The Hunted

by L. A. Banks

  Carlos tried to shake the image that had replayed itself in his brain too many times. He closed his eyes to try to ward off the sensation, but that only made matters worse. He could almost feel it rock him where he stood. A hot body beneath him, torched with near-climax fever, Neteru in his nose, a beautiful pair of glistening fangs plunging his throat at the same time his scored hers . . . right at the moment of truth . . . a high-velocity rush of blood exchange sending recycled pleasure through both of them at once; two parallel, excruciating pleasure lines burning up atmosphere, dissolving matter till those sensations crossed and atomically fused in one central explosion—the vanishing point.

  He opened his eyes, mad at himself, mad at the world, angry that he even thought about it, much less fantasized about it. Impossible. He could only take Damali there after she turned . . . What? Uh, uh. Now he was really mad, because he was definitely tripping. She could never turn, and not just because she was council’s vessel. It wasn’t even about that—not with her.

  And, fuck it, he had more willpower than that. So what if a vamp female could go there; he was committed. That’s right. He was committed, he reminded himself repeatedly as he regulated his breathing. So what that he’d seen that shit when he sat in a throne seat. Yeah, the thrones had good video, all the knowledge of the line. But he could hang. Just keep that as an intellectual experience. He didn’t have to go there and step out on D. He could wait seventy or eighty years till his baby passed away to try it. A shudder rippled through him as the image faded away.

  Shit, what was he going to do? Live almost a century as a master being a virgin to that experience? Yeah, he could hang, he told himself again firmly. Besides, he’d die in seven if he went with the priests’ deal. Carlos tried to make himself laugh it off. Death in seven would be a release from this temptation bullshit, not just his soul’s salvation. Maybe in seven, just before Damali ripened, he’d go get a good run out, and give the clerics his head on a silver platter. That way, she wouldn’t know, he could get his soul back, and could take his little transgression to the grave. They said if a man repented, all would be forgiven, right?

  He looked toward the direction where the female vamp had vanished. He didn’t even catch her name. If he found the fine female, and was really sorry after . . . He laughed. Oh, shit. He didn’t want to think about any of it. But it was really getting on his nerves to have to deal with it. Damn choices! He didn’t need variables like that in his life.

  His annoyance turned itself to Damali. This was all her fault. If she had chilled, let him stay in LA, had kept her ass in the States, hadn’t started a buncha shit with some guy over here. If she hadn’t done this freaking concert! What’s more, if she hadn’t called him like that. By what right did she have to put their personal business in the streets, huh? He could feel himself getting whipped into a total tirade as she went down on her knees on the stage and the audience hit a new level of frenzy. Carlos closed his eyes.

  She was too passionate. She was working on the wrong side of his brain. She was messing with his control factor. The crowd was too hyped. He had ripe Neteru in his system, musta been a contact high from the stage. He could feel his gums ripping he wanted her so much.

  Unable to stop himself, he turned and looked at her. He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from seeing them tremble. Man . . . when he got backstage, he was gonna tell her ass off!

  Champagne bottles spilled their foam essence across the floor as Rider sloshed it, taking a laughing swig from one in each hand. The sound of all the corks going off was like the pop-pop of gunfire. Big Mike and Shabazz leveraged their weight against the door, closing off a hundred flashbulbs. The media had been shut out. Damali and Marlene slapped high fives, and Dan poured overflowing paper cups of semi-warm champagne for the group. Jose was rubbing JL’s head and laughing, while JL play-boxed him within the stadium locker room.

  “Did we take Brazil, people, or what?” Rider opened his arms wide and jumped up on a locker bench.

  “We rocked da house, man!” Big Mike yelled, snatching a bottle from Rider.

  “Y’all worked it,” Damali said laughing.

  “No, li’l sis, you wurked it. Daaaaayum,” Shabazz said, getting a swig of Big Mike’s bottle.

  “No lie, D,” Jose said, pounding Shabazz’s fist. “Baby girl owned the stadium!”

  “Right,” Dan was yelling from his position by the lockers. “I can’t wait to see the ink on this tomorrow. The media hype is gonna be crazy”

  “Mad-crazy,” Marlene agreed.

  Damali watched them all, and laughed, but felt like a spectator as well. From a remote part of her mind, pure defeat claimed her. Marlene picked up on the vibe, but kept her smile bright, easing toward Damali.

  “We were ridiculous, gang,” Damali repeated, trying to convince herself.

  But as the words came out of her mouth, the group went still. Swirling energy made papers fly, cups turn over, instruments fall, and a couple of bulbs in the makeup mirror blow. It was like a giant storm had been unleashed in the locker-dressing room, and it took a few seconds for her team to mentally switch gears and try to scramble to assemble weapons. Black smoke rose from the floor, and in the center of it Carlos appeared.

  He didn’t even take a breath as he began to pace. “I’ll tell you what’s fucking ridiculous, Damali, is to ever see my woman perform some, some—I don’t know what you call it, but it reached Hell and back!”

  The entire team stared at him, mouths agape.

  “Yo, Carlos, uh—”

  “Shut up, Rider! This is between me and her!”

  Damali’s hand found her hip. She looked him up and down. Had the nerve to be coming in here all fly, wearing a damned black linen Versace suit, serving a damned cranberry collarless raw silk shirt like he was out where he shouldn’t have been . . . oh, she’d kick his ass . . . .

  “Where have you been? Let’s start there.”

  Carlos slapped the center of his chest, bearing full fangs, and walking in a wider circle. “Where have I been? Where have I been!”

  “Is there an echo in the room? I said—”

  “Where have you been? Huh? A couple of weeks, and I’m in my lair tasting the sweat of some other man after you’ve been off doing the Lambada! Are you insane? While I’m on parole, and shit—trying to stay away from a body count over here!”

  A locker took the brunt of the blow, caving in as Carlos punched it while stalking past it. Black smoke still hung in the air, and Damali’s eyes widened. Oh, shit. Not good. But she wasn’t hearing no yang. “Where were you, then, so that I didn’t have to call you like that?”

  He walked away from her. The team started backing up, mumbling and looking for a quick exit. This was between her and Carlos. Marlene crossed her arms and folded them over her chest with a smirk. Yeah, yeah, yeah, he could be angry if he wanted to, but she wanted a response. Mar had told her to send a shock wave subterranean, and it got his attention. Good.

  “I was worried sick about you, and you just vanished into the night. What was I supposed to do? Just sit back and—”

  “You were supposed to respect what I told you, woman.”

  “What?” Both hands found her hips. “I don’t know who you think you’re talking to but—”

  “I missed you so much that it didn’t make sense. I had to go find my old lair in Beverly Hills to chill out, or the old guys in the cabin would have been toast! Shit, Damali, your ass is so stubborn!”

  He paced away from her and the team’s heads pivoted from Damali back to Carlos as though watching a tennis match. Marlene didn’t help matters by grunting and nodding in agreement with her. Oh, so her mom was on her side, too. Women!

  Damali let her breath out hard. “All right, Carlos. My bad.”

  “Damn straight, your bad. Do you know I had to bring international messengers with me—five, burly, WWF-looking, second-generation, exterminator vamps from outlying neutral territories to make it through the tunnels?”

 
; Damali covered her mouth.

  “That’s right,” he said pointing toward the door. “Five sonsabitches I have to keep on a short leash while I’m over here, lest we have a topside international incident! And I’m not all that stable myself . . . all ’cause I missed you so bad.”

  He stood there in front of her, taking in deep gulps of air, too ashamed by the admission, especially in front of the other men. He gave Rider a glare that warned him about the peril of his throat if a sarcastic comment came up from it. Big Mike was cool enough to look away, and Shabazz could dig it. The man started packing gear like nothing had happened. Jose started picking up cups from the floor with Dan, and JL just sat there in shock. Whatever.

  “I’m going to go eat, and then I’m gonna crash, and then I’m going back to LA. I just came to be sure you were all right. Apparently you are, so I’m out.” He turned to leave, but could feel Damali walk up behind him. Her hand touched his shoulder, and the tremor it sent through him was just as she’d said, ridiculous. But he felt her stiffen, and it made him look at her.

  “Where have you been?” she asked, backing away from him.

  The team went still. Shabazz discreetly found his gun and nodded at Big Mike. Carlos began backing up. All rage wilted.

  “Baby, I was, right here, at the concert. You felt me, right?” His hands were out in front of him, but he glanced at the guys who were shaking their heads. All the brothers knew this stance. Marlene had folded her arms over her chest.

  “You were at this concert, saw me on my knees in front of a crowd of a hundred thousand, and you ignored me?” Damali’s comment had begun at a low, threatening timbre, issued from behind her teeth and rose to a full holler as she finished the sentence.

  “No, no, I wasn’t ignoring you,” Carlos said fast. “I was trying to chill. I was trying to—”

  “Push up on a demon! You’re trailing sulfur! And it’s female!” Damali’s eyes narrowed as she turned on her heel and started grabbing up costumes, flinging her headpiece and then kicking a chair out of her way.

  “She wasn’t a demon, D. You know I don’t roll like that. She was a second-generation vamp . . . just part of the territory females. Baby, for real—”

  “Aw, man . . .” Big Mike murmured. “Brother . . .”

  “Least you could have taken a shower first,” Rider mumbled. “Young, dumb, and fulla—”

  “It wasn’t all that,” Carlos argued, his glance going between the guardians and Damali. This was bullshit. He had to talk to her and her big brothers? He tried to get near her now that they’d lowered weapons, but she shrugged his hand off of her shoulder and spun on him.

  “Don’t you touch me! Don’t even think about it. How could you?” She turned away and held her arms around herself. “All I did was go out dancing, but you—”

  “I didn’t. I swear, girl,” he said in a gentle voice.

  You thought about it real hard though, Damali thought, her anger building.

  “Wait!” Marlene walked forward, between Damali and Carlos, and the team gathered around.

  “Carlos,” Marlene said in a steady voice. “What did this she-demon look like, and where was she when you saw her?”

  He shrugged, and didn’t feel like talking about this in front of the team. “I keep telling y’all, she was a vamp—and it wasn’t what you think.” He didn’t have to answer to anybody there, not even Damali. Besides, they had it all twisted. She wasn’t a demon. He started walking away. He and the exterminators could just go eat, and then jet back to the States before daybreak.

  “Carlos,” Marlene repeated in a firm voice. “Neteru is the only thing that would have gotten you so buzzed and Damali isn’t in cycle. We need a description, so we can deal with it.”

  He looked at Marlene as Damali went to stand by her side.

  “Men are so stupid,” Damali whispered and shook her head. She turned away. “What did she look like?”

  Carlos kept his eyes on Marlene, intermittently glancing over to Damali’s back. How did one describe this other woman in front of his own woman and her family, to the degree that he needed to? What, he was supposed to just tell all in front of guardian brothers and a seer who wasn’t having it? The point was moot, anyway. This was just a very fine vamp that had gotten him in a very sticky situation.

  But the situation called for diplomacy, because he certainly didn’t want Damali to bug any more than she was already. She was hurt, and all he wanted to do was privately apologize. Hurting her had never been his intention. But, they had a point. Girlfriend had showed up at the concert. And he wondered how she’d gotten past the lights and prayers. If this devious, jealous female vamp was stalking Damali and the team, they had a right to know.

  “She’s tall,” Carlos said slowly. “Near my height.” Damali didn’t turn around and he was glad she didn’t, or she would have seen the guys issue appreciative glances toward each other.

  He could feel Damali attempting to pry his mind open, but on this one, it was black box, need-to-know basis only. He wasn’t budging.

  “Dark brown, green eyes—flicker yellow . . . yeah, they glow,” he said, answering the unspoken group question. “Built,” he added casually. “You know . . . uh, athletic. Long, black hair in braids down her back, high cheekbones. Aw’ight-looking woman,” he added to minimize the sting.

  Big Mike silently made brick-house proportions discreetly for Carlos who just nodded. Big Mike nodded. A silent understanding passed between them. Carlos closed his eyes. He and Mike shared the same taste in women. But this was humiliating.

  “What else?” Mar said with a tone of disgust.

  “Uh, she was wearing black. One of those bra things, and a sheer skirt—thong under it. Pierced navel, gold hoop.”

  Damali turned around. “You got close enough to see her navel, did you?”

  Carlos swallowed as she slowly walked up to him.

  “So where did you meet her, huh? I think it’s really interesting how you couldn’t even give me the courtesy of a call back but then show up in a big puff of smoke, outraged that I’ve been dancing with another man. Well, you need to check that and tell us what we need to know about this female.”

  He stared at her, seeing that heat in her eyes, and felt joy bloom inside him. The fact that she was so outraged, cared so much that he might have potentially been with somebody else, had actually claimed him as her one and only, did something to him. It was like he was watching her mouth move, but that’s all he could focus on. The shape of it, the blaze in her eyes. The way her head went from side to side as her finger wagged with her complaint, one hand on her hip in the to-die-for dress. He smiled.

  Damali’s eyes narrowed.

  “This shit ain’t funny, Carlos! Answer the question!”

  “Which one?” He was not being smart. For the life of him he couldn’t remember what they were arguing about. H e had a villa in the hills, fully stocked bar, Jacuzzi, all baby had to do was chill . . .

  “Which one?”

  He was just coming out of the trance when lightning struck his face and dazed him. She was standing there, breathing hard, about to cry. The team held their breaths, She’d slapped the taste out of his mouth. He didn’t know what possessed him, but his hands went to the sides of her face, and he pulled her in close. His head tilted, and he kissed her as hard as he needed to. Right there, no pretense. No shame. Just like she’d crooned for him in front of an audience. Whatever. They were wasting time.

  He let her go and she covered her heart with her hand for a moment.

  “I wasn’t with her like that. Can’t you tell? She was tracking down sloppy seconds from the jones I had for you. She rolled up on me, not the other way around. She made an offer; I refused. Period. Drop it. Now you wanna get out of here, or what?”

  “Carlos, listen,” Marlene said fast. “Both of you listen—just for once. There’s another entity out there that’s possibly stronger than either one of you right now, and she’s twisted. From what I can gather, sh
e was at this concert site.”

  “Marlene, you’re bugging. That female is fronting like she’s a master vamp wannabe—and ain’t hardly stronger than me. Damali can take her, too—”

  “No t if she’s been able to co-opt and reproduce the one thing that you have practically no immunity to. The scent.”

  Carlos glanced away from Marlene’s probing eyes. “The y only make one real Neteru every millennium, remember? Damali’s it,” Carlos said in a low timbre, staring at Damali who looked at him like he was dinner. “I can handle that situation. That’s why I came up here with a squad. If Damali wants to go with me, I’ll have her at the hotel before sunrise. Y’all just watch your backs. Second-level females are generally spiteful and have a bad temper when they don’t get their way—girlfriend didn’t get nothing, so she might have a case of the ass . . . real attitude.”

  The look Damali issued him was so intense, so desire-filled, yet so torn, that it made him go still. He could feel it through his skin the way she wanted to be with him. Something had definitely kicked up a notch. He wasn’t sure if it was the song, seeing Damali openly, without shame, give him her all, or what, but Marlene’s worries about some lower-level female that was supposed to have cornered some Neteru scent was bouncing off his eardrums and falling on the floor right about through here.

  “Am I hearing you right, Rivera?” Rider asked slowly, quietly, no play in his tone. “You’ve got a team of five vampires on steroids, just up from Hell, supposedly going to watch our backs?” Rider walked toward him, suddenly grabbed his arm, and looked him in the eyes. “Are you fucking nuts?”

  Carlos just looked at Rider’s hand until he removed it. “They’re my squad. They follow my orders. I told ’em no eating in town, and not to touch a hair on your heads. Even the priests are under the safety mark. My order.”