Deadly Pursuit (A Blood Hunter Novel, #2)

by Nina Croft

  Deadly

  pursuit

  The Blood Hunter Series

  Book Two

  nina croft

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2011 Nicola Cleasby. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Edited by Liz Pelletier

  Cover design by Heather Howland

  Print ISBN 978-1-937044-89-3

  eBook ISBN 978-1-937044-98-6

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  To Rob – who puts up with me filling the house with

  vampires, werewolves, and aliens!

  Prologue

  Twenty-four years ago…

  A pair of sickle moons hung low in the sky, casting a sullen, bloodred glow insufficient to light the path. High Priest Hezrai Fischer swore under his breath as he tripped over a tree root and only just prevented himself from sprawling on the ground in an undignified heap.

  “How much farther?” he snapped.

  “Not far now, my Lord,” the guide murmured soothingly. He’d been saying the same words for the last hour.

  The procession wound its way up a steep track cut into the side of a mountain, on what had to be the most godforsaken planet in the known universe. Sweat soaked his robes, and every muscle ached from the unusual exercise. “Why here?” he asked the world in general. “Why couldn’t she have been born on some nice, civilized planet?”

  “God works in mysterious ways,” Sister Martha said softly from beside him.

  Sanctimonious bitch.

  He gritted his teeth as the words hovered on his lips. Personally, he would have preferred a little less mystery and a little more common sense from God. Biting back the blasphemous thought, he peered sideways at his companion. She had no trouble maneuvering up the track, seeming to glide in her long, black robes. Her face was serene; only the subdued glow in her eyes hinted at her excitement.

  Left to him, he would have chosen a different companion. Sister Martha always set his teeth on edge, but as the head of the Order of the Sisters of Everlasting Life, it would be her duty to take charge of the new priestess. He hadn’t been able to think of a reasonable excuse to leave her behind.

  The old High Priestess had died a month ago. They had immediately sent out seekers to all the inhabited planets to search for the new vessel—a baby girl born at the exact moment of the old priestess’s death into whom the holy spark would have been transferred.

  “We’re here, my Lord.”

  “Here” appeared to be a tiny hovel. Dull orange light flickered from the single window. He smoothed his robes, raised his fist, and banged on the wooden door.

  It was opened seconds later by one of the brothers. “My Lord.”

  Hezrai nodded brusquely. “They know we are coming? Have they agreed?”

  “Yes, my Lord. For one thousand credits, they will hand over the child.”

  “They should hand her over for the glory of the Church,” he snarled.

  “They are not members, my Lord, but they are poor.”

  Hezrai detected a slight censure in the words. He’d ignore it for now, but made a mental note of the man’s name. “Let’s get this over with.”

  He followed the brother into the house, though “house” was an ambitious word for the single, dingy space he found himself in. The air held a sharp, sour smell, and he wrinkled his nose.

  At the far side of the room, a man and a woman huddled together. The man held a baby in his arms.

  “At last,” Hezrai muttered. Perhaps now they could finish this and get back to civilization. He stepped closer and peered down at the baby. He didn’t know much about babies, and wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but some sense of holiness at the very least.

  “Are we sure?” It was an ugly little thing with a squashed up face, strange gray eyes rimmed with black, and a shock of dark red hair. Hezrai frowned. “Has there ever been a red-haired priestess?”

  “Not that I remember.” Sister Martha sounded dubious. “Can we see the sign?”

  The father parted the robes. A purple birthmark showed clearly on her right thigh in the perfect shape of a cross.

  Hezrai nodded. It was enough for him. “Make the transfer.”

  He waited, tapping his foot on the rough wood floor, trying to ignore the stench of the place. Finally, the transaction was complete. “Right then…Get the girl and let’s go.”

  The parents hadn’t said a word, but now the mother stepped forward. “Please, I don’t—”

  Her husband halted her with a hand on her arm. “Shut up, Lisa. There’ll be other babies.”

  “But—”

  “We discussed this. What sort of life will she have here? With the Church, she’ll have a chance—a future.”

  Hezrai rolled his eyes. Yeah right, they were doing this for the infant, nothing to do with the thousand credits. He really hoped the woman wasn’t going to be difficult. Before she could say another word, the man edged closer to Hezrai and shoved the baby into his arms.

  Hezrai almost dropped it.

  Now he knew where the disgusting smell was coming from. Staring down into its red face, he tried to feel some religious awe. This was the High Priestess returned to them. She blinked at him from intense gray eyes, screwed up her features, and screamed, nearly bursting his eardrums.

  “Quiet, child.” He made an effort to keep his voice even. If he gave in to his natural inclination and screamed back, he suspected it would do more harm than good.

  She shrieked louder.

  “Give her to me.” Sister Martha held out her arms.

  A second ago, he would have gladly handed her over; now that the sister had asked, he tightened his grip and gritted his teeth. “The child belongs to God now. She must learn obedience.”

  The baby quieted, her lips curving into a sweet smile.

  “There, you see, she just needs discipline.”

  She opened her mouth and regurgitated vile smelling, half-digested milk down his pristine black robe.

  That was the moment Hezrai Fischer began to hate the brand new High Priestess of the Church of Everlasting Life.

  Chapter One

  Where the hell am I?

  Jon’s head throbbed, and his mouth tasted like shit. He shivered with the cold, and then a moment later sweat broke out on his forehead. Nausea roiled in his gut. He rolled off the bed, landed on all fours, and retched. There was nothing in his stomach, but he stayed, head hanging low while he attempted to piece together what was going on.

  He was alive, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

  Shaking his head, he tried to clear the haze from his mind. Cryo always did that to him—left his reactions slow, his brain sluggish, and the rest of him feeling like crap.

  What the hell had happened?

  The last thing he remembered was being captured, and his last thought had been that he was as good as dead.

  Instead, he was here. Wherever here was.

  It appeared to be a cabin—not a cell, and he wasn’t restrained in any way, but his inner senses were screaming danger. Closing his eyes, he breathed in and caught the lingering scent of death on the air. Not the usual
sort of death that vanished with time, but the evil, blood-sucking sort that refused to lie down and rot.

  A sharp buzz shrilled through the cabin, and his muscles tightened. He forced himself to relax as he realized someone was outside. At least they were being polite. He stumbled to his feet, swayed, and supported himself with one hand flat against the wall until his legs steadied beneath him.

  Goddamn cryo made him as weak as a puppy. He was also naked, so he grabbed a small towel from the bed and wrapped it around his hips.

  At the door, he peered into the monitor. A boy stood in the corridor, skinny with a shock of dark red hair and big gray eyes. Shifting from foot to foot, the boy had a bundle of clothes tucked under one arm and a tray of food balanced on the other. Jon’s stomach rumbled.

  After locating the panel beside the entrance, he pressed his palm to it and then stood aside as the door slid open and the boy shuffled inside. Up close, the kid only came as high as Jon’s shoulder—he must have been fourteen, fifteen at the most. At the sight of Jon, his eyes widened and his gaze flicked down over Jon’s body before fixing somewhere to the left of him.

  “Yes?” he snapped when the boy said nothing.

  His gaze shot back to Jon’s face then settled on his chest. “I’m Al, the cabin boy.”

  “So?”

  “I brought you some clothes. And we’ve had supper, but earlier you said you wouldn’t eat with a piece of Collective…”

  “I did?”

  Christ, he couldn’t remember, though it sounded like the sort of thing he would say. He hated the Collective. Not as much as he hated the Church, which wasn’t really saying much. Forcing his mind to concentrate, he struggled to remember where he was and how he’d gotten here. A vague memory of the boy showing him to the cabin earlier flickered through his mind. There had been some talk about the Collective, but Jon had only just come around from the cryo, and he hadn’t been paying attention.

  Al nodded. “Anyway…I brought you some food. Though the captain says you’re not a prisoner, and if you stay on this ship, you eat with her crew.”

  Jon had no intention of staying on this ship or eating with the crew. At the first opportunity, he was away. He had a bloody double-crossing bastard to hunt down and exterminate.

  “If I’m not a prisoner, I presume I’m free to leave.”

  “I suppose so. Though you don’t have a ship, and we’re in deep space, and…” Al shrugged a shoulder. “There’s a meeting tomorrow to decide what we should do. Skylar says the Collective will come after you.”

  “Skylar?”

  “She’s Collective, but she said she was your sister—that’s why we broke you out of prison.”

  Well, that was really sweet, except he didn’t have any family. So what the fuck was going on? “I don’t have a sister.”

  Al shrugged again. “Anyway, you should stay here. The captain will keep you safe.”

  Jon didn’t want anyone keeping him safe. He worked alone, and he liked it that way. But it occurred to him he should find out a little about where he was, who had gotten him out of prison, and what they wanted in return.

  “Where is here?” he asked. “What is this ship?”

  “It’s the El Cazador. El Cazador de la Sangre.”

  The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it. “What sort of shit name is that?”

  “It’s old Earth talk. It means The Blood Hunter.”

  Jon breathed in deep and caught again the lingering scent of death. “Well, that figures. Who’s the captain?”

  When he didn’t get an answer, he frowned. “Well?”

  Jon belatedly realized Al was still juggling the clothes and the tray and looked about to drop both.

  “Sorry, I…here.” The boy held out the tray, and the bundle tucked under his arm tumbled to the floor. Jon took the food and put it down on the small table by the bed, his stomach rumbling again as the smell drifted up. Then he picked up the clothes. Black pants and a black shirt. After dropping the towel, he pulled on the pants. They fit—just.

  He glanced up. Al stood frozen in place, staring as though he’d never seen a man before. Jon ignored him and shrugged into the shirt. It was tight across the shoulders, but it would have to do. He’d chucked his own clothes down the recycling shoot to rid the cabin of the stench of prison.

  Al was still gawking at him. Jon opened his mouth to tell the boy to piss off when a loud boom rang in his ears, and the ship jolted sideways. Jon reached instinctively for the kid, wrapping his arms around his skinny frame as the force hurled them both to the floor. He crashed, and Al landed on top of him.

  Swearing, Jon gripped the boy’s shoulders, intending to toss him away—he wasn’t in the business of protecting anyone these days—but another shock hit the ship, flinging them across the room. This time they came to rest with Al beneath him.

  Jon stayed still, waiting. Al wriggled, but he ignored the movement. If the ship was hit again, the floor was the best place to be.

  “I can’t breathe.” Al’s voice sounded weak, and a small hand pushed between them and shoved at Jon’s chest.

  After a minute when nothing else happened, Jon levered himself up slightly. For the first time he really studied the face beneath him. The gray eyes, the irises circled in black, thick dark lashes, creamy skin, the small nose, and the wide mouth. Something wasn’t right. Closing his eyes, he breathed in and allowed his other senses to take over.

  When he looked again, the new knowledge must have shown because Al’s eyes widened with panic. He wriggled again, but Jon held him still, his hands curved around a narrow waist, then slowly he pressed his hips down. Shock held him immobile.

  Al shoved hard. This time, Jon didn’t try to hold on. Instead, he watched through narrowed eyes as Al twisted from beneath him and scrambled to his feet.

  “I have to go find out what happened,” he said, his tone breathless, and then he whirled around and vanished through the door.

  Jon sat on the floor, his back against the wall and watched as the “boy” disappeared. Though one thing was for sure—Al was no boy. He remembered the curve of her waist, the feminine cradle of her hips. She was also older than the fourteen or fifteen years he’d first guessed. He shifted in the too tight pants, frowning at the unfamiliar ache in his groin. How long since he’d allowed a woman to affect him that way? Too many years to remember.

  Jon dismissed the thought. It was none of his business what or who Al was. He just wanted off this ship. Preferably before someone blew it into tiny pieces. At least the attack appeared to have stopped. He pushed himself to his feet and glanced around the room.

  “Shit.” His dinner was on the floor.

  …

  Alex hurried down the narrow corridor, but when no more blasts hit the ship, she slowed her pace and finally came to a halt.

  Holy Everlasting Life.

  Her heart hammered against her rib cage, but she was aware it had nothing to do with the attack. This wasn’t fear racing through her blood. Her body tingled where he had touched her, and the imprint of his fingers burned at her waist.

  Closing her eyes, she pictured Jon as he’d appeared when she opened the door. His huge body hardly covered with that tiny little towel. She swallowed and wiped her clammy hands down her pants. Her breasts ached where she’d bound them tight beneath her shirt, and she had to resist the urge to run her hands across them. What would it feel like if Jon…

  She was a sick woman. There was no doubt, and she should probably fall down to her knees and pray. But she didn’t want to pray.

  He’d been so big and bulky with massive sloping shoulders, a lean ridged belly, and long muscular legs. His shaggy hair had hung down to his shoulders, a blend of dark brown and gold, the colors repeated in the stubble on his chin and the smattering of dark hair over his chest.

  And when he’d fallen on top of her he’d felt hard. Everywhere.

  Had he known?

  He’d certainly spotted something he hadn’t been
expecting, and she’d seen the shock in his eyes. They were beautiful eyes—amber with thick lashes. Skylar had told her Jon was an assassin, but nobody with eyes like that could be really bad.

  Alex forced herself to move on. She needed to get to the bridge and find out who’d shot at them. Was it the Collective? Had they found Jon already?

  When she reached the bridge, the rest of the crew was already there. Only the Trog was missing, but then he never left his engine rooms unless the captain gave him a direct order. No one paid Alex any attention as she edged into the room.

  As usual, Janey was busy on her console, tapping away with her perfectly manicured fingernails, ignoring the rest of the crew. Daisy sat in the copilot’s seat, watching the others and twirling a strand of long green hair that had come free of her ponytail.

  Rico’s long, lean, black-clad figure lounged in the pilot’s chair. Skylar stood beside him, matching in her black jumpsuit and knee-high boots. One hand rested possessively on Rico’s shoulder, the deep purple ring he had given her sparkling on her finger. They scanned the monitors while Tannis, the captain, paced the floor, her hands jammed in the pockets of her tight black pants.

  “Great, just great,” Tannis muttered, not quite under her breath.

  Rico rolled his eyes. “Get over it.”

  Tannis scowled and jabbed a finger at Skylar. “You do know this is all your fault, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Skylar snapped. “And you know how I know? Because you already told me. Lots of times.”

  They glared at each other; both were tall women and they stood eye to eye. A quick stab of jealousy poked at Alex, and she tried to stretch a little taller. Not that it would do much good.

  “Well, do something about it,” Tannis growled.

  “Like what?”

  “Like do that mind-reading thing with your Collective friends and persuade them to hold off blowing us into pieces.”

  “I have.”

  “And?”

  “And whoever that ship is out there”—Skylar waved a hand at the monitor—“they’re not Collective.”

  Rico swiveled around in his chair. “What? Are you sure?”