Hunted

by S W Vaughn

  Grace followed with a heavy heart. She should enjoy the time she had left, but even Megan's enthusiasm failed to lift the veil of desolation smothering her. Michael was right. She couldn't endanger everyone here.

  She emerged into a cheery, fragrant room. The floorboards and walls were deep red wood, smoothed until they shone. A gabled window let the late sun stream inside. Two round, cushioned chairs flanked a table built into the wall beneath the window. Shelves spanned the adjacent wall, stocked with books, board games and an assortment of recreational odds and ends. One shelf held a small stereo and a wire rack with a few dozen CDs. A doorway in the wall opposite the window led to a screened porch complete with bunk beds. Colorful beanbag chairs stacked in a pyramid completed the cozy space.

  "Isn't this amazing?” Megan said. “Must have cost a fortune."

  "Not for Kendra. It was probably like buying a candy bar.” Grace smiled despite her caustic comment. “It is pretty cool though."

  Megan curled into one of the chairs and grinned. “Ever tried one of these before? They're moon chairs. Don't worry, they won't fall over."

  "If you say so.” Grace settled gently on the other chair. She pushed back into the cushion until her feet left the floor. She imagined sitting in a hammock would feel like this, as though gravity had been suspended. Must be why they were called moon chairs.

  Megan's grin flagged. “I guess it's my turn to tell you that you look awful."

  "I believe you.” Grace ran a hand through her hair. It felt brittle and stiff. “I think I'm just tired like you.” And terrified.

  "I heard that."

  Grace stared at her. “What?” she whispered. You heard my thoughts?

  Megan nodded deliberately and held a finger to her lips.

  But how...

  "I'll try and explain later. Where have you been?"

  "In a greenhouse. Talking to Michael."

  "Oh.” Megan studied her lap. “What did you talk about?"

  "He told me why I should stay. Why I have to stay until I'm ‘ready’ to work for the government."

  "Grace ... I don't want them to send you away.” Megan's voice shook. “I don't want to go, either. Not to the FBI, or the CIA, or whatever. I want us to get out of here together."

  We can't. Grace closed her eyes against rising hopelessness. “There are killers out there waiting for me. If they find me, they'll find this place, and ... everyone will die."

  Megan fell silent for a moment. “There has to be a way..."

  "There isn't.” Those two are too strong. I can't risk everyone's lives—your life—by leaving.

  "It's not fair.” Megan clasped her hands tight. “I don't want to lose you."

  "Believe me, I don't want to go. Right now, though, it looks like I don't have a choice."

  "What if you did?"

  Grace smirked. I didn't think coming back was an option.

  "Well ... I have a plan. Sort of."

  "What is it?"

  "Will you trust me?"

  Always.

  "Good.” A tentative smile clung to Megan's lips. “Just remember this. When the time comes, don't leave without saying goodbye."

  Grace nodded. “I won't."

  "So, how about a game? I bet I could kick your butt at Battleship."

  Laughing, Grace sat forward in the chair. “Bring it on."

  * * * *

  Complete blackness filled Silver's open eyes. His mind crawled the world outside his crypt, searching for a trace that would lead to the Nephil, the one Lorin desired.

  He did not wish to find her. It. Her.

  These thoughts, desires of his own, were new to him. For all of his existence, he had been an extension of Lorin. The rare occasions he attempted to question, to stray, had been met with brutality and viciousness. Many times, he had wanted Lorin to succeed in destroying him.

  Now, the constant pain she inflicted barely registered. He cried out only to satisfy her.

  He had tried to please Lorin. Not once had he done so. No matter how carefully he followed her instructions, always some error occurred. He had learned to expect, if not punishment, then indifference and disgust at the least.

  Silver had long ago resigned himself to his duties. He killed them, one after another, an endless succession of Nephilim. He excelled at killing them. It seemed his only talent. Lorin constantly assured him he was good for nothing else. Yet for centuries, he had failed to understand why his stomach clenched and his body revolted against him with each kill. He'd been certain it was Lorin punishing him. Perhaps for not destroying them fast enough or spectacularly enough.

  But Lorin was not responsible for the screams.

  His mind recorded the dying scream of every Nephil he destroyed, and played them back at random times, and random volumes. He suspected now that the discomfort had always stemmed from his own suppressed desires. He did not want to kill them. Especially her.

  And if he did not find her, he did not have to kill her.

  He continued searching—slowly, with as much hesitation as he dared. Something warm and wet burned his eyes and trickled down his cheeks. Perhaps they were bleeding too.

  * * * *

  That night, Lou failed to restrain Grace when he escorted her to her room. He didn't even stand guard outside. Unfortunately, when the nurse walked out after her evening shot, Kendra walked in.

  Grace groaned. “I'm tired. What do you want?"

  "I just wanted to see how you were doing."

  "Fine. You've seen. Goodbye."

  Kendra helped herself to the chair beside the bed. “Michael says he spoke with you today."

  "He did. I guess this means you aren't leaving."

  "Grace. Do you really hate me that much?"

  "That's a pretty stupid question. Even for you."

  Kendra opened her mouth, closed it. “Now that you've talked to Michael, you're going to stay, aren't you?"

  "I don't have a choice."

  "I wish you wouldn't look at it like that. It's really for the best."

  "The best for who? The government? Are they paying him to hand us over?"

  Kendra glared at her. “Michael cares about you. He cares about all the children."

  "Unlike you."

  "I care, too. Why do you think I gave him the camp and had this house built?"

  "For the sex."

  "Grace!” Kendra shot to her feet. “If you're going to be abrasive, I'm not going to talk to you.” She started for the door.

  "Good,” Grace muttered. She turned toward the wall. When a minute passed and the door didn't close, she said, “Are you still here?"

  "Yes."

  Grace sighed and flopped on her back. “Why?"

  Another minute crawled by. Kendra returned to the chair. “Isn't there anything I can do to make you stop hating me?"

  Take back everything you've ever done to me. Give me a normal life. Let me feel wanted. No, there wasn't anything she could do. Why would Kendra care how she felt, anyway? The woman must have a hidden motive. Probably wanted to manipulate her into doing something stupid, use her for some grand new scheme.

  This time, Grace would do the using. She'd get the information she wanted.

  "You can start by not trying to make me do things. I'm not a child any more, Kendra."

  "You never were."

  Grace swiveled her head and regarded her mother with disgust. “You refused to be responsible about anything. One of us had to be the grownup."

  "You wouldn't listen to me! It was so infuriating. You were tediously responsible—never wanted to have any fun. But ... I suppose you're right."

  Kendra sounded almost apologetic. Grace decided it had to be an act, or an accident. Once again she wished she could still read thoughts and find out how her mother really felt. She'd learned not to trust anything the woman said.

  Grace sat up and crossed her legs. Since Kendra was in a talkative mood, maybe she could take advantage of it. “I'd like to know about my father."

  "Y
our father.” Kendra blinked rapidly. “What about him?"

  "Where is he?"

  "I don't know. Probably still out in the woods somewhere. He was never comfortable with civilization."

  "Doesn't sound like your type."

  Kendra ignored the insult. “That's where I met him. In the woods. I thought he was a deer and I almost shot him."

  "You hunted?"

  Kendra sighed and looked away. “Yes. Father insisted. Our people ... you know. Old money. It's a social convention. When one is in the woods, one hunts."

  Grace stared at her, fascinated in spite of herself. Kendra had never discussed her family. When she said nothing further, Grace prodded, “Okay, so you almost shot him. And?"

  Kendra smiled without pretense. It was the first time Grace had seen her exhibit genuine emotion. “He was beautiful. I loved him, you know."

  "So you loved him, but not me."

  "I did love you. Do love you.” Anger and sorrow clashed in her features. “I was seventeen, Grace. Seventeen and heartbroken. He left me. Disappeared into his beloved forest."

  "Before or after you planned the wedding?"

  "What?"

  "I saw the newspaper announcement. You were going to get married."

  Kendra stiffened and dropped her gaze. “Yes. Father was furious about it. He'd already handpicked half a dozen richer and more suitable men for me. He only relented when I told him I was pregnant. And then, Beckett vanished. Father forced me to say he'd died so the family wouldn't be shamed."

  "So, that is his name.” Grace's head buzzed with shock. If her mother wasn't lying, she actually had been wronged. Not that it excused her for years of neglect and exploitation. Still, it was a step in a better direction. “Is it his first name or last name?"

  "I don't know. It's the only one he ever told me. I thought it was exciting. He was so mysterious. Unique. I've never met anyone like him, before or since."

  That's because he's an angel. Did Kendra know about that? “I want to find him."

  Kendra offered an indecorous snort. “Good luck with that. He's probably moved on by now. These aren't the only woods in the world.” She stood and studied her feet. “You're tired. I'll let you rest. I'm sorry I can't tell you anything more. I just don't know."

  "Don't know, or won't tell me?"

  "I don't know, all right? He left me!"

  "Gee, Kendra. That must have been a real kick in the ego for you.” Grace sneered at the shock on her mother's face. “Usually, you're the one doing the leaving."

  "Grace. Can't you cut me some slack? I'm your mother."

  "No."

  Kendra blanched. “No you can't, or no I'm not?"

  "Both. Neither. I don't know.” Grace lay back and closed her eyes. “Look, just leave, okay? I don't want to talk any more."

  She stiffened, expecting an outburst or a sharp rebuke. Instead there was silence. After a moment, the door opened and closed softly.

  For Grace, sleep didn't arrive easy or fast.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 21

  Another day passed. Slow, uncomfortable, maddening. Grace couldn't get Megan alone again—if one of the kids wasn't around, Kyle or Lou kept an obvious eye on her.

  Not that she'd go anywhere. Michael's damned logic had ensured her compliance ... for now.

  She went to bed early. After a few hours of broken half-sleep, she realized that once again, rest wasn't coming any time soon. She rose, dressed and crept into the hallway. Silence laced the air and swallowed her footsteps on the carpeted floor. Dim light guided her to the stairs and down to near darkness.

  Soft sounds on the first floor pierced the quiet: the low hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen, the muted tick of the grandfather clock in the main room, the faraway drone of night insects beyond the windows. Grace headed for the front door, not sure what she intended. Maybe she'd sit on the porch for a while and get some fresh air.

  Maybe she'd run across the yard, head for the woods and find out how long it took for someone to shoot her.

  She sighed and reached for the doorknob. Suicide wasn't the answer—and it would be suicide to tempt Kyle. She gripped cool metal and froze when the creak of a floorboard sounded from outside. Was someone else out there? Right now, company stood fairly low on her list of desires. She backed a few paces and shifted to peer through the narrow side windows.

  A tall silhouette leaned against the right-hand column beside the porch steps, the glowing orange ember of a lit cigarette visible at waist level. The arm lifted and a drag on the smoke illuminated Kyle's sharp, sullen features.

  Grace decided to use the back door.

  As far as she knew, the ground floor had only two exits. The one in the rear of the house opened to the enclosed pool. Another door at the end of the solarium-style room led outside. She made her way to the windowless pool door, and opened it secure in the knowledge that at least Kyle wasn't waiting on the other side.

  Humidity and the pungent odor of chlorine assaulted her. The room itself was dark as the night pressing against the glass walls and ceiling. Four small lights, two on each long side of the pool, played across the shimmering blue-green surface of the water and tapered out a few feet shy of meeting in the center.

  It took a moment to realize the dark shape streaking the length of the pool beneath the water's surface wasn't part of the ambiance.

  So much for being alone. Grace almost turned to leave, but she didn't want to startle the swimmer. A head broke the surface in the deep end. Glistening black braids, smooth dusky skin. Evan. He didn't seem to notice her, so she cleared her throat and tapped a foot on the tiled floor.

  He whirled, whip-fast, sending a swell of water against the pool wall. For an instant he looked angry, but he seemed to shake it off and return to his usual solemn silence. Tipping his head in greeting, he sank beneath the surface, pushed off the back wall and torpedoed toward the shallow end to surface a few feet from the steps.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt.” Grace headed for the shallow end and the door beyond. “I was just going to get some fresh air."

  Evan stood at waist-deep level. Rivulets of water streaked his chest and arms, and Grace couldn't help noticing how well defined those particular parts of him were. In fact, not an inch of him lacked definition. She suspected he spent a lot of time in the weight room—and she wondered why the water didn't turn to steam when it touched him.

  Whoa. Heat suffused her face in response to her outrageous thoughts. She'd never bothered with men—with her “condition,” sex might have landed her back in the nuthouse—and Evan was barely on the safe side of boy. He couldn't be eighteen yet, or he wouldn't be here.

  Seventeen, she decided. An old seventeen.

  "Light sleeper?"

  "Huh?” Grace blinked, and realized she'd been staring at Evan's abs. Her blush deepened. “Er, yeah,” she stammered. “You too?"

  "Sometimes.” Evan shrugged and moved toward the steps. While he mounted them, Grace deliberately kept her gaze above waist level. It wasn't easy. She breathed an inward sigh of relief when he grabbed a towel from a nearby railing and wrapped it around himself.

  She swallowed, tasted chlorine and Evan's clean scent. Damn. “You didn't have to get out,” she said. “I was just..."

  "Getting some air. I know.” Evan smirked. “It's all right. I need a breather.” He unfastened the towel and rubbed it over his head, giving Grace an uninterrupted view of everything outside the form-fitting bike shorts he wore—and a hint of everything inside.

  Christ. Even his feet were perfect.

  She managed to look away before he finished drying his hair. “So, you're a light sleeper sometimes? What does that mean?"

  "Sometimes I sleep. Sometimes I don't.” His eyes clouded and he stared at the floor.

  "I understand. Unfortunately, for me it's more don't than sleep.” Grace smiled. “How long have you been here?"

  Another shrug. “A couple years."

&nbs
p; Grace stared, then snorted laughter. “I meant, how long have you been in the pool?"

  "Oh.” This time his smirk encompassed both sides of his mouth. “Maybe half an hour."

  Before Grace could think of something else to say, the door to the house opened and a curly-haired head poked through. “Hello?” a girl's voice called. “Is someone out here?"

  "Yes,” Grace replied.

  "Oh, good. I'm not crazy, then.” A hand reached inside and flipped a switch to the left of the door. Soft lighting cast a glow around the room. Dawn emerged with David in tow. “David was hungry, and we knew Dorrine was asleep, so we were in the kitchen and I thought I heard voices out here. Hi, Evan! Grace. What are you guys doing?"

  Grace shook her head. “Doesn't anybody sleep around here?"

  David let out a huge yawn. “Evan, are you swimming? Cool! I wanna get in too.” He peeled off his shirt, dropped it, and started wiggling out of his shoes.

  "David, wait! It's the middle of the night.” Dawn leveled a stern gaze at her brother. “We need to get back to bed."

  "Aw, c'mon.” David flashed a dimpled grin. “Just for a minute?"

  Dawn sighed. “I don't know..."

  "Thanks, Dawn!” David pivoted and ran for the deep end. He rounded the corner, jumped almost straight up at the edge of the pool and hugged his knees on the way down. A column of water exploded up from his impact, and a wave sloshed the deck tiles.

  "David!” Dawn rolled her eyes and turned to Grace with an exasperated expression. “I hate it when he does that. Well, I guess we'll stay for a bit. Wanna soak your feet with me?"

  "Uh ... sure.” Grace glanced at Evan. He looked just as good dry. “Are you going back in?"

  "Soon.” Evan watched David splash in a clumsy circle. The boy bobbed up and down, squirting a stream of water from his mouth every time he surfaced. Evan's smirk returned. “When the excitement level drops."

  Dawn laughed. “He'll settle down in a few minutes. Come on."

  They moved to the deep end. Dawn removed her shoes and socks, rolled her pants legs up, and Grace followed suit. Dawn surveyed the streaks and puddles on the tiles and frowned. “We're gonna have wet butts."

  "Probably.” Grace settled on the narrow strip of ridged rubber edging the pool and slid her legs into the water. “Is it always this warm?"