The Hunted

by L. A. Banks

  She was insane. He loved her. He was the one that was crazy. “That’s no passion mark. It’s a real bite that might have killed you. Don’t get it twisted. Another pint and—”

  “Aw, relax. It was just a love bite.” She allowed her voice to drop to a low, sexy timbre. “This was only a passion nick, es verdad.”

  Yeah, it was true, but that was not the point. This wasn’t supposed to turn into a conjugal visit. He glanced around again, half waiting for the door to break open and a crossbow arrow to find his chest. “You’re crazy, and I’m taking you home.” She also needed to stop trying to seduce him with language.

  “Why? Por que, mi tesoro?”

  He looked at her hard. “Because you’re turning me on. Stop.” He couldn’t help telling her, it was the truth.

  “You sure you want me to stop, baby?” she murmured.

  “No.” His gaze traveled over her naked body, hovering at her petite breasts, the swell of her hips, and the way they tapered down into long, agile thighs. He looked back up at her intense eyes and the way open desire flickered in them, and for a second, he thought he saw a hint of gold. It did something to him, and he glanced at the steel door. “They’ll behead me if I go upstairs, and trust me, I’m in no condition to square off with anybody right now.” He lowered his gaze. “And, I broke my word to them.”

  “No you didn’t,” she murmured, coming to the edge of the bed. “I did.”

  He shook his head. Yeah, she was wild.

  “I was the one who seduced you, remember? I never promised them I wouldn’t deflower you.”

  “Girl, please,” Carlos said, mildly outraged. “You did not seduce me—or deflower me.”

  “Really?” She issued a lopsided smile. “You went for broke, brother . . . just like I did. Tell the truth. You’ve never actually punctured a living throat vein, have you?”

  He didn’t answer her for a moment. Her directness was embarrassing, stung his pride—he’d always been the teacher; she’d always been the student. He was the damned master vampire, not her. Now everything was upside down, and it messed with his head. She had been his first, he had the real hunger now . . . and he was faced with going back to cold bags of blood. This was beyond dangerous.

  “You made history though, baby.” She winked at him.

  He cocked his head in question.

  “Bet none of the masters ever delivered a bite on a Neteru, the millennium Neteru, at that, and lived to tell about it. And I can guarantee you that they didn’t make her sing four-part harmony in the process.” She studied her nails, mischief playing around her mouth as she did so. “Hmmm . . . guess you’re still da man. You got skillz.” She patted the cot and her tone suddenly became serious. “Come back to bed and finish what you started, por favor. Like you told me, why make us suffer? I’m bitten now, you already broke the skin . . . so . . .”

  For a moment he was speechless. She’d read his mind without using her gift; this thing that she’d just said, he knew came from oldfashioned female knowing. And it further endeared her to him that she would even care about his pride, would be so gentle with the most fragile part of any man—his ego. But he truly loved the way she’d put a grappling hook in his libido just by the tone of her voice and her devastating stare. Shit. How was he gonna say no to that?

  They both knew they were in trouble—she’d get her ass kicked out of the compound, he’d get a stake in his heart. Whateva. The night was young, and she was so damned fine. It was worth the risk, down to the last shiver. Let the chips fall where they may. If they were gonna exterminate him, this was definitely the way to go out.

  He walked toward the bed, knowing that was the wrong thing to do. She chuckled, leaned up, and willed him to bend toward her so she could kiss his cheek, and made him laugh. He relaxed and sat down on the edge of the bed, thinking of how long it had been since he’d truly laughed, truly felt joy. She looked so satisfied, so sexy, so positively tempting as she laid back and sprawled out before him in a generous offering so that his body stirred at the sight of her.

  “I should take you home before history repeats itself.” He sighed and rubbed the nape of his neck, and gave her a sideline glance. “I’ve already tasted you now, if we go there again, I’ll definitely bite you harder. Truth be told, I’m all fucked up, right through here at the moment.”

  He let his breath out slowly, trying not to let her see him begin to breathe hard again. Oh, man, this woman had almost made him hit the vanishing point by himself. If she kept messing with him, he’d turn her tonight, just so she could go there with him. They had to stop.

  “Can you actually turn into mist . . . or anything else?”

  He looked at the sly expression on her face and tried to ward off the shudder the question produced. She had no idea what he could do to her. “Don’t even go there,” he said, his voice low and husky. “If I shape-shift on you, by tomorrow night you’ll drop fangs.”

  She got on her knees and leaned against his chest. “Teach me everything you know,” she whispered, her voice like raw silk.

  “Can’t do that in one night,” he murmured with a smile, his finger tracing her cheek. Sheeit . . . he had centuries of knowledge at his disposal. She needed to stop playing with this.

  “Then I’ll take my lessons in nightly installments.” Her gaze raked down his body and lingered where it shouldn’t have if they were going to leave. “Why don’t we start with what you’d really want me to do to you right now?” She kissed his chest, then nipped his stomach and looked up, eyes smoldering. “Talk me through it, just how you like it—so next time I’ll know.”

  She rubbed her cheek against his lower belly, dragging it up his torso, and slowly pulled one of his nipples into her mouth then bit down gently, grazing it with her teeth before she suckled it hard. “Like that? Right there . . . or lower?” His grip tightened on her shoulders. “Lower?” Her hand slid down his shaft and caressed him in a slow, pumping motion.

  She nipped his belly, and darted her tongue into his navel, making him gasp, then looked up at him. “You don’t want me to go home, do you?” Her voice was a throaty whisper, as he shook his head no. “Want me to stay to kiss it and make it better?”

  He nodded yes, unable to speak for a moment, as her mouth became a wet, hot pulsing sheath around him. His breathing instantly synched up to her rhythm—that’s when he knew he was done. She won. Against his better judgment his hand touched her hair and against his capacity to stop himself, his eyes slid shut. Damn she was a quick study. “You ain’t fighting fair, D.”

  “Want me to go upstairs to get you a refill from the fridge?” she asked in a seductive voice, now on her knees on the bed, leaning against his stomach, her breath hot against it. “The night is young, and I figured we could maybe try plenty of stuff together . . . for the first time?”

  Why was she taking him there? But he wasn’t about to argue. Baby needed to stop talking and go back to what she’d been doing. “Okay . . .” His voice was on autopilot. The ceding of power was one word that came out fast on a hoarse breath. Fuck control. What was that around her, anyway?

  “All right. Don’t move; I’ll be right back.” She gathered up the rough cotton sheets and swathed herself in them with a giggle.

  The bolt on the door slid back. Instant reflex. Yeah, don’t go home. Not yet. The night was young. He sat very still, not moving like she’d told him to, just breathing with his eyes closed, willing her to hurry back, por favor. Oh, shit, they were gonna smoke him for sure, if she didn’t first.

  “How many bags you want?”

  “Bring down a case—I don’t want to accidentally kill you.”

  “Uh, Father Patrick,” Padre Lopez said, folding his arms against the chilly night air. “It’s almost dawn, and uh, do you think we should check on our Neteru? See how the talks are going? She’s been in there a long time.”

  The old seer shook his head. Asula and Lin joined him with a yawn.

  “We can only hope that an agreement
can be reached by dawn,” Monk Lin said.

  “I am going to have much to explain to guardian Marlene.” Father Patrick sighed.

  “I just heard the refrigerator open and close. That must be a good sign,” Asula said gently. “He’s still taking cold packs.”

  “She must be all right,” Padre Lopez insisted. “If he attacked her, then we would have heard her cry out, si?”

  “That’s just it,” the eldest cleric grumbled. “It was too quiet . . . means the lair was soundproofed.” He held up his hand when Padre Lopez would have spoken. “Which means the talks are going well.”

  The young man let his breath out in reluctant relief and sat back down. “Then all is well?”

  “Uhmmm-hmmm. And Marlene Stone is gonna kill me.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “BABY, PLEASE . . . no mas, por favor.” Carlos dropped his head to his pillow, his lungs battling for air in the sex-sweetened, post-dawn atmosphere. “What time is it?” He groaned. “I have to get some sleep.”

  Damali laughed and glanced around the barren room that was still sealed shut. There were no windows, clocks, or anything that would give her a sense of time, and there were no mirrors so she could see how disheveled she knew she had to be.

  “I dunno,” she shrugged, “but okay.” Pouting, she stood up to look for her dress and panties. “I promise to be careful when I open the door. I’ll just crack it and slip out.”

  “Uh, huh,” Carlos said, still breathing hard, his eyes closed, losing consciousness fast.

  “But you have to throw the bolt—you did that with kinetic energy, and I don’t think I can move it. Last night you had it sealed so tight SWAT couldn’t get in here.”

  “It’s open,” he wheezed. “The sound barrier . . . the lock . . . anything I materialized reversed well before the sun came up, woman. Please, I’m begging you. Just a few hours of sleep.”

  She laughed and covered her mouth for a second. “No, tell me the sound barrier stayed intact.”

  “I tried . . .” He couldn’t even muster the balance of his response.

  “The monks! Are you crazy?”

  A low, lazy chuckle rumbled up from Carlos’s chest. “Yeah . . . I know.”

  “Father Patrick, it’s almost noon!” Padre Lopez walked in a circle, wringing his hands. “I have heard of the Neteru’s legendary stamina, but she’s been battling a master vampire all night, and even into the day. He should have lost strength, should have been vanquished by now. He must have had the advantage, if she wasn’t able to escape his lair. It sounded like they were killing each other—now I don’t hear either of them! This was a very bad idea, we have much to explain to her guardian team!”

  “I know.” Father Patrick sighed, glancing at the other seasoned spiritual warriors who had manned a post outside all night. “But calm yourself, Padre Lopez.”

  “Calm myself?” The youngest cleric was incredulous. “But . . . but . . . he was murdering her! Torturing her! I don’t even hear her cries to the Almighty anymore!”

  “Yes,” Father Patrick said in a weary tone, standing with effort, using his sword to assist him, “and she killed him, too. The storm has passed.”

  The young cleric’s panic-stricken gaze bounced from one snoozing elder to another. “But we have to reclaim her body. We cannot let the Neteru’s body be desecrated!”

  “Too late,” Monk Lin said on a yawn. “Think I should check the blood supply?”

  “That would be advisable,” Asula replied, stretching. “Better make an emergency run. He’s probably near extinction.”

  Father Patrick nodded.

  “You would again revive the beast that—”

  The appearance of Damali halted Padre Lopez’s argument. The four men watched her slowly open the cabin door, adjust the strap of her dress on her shoulder, smooth the front of it, and rake her fingers through her locks. She squinted hard at the sun, and glanced away with a sheepish smile.

  “Uh . . . gentlemen . . . can I get a lift home?”

  “Neteru! Oh, thank God!” Padre Lopez rushed to her, grabbed her by the arms and held her back, inspecting her throat. “She’s been wounded!” He looked at his brethren for support, and they only lowered their eyes and smiled.

  “Yeah,” Damali murmured, weaving a bit. She covered the wound on her neck with her hand. “You guys have any more blood in the fridge?”

  “She needs a transfusion. We should get her to a hospital!”

  Damali chuckled, and pecked Padre Lopez on the cheek. “Naw, I’m good, but Carlos could use a case or two.”

  The Neteru, bitten? Willingly? Interesting. The darkness of her lair gave the darkness in her mind room to breathe and expand. The huntress was on the move, out in the open, yet she could smell the stench of clerics all around her . . . just as she could detect the unmistakable scent of sex on her. Very, very intriguing.

  A sudden smile graced her mouth. No wonder the master didn’t answer my call. She cocked her head to the side. How had he gotten beyond what were obvious prayer barriers, laid down by seasoned warriors, to corner such worthy prey? The thrill of that conquest might have been more of a seduction than any vampire could have resisted, but it still annoyed her that the young Neteru had such pull.

  Yet, in a very odd way, it increased the level of anticipation within her. If Master Rivera could accomplish such a wanton feat, then he was indeed worthy of all she had to bargain with.

  Again, she surveyed the wounded Neteru. The huntress’s throat had been ravaged, her own self-protection in shreds . . . and her telepathy was down, no barrier to a scan in effect, and her focus was still singular—Carlos. She laughed out loud and dropped her scan of the Neteru to preserve her energy for the coming night.

  They had been wrong. This man was obviously so much more than a mere vehicle to amass limitless territory; he was a consummate professional. This morning he’d gained her respect.

  She raked her fingers through her hair and shook her head at the dilemma. She might have to find a way to keep him without killing him—at least for a little while.

  “It’s past noon, Marlene!” Shabazz shouted. He paced back and forth within the weapons room, intermittently pounding his fist on the table. “The man is a master vampire, and nature is nature, Mar! Fuck all this philosophical rhetoric about him not killing Damali! You hear me! Bottom line, he’s still a vampire! He’ll flat line her.”

  “That’s right, Mar. I told you we should have done the sonofabitch when we had him in the compound,” Rider added, going over to stand by Shabazz.

  “Yeah, Mar,” Big Mike argued. “Noon? We need to be real. She’s toast. Our baby went outta here without her blade . . .” Tears stood in Big Mike’s eyes. “He done killed our baby girl . . . and I’ma kill him up good for this!”

  “Aw . . . man . . . I never thought he’d do her,” Dan murmured. “I never thought—”

  “Never do her? You saw the way he looked at her!” Jose was on his feet, walking a hot path of rage between the doorway and the equipment table. “But you guys had me convinced that he was on our side, was the only one who could really protect her with that block-the-shot bullshit y’all came up with!” He spun on the group and pointed hard at the elder guardians. “I must have been out of my mind going along with allowing a master vampire to guard her against another master vampire. Are we crazy?”

  “That’s right,” JL said. “We all saw the way he looked at her. Were we nuts, or what?”

  “Marlene, if he was a third or fourth generation, I wouldn’t be as worried . . .” Rider’s words trailed off as he gazed out the window. “Love will make you do some crazy shit, and I think this time we messed up, getting all sentimental, hoping against hope. Aw . . . shit, Mar, tell me you’ve got something to shock her system and purge it, if we find her body . . . that is, if she’s still breathing.”

  “Are you gentlemen finished?” Marlene said, yawning.

  “Finished? Finished!” Rider spat. “We haven’t even gotten starte
d, Mar.” He grabbed a round of artillery, as did the others. “We hunt this motherfucker down and stake his ass in broad daylight, if she’s not breathing.”

  “Word,” Shabazz said, picking up a handful of holy water grenades along with his Glock nine. “Might even have four dead monks out there in the woods. Last night, Father Pat said the shit was cool out there. In fact, I was cool until ten o’clock this morning. If Marlene hadn’t been arguing about not being hasty, I would have been out. Now we ain’t heard from nobody in hours. What’s that shit about? Huh, Mar? How do we know that Rivera didn’t answer the phone last night and throw the clerics’ voices, or something? What if they were probably dead on arrival last night—fuckin’ DOA when we called! But, no, I couldn’t tell you jack—you said, ‘Oh, Shabazz, have faith.’ You crazy? I’m a man. I know what I’m talking about!”

  “I just want her body back,” Big Mike said, trying to keep his emotions in check. “Gotta drive a stake in her heart and bury her ashes on hallowed ground . . . that’s the least we can do.”

  “Yeah . . .” Jose agreed, wiping his eyes. “We never leave our own.”

  “Uhmmph, uhmmph, uhmmmph,” Marlene said in a blasé tone, glancing at the monitors before the reading even came up. “You got incoming, JL. Man your station. Five warm bodies approaching.”

  Ignoring protocols, the team rushed the compound doors, weapons in hand, leveling artillery and fanning out in battle stances.

  Ohhh . . . boy . . . she was in trouble. Damali glanced at the clerics when their Jeep came to a stop in her compound driveway. “Uh, look . . . uhmmm . . . it’s gonna be a little tense with my family when I go in there, so, how about if you guys go back, make sure Carlos is all right, and uh, I’ll get back to you later?”

  Father Patrick glanced out of the window and nodded. “You will give Marlene my best?”