“She’d never invite me—” Rick began doubtfully. Mack knew the man would not like spying on Jaden. It would be nearly impossible for him to hide his presence from her.
“I’ll take care of it. Just be ready to leave.” Mack smiled into the phone, not bothering to say good-bye before hanging up. Shaking his head, he whispered, “I’ll take care of everything.”
* * *
Jaden couldn’t sleep, but she stayed in bed anyway. She sensed her uncle’s servants moving across the hall outside her bedroom. She felt them dusting, scrubbing, sighing, scrubbing harder. Their presence was one of the reasons she didn’t stay with Mack too often.
Unable to keep up the pretense of falling asleep, Jaden pushed up on the bed and glanced around in the pitch-blackness that surrounded her. Her shoulder shrieked and popped in protest. Gingerly, she rolled it, ignoring the pain the best she could. She couldn’t see in the dark, but knew she was alone.
Throwing the covers off her legs, she crawled out of bed. The sound of her footfall was muffled as she crossed over a thick Persian rug. Instinctively sidestepping a chair as she blindly moved thought the darkness, Jaden didn’t break her stride. Reaching out, she grabbed the heavy velvet drapes and gave them a stiff yank. The room was instantly blanketed in daylight.
Jaden blinked in the heavy rays, holding her hand before her face as her eyes adjusted. Turning away from the light, she felt the warmth of the sun on her bare shoulders. It outlined her, eerily casting her shadow over the floor in a long ghoulish stretch of distinctive darkness.
Jaden pulled absently at the string near her waist. It bound the silken pajama pants she had stolen from her uncle’s collection of unused clothing. Yawning, she winced as she stretched her hands above her head. Her body was sore from being thrown against the wall, although the aching was nowhere close to matching her injured pride. She couldn’t believe the strength of the arrogant vampire. And his speed. She had used some of her best moves on him and Tyr had been completely unaffected.
Jaden’s bedroom was decorated to her specifications—a large comfortable bed, a vanity and dresser, plenty of open space, and heavy drapes that blocked all traces of the sun when closed. All of her rooms were the same, with a small variant in design and color. Half the time she didn’t even know where she was.
Her uncle paid for everything, allowing her to work. Beyond her credit cards, of which she never saw a bill, she hardly carried cash. She didn’t even concern herself with money. She knew some of the jobs she pulled were paid for by injured parties and Mack kept all of it. The arrangement suited her just fine. Not once had Mack denied her a request. When he died, she was to receive everything—not that she wanted it.
Sitting before the vanity of dark wood, Jaden sighed in frustration. She leaned forward on her elbows, poking wearily at the bruise on her jaw. Already the skin was beginning to yellow around the edges. Suddenly, her mouth began to throb. Leaning into the mirror, she pulled down her bottom lip. Just along the edge were two distinct punctures starting to scab.
Jaden blinked. When she again looked at the mirror, a face glinted before her in the smooth reflection. She jolted in terror and her chair tipped back, knocking her onto the floor. Her aching back pressed into an uncomfortable combination of chair and carpet. Her breath came in heavy pants. The image had been distinct. It was Tyr. He had found her already.
In the following moments, she felt him next to her as he had been in the alley. His strong hands gripped her weaker flesh. She smelled the musk of his body. She detected the blood in his veins, thick with unspeakable passions, with lust, with death, with horror, and a never-ending need to take.
His eyes stayed with her, daring her to try to move, daring her to defy his will. She shook her head to whisk the image away. Tears came to her eyes. She was scared. Tyr terrified her. He was nothing like he seemed. She should have known his power the moment she saw him. It coursed through him—bold and taunting like its master. But he had tricked her somehow. He had masked his true self from her, making her believe he was young.
Pushing the unkempt waves of her hair back from her face, Jaden tried to calm her thundering heart. It was daytime. There was no way he could come for her now. She assured herself that it was just an illusion, a trick of her overtired mind. Unbidden, her eyes searched for his face again, looking at the arches above her, studying the wood grain for his features. A dark part of her wanted another glimpse, another rush of feeling—even if that feeling was fear. The fear was more real an emotion than the sweetest happiness ever could be.
When she saw nothing, and realized it was for the best if she didn’t, Jaden crawled from the floor. Her movements were labored as she righted the chair. Rolling her neck, she avoided looking at the mirror. The yearning inside her, throbbing with temptation in her lip, had to be ignored—like a recovering addict ignores the root of their addiction. She must not think of him. To do so would be to summon him to her. She knew enough of the enigmatic vampire to know that her imagination didn’t need any more fuel tossed onto its raging flame.
Had he been waiting for her in the alley? Had he known she was coming? Was that why he let his victim go so easily at her approach? Was it a trap?
“No,” Jaden reasoned. “It was a coincidence. I’ll probably never see him again.”
She didn’t believe it for a moment. Feeling as if whoever was outside her door had finally gone away, she closed the curtains and ambled back into bed. Her limbs sank down into the mattress. The tension eased its way out of her unmoving body.
Within moments the exhaustion brought on by the long night wore on her and she fell into a troubled sleep. But the slumber brought no rest, only erotically charged dreams of strong hands and tender caresses. And somewhere in the darkness lingered two dangerous eyes, glittering in blue enchantment.
Chapter Three
The consoling shadows of night were not so pleasant in the city. Bright lights from inside windows glowed like eerie suns through broken panes onto the hard asphalt. The yellow, green and red casts of luminescent billboards blighted the already pockmarked street. Cars sped past, honking everywhere until their loudness deafened the sensitive caverns of vampiric ears. The air was foul with rat droppings and smog and human sweat, stifling fine-tuned noses with their stench.
Some vampires loved the city—usually the young ones. They loved the blood, the flavor of life, the smell of existence. Tyr hated the city. He hated being around so many blood beings at once. He could block them from his mind easily, but he needed to search through them to find his indicium, his marked one.
Tyr picked up the woman’s scent at dusk, though her presence never really left him in sleep. His mind searched for his connection to her, waiting for the moment her thoughts were relaxed enough to let him in. For a brief time, his dreams had found her and he had awakened motionless in the confines of his coffin. Now, he streamed through the maze of endless buildings with ease to get to her.
Tyr had to admit she intrigued him—as much as he could be intrigued after so long. In all his many years roaming the earth he had seen many things. But never had he been begged to end someone’s life that was not already eaten away by human illness. This dhampir was strong. Her strength and power flowed aromatically through the sweetened perfume of her blood. It was blood he would enjoy drinking.
And, unlike many of her kind, she was not completely run down. Often the dhampirs he found were mind-numbed on mortal drugs—unable to take the gifts they had been given. They were moody and raw, passionate and reckless. He was sure his indicium would possess some of these traits. She did, after all, seek out death. But the fact that she resisted the pull of degradation meant she was to be feared by his kind. She would be strong and determined in her purpose and, to vampires, she would be most lethal.
Tyr had detected her honed skills, even before turning around in the alleyway to acknowledge her intrusion. He knew she was a hunter, trained to go after his kind. That was why her total defeat piqued his interest
. For out of all the vampire clans, he was the most adept at dealing with a dhampir. He had judged, had punished, had read into more vampire-mortal children than any other.
Stopping beneath a large stone building, Tyr ignored the doorman who vied for his attention. With a brief, absent wave of his fingers, he ended the man’s half-spoken inquiry. The doorman turned away and stood once more at his post, completely unaware of the large stranger standing only a few feet away.
Tyr’s lips curled into a cynical smile. His cold gaze traveled over the building, showing little interest in what he saw. He clearly perceived the gargoyle stories above his head. He knew this place well. He had scouted it out upon first arriving in the city a couple weeks earlier.
Tyr frowned. Why hadn’t he known who the dhampir was? He should have sensed it. His frown did not last as curiosity again pulled within him. Jaden and Alan MacNaughton were the main reasons he found himself in the city. He was sent to watch them and to judge.
The tribal council already had several complaints about Mack MacNaughton. His ‘business’ dealings were well documented amongst the tribes. He would’ve been killed years ago, if not for his shifty ways. He surrounded himself with vampire hunters and it was well known that his apartment complexes, along with his many houses, were highly secure against the undead.
Such things did not frighten Tyr. Although younger, less skilled vampires had a right to be anxious. Many had tried to kill Mack and just as many had failed. Yes, Mack MacNaughton’s reputation preceded him. All Tyr had to do was to clarify and confirm the reports for the council. Nevertheless, it was not solely Mack who Tyr was sent to investigate. It was his niece.
Jaden was more of an enigma. There were many reports of her killings—very numerous compared to other dhampirs. Yet there were just as many reports of her leniency towards the vampire race. With so many conflicting accounts it was debated as to what they should do with her.
During her early years, Jaden’s progress had been tracked. But as she grew, Mack kept her hidden away within his fortresses. When she emerged, she was a lethal killing machine—but with a benevolent mercy? It was unlikely.
Usually he wasn’t bothered with such mundane cases involving mortals. Their lives ended so quickly that they rarely gave vampires pause. The council had been content to wait on making a decision about Jaden, but that was until two months ago. A report had come from New Orleans that Bhaltair was dead by the girl’s hand. It seemed the girl was finally going to take after her uncle. That was when Tyr had been summoned.
New York was a city infested with undead problems. He had a whole list of vampires he was supposed to pay a visit. Most of those on that list no longer existed. The MacNaughton’s were the only mortals.
Old enough to control his blood hunger, Tyr hadn’t eaten. Waiting patiently, he scanned the upper levels of the apartment building, moving his gaze from window to window until he felt the strongest pull.
A slow smile formed on his mouth. How lucky for him that his marked one was also the one he needed to speak with. It was an amazing chance of fate that his task was made all the easier by circumstance.
With a skill born of centuries of experience, his body dissolved into mist. His fog clung to the side of the building, curling over the sun-bleached stone. The movement took little effort, merely the will of his mind that it should be so.
He swirled high above the ground, his body becoming elongated and small so as to fit in the crack of Jaden’s window. He slipped from behind the heavy drapes unnoticed, his body solidifying in an instant as the mist gathered and grew.
His eyes adjusted to the pitch-black room. Tyr could smell the heady scent of her on the air. It was a strange mix of cinnamon and spice—exotic and old. It reminded him of the Turkish temples of long ago.
Through the darkness he saw her form beneath the thin layering of sheets that covered her bed. The satin molded over her body, the smooth material caressing every muscular curve. Her face was softened as she slept, hiding the hardened stare of her jade eyes. Briefly, he wondered why the mystical orbs hadn’t been in the accounting of her. When he thought of the dhampir, it was the first thing that came to thoughts. Asleep, she looked so soft and feminine. He wanted to touch her, see if her skin would be as silky as the sheets that cradled her, but he resisted the urge.
He crossed through the room silently, his feet making no noise as they pressed over thick Persian carpet and hard wood. For as rich as she was, the room was amazingly bare of finery. Tyr detected the faint scent of old sweat on the air, knowing she must use the space to exercise more than sleep. It would make sense. Most of her kind were known insomniacs.
Tyr made his way over to the bed. Lightly, he sat next to her. The mattress didn’t shift. Beyond her bedroom door was silence. His hand crossed over her form, keeping distance between their skins, as he urged her face to turn to him. It did without protest. A mumble escaped her lips.
His ears picked up the steady beat of her mortal heart. So easily could he reach into her chest and pull the organ from her. His sharpened nails would cut her flesh with the ease of a knife to warmed butter. She would be dead before she had a chance to gasp in horror. No one would stop him, question him. He could deliver her heart to the council and tell them she was judged. They wouldn’t care. But Tyr didn’t make a move to harm Jaden. In all the centuries since his human birth, he had never unjustly ended an assignment just for the sake of ease. As a human he was bred with honor. As a vampire he was bred with prudence.
As he watched her, his fingers drifted before the softness of her breath. He allowed time to slow and flicker. He felt the sign her life hitting his palm in soft puffs of stirred air. He let the sound of it fill his ears. Her breath caught around his fingers in a tickling caress. His skin tingled and prickled at the warmth.
Her dreams were so angry, so violent and full of a false conviction he didn’t feel in her depths, as if it was a trained response she had hammered into her brain over the years to convince herself of a purpose. It contrasted the numb pain she buried from the world—maybe so well that she didn’t even realize she carried it.
He looked at her bared arms stretched beneath her head. His fingers dipped to touch her honeyed cheek. Instead he denied himself the pleasure of her sleep-warmed skin as he hovered his hand above her. So corpselike were his tapering fingers, his extended white nails. The sight of them didn’t bother him as they had long ago when he was first made one of the benighted children of darkness. The vague memory of his rebirth was more of an impression than it was an actual tangible thought.
Curling his pale hand into a light fist so that the nails scraped his palms, he withdrew his fingers. With a small wave, he parted the drapes behind him. A thin thread of light passed over the room.
“Miss MacNaughton,” he whispered matter-of-factly. His face revealed no compassion, only reflected a passionless well. It wasn’t so much the sound of his voice that stirred her but his nearness that he allowed her to feel. Tyr knew he could’ve kept quiet, letting her sleep, letting her dream. He wanted to lie next to her, listening to the fragile beat of her heart and the soft fall of her chest. It was the basest of rhythms—the song of a human.
Tyr’s face remained an impartial mask as her eyes fluttered open to meet with his. He knew the instant the jade orbs recognized him. He sensed the deep hatred she harbored for him, and for herself, before she shaded her gaze beneath the sweep of her lashes. He didn’t move, watching and waiting for her to speak. Somewhere deep inside he longed for her to smile at him, to laugh as she said his name. No one ever smiled at him willingly. No one ever laughed with him anymore.
Tyr wasn’t disappointed when her lips refused to curl up for him. He hadn’t expected them to. He waited patiently, eternally still as the lashes lifted and the jaded eyes continued to glare at him.
* * *
Jaden sighed. Within the canvas of her dreams, her fight with immortality dissipated into air. Her fist turned from a ball of anger into a gentle stroke
of kindness. Her fingers searched the darkness, eager to feel and be felt. A hand brushed over her face, not touching her skin. The fingers were old, but looked so young. Her cheek turned to lean into it, but the hand always stayed just beyond her reach. With a jolt, the hand disappeared into a mist. She was awake.
Jaden’s eyes found the source of her disturbance. She blinked heavily, waiting for Tyr to disappear as he had in the mirror. The fog of her dream faded. He remained. Her heart fluttered with caution. Her breath caught. She was outraged to find the insolent creature could be leaning so casually next to her. And in her uncle’s home, no less.
“You’re a surprise, Miss MacNaughton. Had I known it was you in the alleyway I wouldn’t have left,” he said sardonically.
Jaden shivered at the use of her name. It rolled effortlessly off his tongue, mechanically efficient and precise. If not for the slight movements of his lips as he spoke, he would’ve looked like stone. Jaden knew that this vampire might act and feel as hard as rock, his skin may be as cold and unforgiving, and he might even try to crush her with his very whim, but he wasn’t stone. He was a killer—an undead virus sent to plague humankind with his disease. And, like a psychopathic mass murderer caught up by the hand of justice, he deserved a swift and final execution. The ghost of a smile wafted on his features as he read the analogy in her thoughts.
Glaring at him, she said, “Get up and get out of my mind.”
Tyr bowed his head, a mocking gesture of acquiescence, and gracefully stood. There was a melancholy in his languid movements as he backed away. He kept his eyes steadily on her.
“How did you get in here?” Jaden asked, annoyed. She threw the sheets off her body with a rough toss. Self-consciously, she tugged her white tank over her stomach. “You must be a true imbecile. Do you know what this place is? You’ll be killed.”
The Jaded Hunter Page 5
