Not Quite Dead (A NightHunter Novel)

by Stephanie Rowe

  A slow, creepy scratching sound drifted through the room, as if razor-sharp claws were being dragged across the window. "Oh, God." She bolted for the stairs, racing toward the basement. What fools they'd been to be so focused on Eric being the threat. Instead of saving him, they'd cut her off from the one man who could help save her.

  She thundered down the stairs and hammered on the door to his cell. "Eric!" she shouted in a stage whisper, afraid to draw attention to the basement. "Wake up!"

  There was no response.

  Frantic, she leaned her back against his door, scanning the basement. The stairs opened right up to the first floor, giving her no place to hide. David's lab was behind the decrepit wooden door that wouldn't stop even a toddler. She had no stake, and no weapons. All she had was the powder she'd been saving for Eric.

  Reluctantly, she grabbed her grandmother's bag and pulled out the pouch containing the last of the powder. If she used it on a vampire coming to kill her, it might do nothing, and she'd have nothing left for Eric if he were a vampire.

  Despite what David had said, she knew Eric, and she had no doubt that if he'd somehow gone vampire, he'd be fighting it every step of the way. The powder would help him.

  Dammit, she wished she had a gun.

  She had nothing except a half-empty bag of powder. And what if it wasn't a vampire? What if it was something else? She needed something to defend herself with. David must have something hidden away. He was sort of paranoid now, and he'd never set up his office without making sure he had a way to defend himself.

  She raced into his lab and looked around. Shelves of powder. Some traditional medical supplies. No, no, no.

  Then she saw a steel cabinet in the corner. Yes. She ran over to it and grabbed the handle. Locked. Frustration roared through her, and she slammed her palm against the metal in frustration. What now?

  Then, above her, somewhere in the house, a window shattered.

  Chapter 11

  She was here.

  Tristan paused on the second story windowsill, perched on the frame with ease as the glass shattered from the blow of his fist. His fingers dug into the wood, and the entire room was bathed in a red tinge from his vision. He inhaled again, and her scent wrapped around him, deepening the hunger raging through him. It was familiar, but he couldn't place it. All he knew was that she was here, and he was going to claim her on every level.

  His incisors lengthened, and his fingernails elongated. Desire and lust roared through him, a need so loud it was almost deafening.

  He'd been hunting her for the last two days. Drawn to her scent. Needing her flesh. Her blood. Her body.

  And now, he'd found her.

  The urgency that had been driving him heightened, and he leapt soundlessly to the floor. His jeans were in tatters, and his body was gaunt with the need to feed. Once he'd scented her, no other would suffice. It was her.

  Hunger gnawed at him, eating away at his flesh and his sanity, getting stronger and stronger, until all he could do was stalk her.

  When he'd seen her standing on the front porch, his entire body had clenched. Need had roared through him so violently that he'd almost screamed with the glory of it.

  He'd started to attack. He'd moved swiftly to the edge of the woods, his body lean and primed for the hunt, and yet, when he'd seen her standing there, he'd stopped. He'd been riveted by the moonlight on her face, by the way her blond hair seemed to glow in the darkness. Her lips had been pure temptation, and her neck had been an elegant line of beauty.

  She was his. He knew it. And yet...he hadn't moved to take her.

  He'd just stayed where he was, at the edge of the shadows, mesmerized by her. Her scent had drifted across the night to him, a rich fullness that had made his body taut with need. He would have her. She would save him. Bloodlust had roared through him, and yet, when she'd turned her head and looked right at him, something had stayed him from attacking.

  He hadn't moved until she'd disappeared from sight, breaking the hold she'd had on him.

  The bloodlust had roared back, and he'd charged across the lawn and leaped up to the second floor window just as she'd slammed the window shut.

  He'd held onto the frame, his face pressed up against the glass as she'd stumbled back, falling. She'd stared at him again, so intensely that he'd felt his entire being go still, and the howling emptiness inside him had quieted for one brief moment.

  He'd wanted to touch her. He'd dragged one fingernail across the glass, tracing it right across her lips.

  Then she'd run, racing out of the room, prey in flight.

  And now...now it was time.

  Tristan straightened up, striding to the door of the bedroom. He was almost there when another scent caught his attention. A familiar one. He stopped and spun around, searching the room for the source of the scent. It was a man. A man he knew had slept here. Memories nudged at his mind, but he couldn't quite remember.

  "Eric. Wake up!" Her voice drifted up from downstairs, sweeping through his body and igniting his need to feed. With a low hiss, Tristan spun around and sprinted for the door, the scent of the man forgotten, obliterated by his need for her.

  ***

  When Jordyn heard the sound of the window shattering, her heart plummeted in terror. It was inside the house! She raced over to the door of Eric's prison and pounded with her fist on the steel. "Eric! Wake up!"

  Again, no response.

  Frustration roared through her, and she heard footsteps gliding down the stairs from the first floor. Movement so swift and quiet, that she knew it was preternatural.

  Something was coming for her.

  "Eric!" She hit the door once more in frustration, then spun away, her heart thundering through her as she frantically scanned the basement for something she could use to defend herself. There was nothing in the foyer except an old carpet. Nothing.

  She ran back into David's lab, skidding on the smooth floor as she whipped around the corner. He must have something in here! Desperation galvanizing her, she grabbed every cabinet door and yanked it open. She shoved her hands across the shelves, knocking things off as she searched for some hidden weapon behind the bags, bottles, and vials of powder, feathers, and other supplies. Bottles crashed to the floor, the glass tinkling as it shattered, and feathers flew up into the air, drifting down with a serenity that drove her mad with impatience.

  She yanked open drawers. She searched cupboards. She even broke a pair of scissors trying to pry open the locked metal cabinets against the back wall. Nothing worked.

  Then she heard footsteps on the basement stairs.

  She was out of time. The only place to hide was the safe room that David had locked her out of. Damn him!

  Everything went still out in the basement foyer, as if her assailant was pausing to assess the layout.

  She grabbed the pair of scissors and tucked herself into the sliver of space between the locked metal cabinet and the wall. The gap was only about six inches wide, and she could barely fit. She was trapped, but at least three sides of her were protected. She went still, holding her breath as she waited. Her heart was hammering so loudly she could barely think, and she took a deep breath, trying to slow her pulse. Whatever was out there would track her heartbeat with ease. She had to slow it down.Again, another deep breath, as she fought for control that she couldn't attain.

  For the longest time, there was only silence.

  Had he left? Had she somehow been spared? She whispered a little prayer to the God that she had long ago stopped believing in, her fingers tight around the handle of the scissors. They weren't a wooden stake, but maybe a direct blow to the heart would give her enough time to make it to Eric's truck that was still sitting in the driveway.

  She leaned her head back against the metal and closed her eyes, listening carefully, straining to hear the smallest sound that would warn her before he attacked.

  There was a small creak, and she caught her breath. It was the sound of the lab door opening. He was inside t
he lab now.

  The air became colder. A dank, penetrating chill settled directly into her bones.

  She shrank further back into her sanctuary beside the metal cabinet, her fingers tight around the handle of her scissors.

  She waited.

  Then suddenly, the cabinet she was hiding behind was ripped away from the wall and flung across the room. It crashed into the opposite wall, tearing David's shelves apart with a horrifying screech of metal. The contents went flying into the air, filling it with so much powder it was as if a sandstorm had swept into the room.

  Standing in the middle of the whirling tornado was the man who had resurrected her eight times. Jordyn was so shocked, she forgot to be afraid. His jeans were shredded over his emaciated thighs, no longer packed with muscle and sinew as they once had been. His shirt was gone, and his chest was streaked with blood and dirt. His ribs were protruding from his chest like a skeleton that had been barely covered with the flesh of a human being. His eyes were sunken and glittering with a faint red tinge. His feet were bare and filthy, and his cheeks were caved-in hollows in his face. Her heart stuttered in horror at his condition. "Tristan?" She barely even recognized him, he was so far gone.

  His body visibly flinched when she spoke, then he began to inch closer, like a predator stalking its prey.

  She realized his face was devoid of human expression. None of the good humor and smiles that had once been a part of his personality. He was pure predator, and he was coming for her.

  "Tristan. It's me, Jordyn. I'm your friend." There was no way Tristan would hurt her. He had practically given up his soul to save her life.

  But he kept advancing, the slow inexorable approach of death. His fingernails were curved into claws, and his eyes began to glow an even brighter red. "Tristan! Stop it! Back off!" She edged to her right, toward the storage cabinet that was now on its side, dented and twisted from Tristan hurling it across the room. The lock had broken from the impact, leaving the door ajar. What did David have in there? Would it save her?

  Tristan kept watching her, his gaze riveted on her as she inched to the side. She kept talking to him, trying to bring him back from the monster that had him in its grip. "I know you're in there, Tristan. You don't want to hurt me. I know you don't." She reached the cabinet and nudged the door open with her foot, trying to peek inside without alarming Tristan.

  "No."

  She jumped, startled by his voice. It was rough and ragged, as if he'd been screaming for days. She looked at him sharply, her heart breaking for the torment in his voice. "Tristan—"

  "You are mine." His lips curled, revealing gleaming white fangs, and then he sprang at her with lightning fast speed.

  She yelped and dove to the right, but he was on her before she even hit the floor.

  ***

  Eric awoke with a start, adrenaline screaming through him. He instantly realized he was trapped. Something was holding him down. Something that hurt his skin, like a thousand razor blades bleeding acid into his flesh.

  Menace was thick in the air, and the atmosphere was heavy with the scent of evil. He didn't move. He didn't even open his eyes. He just snapped into full consciousness, his instincts warning of immense danger. He reached out with his mind, sending his power in all directions to summon spirits to assist him. Magic came fast and furious, humming through him with violent strength. With a roar of fury, he thrust it outward and exploded the chains off him.

  The metal links slammed into the walls, clattering to the floor. He rolled off the metal table, and landed on his feet. Every muscle in his body hurt. His head was pounding, and he was so hungry his insides felt like they were twisted into a ball of barbed wire.

  He looked around, quickly assessing his environment. He was in a small room that contained nothing other than the metal table that he'd been chained to, and a long table of computer monitors. Where the hell was he? The sensation of darkness and doom grew heavier, as if the air itself was tainted with malevolence. He spun around, searching, trying to remember what had happened.

  His neck was sore, and he brushed his fingers over it instinctively. The moment that he touched his flesh, the memories of it all came flashing back. The attack. Jordyn bringing him to her friend. The fire incinerating his flesh. The kiss. The kiss. "Jordyn!"

  He whirled around, searching again, this time for her. He was in a small, enclosed room with steel walls, including the door. He sprinted for the door, and tried the handle, but it was locked.

  Trapped.

  He spun around, swiftly assessing his prison. There was a row of computer screens on a table against one wall, and there were what looked like grainy security videos on them. He leapt across the room and slammed his hands down on the table as he stared at the screens. The lab was in shambles, and a man was leaping across the room, sailing through the air like a predator. "Tristan!" Eric shouted his name, and his brother stopped, swinging around to face the camera.

  Eric swore at the sight of his brother's face. His cheeks were sunken, and ashen. His eyes were haunted, almost glowing with anguish. He was so thin, his coiled muscles straining against his flesh, his clothes hanging in tatters from his beleaguered frame. He rested his fingers on the screen. "Tristan," he whispered. "What happened to you?"

  Movement behind Tristan caught his attention, and Eric's gaze shot to the far wall. For an instant, he couldn't make out what had moved, and then he saw Jordyn crawling across the carnage toward David's upended storage cabinet. Blood was pouring down her temple, and her shirt was torn. He went cold. "Jordyn!" He bellowed her name, and she looked at the wall to her right, not at the camera.

  She lunged for the wall, and he heard a thud behind him. He spun around as she banged on the wall. "Eric! Help me!"

  He looked back and forth between the pounding and the camera, and he realized his makeshift prison was adjacent to the lab. "Jordyn!"

  There was a guttural growl from the other room, and Eric saw Tristan turn away from the camera, back toward Jordyn.

  She dove for David's upended cabinet and yanked open the door. She frantically started digging through it as Tristan faced her. "Eric!" Her scream ripped through the wall. "He's a vampire! Get out here and help me!"

  "A vampire?" Eric went cold when he saw Tristan coil his body, as if preparing to launch himself at Jordyn. His fingers were curved in a clawed grip. "Tristan!" He bellowed at his brother. "Cut the crap! Back off!"

  Slowly, Tristan turned his head to look back at the camera. He lifted his upper lip in a snarl, and Eric saw his teeth. They were pointed and gleaming white. He gripped the desk in shock. "Holy shit," he whispered.

  Then Tristan slammed his fist toward the camera. It went black, and Eric lost sight of the lab.

  "Eric!" Jordyn screamed again, and there was a low growl from the lab, and then a crash.

  "Tristan! Stop it!" Eric whirled toward the door and sucked in every sliver of energy, spirit, and magic in the room. He inhaled it into every pore of his body, until his skin almost burst. Then he faced the steel door. "Say goodbye," he muttered, and then thrust all his energy against the door. His power exploded with a crushing roar and slammed into the door, then ricocheted back at him, hurling him against the far wall.

  He crashed into the table of computer monitors, and fragments of glass pierced his flesh as he fell to the ground. He leapt to his feet, staggering in pain as he reached behind him and yanked a shard of glass out of his back.

  The door wasn't even dented. Son of a bitch. David had reinforced the door with something magical.

  There was another scream, and another crash. "Eric!"

  Sweat poured down his temples as Eric swung around, searching the room for some weakness in the structure. Nothing. He was in a sealed steel vessel. "Tristan!" he shouted. "Back off!" He summoned more magic, and hammered at the door again.

  Again, it rebounded at him and flung him against the far wall. He groaned as he hit the ground, but he was already calling back the magic and spirits the moment he la
nded. "Come on!" He barely managed to pull himself to his knees as he heard another scream and another crash. He thrust another round of power at the door, and it once again bounced back.

  His head hit the steel wall, and for a split second, blackness fluttered through his mind. Crap. He didn't have time to knock himself out. Jordyn needed him! Battling dizziness, he made it to his knees, bracing himself on his hands as he studied the door. He hadn't even scratched it. Son of a bitch. Jordyn was dying out there, and he couldn't even save her?

  Fuck that.

  He sprang to his feet and braced his legs. He bowed his head and spread his fingers wide down by his hips. He closed his eyes, and then reached way inside him. Energy spun through him, searing through his cells. He took it deeper and deeper into him. He felt the darkness of Tristan's spirit. The evil that stank in the swamp. He reached out across every inch of space, and he drew upon every spirit in the air. The evil. The darkness. The raw, pure power of hate. He drank it all into him, and he didn't block it.

  His mind began to spin with images of the hell he had once lived. Death. Destruction. Carnage. Evil. Pure evil. His skin shifted, becoming translucent, revealing the swirling miasmas of energy beneath the surface. For a moment, he hesitated, knowing all too well the cost of going any further.

  "Eric!" Jordyn's scream ripped through him, and he made his choice.

  He dropped his shields, and he let the spirits consume him.

  ***

  "Tristan!" Jordyn stumbled as she backed away from Tristan, holding the last stake she'd found in David's cabinet. She'd managed to grab four stakes from the broken cabinet, and she'd already used three of them. Only one left, and Tristan was still standing. Blood was trickling down her neck, and she felt dizzy. "You don't need to do this, Tristan," she said, trying desperately to reach him. "You don't have to be a victim! You're not a monster!"

  He was down on one knee, one hand braced on the floor while he gripped the stake that she'd shoved into his heart when he'd bitten her. His pale fingers tightened on the wood, and he yanked it out.