Night Hunter

by Vonna Harper

  “No,” she’d retorted. “Just my body.”

  She’d thought he might laugh and agree. Instead, his form had begun to shimmer and grow less distinct.

  “What’s happening?” she’d demanded. “What’s wrong?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “How can you say that? Of course it does!”

  Instead of responding, he’d shrugged his unbelievably well-honed muscles. Then, slow and fading, he’d sent her another message.

  “I need to get back. Learn what they want with me.”

  “No! It’s dangerous,” she’d insisted.

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “How can you say that? You don’t know what’s going to happen…”

  “I’ve always taken care of myself,” he’d “said” as he faded into nothing.

  Laird Jaeger, stud to the max, was a loner. She might not be sure of much that had happened since she first spotted him and his motorcycle, but she had no doubt of that.

  Ralph Korn’s office wasn’t what she’d expected. Instead of something overflowing with arts and crafts in an older, funky part of town, the meeting took place in a third story, bare-bones office dominated by a state-of-the-art computer. As she soon learned, the computer contained a myriad of 3-D images of his clients’ work. She wasn’t sure how she felt about being considered a client. However, as they’d waited to be invited into the office, Sandy had assured her that that’s the way successful crafts’ people managed their careers these days. What better way to showcase one’s work than instantly and around the world via the Internet.

  “Jewelry shows particularly well this way,” Ralph explained as she stared at a slowly revolving image of one of her rings. “I took the liberty of inputting a number of your pieces for your portfolio.”

  Ralph, who Mala guessed was about fifty and reeked of spicy cologne, leaned close. She wasn’t sure his shoulder brushing hers was accidental until she glanced over at him. From the way he was looking down her cleavage, she knew it wasn’t.

  “You did this before I signed a contract?” she asked, determined to keep their conversation businesslike.

  He clamped a scrawny arm around her shoulder. He was so close she could smell his mouthwash in addition to the cologne. Her stomach rebelled. “Mala, Mala, let’s don’t play games,” he muttered. “You and I both know how hard it is to succeed as an independent jeweler. How many offers like mine have you had?”

  None, she thought but didn’t tell him. Instead, she looked at Sandy for guidance. However, Sandy only nodded from her position on the opposite side of the desk. Holding her breath, she straightened and stepped away from Ralph.

  “I appreciate this,” she said, although she’d dearly like to give the old fart a piece of her mind. “And you’re right. Enlarging my work and giving it a 3-D quality really shows it off.”

  Ralph pushed the five-page contract toward her. “This is going to be successful for both of us,” he said. His voice was too smooth, intimate. “Not only are you gifted, but I can market you along with your work.”

  “Me?” The thought of having to shake his bony hand made her slightly ill. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re an attractive young woman.” His smile nearly split his face. He’d gone back to staring at her boobs. “I’ve set you up with a makeup artist and a professional photographer. Those shots will be part of the package.”

  “I can’t afford—”

  “Let’s just call it my investment in you,” he interrupted. “Believe me, Mala, I know what I’m doing. You want to succeed, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Then let’s pull out all the stops, stack the decks in our favor. You should feel flattered that you’re a marketable commodity.”

  Much as she hated peddling herself, he had a point. Given the competition, she couldn’t just sit back and let her creations speak for themselves. He told her the time and place for the photographs, and she jotted that down.

  “And wear something that emphasizes your attributes.” He glanced up at her, then returned his attention to her breasts.

  “What a slime!” Mala exclaimed once she and Sandy were outside. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

  “Because I was afraid you’d back out.”

  “I wish I could, but he’s right. It’s either play in his ballpark or—why do things have to be like this? I just want to make jewelry.” At least that had been my number one priority before he stormed into my life.

  “We’ve had this conversation before. Do you really want to go at it again? Look.” Sandy pointed at a small cafe. “Why don’t we pop in there for some coffee to celebrate? Unfortunately, it’s a little early in the day for getting drunk.”

  Mala was wired enough that she didn’t need coffee, but after everything Sandy had done, the least she could do was buy her some of the mocha she was addicted to.

  “So you don’t think you’re going to take that dirty old man up on his not-too-subtle offer to let you jump his bones?” Sandy teased once they’d placed their order. “He’s rich.”

  “He also gags me. That cologne—”

  “You’ll notice there weren’t any bugs in the room. The smell knocks them dead.” Sandy turned serious. “You can handle him, can’t you?”

  “No sweat. I can outrun him.” She shuddered. “Does he think he turns me on?”

  “Guys like him don’t think beyond their penises.” Sandy sighed. “Still, I can’t help but feel sorry for him.”

  Mala nearly told her she’d lost her mind, then wound up agreeing with her friend. “Is he married?”

  “It didn’t come up. Look, I’d hate thinking I’ve gotten you into something that’ll make you uncomfortable.”

  “I’ll steer clear of him as much as possible. Besides, something…”

  “Something what?”

  Mala set down her cup and met Sandy’s eyes. She frantically searched for a way to start what wouldn’t sound like she’d gone over the edge, then decided she had no choice but to jump right in. “Something’s happened. I don’t know how to explain, how to start—how not to sound as if I’ve lost my mind.”

  “You’ve met a man.”

  “What?”

  “A man. You know. Opposite sex. It’s about time. I was delighted when you decided not to tie the knot with mister so-considerate-and-boring-he-makes-me-want-to-scream, but I was concerned you’d sworn off the aforementioned opposite sex.”

  “I did. At least I thought I had.”

  “Hm. Past tense here. What changed your mind?”

  Careful to keep her voice low so no one could overhear, Mala told Sandy nearly everything. What she seriously downplayed was Laird’s decidedly carnal impact on her. She said nothing about her heart, in large part because she didn’t understand what was happening to it.

  “I seriously don’t know what to say,” Sandy muttered when Mala ran down. “Can’t think where to start.”

  “Do you think I’m crazy? That I’ve made it all up?”

  “If I didn’t know you as well as I do, I’d have already called the men with the butterfly nets. All right.” Sandy raked her hand through her hair, picked up her cup, then set it down again. “All right. Let’s assume that every word you’ve spoken is gospel, why did you go back out there this morning? If it was me, there’s no way in hell I’d have anything to do with the joker with the motorcycle. It’s just plain too spooky.”

  “Laird isn’t spooky.”

  “Then what is he?”

  Maybe the sexiest, most compelling man on the face of the earth. He’s teaching me things about what my body’s capable of that I never imagined. “Lost. He can’t get back.”

  Sandy shook her head. “Oh boy. Oh boy. Wait a minute. Look at me.”

  Mala blinked. “What do you think I’ve been doing?”

  Ignoring her, Sandy took Mala’s face in her hands and peered intently. “Ah shit.”

  “Ah shit what?”

  “You’ve go
t that look.”

  “What look?”

  “Of a woman who’s been royally screwed.” Sandy shook her head. “How’d that happen? I thought you said he—that you didn’t really see him. That he was like this ghost.”

  Mala wasn’t sure what words she’d used.

  “Say something,” Sandy insisted. “I know that ‘I just had my brains fucked out’ look. I just wish I’d see it on my own mug more.”

  “He…he didn’t touch me. Not really,” Mala added lamely. Her face felt hot.

  “Well, that explains everything.” Sandy looked around as if assuring herself their conversation was still private. “What do you mean by not really?”

  Mala swallowed. Then, just as she was trying to find a way to back out of what she’d said, she remembered that Sandy was her best friend.

  “Maybe it’s mind control,” she admitted. “Well, not my mind, but I think you get the drift.” Just talking about what Laird had done to her, the feel of his bold and expert fingers inside her cunt, made her squirm. From the look on Sandy’s face, she had no doubt her friend understood.

  “He screwed you with—with whatever?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Shit. And you want a repeat performance, don’t you? Hell, of course you do. A woman would have to be dead not to. Look, I don’t want to hear any more. I envy you so much it isn’t funny. Oh shit! If the two of you actually do the deed, it might kill you, but what a way to go.”

  “If it happens, put on my headstone that I died happy.”

  “What headstone? There won’t be anything left of you except ashes.”

  Laird crouched at the edge of a pond filled with greenish water. He could barely make out his reflection, just enough to see his stubble. He felt hot and sweaty and itched from where mosquitoes had sucked at him. His feet seemed to have grown calluses overnight, allowing him to walk barefoot without discomfort. His hearing seemed keener and, even with all the vegetation, he had no trouble seeing the details of his surroundings. Even his muscles felt larger.

  He was becoming whatever Night Hunter wanted him to become. No, he amended, not just Night Hunter. The others.

  Laird stood and adjusted the only piece of clothing he now wore. He supposed the short, loose flap of leather was called a loincloth, not that it did that good a job. Earlier today he’d come across a bush filled with what looked like ripe fruit. Without questioning whether he’d get sick if he ate it, he did just that. Although the overly sweet fruit had briefly satisfied his hunger, his stomach now rumbled. He needed meat.

  Well, he’d discovered a knife on the path…as if it had been left there for him. He could hunt. And once he’d done that, he’d listen to the insistent message in his legs that compelled him to follow the path he’d come across to its source. It might take him to knowledge.

  It might also take him to a place of no return.

  Could he survive that? Granted, he often felt as if he was standing on the outside of his existence and looking in, but that was the life he knew. He had a job, a roof over his head, responsibilities and dreams. A brother.

  “Mala, listen to me. Feel me. Be part of this so I don’t have to go through it alone.”

  Although he wanted to tell her about everything he’d seen and experienced, his deepest and most uncertain emotions, he only reached under the loincloth and cupped his limp penis in his palm.

  “What happened between us is only the beginning. It can be more, much more. We both want that.”

  His penis stirred.

  “You think I’m the one doing things to you, but that isn’t true. I played with you, brought you to climax. Now it’s your turn to return the favor. To increase the bond between us.”

  His cock swelled to fill his hand.

  Sandy had walked to Mala’s car with her. Now they stood in the tree-shaded parking lot.

  “What are you going to do?” Sandy asked. “You’ve had your meeting with the dirty old man. Maybe you should go back to Naples. See if you can clear your head.”

  “Maybe,” Mala muttered. “My gosh, it’s hot.”

  “At least there’s a wind.”

  Mala wasn’t aware of a breeze. Thinking to unlock her car and get in, she pulled her keys out of her purse. Only they didn’t feel like keys, more like—

  “—about time. I don’t know why they hire such incompetent—”

  “What?” Mala interrupted. She was breathing too fast and couldn’t do anything about it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

  Laird’s blood-engorged cock was even larger than she’d imagined. Its weight in her palm left no doubt of its size. It felt warmer than her hand. She longed to test its texture and contours, to run her fingertips over his balls, but she couldn’t remember how to make them move.

  “—a diet. I don’t know how you keep it off. You weigh the same—”

  “What?”

  “I was paying you a compliment. Aren’t you listening?”

  She was trying to find the breeze Sandy had mentioned. If only the air would stir a little, she wouldn’t feel as if she had a fever.

  “You aren’t, are you?”

  “What?”

  “Listening to me,” Sandy insisted. “Oh my—it’s happening, isn’t it? He’s getting to you.”

  Laird wiped his blood-stained hands on a leaf. Killing the wild piglet had been easier than he’d imagined. He hadn’t known he could move that fast or sense where to bury the knife so death came instantly. However, without fire, he’d have to eat the carcass raw and he wasn’t—yet—enough of a savage for that.

  What would Mala think if she saw what he’d done?

  Had he gotten through to her?

  “Do you like to be on top? Maybe you want sex hard and fast. I think so, but I also think you haven’t had it like that very much. That man you almost married, with him sex was civilized and circumspect. Probably you didn’t scream when you came, if you came. You held back with him and tried to be a lady. I don’t want a lady. I want a woman. Lusty and adventurous. I’ll never sit on the sidelines or be civilized and controlled because I’m not that kind of man. When we have sex—and we will—you’ll know how I like it.

  “And I’ll know what you need. I’ll give it to you. I promise.”

  About to continue the discussion, Laird felt a sudden urgency that sent him down the footpath at a hard trot. He still gripped the pig carcass. After a few minutes, sweat ran off him. He wasn’t out of breath, just reacting to the humid heat. His thoughts tunneled down to what his legs were doing, and he felt proud of their strength.

  Nothing less than instinct told him when he reached his destination. Slowing, he walked around the last turn, angled around the last bush.

  The small village was set in the middle of a large clearing. He couldn’t tell whether the clearing had occurred naturally or whether the Seminole who’d made this their home were responsible.

  He heard children laugh and spotted a trio of girls sitting in a circle. They stopped what they were doing and stared at him when he approached, but didn’t appear either surprised or frightened.

  “What are you doing?” he asked. At first the words coming from sounded like gibberish. Then he realized he’d spoken in Seminole. How he knew that he couldn’t say. At least he could communicate. Without that gift, he’d be even more isolated.

  “Playing rock-rock,” the oldest girl answered. She pointed at the dead piglet. “You have been hunting.”

  “Yes. Are you hungry?”

  The girls nodded in unison. “I am always hungry,” the youngest said. “It is not a very big pig.”

  “No,” Laird admitted. Ignoring his grumbling belly, he handed the carcass to the girls. He thought they might demur, but they jumped to their feet and ran off toward a thatched hut that was little more than a leaf roof supported by logs.

  Looking around, he counted thirteen such huts. They’d been placed so close together that there was little privacy but probably the proximity of neighbors made the various families
feel more secure. There was a single, large firepit in the middle of the village. Despite the day’s heat, several pieces of wood smoldered. An elderly woman stirred something in a large, hollowed-out rock she’d placed at the edge of the fire. His stomach growled.

  Another sound caught his attention. He cocked his head in that direction, then recognized it as a drum being beaten. He approached the sound, his legs moving in time with the rhythm. Five men sat in a semicircle around another who was responsible for the drumbeat. The drum itself appeared to be made of animal hide tightly stretched over a circular frame.

  The men all looked up at the same time. Their faces were lined, their nearly naked bodies giving away their advanced age.

  “You have come,” one said to Laird.

  Chapter Six

  Damn him.

  Today was as clear as the day she’d met Laird had been stormy, not that Mala gave a darn. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have enough to do—namely decide how she was going to deal with Ralph and the dreaded photography session. But her own agenda obviously didn’t matter to Laird since he’d sent her a message with only one interpretation—namely that he needed to talk to her.

  Not that talk was the right word, she amended as she approached the spot along Alligator Alley where he’d had his accident. Conversation might enter the mix somewhere along the line, but she wasn’t in any mood for that until he’d taken care of other matters for her—matters that in all honesty hadn’t been all-consuming until now. In fact, during the three years she’d first dated and then been engaged to Jeff Brooks, sex hadn’t been a particularly important part of their relationship. Sure, she’d enjoyed slipping under the sheets with him, but she couldn’t once remember being wild to jump his bones or have him do the same to her.

  Today, her hot cheeks had nothing to do with the outside temperature. Neither did an undeniable heat centered in her crotch. Some people called, wrote, or sent email. Not Laird. Not that she minded all that much. After what passed for a sex life with Jeff, this torture constituted a real wake-up call. Not that she was there yet, but she had a better idea why some people became sex addicts.