by Liz Meldon
“Ah.”
“I shouldn’t even be talking to you,” she added as she moved back to her chair, trying her best to inject some much-needed ice in her tone. “It’s unprofessional.”
“Of course,” Claude said as she went for her burger again. It had fallen to the ground earlier, but by some miracle was still on the foil wrapper. As she lifted it to her lap and started reassembling it, she heard Claude clear his throat. “Well, my apologies for all…this.”
Despite her salvage attempt, Delia didn’t actually bring the burger to her mouth. She sat there like a fussy child, pushing pieces of bun and hamburger meat and pickles with mayo on them around, unable to look up at him.
Why was she feeling guilty? She ought to be angry—indignant, even—that he would do this to her. He was nothing more than a one-night stand, one that had gone straight to hell the second he sunk his teeth into her. A good hunter wouldn’t have engaged in conversation at all. A good hunter would have sent the vamp packing the second he arrived, not carried on chatting like they were something they weren’t.
But Delia wasn’t a good hunter—that much was clear. If she had been a good hunter, she wouldn’t have made so much noise when she first arrived. She wouldn’t have gotten caught tonight. She wouldn’t have suddenly found herself feeling something, something that made her stomach tight and her heart flutter, for the man who had been a constant figure in her dreams all these months later—a man who, since the night at the masquerade, had only tried to have a civil conversation with her, despite her accusations.
“Look, thanks for the burger,” she said, studying it, each word a chore to get out. “I was getting kind of hungry, and it was nice of you to think of…”
When she finally had the courage to look up again, Delia found herself on an empty rooftop.
“Oh,” she muttered as her gaze swept the area, focusing hard on the shadowy corners. “You’re gone. Okay.”
Easing back down, Delia glanced at her laptop screen briefly before going back to her burger, doing her best to ignore the sinking feeling settling over her.
At some point during their conversation, ketchup had dribbled onto her loose white t-shirt, probably from the burger, and Claude hadn’t once pointed it out.
Perfect.
CHAPTER 4: That Dream Where You’re Standing In Front of The Class Wearing No Pants… Yeah, That, But Worse
“And as you can see, the outcome as rather grisly…”
Somewhere at the front of the room, the image changed on the screen, causing the one source of light to briefly flicker. Delia, all the way at the back, tried to lean around the head of the hunter in front of her. She would have loved to see what was happening, but she’d arrived late to the meeting, Kain hadn’t saved her a seat, and the seat Devin had tried to hold for her was currently occupied by Candace Sweetman, secretary for the High Council, who shouldn’t even be here. She’d had a thing for Devin for a few years now, and he was too nice a guy to tell her to fuck off, so Delia was stuck sitting with Ali at the back.
Ali, who had been pinning wedding gowns and bouquets and decorative plates to her Pinterest board on her phone since the meeting started, totally oblivious to the subject matter of the presentation. Even if the statuesque blonde hunter could see over the guy sitting in front of her, it wasn’t like Delia could ask her what was going on.
She could hear, of course. Even sitting behind some seventy hunters, the majority of the in-house hunter staff in Harriswood, she could hear everything crystal clear. Don Wentworth, tip-top of the League hierarchy and head of the High Council, led the presentation today—apparently it was that important. In a dark assembly room with hardwood floors and off-white walls and a snack table at the far back, Delia and all the other hunters had learned that the Donovan clan had broken the rules on the night of the human trades. While Delia had spent a boring night on a rooftop trying to stop feeling guilty for rejecting Claude’s dinner date offer, Donovan vamps were hijacking and brutally murdering a busload of Warwick-owned humans.
Police had found the bus with all the bodies yesterday, almost a week after the human trades had happened, with Donovan insignia carved into a few chests and foreheads.
“Now, the Warwick clan didn’t bring this to us directly because they wanted to handle it internally,” Wentworth continued at the front. Ex-military everything, Don Wentworth had a booming voice and a jaw that could cut glass—and always had a way of making Delia feel about two inches tall whenever he berated her for fucking up one thing or another. While she wasn’t a fan of the guy, she had a healthy respect for his authority within the League power structure. Seated in chairs facing the hunters was his quartet of underlings: Erik Lechowicz, George Heston, Callum Green, and Davis Warren. Together the five made up the upper echelon of the Harriswood League, the High Council.
Each North American League had such a council, acting as the highest of authority, only subject to the council that presided over every League, until its members were no longer physically or mentally able to carry out their duties. When one of the High Council was no longer fit to serve their League, a new hunter was voted into power. Rumor had it that Wentworth was grooming Kain for a position already.
“Unfortunately, this is a matter we cannot let the clans handle themselves,” Wentworth said. Delia tried to inch up as much as she could without actually standing. “While we discuss the best strategy going forward, we will be increasing the number of hunters on patrol every night of the week.”
The announcement caused some murmuring throughout the crowd. Contrary to what the newbies thought, patrol duty was about as boring as surveillance duty. But with the spike in both vamp and human deaths in the last few months, maybe that was about to change.
“Sir?” Delia stood, heart hammering. Where this sudden burst of bravery came from was beyond her, and she felt her mouth go dry when dozens of heads swiveled in her direction. Wentworth peered out into the dark room, his narrowed eyes eventually landing on her.
“Miss Roberts?”
“If you’re looking for volunteers to take up extra patrol shifts, I’d be happy to offer my time,” she told him, pleased with how even she managed to keep her tone. All the hungry new hunters were probably chomping at the bit to pick up extra shifts, and she wasn’t about to let the guys who planned the weekly schedules forget she existed in favor of new blood.
Whispers erupted around her. Nothing obnoxious, but the room wasn’t silent for long, not even as Wentworth cocked his head to the side, his salt-and-pepper hair catching in the light of the projector.
“Someone’s a keener,” Ali teased, and when Delia shot her a look, her friend smirked impishly and went back to her phone.
“Miss Roberts,” Wentworth started, and she straightened up as nerves danced through her like little pinpricks. “Thank you for the interruption.” Delia felt her cheeks darkening. “Should we need someone to mind the car, I will seek out your expertise.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said weakly, settling back in her chair before her legs gave out. A few chuckles broke out around the room. Ali grinned, but Delia assumed it was because of the stunning wedding dress on her phone screen. Kain, on the other hand, was absolutely laughing at Delia, and she glowered at him a few rows up, visible between the heads of the people in front of her. Devin was lost in the crowd, but she knew at least he wouldn’t get a kick out of Wentworth embarrassing her.
“You gotta treat scheduling like you treat a cat,” Ali told her, eyes still glued to her phone. “If you ignore them, they’ll shower you with love. If you pester them, they’ll take a swipe at your face.”
Delia pressed her lips together, face burning with embarrassment, and said nothing.
The rest of the presentation carried on as if she hadn’t just been verbally flogged in front of her coworkers, but Delia didn’t hear much of it. She sat there with her head in her hands and her elbows digging into her knees, counting the seconds until it was over. They had moved on from the Donovan
attack anyway—something about HR changes and new forms everyone needed to fill out.
As soon as the lights flicked back on, Delia tried to shoot out of the room—only to find herself stuck at the back of the herd. Everyone just ambled toward the door, chatting and laughing and discussing what was happening with the Donovans. Kain pushed through to reach her, smirking as he invited her to the bar tonight since neither of them were working, but Delia waved him off as she cleared a path, no longer caring if she stepped on toes along the way. Behind her, over the din, Kain called her name a few times, but she didn’t stop moving until she reached the elevators, and even then, she was a ball of anxious energy.
Anxious, angry energy, stuck there in an elevator packed full of hunters. A hunter sardine can.
Wentworth probably got off on humiliating her—the more people watching the better. Today’s jab was nothing new.
Once they had reached the top floor, Delia made a beeline for the exit. Even when she was finally outside, the whispers of sunset playing across the sky, she didn’t stop walking. No, she pushed on, not really paying much attention to her surroundings, trusting her feet to get her home, wondering if something was subconsciously pushing her closer and closer to career suicide.
The crosswalk light eventually forced her to stop amidst the post-work office crowd, and Delia let out a long, irritable sigh at the feel of her phone vibrating in her bag. At first she ignored it, but halfway across the intersection she pulled it out, temper prickling at the thought of Kain reaching out to poke more fun at her.
Instead, it was a text from Devin. She stepped out of the foot traffic by a shop window and checked the message. Sometimes just seeing his name was enough to talk her off the ledge.
Wentworth would have chewed any of us out if we pulled a stunt like that. You know he hates when people interrupt his stupid speeches. Don’t let the man get you down, girlfrand.
Unable to keep from smiling, she sent him a quick thank you text loaded with heart-eyed emojis. It was nice of him to say, of course, but Delia knew for a fact that if Kain or any of his buddies had stood up and said something, Wentworth would have applauded their initiative.
Gripping her purse strap tightly, Delia trudged on, no longer angry—just frustrated and disheartened.
It would be easy to stop trying. She’d checked out in high school when a class didn’t interest her. College was also a bust, with Delia struggling to pick a program that felt right. She had just stopped showing up to the few brainless part-time gigs she had before the League. Now that she was older and actually had a job that finally gave her a real sense of purpose in the world, she knew she couldn’t succumb to old bad habits.
She just needed a chance to prove that she was better than they all thought.
Although she could get home from HQ blindfolded, that didn’t always mean her feet chose the fastest route. Once she pulled herself out of her funk, Delia realized she’d taken a turn that wound up in the downtown school district. Harriswood had one elementary school and two high schools, one of which spewed out youths into the downtown area every afternoon. They clogged up cafés and shops and bookstores before going home, and many of the neighbourhood restaurants had a slightly unfair no-student policy enforced after a certain hour.
As Delia approached one of those very restaurants, an Italian place with a price point way out of her weekly budget, she came to a stumbling halt at the sight of an annoyingly familiar face. Excitement, fear, embarrassment—a combination of the three coursed through her body when her eyes landed on Claude by the entrance, surrounded by a group of equally attractive men and women. Given it was still daylight, she had to assume they were human, but since he could withstand the sun, maybe there was a vamp or two in the mix.
Maybe it was the woman with her hand on Claude’s arm, bicep area specifically. Delia’s cheeks physically ached from the way she flushed, and she hurried across the street, hoping he hadn’t seen her.
It was childish, yes, but tonight wasn’t the night for a run-in with Claude Grimm. To his credit, she hadn’t heard a peep from him since she’d rejected his advances on the rooftop last week.
Yet it made her feel absolutely ridiculous to be so affected by his presence—from a distance, even. As she passed the restaurant across the street, using a group of women in pencil skirts and heels to hide behind, she spared a quick look his way. Claude wasn’t looking at her. In fact, he was holding a car door open for the woman who had been touching him, chatting animatedly with her before laughing.
The suit he was wearing was so perfectly tailored…
Delia shook her head and picked up her pace, quickly disappearing around a corner. Once Claude was out of sight, she let out a breath and carried on a little slower, her heart pounding in her ears.
She barely made it one block away before something else caught her eye, something that set her heart racing again—but for another reason entirely. Across the street was a high school girl, still in her drab uniform, walking along with her earbuds in and phone in hand. Roughly ten feet behind, a very obvious vamp prowled after her. With the position of the high-rises around her giving him adequate shade, she wasn’t sure if he was impervious to the sun like Claude, but he was a pale fucker who was practically drooling as he followed the girl.
This was what a hunter did on patrol. Wander the streets of various sectors around Harriswood, always on the lookout for inappropriate vamp-human interactions. Sure, vamps could feed a certain number of times each month, but that was tracked through the clans. Given the disheveled look of this one, he probably didn’t belong to anyone.
But it never hurt to ask. The stake in her purse gave her confidence as she darted across the road, walking toward the man with her shoulders back and her head up high.
“Excuse me, sir?” Delia called, hopping up onto the curb. He looked to her, eyes wild and bloodshot, mouth set in a crooked line. His clothes weren’t from this century by any stretch and had definitely seen better days. The teen carried on when Delia came between her and the vamp, stopping him in his tracks. Disgust crept up her throat as his eyes wandered up and down her body. His gaze wasn’t sexual—just hungry, probably how she would look if she were eyeing a mountain of chicken wings at the bar.
“Hello,” the vamp croaked.
“I’m going to need to ask you a few questions,” Delia told him as assertively as she could. “Do you have your clan ID on you?”
The question sent him running. He probably hadn’t just taken off as soon as she approached because she was a woman in a plain green tee and slightly too-tight jean shorts. Vampire hunters were all leather and trench coats in the movies. Her flats weren’t meant for running, but Delia did her damnedest to keep up, weaving around the bewildered people on the sidewalk as her lungs burned with exertion.
If he’d had the proper ID, by law Delia would have had to let him go. However, lawless, homeless vamps weren’t allowed to roll into town and pick off whoever they wanted. Vamps without clans implied vamps without rules—they had no accountability to anyone.
So Delia chased. The vamp dashed across the road, back in the direction of the restaurant where she had seen Claude, but Delia was only barely aware of where they were going. Her gaze was fixed to his back, determined not to lose him, and she dug a hand into her purse when he darted into an alley between a theater and a multi-level clothing store.
Much to her surprise, he stopped only some twenty feet from the sidewalk, and Delia slowed, removing her stake and pressing the little button to elongate it. It clicked into place in her hand, and she tried not to let her gasping breaths seem too obvious. She was a fine runner, but this guy was fast.
“If you don’t have clan ID, you’re going to have to come back to headquarters with me,” she told him, flexing her grip on the metallic stake. The vamp studied her for a moment, then broke out into a broad grin.
“No.”
“That’s the law—”
“You stole my breakfast,” he barked wit
h a nod toward the street behind her. “Come here and make it up to me.”
She should have fished out her phone and called for someone, anyone, to assist—but there was no time. He might be ten seconds away from bolting again. Besides, this could be her moment. After being humiliated in front of her peers, Delia could walk back into HQ with a potentially dangerous killer in her hands, stake pressed to his back in line with his heart, and someone would have to acknowledge her efforts.
“If you come with me now, I won’t have to force you,” Delia said, advancing on the vamp slowly. Stake up, poised at the ready, she did a quick sweep of the area for anything he could grab to use against her. Some trash. A plastic bag. A pile of broken bricks from when the clothing store did renovations—potentially problematic.
But really, she didn’t even need to worry about him picking up a weapon: his hands were two of the best weapons out there—and he used them when he swung first. She did her best, diving and bobbing and swiping her stake at him. But the vamp was faster, stronger, and before she knew it, he had her pinned to the wall of the theater, slamming her head against the stonework. Spots flickered across her line of sight briefly.
“One solid minute of fighting,” he mused, one hand pinning her wrist to the wall while the other pushed against her throat. One minute? It had felt like a lifetime. His body blocked her free hand from getting at the stake in the other, and hot, foul breath washed across her neck as he added, “You must be your League’s top recruit.”
She struggled, teeth gritted as she utilized every part of her body to resist him—to no avail.
“Now, now,” the vamp murmured, forcefully turning her head to the side to expose her neck, “I won’t take long. Longer than our fight, but I’ll be in and out before you know it.”
Warmth bloomed to scalding heat when he opened his mouth, and Delia tried to kick out, only to find his heavy body gave her legs limited movement.
