Baited (The Chronicles of the Hunter Book 2)

by Jackie Ivie

Jezzie could still remember the momentous occasion when she’d first caught sight of him. Her mouth dropped open. Her breath halted. Her heart swooped to the pit of her belly. Her knees turned to the consistency of lard, and threatened to drop her. He was newly arrived at the village, had taken over the smithy. She’d glimpsed him working at the forge, his arms rippling with muscle. Strength. Might.

  She could still see him.

  He’d been so manly. Extremely handsome. She wasn’t the only one who found him thus. Every female in the village acted smitten. Even the married ones. And then, one night Caleb had awakened her with a shower of pebbles through her window. He’d been standing in the shadows cast by the roof eave of her attic room. He’d somehow known the miller would never allow any sort of relationship between them, and this was his alternative. He’d stayed almost the entire night, whispering to her. Telling her of his hopes. Dreams. Aspirations.

  And his longing.

  For her.

  Jezebel had been ecstatic. She’d flown through her chores the next day. Grew so excited at nightfall, every move was clumsy. She’d lugged cans of heated water to her attic. Bathed with care. Applied a touch of rose oil she’d filched from the miller’s wife. Chosen the less worn of her two dresses. That night Caleb brought a ladder. He’d helped her sneak out over the sill. Her heart had been beating a thousand times a minute. Every limb had trembled. She’d felt gauche. Shy. He’d been so big. He’d even kissed her! That’s when she discovered exactly what she knew right now.

  Love was the most wondrous occurrence in the universe.

  Jezebel stared at a bluish-gray wall opposite her, not really seeing it. She was looking inward too far. Her eyes stung. Tears she couldn’t halt continually slipped down each cheek. Adam’s boots probably dirtied her clothing. She didn’t care. She’d spotted these boots the moment she’d arrived at Hotel Pit, racing against the dawn through the time-space dimension. Tears had blinded every move. Her eyes had been narrowed to mere slits. Sunlight had still hurt.

  But not as much as the pain radiating through her chest.

  Adam!

  These boots looked incongruous against the nondescript carpet of her bedroom. She snatched them up. Hugged them close. Backed into the main room. Collapsed onto a sofa. Jezzie knew it was stupid. Any memento only made the agony worse. Because she now had to deal with the second truth she thought she’d learned well enough to never risk repeating.

  Loss was the most excruciating sensation possible. On the opposite side of the universe from the amazement of love.

  She’d given herself to Caleb the second night. It had been a rushed coupling in his stable, making her knees wobble and her belly roil. Caleb hadn’t spoken after the act, but he didn’t need to. She’d been content. And foolish. She considered their joining as good as exchanging vows before a priest. She hadn’t known then how some men worked. They enjoyed the chase. The capture. The domination. But once they had what they wanted, they were off, looking for the next prey to hunt. She didn’t find that out until it was too late.

  Her belly clenched at the thought. A sob escaped her lips. She slapped a hand to her mouth, although it shouldn’t matter. She’d been labeled a man-hater. Heartless. Cold. Nobody knew that her attitude was more about survival. She was in purgatory, and Adam had been correct. Purgatory wasn’t about pleasure. It was supposed to be about suffering. For Jezzie, however, it had been an immediate reprieve. Regardless of what purgatory had in store for her, it was better than the alternative. She only had one final destination.

  And it wasn’t heaven.

  Caleb hadn’t contacted her for days after she’d been deflowered. Jezzie hadn’t known why. A sennight passed. Another day. She’d finally snuck out and gone to the small house attached to his stable. Found Caleb prostrate inside, lying in his own filth. There hadn’t been an outbreak of plague in years, but she recognized it instantly. And, despite everything that could ensue, she’d gone to work.

  A day and night later, she was facing horrific odds. Caleb was going to die. Her ministrations didn’t help. Applying leeches didn’t work. Lancing his boils hadn’t stopped the sickness. Prayer didn’t help. The church turned a blind eye. The priest wouldn’t even answer her knock when she’d left Caleb’s side to reach him. When she returned, she’d prostrated herself on the floor, and begged for help. Any help.

  She’d offered her soul to the devil in exchange for Caleb’s life.

  And that’s when the knock had come at his door.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “So, hey guys. Tell me. What are the odds? Anyone?”

  Of seeing Jezebel again?

  Incalculable. Astronomical.

  Adam answered in his thoughts. It felt even worse than if he’d spoken it aloud. His chest was a cavern of pain. A giant-sized fist was wrapped around his heart and just kept squeezing. His gut felt bruised. Sore. Really sore. As if he’d been sucker-punched by an Olympic heavy weight boxer. No. Getting kicked by a mule might be closer to this sensation. His eyes were dust-dry. Irritated. Scratchy. A large knot lodged in his throat making it difficult to swallow.

  Worse yet, tequila didn’t help with one damn thing.

  “You’re going to have to quantify that question if you want an intelligent answer.”

  Chuck finally answered Clint’s query. Ryan added to it with a hoot of amusement running through the words. As well as a loud belch.

  “We just split a fifth! And you want us to be intelligible? You got the wrong crowd...and you definitely have the wrong time.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Clint inserted.

  Clint was the quick-witted one. Good with a joke. Lots of fun to be around, especially when he was drinking. He was proving it now by brandishing the bottle and chugging it to an empty state.

  Chuck sighed heavily. “I said intelligent, not intelligible. They’re totally separate words. Different meanings. Forget it. I’d settle for any answer above eighth-grade level. Nah. With this crowd, I’d better make it second grade. With a sprinkling of kindergarten mixed in.”

  “Maybe we should have waited for the video to go live before cele—. Cele—. Cele...shit. That word. You know. For drinking to excess.”

  “You’re starting to sound sober, Ryan. Here. Have another shot. You, too, Ken. Wait. You’re not gonna join us? Still? Why not?”

  They were in the main area of the warehouse that doubled as team headquarters. Clint had another bottle opened. He was working his way through the group. For the barest moment, the question of Ken got Adam’s attention off his misery. Ken didn’t appear to be joining anything. He sat back from the others. They were all on stools, mostly gathered around the shot-glass littered fire-pit, although it was unlit at the moment. Except Adam. He was sitting over at the bar, with his back to it.

  Easily defensible.

  Ken loitered in a shadowy area. Adam narrowed his eyes. The guy looked a little strange, like he had a filter across him, or something equivalent. His features looked slightly blurry. Indistinct.

  Adam hadn’t noticed until now.

  That part wasn’t difficult. He wasn’t noticing much. He was too caught up in a personal hell to notice. He had a tight lock on emotion. Exhibited nothing but a stoic demeanor. Acted clueless, like before. Pretended that nothing had happened. He had to. The alternative would see him shattered.

  Jezebel!

  Adam caught the instant agony as her name flashed through his consciousness. That was followed by rapid blinking, which scratched angrily at his dry corneas. He moved his vision and attention before worse happened. This wasn’t going well. If he closed his eyes for too long, he even saw her. He’d never felt like this. Being with Jezebel had been wonder. Joy. Pure ecstasy. Being apart from her was the opposite on the emotion spectrum. If this was his future, it was rough. No. It was excruciating.

  And it was endless.

  Somehow he needed to absorb and deal with it. He was with his team, testosterone fueled the excited vibes radiating through the area, yet Ad
am felt so alone. Bereft. Almost alien. And he couldn’t say anything about any of it. None of the trauma showed. Nobody could know how things had been ripped apart, his consciousness lifted to a stratosphere of bliss he still struggled to comprehend, and then his world had been reassembled.

  Badly.

  The entire crew had started partying the moment Adam’s cab dropped him off out front. The shouts of relief at his wellbeing would have sent tears to his eyes but he’d stifled them instantly. Acted like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He had to. It was self-preservation at its finest. True sobs hovered at the periphery of his existence. Loss and pain accompanied every beat of his heart. They were behind the throbbing ache through his innards. The sensation multiplied with each twinge of the lump in his throat. He’d emptied more than one shot glass into the sink beside him. He only pretended to join the celebration. He didn’t dare drink. He was afraid of the alternative. Literally.

  Besides – he reminded himself – he couldn’t get anything past the obstruction in his throat, anyway.

  “Oh, come on. Unbend a little, Kenny. I mean, I’m beginning to think you don’t like us,” Ryan prompted.

  Ken shrugged. “Sorry. I don’t touch the stuff. Never have.”

  “Really? Never?”

  Ken shook his head. Adam watched and considered. The guy was a teetotaler? He hadn’t known that. Nor, had he cared. The team rarely drank. They were usually busy trying to make a living by putting Adam’s life on the line. Sobriety was a job requirement.

  “You’re missing out, my man. This is great stuff, and we’ve got reason to drink it! We’ve got actual footage of a guardian angel! Holy crap. What are the odds of that?”

  “Now, wait just a minute here. I thought you were a skeptic. We were all just seeing things. Wasn’t that your line?”

  Gareth was the speaker. It wasn’t Ken. He didn’t move. Except his eyes. He flicked a glance toward Adam and quickly looked away.

  Weird.

  “Somebody said it. Forget who. And I don’t really care at the moment. Maybe tomorrow I’ll look it up. Anyway, this somebody said that there are three stages to every truth. Ridicule. Opposition. Acceptance. You, my dear boys, are witnessing the acceptance portion.”

  “I sure hope the world agrees,” Gareth replied.

  Chuck sputtered. “What? Despite the fact that you guys are dismal with 35mm tech, I got three frames of something that sure looks like an angel. I didn’t have to play with anything. All I added was a little lighting...for contrast. Some melodramatic music for the effect, and voila! Instant fame!”

  “Now, wait a minute. We got five minutes of training. You expect us to turn into camera lizards?”

  Somebody hooted with laughter.

  “I think he means wizards,” Clint said.

  “Yeah. That, too.” Ryan licked the salted trail off his hand, downed his shot, and then shoved a lime wedge between his lips to suck on.

  “Maybe we should wait for the feed to go live,” somebody said.

  “Quit worrying! The odds are great! We’re gonna be famous! I even added promo. We’re doing a hard launch with this video. Here’s to going viral, men!”

  Chuck hooted. The others howled. Ryan was the loudest. Adam joined in with a half-hearted thump on the bar with his palm. The sound echoed and re-echoed as it died away. Ken didn’t even twitch. This could be trouble. Adam had been leaning toward Gareth as the man who wanted to ice him. He might need to back up and review. But then Clint lowered his head and looked right at Adam, snagging everyone’s attention.

  “Guys. Guys. You got it all wrong. None of that is the odds I was referring to,” he said.

  “Okay. You win. You’re worse than a dog with a bone, man. What. Exactly. Do you want us to give you odds on?” Chuck queried.

  “Him.” Clint pointed at Adam.

  Oh. Crud.

  Clint, too?

  The list of potential killers kept getting larger, and a lot muddier. Adam’s every muscle reacted. His thighs and buttocks tensed, lifting him slightly from the stool. The mass in his throat twinged painfully. His eyes even decided to start watering. His existence was already hellish. It didn’t seem possible it could get worse. Adam blinked rapidly, sucked in a small breath, and wondered how to sound unaffected.

  “What about him?” Gareth asked in the interim.

  “Yeah. It’s Adam. So?” Ryan piped in.

  “He’s got a guardian angel protecting his ass. We’ve even got one frame where it looks like she’s got her arms about him. Holy crap. That’s just...frickin’ unbelievable. Big odds there, if that’s what you’re referring to.”

  Chuck inserted the last, saving Adam from saying anything. Clint laughed heartily and smacked a hand to his thigh.

  “You guys. You’re so serious! I just wondered what the odds were of our man disappearing for about three hours...and when he reappears, he’s in the exact same spot. Only now, instead of a freight train or even empty tracks, our Adam ends up in the only Old West train show operating in the state, and he’s with the actresses. I mean, come on. How is that possible? If it had been anyone else, he’d have ended up – I don’t know – near the back end of a horse in one of the stable cars?”

  Oh. That.

  Clint wasn’t entirely accurate. Adam hadn’t been in a car with the actresses, but a storage railcar attached to their housing. He hadn’t known where Jezebel had delivered him for the longest time. Not until he’d tip-toed barefoot through the end door, crossed a span of rough, ancient-looking iron that connected the cars, and knocked on an ornate wooden door with the words ‘OLD WEST ON RAILS’ painted on it.

  “Well. It is Adam.”

  “And he’s like a ball of Velcro in a dryer full of socks. Women come out of the woodwork when he’s around. You expected him to appear anywhere else?”

  “They were all old enough to be my mother, if that helps,” Adam said.

  “Probably a bunch of MILFs. Lucky bastard.”

  Adam chuckled. They were off on that evaluation. But the Old West ladies had been charming. Helpful. And wanted nothing more than a lot of photos taken with him. One of them actually recognized him from a stunt video and thought he was cute.

  Cute.

  He hadn’t ever been called that before. Must be a generational thing. Hadn’t really mattered. Taking photos and posing had used up most of the time to the station. It also kept him from dwelling on his new reality of aloneness. And since his cell phone had been drained of every hint of juice somehow, they’d been a godsend. Those ladies even had a pair of boots that fit him.

  “You gonna tell us?”

  Adam came back to the present with a jolt. They were all still looking at him. He shrugged. “Tell you what?”

  “How you got there?”

  With a slow shake of his head, he admitted, “heck. I don’t know.”

  Heck? He caught a breath in case the others noticed. Now, he was subconsciously policing his own cursing?

  “You’re pulling the ‘I don’t know’ again? Come on, buddy. You gotta know.”

  “Look. All I know is one second I’m in one place. The next I’m someplace else. If anyone has an explanation for that, speak up. Then we’ll all know.”

  “Whoa. Guys. I think she’s using the time-space continuum.”

  Everyone looked at Gareth. This coming from a high school drop-out without even a GED? Adam wasn’t the only one wearing a stupefied expression.

  “The what?” Clint broke the silence.

  “I have not drunk enough to hear this,” Ryan inserted.

  “Me, either,” Chuck added, “but at least, we can fix that.”

  Gareth took a step off his stool and cleared his throat. “The time-space continuum. Supposedly there’s a fourth dimension located within time. Surely, you’ve heard of it. It’s part of theoretical physics. I used to study it.”

  “You?” Clint asked.

  “Yeah. Me. That was my chosen field, and I’d have finished...if my step-da
d wasn’t a fist-swinging shithead. All of which is outside the point. Maybe these beings can access the time-space dimension! Maybe that’s why we don’t see them!”

  Adam instantly recalled Jezebel’s words. It was improbable, and he wasn’t into science, but hearing there was a possibility, regardless of how slight, gave him a small measure of hope. The pressure about his chest eased. His muscles started relaxing. The choking sensation in his throat even loosened.

  “Wow. Way to kill a moment, kid. I mean, really. Adam’s a pretty-boy. I’m a licensed paramedic. Chuck’s a tech junkie. I think Ken’s an alien. And Clint’s a walking billboard for weight reduction.”

  “Thanks, man,” Clint replied.

  “Just kidding. But honestly. Do we really look like theo-whatever physicists to you?” Ryan asked.

  Everyone looked at everyone else. Except Ken. He had his head bent, his attention focused on the rug in front of him. Adam wasn’t the only one who noticed. He intercepted both Clint and Chuck’s questioning glances. Ryan wasn’t wasting time on the answer. He was downing another shot of tequila. He grinned as he slammed the shot-glass to the stove edge and shoved the lime wedge into his teeth.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The nightmare was more real than ever; the colors beyond intense, every smell vivid, each sound distinct and clear.

  Horrifically so.

  Smoke was starting to emit from the edges of shutters, as well as around the squares of dark timber framing his walls. Tendrils wafted upward before getting dispersed in the night breeze. Easy to spot against a golden glow. It came from within the structure, outlining the window she watched. The wattle and daub of his walls wouldn’t last long. Not with how she’d stoked his foundry fire before leaving. She’d taken a hasty glance before shutting his door, and then she’d even piled logs from his woodpile against the portal.

  Jezzie could see flames starting to lick upward from both sides of his stable. Exactly where she’d placed them. It was perfect. Everything was as she’d planned. Everything except the lack of gratification. There should be a sense of fulfillment happening. Satisfaction. A lot of righteous anger. Because soon now...