The Hunted

by L. A. Banks

  With a glance, his nails buffed and any traces of dirt and blood vanished from his being. He wiped his face with his hands to remove the shadow of stubble that had begun to sprout on his jaw, and ran his fingers through his hair to instantly bring about the well-groomed image, then ran his tongue over his incisors until they retracted. He didn’t care about the stunned expressions of his wardens. If he was gonna go out in a black box, then let it be with style. Some dignity.

  “Where’s the casket?”

  Her head jerked up. She drew in a deep inhale. Erotic reflex to the scent slowly lowered her lids. They’d found him.

  A quiet ache of anticipation traveled through her. The low purr emanating from her chest echoed off the lair walls. She had to go to him, but how? Frustration became an angry roar, muscles tensing. She walked out to the lair’s narrow ledge.

  If he only knew how long she’d waited for him. Just one male Master had been made for this region—then fate conspired to bring an embarrassment of riches to her territory. There had been two of them. And because of one foolish little girl, they had both perished on the same night. It had been a travesty. An obscene waste of valuable resources. This Neteru had to die a swift and awful death for the offense.

  No one could ever fathom how the loss of hope had nearly strangled her, because who knew when the vampires would begin to re-populate the region properly? With a civil war going on, it could have been decades.

  But, then again, survival of the fittest has been the way of the world since the dawn of time. She chuckled low in her throat and stopped pacing on the narrow ledge. The street rogue, not the bourgeois, had survived. Perhaps the young girl had actually assisted her in discovering which male was the more worthy mate? Ironic.

  She cautioned herself not to be hasty. Capturing prey was a combination of stealth, strength, skill, but most essentially, patience. To be truly effective, one had to get in the right position and wait for the open opportunity to pounce.

  Maybe this girl was useful as bait? The Neteru had mobility, could lure him . . . It didn’t matter, as long as he came to the right territory. From that point, nature—basic vampiric instinct—would finish the transaction. Promiscuity was the foundation of their nature.

  However, there was one thing for sure: even injured, he exuded a level of charismatic power unmatched by his predecessor. It was the rough edge and raw strength that she loved best, the bit of male animal just under the surface blended with his sense of swift justice . . . as well as his affinity for strategic vengeance. The fact that he was an extraordinary physical specimen was an added attribute that could not be denied.

  She let out a long, satisfied sigh, then breathed him in again. She had to hand it to the council. Their craftsmanship was superb when it came to developing empire builders. He was perfect.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SHE’D SLEPT as long as she could, but then had to get up. The visit with Inez had made restful sleep impossible, but she wasn’t sleeping that much these days anyway.

  Damali glanced around her bedroom. What was the point in trying to keep the illusion going that there was a way to make oneself safe? As long as the world was at war, there was no place to hide.

  They’d done the best they could to gild her cage: wonderful private bathroom within the suite of her private sanctuary, her bedroom, that had been practically turned into a lush replica of the Garden of Eden with plants everywhere, Moroccan tiles on the shower wall, and a gorgeous slate-framed Jacuzzi. In fact, each room within the guardian compound, except the weapons room, was like a veritable museum, filled with comfortable appointments and beauty all around, designed to take the sting out of spending so much time behind its walls. But just like comfy chairs and art couldn’t totally take the sterility out of a hospital, art and a game room and whatnot sure didn’t make the compound feel like any less of a fortress.

  Sitting up slowly, Damali pulled herself out of bed and hurried through a shower. She snatched on her jeans and a top with purpose, not even taking the time to really labor over whether the combination matched. She had things to do.

  “Yo,” she said on a yawn as she entered the kitchen and saw Rider, Jose, and Big Mike. She didn’t wait for a response as she bent and began rummaging in the refrigerator.

  A series of disgruntled “Good mornings” followed her greeting. That always bothered her. Hunting vamps and demons had put them on the predators’ schedule. They got up out of bed late, like shift workers, and went to bed at dawn, just like vampires. Crazy. In the process of her mental battle, she spotted just what she wanted. A beer.

  Damali stood and shut the door, and saluted Rider with the brew when he gave her a concerned glance. “Just trying to bite the snake that bit me.”

  “Which one would that be?” Rider asked, his gravelly voice holding tension as he watched her screw off the cap and take a healthy swig.

  “Cheap wine after a Red Stripe.”

  Rider shivered, made a face, and smiled. “Will do it every time.”

  “They serving cheap wine in the vamp clubs these days, D?” Jose’s detective-like question had come out quietly as he took a slow sip of coffee.

  “No. Can call the vamps a lotta things,” she said, amused as she took another sip, “but tacky isn’t one of them.” She knew Jose was trying to get all up in her business about where she’d been. He was right, too, about the wine. She wouldn’t have bought cheap wine at a club. His intense eyes followed her around the room as she sat down across from Big Mike.

  “Don’t you think you need to have breakfast, first?”

  She glanced at Big Mike, then leaned across the table and pecked his cheek. “Got cereal in a bottle, just like Rider showed me.” She chuckled and turned the beer around and read the label. “It has hops and barley . . . hmmm . . . probably sugar—”

  “Rider, I told you about your ways,” Big Mike thundered, not amused. “After y’all eat, we need a weapons room meeting. Got a bunch of shit to get off my chest.”

  The threesome sat quietly peering at Big Mike’s back as he stormed out of the kitchen. Damali glanced down at her beer and then up at Rider.

  “Damn,” she whispered to Rider. “A beer could do all that? What’s his problem?”

  Jose stood fast, glared at Damali, abandoned his coffee cup, and followed Mike out of the room.

  Rider shrugged and clinked his spiked coffee mug against her beer bottle. “Guess it’s just us two heathens for breakfast this morning, kiddo.”

  “I’ve had enough,” Big Mike argued, his gaze holding each member in the weapons room for a moment before he spoke again. “For three days after the concert, we were on the run like we’ve never been—and I never said a word. Held my peace while we went underground to regroup, hiding in churches, mosques, temples, synagogues—any hallowed ground we could find.” He stared at Damali. “Then, I haven’t said a word for the last month, but I’m not going to sit here and watch my little sister self-destruct.”

  Damali let her breath out hard in frustration. “I’m not self-destructing, I’m polishing my skills.” She looked at Big Mike who was leaned against the door frame, then over at JL and Dan by the monitors for support. Finding none in their eyes, she bypassed Shabazz and Marlene who were sitting on stools on opposite sides of the room studying the floor, then over to Jose. His arms were folded as he sat on the sofa. Her gaze sought Rider for an ally as she plopped down hard on a stool and took another swig of her beer.

  “Listen, people,” Damali said carefully, setting down her brew on the edge of the table next to her Isis long blade. “We all got battlefreaked after doing Hell, right?” No one answered, so she pressed on. “If I’m supposed to be your so-called Neteru, then it’s important for me to get back in the hunt. I had to know that I could hang, could still bring it, still had some juice after that bullsh—”

  “Your language,” Marlene said in a fast snap, cutting her off. “Everybody’s language,” she said, standing and walking toward the table that held an array
of ammo. Marlene took the half-empty bottle off the table and walked back to a nearby waste can and dumped it. “Your attitude. Everybody’s attitude,” Marlene warned. “True, it is important for you to get back into the hunt. But it’s how you get back into the game that’s important.”

  “Mike’s point, exactly,” Shabazz said, his voice even, authoritative, and no-nonsense. “Marlene’s point. We may have physically regrouped, but we’re a long way from being straight—as a team. The vibe ain’t right.” He looked at each team member, then again held Damali’s eyes with his own. “You feel me?”

  “Yeah, I feel you, ’Bazz,” Damali said, her voice tight. “That’s why it’s time to get back on the road.”

  “What?!” Rider was off the sofa and now walking back and forth between the equipment table and the monitors. “Why in the hell would we—”

  “Because we have to pay some bills, Rider,” Damali said fast. When he stopped pacing and the others didn’t jump in to debate her, she continued. “You all know how much the electric bill is in here, not to mention the maintenance on a fleet of Jeeps and a Hum-V, the artillery, and what it costs to constantly develop new weapons systems. That doesn’t count what we normally spend on food, travel, your gig gear, or what have you. We need a few international venues now that we’ve done the Raise the Dead concert to keep the momentum going. I can feel it in my bones. Gotta make sure our CD goes platinum so we’ll have royalties long after we’ve stopped gigging . . . we also need the soft-drink commercials, anything that will repeatedly play our music and send in checks. Maybe even land a film deal, something that keeps us mad-paid. I’m not overreacting.”

  Vindicated by their silence, Damali folded her arms over her chest. “Yeah, I’ve had a lot on my mind. Look around this joint and tell me our other sources of income? It ain’t just the battle that’s got a sistah stressed—it’s the reality that, if for some reason the money gets funny, I have to know we can stay alive with or without all the electronics and the barricades.” Her gazed raked Shabazz hard. “Now, do you feel me?”

  “I may be the only non-musician in the group,” Dan said after a moment, ending the standoff, “but Damali is right.” He glanced around nervously toward the elder guardians in the group. “I do promotions. We can’t afford to let this thing cool down, no matter what we’ve been through. While we were getting our heads together, I’ve been keeping the media wolves at bay.” He sighed. “I told them that we were on a temporary hiatus so we could work on breaking out some new sounds, told them that the mysterious phenomenon called Damali was working on new cuts . . . it was bait for Entertainment Tonight, Rolling Stone, People magazine. The phones have been jumping, and I’ve tried my best to—”

  “See,” Damali said, opening her arms. “Stress!” She looked at Dan. “Thank you, Dan, for making my point. Of all people in here, the newest guardian understands what time it is.” She watched him glance away, flattered but a little embarrassed by the compliment. “Book us wherever you can, tell the lesser venues we’re gearing up for a world tour. I don’t know where I want to go, but put some feelers out, Dan. I just can’t sit around this compound much longer. I’ll go nuts.”

  “Done,” Dan said quickly, but his glance shot around the room.

  Marlene nodded. “The utility companies don’t wanna hear a long story about how we saved the world and that’s why their checks are late.”

  “I know this was the last thing you expected after your bar mitzvah, Dan,” Rider said, his glare sweeping to Dan, then back to Damali. “Just for the record, none of us signed up to be a guardian. We got the short straw in the grand cosmic equation. Dig? But, I’m ready to roll, if that’s what we’ve gotta do to keep the lights on.”

  “I want—”

  “Damn what you want, Damali!” Shabazz shot up from his seat and swung his arm toward Marlene and pointed at her. “I’ve got a bad vibe. We can feel it.” He snatched his arm back and folded both of them over his chest. “I’m traveling with precious cargo. You’re grown now, and need to dig it.” Then just as suddenly as he’d spoken, he fell silent and walked back to his stool, sat heavily, stared at the floor and rubbed his jaw as though he’d said too much.

  She felt the entire team bristle, and Marlene hadn’t said a word. Big Mike and Rider had looked away. What the hell was going on?

  “Eventually, I want a concert in every continent,” she said again, taking her time to speak firmly. “I want us to hit every place that we know there’s a topside master vampire still running shit. We’re supposed to clean out master lairs, one by one, vamp territory by territory, taking down second levels and thirds after we hit the mast—”

  “Are you nuts?” Jose shook his head and stood up to leave. “I’m not taking you anywhere to get yourself killed. Let’s stay in the States for a while, since we know Nuit is history.”

  For a moment, the whole group stared at him. It was something about the way he’d said what he did, had personalized it a little too much. Damali shook off the uncomfortable feeling. Yeah, after losing Dee Dee, it made sense that Jose wouldn’t want to take his little sister anywhere that might be crazy. That had been the main reason she wouldn’t let him hang out with her. If he saw where she had been going, what she was doing every night, he would flip.

  “Jose,” she said more gently, “sooner or later, we have to go after the rest of them. The longer we wait, the more time the vamps have to regroup and get stronger. Just like with the music, we have to keep the momentum going.”

  “Yeah, D, but, we don’t have to rush headlong into danger all the time. We’re all only human, and need a break . . . need some time to just live life a little.” Jose’s eyes held a request in them that she couldn’t comprehend, even though his words made total sense. “Damali, sometimes—”

  “—A man needs to pick the right time to drop something on a sistah,” Shabazz said quickly. The tension in the room was so thick now that you could cut it with a knife. Shabazz’s comment sliced right through it. “Now ain’t the time, little brother,” he said, his tone even but gentle. “I ain’t trying to risk nobody in here, either.”

  Damali looked at Shabazz, and noted that Marlene remained conspicuously silent. All right. She could appreciate Jose trying to stick up for the older couple, who, of all the members of the team, had the most to lose—namely each other. She could definitely appreciate that now. Damali nodded, ran her fingers through her locks, and sat back down.

  “It’s instinct,” she said, her tone no longer holding the edge of rage. “You all said fighting evil was in my blood, and, yeah, it’s personal.” She let her gaze go to each team member and linger there. “Should be for everybody in here, truth be told.” She didn’t mention the name that no one had uttered for the last month, Carlos. Then she glanced away and studied her blade.

  Damali picked up her Isis. “I’m tired of running, tired of wasting time fighting lower-level vamps . . . I won’t be right till I go big game hunting.” She stared at Madame Isis, getting lost in the beauty of its jeweled handle.

  Seven stones, each a different color of the metaphysical chakra system: ruby at the base of the handle, followed by golden topaz, emerald at the heart level, sapphire, blue topaz, amethyst, and crowned by a large diamond, spaced perfectly to fit her hand. The beauty of the weapon, an instrument of sure vampire death, mesmerized her. It always did, and she kept it close to her like a security blanket. The warrior, Isis, fought a demon serpent intricately inlaid with gold and silver at the head beneath the jewels. She wondered if the ancient warrior had won. The blade was magnificent. Damali ran her finger down one of the blood grooves imbedded in the three blades that came to a sharp point on the end, capable of opening a wound in a vampire’s heart shaped like a crucifix.

  Deep contemplation overtook her as the team remained silent, watching her. She wondered how something like this had come into her possession along with the fate to bear something so majestic. But the weight of the responsibility that came from owning it was
no joke. This was no way to live. She also didn’t want to be psychoanalyzed anymore. Her first ripening had passed. She wasn’t afraid, just tired. She was sick of all the team histrionics about what could happen. The worst already had, as far as she was concerned. She’d already been hurt to the bone by the underworld—Carlos was dead.

  Damali finally looked up. Her gaze went to the group’s motherseer. “Put some new feelers out for where we can gig, Dan,” she said, no room for negotiation in her tone. “Can you handle it?” She waited for his slow nod then stood. “Anybody who doesn’t want to go doesn’t have to. But I’m out.”

  No one moved, except Jose.

  “Wherever you wanna go, D . . . I’m down,” he said quietly. “Wanna go get some real dinner ’round the way?”

  “Yeah, Jose,” she murmured, coming up to him and slinging her arm over his shoulder. “Let’s get outta here.”

  Humans were always so very careless, she mused, savoring the bitter taste of black blood on her mouth. How ironic that a simple chalice filled with a seemingly dead substance could render unfathomable power.

  The night felt like a missed lover, the freedom of being topside beyond comprehension, especially under this particular moon. The taste of succulent human flesh, the thrill of the hunt, while exhilarating, bore no comparison to the rush that power offered.

  She stretched her long legs, loping toward a tall tree, and in two feline strides ascended to a high branch. She narrowed her gaze on the blue-black terrain, laughing to herself as she thought of the expressions on the faces of the humans she’d gored in the mountains. This was her land, her territory, all poachers beware. She opened her mind to sense for danger, her instincts as sharp as her fangs. Then she felt him.