground at his feet. I’m still on just one, staring at him instead of cleaning up the trash adamant to kill me. When a dagger is thrown my way again, I lurch forward, tuck my shoulder in, and roll, ending up right in front of the one I want to kill more than the rest. Maybe their idea was to separate me from the Daywalker, but I have the evil one in my grasp now. Seeing him face to face awakens something inside me.
An all-consuming darkness starving for life.
The hunter’s eyes widen, the hatred on his face being replaced with terror unlike anything I’ve ever seen on another opponent. It startles me out of my trance-like state, and as we stand staring at each other like death isn’t having a feast between these walls tonight, the bitter, sour stench of the blood streaming down his shoulder insults my senses. My nostrils flare from the offending odor, and my fangs throb in my gums, urging me to rip his throat out right here and now.
I grin at his fear-stricken face, the tips of my fangs pushing my upper lip above them. The corner of his left eye twitches slightly, the muscle jumping and pulling his eyelid down. His shoulders tense, telling me he is about to move, and my own body stiffens in readiness to fight. I move fast—faster than his human senses can register no matter who he sold his soul to. My fingers wrap around the cloth covering his features below his eyes and I yank it off him so I can see the face of the man wanting to kill me simply because I’m different than him.
&
nbsp; Searing pain in my right arm rips a scream from my throat, and the hunter uses the distraction to turn and run. Fucking coward. Something barrels into me, sending me rolling on the floor, my mouth filling with the coppery taste of my own blood when my face hits the tiles, causing my fangs to pierce the inside of my lip. Snarling, I plant both palms flat of the ground and push as hard as I can to get whoever it is off me. A yelp is followed by a vicious growl when I spin around crouched and ready to pounce. My eyes connect to intelligent green eyes I’m familiar with, only I’ve never seen them on a furry face before now.
Leo.
My head swivels left and right as I search for immediate threats, but I only find the lobby of the building littered with dead hunters, those that survived on the heels of my running-away nemesis. Fingers curling, my nails bite into the hard, unforgiving tiles when my gaze locks on the hunter’s, who is standing partially out of the front doors. His buddies are leaving as fast as their legs can carry them, while he just stands there watching me as if he is trying to memorize my face.
Spitting to the side, I bare my bloody teeth in the mockery of a smile. Unknown to him, this fucker gives me what I am missing—and had been ever since the murders started in Sienna. I had nothing tangible to fight against. I was chasing shadows with no direction and had no idea what I was looking for.
I was running blind. Now I’m not.
I didn’t miss the swirls of shadows in his gaze when we stood in front of each other. That darkness was answered by my own.
In this moment, I learn his face so I can remember it. It seers into my retinas, his soulless eyes and disfigured features. My smile shows him the promise I just made to myself. I’m going to hunt him down. I will enjoy every single second of it.
And he will die.
He has become my target, and his nod before he disappears through the doors tells me I am his, too. He accepts my challenge, and now the game is on. My breathing speeds up, adrenaline rushing through my veins and making me feel lightheaded with excitement.
Hissing when a muzzle bumps into my arm that still burns from whatever hurt me, I turn to look at Leo. The wolf is much larger than I anticipated, no doubt standing as tall as I am if he lifts on his hind legs. His massive head blocks my view, those eyes making sure I’m paying attention. My eyes cross when I notice a white spot on his nose in hopes of seeing it better.
And then the fucker licks my face.
“You disgusting mongrel!” Scrunching my nose, I shove him away, wiping the back of my good arm over the slime dripping from my nose and chin.
Leo curls his upper lip in a snarl over elongated canines as long as my pinky. A shiver dances up my spine from the feral look on his face. The dark fur bristles as his growl becomes louder. I don’t understand his behavior until I’m yanked by the arm, a pathetic half moan/half scream coming out of my mouth.
“Can you walk, or should I carry you?” Fenrir’s pretty face comes into view when my eyes stop rolling to the back of my head from the pain. A strand of his long blond hair falls over one eye.
“Not ewy female whys to be swept off her feet by a pwetty boy, Fae.” My words are slurred, and I’m freaking out inside my head. I have no control over what I’m saying. “What the … fuc … is goin’ on?”
“They used potions on their weapons,” Fenrir growls, fighting my flailing arms while I’m trying to stop him from picking me up. “We need to get you to a mage before you lose your mind.”
My heart jumps in my throat, panic squeezing me like a vise and preventing my lungs from inflating. What the hell does he mean I’ll lose my mind? Is this thing permanent? And why did no one warn me? It’s not like you would’ve listened to them if they did, the voice in my head chirps, pissing me off.
“Zoltan … Astara?” I’m reduced to one-word sentences now. At least I’m winning in the drunken fight to keep the Fae away. Yay, me!
“They are fine.” When he huffs, I snicker, causing him to step away and plant his fists on his hips. My flailing wins against the royal Fae. “It’s better they stay away from you while you’re bleeding. Keeping Alex away is a brilliant idea, too.”
“I don’t like him.”
When I pout at that, I realize I’m in more trouble than I originally thought. My tongue is tingling, the colors around me getting brighter with each blink. My eyes dart around, landing on a dagger near the wolf’s paws. It’s made of black steel with some white markings on it, but what gets my attention is the few tiny drops of a black substance under it. I point at it mutely with a shaking finger, and Fenrir seizes it with a worried look on his face.
“We can’t carry you through the wards and the portal like this. We need to get to a mage here.” Turning to Leo, Zoltan nods, and the wolf loops his large body to stretch over the dead bodies of the hunters.
“It still smells like a wet doggy in here.” Wrinkling my nose, I rub at it with the back of my hand.
“Don’t let him hear you say that.” Snorting, the Fae grins when the feral growl bounces off the vaulted ceilings of the lobby.
“I’m going to kill him, you know.” Numbness starts spreading through my body, and I sway on my feet.
“Leo?” The Fae frowns at me.
My knees give out, and I start going down, but luckily, Fenrir is there to scoop me up before I hit the ground. In his rush to grab me, one of his hands slides under the hem of my shirt, giving me skin to skin contact. The fear that he hides so well hits me like a punch to the sternum, taking my breath away. I stare at his too-perfect face as he cradles me to his chest like a child.
“No, the hunter.” I search his face, but he won’t look at me, pulling his hand away to place it over the fabric of my shirt. “If I live.” His arms tighten at that. “Am I going to die from one scratch, Fae?”
“Not if I can help it, Francesca.” He finally turns his head and locks his gaze on mine. “No one dies on my watch, least of all, you.”
His eyes transform into the black ones with a white pupil, letting me see the real him and the determination there to do everything he can to keep me breathing. Bobbing my head up and down slowly, I lean it on his shoulder as he starts walking out of the place. My lids are getting heavy, numbness and fear for Zoltan and Astara swirling inside me like a tornado, and I have to press my lips tight so I don’t empty my stomach all over myself and Fenrir’s shirt.
I have no doubt in my mind that Fenrir will do everything in his power to help me get better. Whether he finds help on time, well that’s a totally different matter. That hunter today earned himself a place on the top of my list of people to kill. After this—if I live—I’m not just going to hunt him down and kill him.
I’m going to kill everything around him, and everyone he holds dear.
When the fresh air hits my face, Fenrir’s even gaiting lulls me further into closing my eyes, but I manage to look over his shoulder at the building we are leaving behind. I can feel Leo next to us still in his wolf form, his panting even and calm, the coarse hairs of his fur brushing against the back of my limp arm. Flames lick the outside walls of the tall tower, reaching to the second floor. Sound from the real world returns in a rush, shrill sirens overtaking the screams and yells of humans trying to see what is going on. The rush of activity is but a blur of colors forcing my eyes fully closed.
“Destroy the evidence,” murmuring under my breath, I have no idea why I find this situation and that particular statement so important, but I succumb to the poison before I figure it out.
13
I can feel my clothing sticking to my skin like I’ve been doused with a bucket of water. The heat is unbearable, causing sweat to trickle under my hair and down my neck. My head is thrashing on a drenched pillow, and I fight my way out of whatever is preventing me from opening my eyes with no avail. Even the magic that has its claws sank deeply in me is quiet. That’s one thing that should worry me, but the frustration of not being able to see where I am and what’s going on is stronger, pushing it aside.
“She’s reacting to it,” A male voice says in frustration as if I’m putting him off by merely being alive.
“I don’t need her to react; I need her to wake up.” Hearing Fenrir stops my thrashing.
“She is not even supposed to be here, so stop acting like all this is my fault,” the male snaps at Fenrir and the heat making me want to peel my skin off so I can cool down doubles.
Where am I? the question screams in my head while I gulp freezing air that passes my throat and settles in my lungs. The heat and cold pummel me inside with such opposing forces that my mouth opens wider on a silent scream.
Not a sound comes out.
“Zoltan will be here any minute. If you value your life, I’d make sure she’s awake by then.” Footsteps move away from me; a moment later, Fenrir hisses, and the scent of blood spreads around me like moon rays after a cloudy night. My mouth waters as I turn my face towards the smell on instinct alone.
“I’m not sure that will help,” the male drawls.
“It can’t hurt either.”
Fenrir’s voice gets louder as he nears, the bed dipping when he settles his weight on it. A hand pushes under my head, the fingers tangling in the wet strands of my hair when he lifts me up. When a warm glass is pressed to my lips, I part them eagerly, letting the thick blood slide down my parched throat. It’s fresh and compelling, the essence of it confirming it’s the Fae feeding me his own lifeforce after bleeding in a cup.
Drinking it greedily, I can’t help but wonder why the Fae is being so protective of me. Not just after Soren screwed me over by tying my life to what keeps them all what they are. Even before that, Fenrir was circling around like a shark who smelled fresh blood. I’m sure it’s not attraction. It might’ve been at first, way back when he and Zoltan were beating their fists over their chest like gorillas over a bitch in heat. But he accepted that I didn’t see him in that light with grace. So, what makes him hover over me like a mother hen, dealing with my crappy attitude with a trembling hand?
