Hunter's Rise

by Shiloh Walker

  “A school,” she said again, leaning in and pressing her lips to his. “I can handle a bunch of schoolkids.”

  Kel sighed, skimming a hand back over her hair. “It’s not just the kids I’m worried about. But they can be mean sons of bitches nowadays.”

  “They’ve always had the capability to be mean,” Angel said. She brought up her hand, resting it on Kel’s chest. “Listen, I’m not some tough vamp who can leap tall buildings in a single bound, and I may not grow fur once a month, but I’m not exactly helpless. You know that.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s Superman who leaps tall buildings, Angel.” Kel closed his eyes, lowering his head to press his brow to hers. “I know. Shit, if you were helpless, I’d find a way to keep you from going, even if I had to tie you up while you slept.”

  Angel laughed. “Baby, if I was helpless, you never would have fallen for me anyway.”

  “Hmmm. There is that.”

  Across the room, Rafe eyed them, debated on interrupting, but then Sheila caught his eye, nodding subtly toward the door. Rolling his eyes, he slipped out of the office along with his wife. “I still need to talk to her,” he muttered. “And they are in there cuddling.”

  “You’re just jealous. You still have all those big, bad boss things you need to do and I’m going to have to hit the sack soon. You wish you could be cuddling right now.” Sheila smiled, hooking her arm through his.

  He stopped and spun her around with enough speed that she crashed into his chest. “Who says I can’t cuddle?” he murmured, dipping his head and slanting his mouth over hers. He pulled her close and whispered against her lips, “I love you, Belle.” She was his belle… his southern belle, his lady… his only love.

  “Hmmm.” She hummed under her breath and opened for him. “You better be careful. If you go getting all mushy on me, I’m going to drag you to our room and you won’t finish that talk with Angel… and you’ll feel better if you do your hovering.”

  He stiffened, slowly lifting his head to glare at her. “Hovering?”

  “Yeah.” She patted his cheek, an impish smile on her lips. “It’s cute, though. Big, broody, bad Rafe. Worrying about sending his people out.”

  Behind him the door opened. Still glaring at his wife, he stepped back. “You’re a brat,” he said, keeping his voice pitched low.

  “Yeah. I know. Go on. Finish your… you know.” She made a shooing motion at him.

  Resisting the urge to grin, he turned back and saw Kel standing with his hand on Angel’s shoulder and a grim look in his eyes. He met his vampire’s gaze first. “She can handle this, you know,” he said quietly.

  “Shit, I know that.” Kel skimmed a hand back over his short, dark hair and then glanced at his wife, his thumb stroking over her flesh. “She can probably handle it better than I can.”

  “Probably?” Rafe and Angel said it at the same time.

  Kel grimaced.

  Shifting his focus to Angel, Rafe said, “We’ve gone over everything.” Angel didn’t sleep much— he thought she might need even less sleep than he did— and they’d spent most of the night getting her ready. They were doing this in a rush, even calling in tech support— the computer geniuses back at Excelsior had hacked into the school system’s computer records to get the transfer in. Everything looked all nice, legal, official. Another hacker with serious skill might be able to uncover the deception, but it would take some doing. The Hunters had some of the best tech, and the best minds, around.

  Rafe wasn’t waiting to do this the slow way. Not if there was any shred of truth in what Tor had heard.

  “Stop worrying, Rafe.” Angel tapped her brow. “I got it all up here.”

  He’d been able to let her use her psychic gift to connect their minds, and what he wanted her to know, she knew. It was locked in her mind. No forgetting it, and no need for notes or anything else.

  Her abilities far surpassed anything he’d ever be able to do, as far as the mind went— although he could seriously do without her having the ability to read his mind. Her gift had so many layers and complexities, it was bizarre, and he was just now starting to realize how useful she might be. No, not could be. Would be.

  “You’ll be careful.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he studied her face.

  Angel examined her nails. “Well, I considered just storming in there and demanding at the top of my lungs, Who is the fucking pervert responsible? Following up with a brutal one-on-one interrogation of every person I met, but I didn’t think that was the best way to handle this.”

  Sheila snickered. Then she slid a hand down his arm, linked their fingers. That gentle touch said a thousand things.

  Closing his eyes, he blew out a breath.

  He was doing the right thing. More, this was the best way to do it.

  Outside, he heard a car’s engine— too close to be anybody but the witch coming to collect Angel.

  Too late to back out now.

  And it wasn’t like he really had an option.

  “Stay safe,” he said quietly. “And find me something.”

  Angel gave him a smile. “Oh, I won’t find you something. I’m going to bring you back a damned gold mine. You’ll see. Just give me a few days.”

  CHAPTER 10

  T

  HE house was stuffy.

  It had that closed-up, stifled feel of a house that had stood empty for quite some time.

  It also had her scent.

  Toronto stood inside, his eyes closed as he breathed it in. Damn, she smelled good. For a long, long moment, he stood there, just wrapping himself in it… and wishing there was some other thing that had brought her to Memphis. Or maybe something that had led him to her outside of Memphis.

  Anything but this.

  “It is what it is, though,” he muttered, forcing himself to shake off the exotic, sensual spell of her scent. Opening his eyes, he took a long, slow look around. He was in the kitchen. There was a door across from him, and there was a scent-path right to it. He followed it and found that it led to a basement.

  That wasn’t where she was, though.

  Weird. That was exactly where he would have figured she’d go. A basement made the most sense for a vampire, after all. All nice and tucked away from the sun, less chance of catching rays through the windows as the shadows shifted and changed during the day. Easier to find the darker shadows.

  Still, this was a big house. There would be other places.

  She might be laying in wait for you, buddy. Just because the sun was up didn’t automatically mean she would fall down in a dead sleep. Plenty of vamps could stay up awhile after the sun breached the horizon, and she had some years behind her. More than enough to have developed some resistance to the heavy, heavy call of sleep.

  But each room proved empty and he continued tracking that scent-path through the house. It was on the third level that he finally found the next place where she’d stopped. A narrow, simple door tucked away at the end of the hall. He opened it and found a set of stairs that led up.

  An attic?

  What kind of fricking vampire chooses an attic to bed down in?

  He stared upward, not entirely liking the idea of climbing the steps one at a time— she’d have the high ground. Okay. So he wouldn’t take them one at a time…

  He tensed his muscles, leaped—

  And landed in a crouch at the top of the steps, braced and ready.

  It was something of a letdown to see… nothing.

  Just a brightly lit room painted a sunny yellow, with white trim. Simple blue curtains covered the windows. There were bookshelves tucked against the walls, and just more empty space.

  And… a closet. Frowning, he stared at it. It was against the northeast wall. Little sunlight would get in as long as the door wasn’t opened and then it wouldn’t be much. She was over a century old— she should be able to take a little sun. It was probably safe enough. But a closet?

  On silent feet, he padded across the floor. With each step, her scen
t grew strong. And his blood pulsed hotter, his heart raced faster. She was in there… he could feel her. In there. Tucked inside that coffin of a closet…

  Caution fell away as he reached the door and jerked it open with an almost savage twist. A bright slice of sunlight fell across the floor and he stared as it hit her hand. A brilliant, hot stain of red spread across her skin almost instantly. “Fuck.”

  He slammed the door shut. But with him on the inside.

  He’d burned her…

  Just a sliver of light managed to penetrate inside the gloom of the closet and it didn’t reach her with the door shut. Safe— she’d been safe until he opened the door.

  Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a small, powerful penlight and flicked it on. She hadn’t even stirred. Most vampires above the midlevel power range would wake up with that sort of threat in their immediate area. They’d wake up around him. Sunlight. Both. They might not be able to fight well, but they’d try. Stronger vamps could put more into it.

  Fuck, he should have been more careful… he hadn’t heard her stirring, should have thought—

  Enough with the should-have’s, he told himself silently. She couldn’t take sun. He’d fucked up. End of it.

  Guilt twisted inside him as she continued to sit there, silent as death and just as still, although when he shifted the beam of light toward her hand, he saw that the burn was already melting away. She’d burn easily, but that minor of a burn would also heal fast, as long as she’d been feeding regularly.

  Her hair, black and silky, fell around her shoulders. Crouched by her side, he reached out and caught a lock of it between his fingers, rubbing it back and forth. “I’m sorry,” he whispered softly.

  But there was no answer. Nor had he expected one.

  Fuck.

  Why was this woman getting to him so bad?

  C

  ONTRARY to mortal myths, vamps didn’t die when the sun rose. They just slept.

  And with sleep, came dreams.

  Her dreams were too often dark, and twisted. But rarely did they travel down this path… at least not for years.

  But even as Sylvia tried to pull away from them, she found herself more and more trapped.

  Trapped… and as the dreams pulled her in, it was every bit as much memory as dream, and they held her captive.

  “He’ll pay ya a lot. You don’t make as much money here as he’ll pay you.”

  Standing downwind of the grubby youths, she eyed the money. They’d followed her as she left home that evening, and to her surprise, one of them had approached her. They were young—too young. And someone was using them.

  One of them was a sullen little thing, with cruel, cunning eyes that watched everything. He kept watch as the other talked business. And he did know how to talk business. He held out money, brandishing it as though he knew how much she needed it.

  “Who is he?” she asked quietly, staring at the bills for a moment before looking back at the child.

  “You can find that out later.”

  His friend came up to mutter in his ear, shooting her a look and then glancing at the money, eyeing it like he wanted to grab it and run. But he didn’t, just moved back to his spot and continued to look around, quick darting little glances. A watchful, distrustful thing.

  “You gonna do it or not?” the other boy demanded. “I ain’t got all night.”

  She swallowed, trying to decide. Something inside told her that she should not do this. But if she did this job, she was that much closer to freedom…

  Already the boy held more money than she normally saw in one week, much less one night.

  “How much more money?” she asked, forcing the unfamiliar words out as she accepted the bills and tucked them away.

  He grinned at her, a knowing glint in his young eyes. Now both of them watched her and the knowledge in their eyes shamed her, hurt her deep inside. But she did not look away. She would do what she must. Staring at the boy in front, she waited.

  “He says that depends on how good you are. But he said he’d pay ya fifty dollars, at least. He wants you to wear the blue thing.”

  “Blue thing…?” she echoed.

  “Yeah. Like that. But blue.” He waved toward her silk kimono.

  She glanced down and then back up, nodded. “I accept his offer.”

  “Good. I’ll come back. Take you to him later tonight.”

  As the two boys turned away, she thought of the money he’d given her, and the money she would earn. He had given her twenty dollars. And later, he would give her fifty more. It was the most she’d earned since she’d been forced to turn to this.

  Forced to sell her body. All because of a lie. Sold the promise of a happy, better life.

  With an apprehensive look around, she took a few of the bills and stashed them in the small slit she’d made in one of her sleeves. Soon it would be enough money that she could run… she could be free.

  T

  HE dream shifted. Trapped in the prison of her body, trapped by the sun, Sylvia longed for the freedom to weep. To rage. Even to simply wake. But all she could do was relive those days from so long ago.

  … free… I’ll never be free…

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think he’d try to keep you. He…”

  She did not look at the boys standing on the other side of the bars. Bars—he’d locked her behind bars.

  Now those two boys were there, and while the quiet one remained ever silent and watchful, disgust and distrust still in those young eyes, the other one cried. “I’m so sorry.” He paused and swiped the back of his hand under his dirty, runny nose and continued to watch her with beseeching, sad blue eyes. “He’s never tried to keep a girl before. He just wants to fuck ’em and then he lets them go.”

  “Please leave me alone.” She sat on the floor, wearing nothing but the cotton shift one of the maids had brought her, and it barely covered her bruised, battered body. She had nothing now. She hadn’t her clothing, hadn’t her money, not even her dreams of freedom from her “husband.”

  “I’m sorry,” the boy whispered again.

  His friend grabbed his arm and tugged, whispered softly, “We have to go before he catches us.”

  “I can’t. I have to tell her…”

  “You have to tell me you are sorry,” she said, pinning the boy with a hard stare, ignoring the other one. Rage throbbed inside her. Rage over what had been done to her. Rage over what would still be done. The man who had raped her would do it again. She’d seen it in his eyes… in his cold, cold eyes. He was a man who liked to hurt. She could live with that. She had been hurt in many ways over the past two years.

  But she had never expected this—to be locked away. Like an animal. Deep inside, she knew she would never leave this place. Not alive. Her dreams of freedom, of having a life, they were all gone now.

  “You do not know what sorry is,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Lady, please…”

  She shook her head. “Do you know… I came to America two years ago. I came as a photograph bride. I was to marry a man who owned a shop.” A sad, bitter smile curled her lips. “He owned no shop. He was not even from Japan. I had been tricked, my family had been tricked. He has twelve of us ‘brides.’ And he makes us sell ourselves. I was saving up enough money to run away.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “I was almost there. My…” She paused, foundering for the unfamiliar word. “There was something inside me that tells me I should not listen to you, boy. That I should stay away. But I wanted the money, so I could go run away sooner.”

  Shifting her gaze, she stared at the bars. A prisoner. Completely and utterly trapped. “Now, I am more prisoner than ever.”

  A sniffle came from the hallway.

  “Do not cry in front of me, boy,” she whispered, shaking her head.

  A year ago, two years ago, she wouldn’t have dared speak in such a manner. But the girl she had been—that girl was dead. Through her lashes, she said softly, “Do not cry in front of me. Yo
u are the reason I am prisoner in this place.”

  “I know.” He wiped the tears away, leaving clean streaks on a grubby face. “I’ll find a way to get you out. I don’t care if it takes me years.”

  He stared at her, like he waited for something—absolution? Understanding?

  She had nothing to offer the little monster.

  Averting her face, she stared at the wall.

  “I’ll get you out. Even if it takes years. Even if it kills me.”

  I’

  ll get you out… even if it kills me…

  Sylvia came awake with tears choking her and the bitter taste of regret heavy on her tongue.

  Scrubbing her hands over her face, she groaned. “Why?” she muttered. But she already knew the answer to that. Seeing a picture of Toby was all it had taken— he reminded her so much of the boy who’d led her to the vampire. She’d spent those weeks hating him. But he hadn’t known.

  All those old memories, trying to choke her.

  That poor, pathetic kid. He hadn’t been a monster… and his determination to help her had killed him. Him, another boy, all because of her selfishness, her stubbornness, her anger.

  “No.” She slammed her head back against the wall and whispered, “You did that.”

  “Stop it. Shit, you have to stop this.” Shoving away from the wall, she went to swipe her hands over her face.

  That was when she realized it… she hadn’t noticed it right away because the dream had been choking her, keeping her from thinking. But she should have noticed it.

  There was a scent in the air— one that wasn’t her own.

  Warm. Male. Not new, but not old.

  Hissing, she jumped to her feet. That scent was on her. On her hand. That scent— the werewolf.

  He’d been in here. With her. Her gut churned and she stared at the floor. The strip of light coming under the door was nonexistent, even to her eyes. Night had fallen. Reaching for one of her blades, she caught the doorknob. Listening.