Hunter's Rise

by Shiloh Walker

  “You were tortured,” Angel said quietly. “By a monster.”

  “We’re all monsters.” Sylvia curled her lip.

  “Not all.”

  “You actually believe that.” She stared at the woman, wondering if there had ever been a time when she’d been like that. This woman actually believed there was something good inside those who’d ceased to be human.

  “Yeah. I do.” Rocking back on her heels, she shook her head. “If you were just a monster, you would have spent the past century or whatever you’ve got under your belt killing. Hell, you would have come after me earlier. But you didn’t.”

  Angel shifted her gaze past Sylvia’s shoulder, staring at the door. “You want to find Pulaski, you’re going to have to face something from your past. You up to that?” Then she turned. “I need to go. This will be easier without me here, I think. You don’t want me seeing all the shit that’s going to go through your head, and you’re not going to be able to block it out.”

  By the van, she paused. “Tor’s on his way. You got maybe a half hour. If you don’t want him seeing you when you find it, you better hurry.”

  “Find what?” The question came out in a faint whisper. Sylvia had no doubt the woman heard. But Angel apparently wasn’t in the mood to answer.

  Looking back at the house, Sylvia stared at it as foreboding wrapped her in its icy, slippery arms. Suddenly, she wanted very much to run. Forget the damn contract, forget that she’d given her word. Forget about the way Toby’s face haunted her. Forget her damned job and just disappear. Spend a few months relaxing on some night-dark, warm beach and sleeping the days away.

  Face something from your past…

  What in the hell was she supposed to face?

  Walking up the steps to that house was one of the hardest things she’d done in quite a while, and she didn’t even completely understand why. It was an empty house. She wanted to tell herself it was because Angel had gotten her worked up. This was just a house… that was all, right?

  Set on a knoll overlooking the river, made of wood and glass, it should have been a pretty sight. Huge windows dominated the place and in the daylight, all of that glass would sparkle under the sun. At night, a person could look out one of those many, many windows and stare at the expanse of the sky and stare at the stars.

  Looking at it made her think of hell and suddenly, she wanted to wait for Toronto. She didn’t want to go in there alone. Not at all.

  Brainless idiot—you’ve known him two days? Three? And now you can’t seem to even walk in a house by yourself.

  Tugging out one of her blades, she whispered, “It’s not that I can’t.” She just didn’t… want to. Angel had gotten to her.

  But it wasn’t going to stop her. Neither was the stink of vampires, blood and painful death— it clung to the house, a nasty miasma that felt like it was sinking into her very pores. Ignoring it, she stood in front of the door and steadied herself, braced herself.

  She could do this.

  Hell, Angel could even be wrong. The worst part of her past was dead… Harold, the man who’d made her, was dead. The bastard who’d tricked her into coming to America was dead. The boys… yeah. They were gone, too— that poor, brave little fool who’d tried to help her, and his friend.

  Just what was left that could haunt her?

  “Quit stalling.”

  The door was locked. Her fingers trembled as she pulled out her lockpicks and went to work. It took nearly three times longer than it should have and by the time she heard that telltale click, she was almost ready to just break the door down. Yet as she pushed it open, she knew that would have taken more than just a kick or two. The door was too heavy— reinforced. Eyeing the doorframe, she saw more telltale signs there. Somebody had done some serious work here.

  Vampires hadn’t just settled down here for a night or two. This was a home to one, a safe place.

  The reinforced door was just one sign. The walls were reinforced as well, and although there were all those lovely windows, the outer rooms were small, long and narrow, almost like a walled-in wraparound porch. Moving deeper into the house, she studied the inner rooms taking up most of the space— none of them had windows. A weird layout… unless the owners had issues with sunlight.

  Once those outer rooms were closed, a vampire could wander these inner rooms all day long and not have to worry about burning. Assuming, of course, the vampire was strong enough to rise during the day. Sylvia usually didn’t rise more than an hour or so before sunset.

  A whisper of power still lingered in the air. Whoever had lived here was stronger than she was— strong enough that the buzz of his power still hadn’t completely faded.

  There was a familiar scent, too, one that tugged at something deep inside her. Familiar, but not— she couldn’t quite place it.

  Strangely, it made her hurt, although she didn’t know why. It hurt, and it made her want to run. Then get this done—get it done and you can run as fast as you want, all the way back to Memphis if it will make you feel better. With that promise to herself in mind, she continued through the house, peering into rooms, searching for whatever it was Angel seemed to think she’d find here.

  Boxes were neatly stacked in many of the rooms. Packing up. Or packed, rather. The boxes just needed to be moved.

  She poked through a few of them, frowning. Books. A lot of them. Movies. Upstairs, she found more boxes— this time, it was clothes, neatly folded away.

  Making her way back to the lower level, she stood there, breathing in the scents. Blood. Death. Not fresh. Where? Aimlessly, she roamed through the house, tracking it to where it was the strongest. In the hall. But nothing had died here—somewhere else…

  Frowning, she studied the table placed at the end of the hall, just under a mirror set in an old oak frame. That mirror… oh, no. No. A fist grabbed her by the throat. Shit. Shit, no—

  “W

  HAT do you think of my guest wing?”

  Sada tried to jerk away from his hands—she could get away. She could. Up the stairs, and then through that hidden door… the mirror. It had been behind the mirror. She did not remember much, but she remembered that, through the blood and the pain and the humiliation.

  But his hands were so strong. So cruel and so strong. Memories flashed through her mind—those hands, ripping away the silk of her kimono, holding her down. No… she could not think of that now—she had to get away, had to…

  J

  ERKING her mind back to the present, she closed her eyes.

  It wasn’t the same mirror. It wasn’t.

  And he was dead.

  She’d planned to go after him— had even gone so far as to hire out for more help, because she knew she couldn’t take the man who’d made her. But he’d already been killed.

  Rumor had it he’d been done by one of his own vamps— somebody else he’d made. It was sweet justice in Sylvia’s mind, but one she’d wanted for herself.

  The mirror. Shit, that mirror… it couldn’t be his.

  Face something from your past…

  Setting her jaw, she stormed toward the table and threw it aside. It hit the wall in the room to her right with a crash, the crystal vase on it shattering into shards. “It’s nothing. You’re freaking over nothing.” She lifted a hand… and felt a faint draft.

  Closing her eyes, she swallowed.

  No.

  She lifted her hands, feeling along the wall behind the mirror. When her questing fingers hit a small notch, she could have screamed. Instead, Sylvia pushed.

  The door of the hell house where she’d been made had opened with a rough, grating noise— the sound of stone rubbing on stone. Here, there was barely anything, just the soft, almost inaudible whine of electronics whispering inside the wall.

  As the mirror and the false wall disappeared into a recessed area, lights came on, illuminating the stairwell.

  And the stink of death, blood and pain grew stronger.

  Sylvia sagged to the ground, star
ing down those steps.

  T

  ORONTO brought Sylvia’s bike to a stop at the start of the driveway. The scent trail on the drive had gotten faint, but it wasn’t hard to figure out they had stopped here.

  After all, Angel was parked there in a van, sitting in the open door with one knee drawn to her chest and a smile on her face.

  Toronto hadn’t even completely stopped the bike when Kel was off and moving. Good thing, he figured. This way, Sylvia wouldn’t see he’d had somebody riding on the bike with him. While Kel was busy kissing his wife, Toronto let himself take in the night… and he didn’t like the feel of it at all.

  Tension gathered inside him, edgy and hot, tightening his muscles, sharpening his senses. Things were getting ready to happen. He could all but taste it in the air.

  He slanted Angel a look after Kel finally let her come up for air. “Kid, you know Rafe will have your hide if he knows how much you’re poking around in things.”

  “I’m not worried.” She moved her shoulders in a lazy shrug, her fingers toying with the front of Kel’s shirt. “Besides, this mess is connected. I can almost see it my head.”

  “I already figured that much out.” Toronto flashed her a wide grin. “And I’m not psychic. You losing your touch already, sugar?”

  She stuck her tongue out at him. “Hey, I just gave your girlfriend a very big piece of the puzzle, Tor. You should say thank you and go find her.”

  “What piece?” He shifted, trying to see through the trees, but all he could make out was the bend of the driveway, what might be a house.

  “Head on up the drive. Find her. You’ll start to figure things out. And you’ll find him soon.” She pulled away from Kel, a wicked look in her eyes. “You know, you two have a long drive ahead of you. Maybe you should let us take the bike back. You all can have the van.”

  “She’d kill me— just have Lindsey head wherever with it. I’ll call her… make plans to meet up later, if you’re that certain we’ll need it.” Catching a hank of her hair, he tugged on it and then he shot Kel a look. “Make sure you floss tonight, Kel— gotta take care of those fangs and all.”

  Kel stared at him balefully as Toronto took off down the driveway.

  “I

  DON’T like him touching you,” Kel muttered, wrapping an arm around Angel from behind and tugging her back against him.

  “That’s probably why he does it. He’s just messing with you.” She pressed a kiss to his arm. “He’s different. Head isn’t quite so… wrapped around himself.”

  Kel snorted. “He’s as self-involved as he ever was.”

  She made a face. “It’s not that. And he’s not exactly self-involved. He’s locked up in his past and can’t seem to cut those threads, but it’s not choking him the way it was. He’s seeing others better than he usually does.”

  * * *

  N

  ICE house.

  Bad vibes.

  That was all Toronto could think when he rounded the bend. Perched on the edge right above the water, it all but screamed money and power. It was also empty, except for Sylvia.

  She was in there, somewhere.

  And she was hurting. Pain, sorrow, joy and pleasure, all emotions had a way of scenting, coloring the air. And right now, the pain and fear was like a death shroud.

  Drawing one of his blades, he held it close against his body, ready. He was pretty sure nobody was here… but that ball-busting little bitch wasn’t going to let just anything push her to fear. He could shift if he had to, but that would whisper through the air, a silent warning— he didn’t plan on giving any warning if he had to attack.

  He ticked off the details as he went inside.

  The door wasn’t locked— that was probably Sylvia’s handiwork. Door built to withstand a tank, practically. Solid walls. Vamp house. Cleverly disguised. Shallow outer rooms, light-safe inner rooms. Nothing set up to look like a prison, either, the way some vamp houses were laid out.

  Whoever this was, the person had money, and he liked comfort.

  Toronto scented the air, but the only person who’d been in this house recently was Sylvia.

  And she was close—

  There.

  Sitting at the end of the hallway, staring down what looked to be a flight of stairs.

  Still as death, pale as milk. And trembling.

  “Sylvia?”

  She didn’t move.

  Closing the distance between them, he checked each room he passed— caution, caution… but there was nobody there, damn it. What the hell was going on?

  Once he reached her side, he touched her arm and waited until she raised her eyes to his. “Sylvia, baby, what’s wrong?”

  Her gaze lifted to his, and he saw something he knew very, very well… the shadows of old ghosts. Sighing, he slid the blade he carried back into his sheath and then settled beside her, touching her cheek. “What hurts you?”

  “Toronto.” She blinked, a dazed look coming over her face.

  She frowned, shaking her head. “I didn’t realize… shit. Stupid. I’m not being careful.” She went to get to her feet, but he reached out, caught her arm. “Shit like this can get somebody like me killed.”

  “I think your body would have warned you if it had been somebody other than me.” He figured she’d pull away, but to his surprise, she didn’t. She closed her eyes and slumped over, burying her face in her hands. Shoulders bowed, she started to quiver.

  Shit. Don’t let her start to cry, he thought, helplessness flooding him. Stroking her back, he stared down the steps while the wolf in him started to growl and pace. Whatever it was that had hurt her, it was here. So he just needed to find it, tear it apart and everything would be better, right?

  “What’s wrong, Sylvia?” He leaned over, wrapping his body around hers and pressing his lips to the back of her neck. “You know… I can’t kill whatever it is until you tell me.”

  She made a strange sound, halfway between a laugh and sob. “I can kill my problems just fine on my own, thank you.”

  “But I’ll feel better if I kill whatever’s hurting you.” He nuzzled her neck. “And you can watch.”

  “You can’t kill memories.” She sighed and lifted her head, staring down the stairs. “I was made over a century ago… in a place far too like this.” She shifted her gaze to the side and the haunted look in her eyes tore at his heart. “Made, then locked away, starved for the first few months. You want to know why I’m weaker? Why I can’t take sunlight? The bastard who made me crippled me. It wasn’t enough that he tortured me, that he raped me, that he stole my life… he had to make me so weak, it was a miracle I was able to survive as long as I have. Those first few months, I didn’t even feed once a week.”

  Rage snarled through him, tearing into him with jagged, poison-tipped claws. He’d hunt… and he’d kill—

  “There’s a mirror,” she whispered. Swallowing, she eased away from him and stood up, beckoning until he came to stand beside her.

  And he watched as she pushed on the side of the door. When it slid out, they were staring at what look like a wall, one that held a mirror. Beside him, she jolted, like she’d been jabbed with a silver blade.

  “He had one like that. It hid a room, as well. That was where he kept me for the first few months. While he starved me.” Her lashes swept down, shielding her eyes from him.

  “Who?” he demanded. The bastard had known what he was doing— depriving a newborn vamp like that was no different than depriving a human child. It weakened them.

  Yet she’d survived. Pulled through and made herself a fighter in her own right.

  “Who in the fuck was it?” he growled when she didn’t answer right away. He had to know, because he was going on a fucking Hunt right now— no. Shit. He couldn’t right now. Pulaski had to be dealt with. A child killer couldn’t remain free, but then, he’d go on a Hunt and that was all there was to it.

  But he needed a name. Or a city. Something. He could go further back and pry into th
e details of her past without her help, but it would make it easier…

  “He’s dead.” She slanted a sad smile at him. Reaching up, she touched his lips. “Were you going to track him down and do bad things to him, Hunter?”

  “Yes,” he growled. He caught her wrist and pressed a kiss to the inside of it.

  “Doing your job?”

  “No.” Now he bit the soft pad at the base of her palm, then tugged her close. “I want him dead because he hurt you, tortured you, he did something he knew would damage you and he left you with fear in your eyes even after a century. I don’t like seeing you afraid.” He closed his eyes and shoved the rage down. It couldn’t help now. She was wrestling with memories. She needed him to be a nonasshole, so he could help her with that. Taking a deep breath, he faced the mirror again. “Somehow I don’t think seeing a mirror would put you back in this spot.”

  “It’s the same mirror.” She grimaced and reached up, touching her fingers to it. “It’s the same damn one, I’d swear on it. And the way he used it to mark the area he hid— it’s the same. Even the mechanism to open the door. I knew the moment I saw it.”

  She swallowed and the sound was painfully loud. Stroking her back, he studied the mirror— he could break it. Easily. Even if he did believe in luck, what was seven years to a werewolf, right? “Perhaps one of his people.”

  “Yeah. He liked making vamps.” The echo of pain lingered on her face as she rubbed the heel of her hand over her chest. “He liked torturing them even more.”

  She sent him a sidelong glance. “There was a woman there… for a while. She smelled like Angel. He killed her not too long after he changed me. I remember the smell of her blood… it was… like a drug.” Pausing, she took a deep, steadying breath. “A strong, powerful drug. If I could have gotten out, I don’t know what I would have done.”

  “Gotten out.” Still staring at the mirror, he processed that. Easier to look at the mirror than her— if he wasn’t looking at her face, seeing that fear in her eyes, it was just a little easier to control the fury raging inside. “He kept you locked up.”

  “Yes. In a room not much bigger than a closet.” Shooting him a quick glance, she moved away, shoving her hands through her hair before linking them behind her neck. “For the longest time, after I was away from him, I spent months, years running. Finally, I found a place to stay… a house I’d bought in Massachusetts. I made my own vamp room. Nothing fancy— just a simple, inner room with no windows and a door that faced north. And I stayed there. I left long enough to feed. Then I went back. All I wanted to do was feed and hide. Feed… and hide. Forget about those months with him.”