Midnight Predator dos-4

by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes

  “And if I take this title Gabriel is offering?”

  “Freeblood means you’ll be treated like one of us. It doesn’t mean no one’s allowed to kill you, but it does mean none of us can claim you. It means the next time you work with our mercenaries, you don’t have to worry about having someone like Daryl pay them to turn you over instead of helping you. And it means that you can walk into Midnight and even Jeshickah wouldn’t be able to break you.”

  “And if I kill Daryl?”

  “I’m not going to stop you,” Jaguar answered. “Neither will Gabriel. Jeshickah might cause some trouble, but she isn’t fond of him either, and she’ll be out of the picture soon anyway.”

  “And then . . . what if I said that I wanted to give up Bruja?”

  Jaguar appeared skeptical. “You can’t go back to what you were before Daryl. You’re still human by blood, but in your mind and in your soul you’re no more human than most of the vampires I know.”

  Turquoise responded flippantly, “Maybe I can’t go back. But what’s the other choice? Ask you to open a vein so we fix that little problem of blood?”

  She had not considered the words, but once spoken they did not surprise her. If she wouldn’t stay in the twilight, and she couldn’t go back to Cathy’s daylight world, then of course, vampire blood would be the only choice.

  Voice cool and level, Jaguar answered, “It’s a viable choice, but not from me. Find someone who’s freeblood if that’s what you want—your mercenary friend Nathaniel, for example. He didn’t hesitate to burn Midnight the first time, or to sell two hunters into it. I’m sure he wouldn’t have any scruples about giving one of Bruja’s best immortality. And get rid of Daryl first. He might have no legal claim over you, but you don’t want him arguing ownership for the next millennium.”

  Turquoise had hunted vampires for two years. The idea of becoming one of them should have been sickening.

  Should have been. She found herself contemplating it for a moment.

  “I don’t know,” she said. She seemed to be saying that a lot lately.

  “Go to Challenge,” Jaguar recommended. “Win. Then decide. If you decide to become one of us, you’ll be strong. If you don’t, you’ll still be able to survive.”

  Turquoise nodded, taking the advice. Face Challenge now; save the future for tomorrow.

  Jaguar frowned, looking past her, then spoke quietly. “I think this one is looking for you.”

  Turquoise turned, following Jaguar’s gaze, and ended up looking at Greg.

  The human’s gaze was resting on Jaguar with what wasn’t exactly anger, but wasn’t warm fuzzy friendship, either. He looked away from the vampire to greet Turquoise, but his proverbial hackles were up.

  “Cathy, hey.” He glanced at Jaguar again, and seemed to decide to be polite. “I noticed you and figured I’d swing inside for a moment. Am I interrupting?”

  Flustered, Turquoise looked between the two, caught briefly in a hazy shadow. Greg and Jaguar didn’t belong in the same world.

  Jaguar covered for her, standing and offering his hand. “I’m Kyle Lostry, one of Cathy’s friends.” Having Jaguar use her childhood nickname struck her in a most unpleasant way.

  Greg banked his hostility, and accepted Jaguar’s gesture of civilized greeting like someone who had never been lied to or manipulated, someone who expected sincerity. “Greg Martin. I knew Cathy in school,” he offered, looking to Turquoise, “but we’ve been out of touch for a while.” He backed off, aware enough to sense awkwardness. “I’ve got to get going; I’m on my way to a job interview.” He looked at Turquoise, and the expression on his face was honest, unschooled. “Give me a call?”

  “I will.”

  Watching his back as he left, she knew she would. To forestall Jaguar’s questions, she asked, “Who’s Kyle Lostry?”

  Jaguar looked startled, as if he had not thought about the name when he had used it. “Someone I knew once—and wish I’d had a chance to know better.”

  She sensed that there was a story behind the words. “Is he . . .” She broke off, not wanting to ask whether this phantom was alive or dead.

  Jaguar volunteered no more. “Is your Greg why you’re thinking of leaving Bruja?” he asked. Turquoise couldn’t tell from his tone or expression what he thought of Greg, or the idea.

  She shook her head. “I ran into him yesterday. He somehow managed to remind me of all the things I left behind, after Daryl. . . .” She trailed off. “I don’t know whether I could still follow any of those dreams, or whether I would still want to, but it hurts to know I threw them away.”

  Jaguar was still watching Greg, who had paused on the sidewalk to talk to someone else. “He’s too innocent for you. His life is too innocent for you.”

  “I know.”

  Jaguar shook his head. “I’ve never known anyone who joined our world and then managed to go back to the human one.” Turquoise could see in him the same longing she had once seen as he watched Shayla, and could tell he had tried. “You could thrive in my world; darkness suits you. But if you want it, Greg’s world—the world his Cathy came from—might still be worth fighting for.”

  CHAPTER 20

  DURING THE NEXT MONTH,Turquoise’s days and evenings became an interesting study in contrasts.

  Her mornings were usually domestic. She or Eric would make breakfast and eat together. A couple of times Greg joined them. Turquoise tried valiantly to bridge the gap to the human’s world. He thought she was a freelancer for a small newspaper, a lie that seemed to work well enough. He also thought she was dating Jaguar, a.k.a. Kyle Lostry. The lies were imperfect, but at least it kept him from getting the wrong impression. She could handle having Cathy’s old boyfriend as a friend, but she quickly realized that they would never be as close as they once were. There was too much of her life she could never share with him. The mischief they had planned together and the dates they had gone on were still bright spots of humor and happiness in his mind, whereas Turquoise remembered them as if they were faded black and white photos. Someone else’s memories, from someone else’s life.

  In the afternoons, Jaguar came over, and they practiced until midnight every night. During their breaks, Jaguar would fill her in on what was going on in Midnight, and in his town. The owner of the town’s only inn had decided to elope with a young woman he had met on vacation, and the building, one of the few remaining properties Jaguar had not owned, had gone up for sale; now he was just looking for someone to manage it. He was less than subtle in suggesting that Turquoise could have the position, if she wanted it. She dodged him and they went back to practice.

  The owner of the local community recreation center wanted to start a course in self-defense for teenagers, and was looking for an assistant. The job sounded more up Turquoise’s alley, but she still shook her head. Challenge first. Then she planned to kill Daryl. Then she would see to the future.

  Over the weeks of practice, Turquoise’s own whip had given her almost as many bruises as Daryl ever had, before she had gotten the knack of it and learned not to hit herself. She was lucky Jaguar had amazing reflexes, or she probably would have taken out her own eye more than once.

  She and Jaguar dueled occasionally. She used every move, piece of furniture, and dirty trick she could think of, and he kept most of his talent in check to avoid giving her more welts than she cared to receive.

  At first she was hesitant to really fight, but Jaguar had offered no mercy until he was sure she was using her full force. He would heal from any wound she managed to give him, but if she got used to trying not to hurt her opponent, the habit would cripple her in a confrontation.

  That was not to say Jaguar ever allowed her to hit him. Mostly he managed to evade her blows, recognizing from her form which direction the weapon would move and where it would land. Occasionally he used his own whip to catch hers, snagging the weapon out of her hand until she learned not to relinquish her hold on it.

  Two quick snaps from Jaguar, and Turquoise foun
d an X cut neatly into the stomach of her shirt.

  “Careless,” Jaguar chastised. She had tried an overhand snap, which left her mid and lower body unprotected, while Jaguar was in a position to attack the vulnerable area. “Do you need a break? It’s late.”

  Turquoise took the opportunity, and faked a setup for a low crack. Jaguar moved to avoid the blow, and she brought the movement around a full circle to strike high. It had taken her days to get over her desire to wince at doing so, but she checked none of her ability; the blow landed home, and cut open Jaguar’s skin.

  He ignored the injury, which healed too quickly to even bleed, and soon they were again engaged in a no-mercy duel.

  It was well past midnight when they finally took a break, and collapsed onto the dew-dampened grass.

  Turquoise’s gaze alit on the nearly full moon. Another few days, and she would have her chance to beat Ravyn in the Challenge rematch for leader of Crimson—and shecouldbeat the other hunter. She had been practicing with an expert, and had no doubts as to her skills.

  She just didn’t know if she wanted to.

  She was getting used to companionship. Eric’s company was always entertaining. She enjoyed having him there for her noontime breakfast, and chatting with him during the day. He liked cooking, and she well-appreciated having dinner made for her; cleaning up afterward was a small price to pay. While domestic chores such as shopping and laundry were dreadfully dull, she was getting into the habit of seeing people.

  And as annoying as it could sometimes get to discuss college, work, the news, and whatever else was on the all-too-human young man’s mind, she was even getting used to Greg. His conversations were about normal, innocent life; it was so exotic to her that she could listen to what would otherwise have been dull chatter for hours.

  But she couldn’t juggle the two lives forever. As fond as she was becoming of her suburban life, she could not ignore what she knew. A human life would never completely suit her, because most humans would deem her mad if she tried to confide even the smallest hint of her past. And, “Yes, I work nights as a vampire hunter,” usually wasn’t a good line to make new friends with.

  Maybe Cathy wasn’t dead, but she had grown. Turquoise couldn’t fit into that old life. Besides, as fond as she was of having companions, sitting around in suburbs was making her gray matter go stagnant. She needed challenge; a break was nice now and then, but boredom was not a state she would tolerate for long.

  Save tomorrow for tomorrow. Deal with now first.

  CHAPTER 21

  THEBRUJA HALLwas not imposing from the outside. Anyone looking at its exterior would see nothing more important than a redbrick house with black trim and white shutters that were always latched.

  A phrase was written in Latin beside the door. Translated, it meant, “Enter the den of the hunters.”

  The door was unlocked, and Turquoise opened it, stepping forward into the main room of the Bruja hall with Ravyn and, strangely enough, Gabriel at her back. He confirmed Jaguar’s message about the deal Ravyn had made: legal freeblood status to the hunter who won today.

  The floor was black marble, with Bruja’s motto carved into it. The light was too dim for Turquoise to read it, but she knew the words by heart:In this world, there are predators and there are prey; only the former survive.

  Turquoise entered the hall knowing she didn’t want to lead these hunters.

  However, she knew from experience that when a vampire involved in the trade made a deal, his word was as good as law. When Turquoise won against Ravyn today, the burgundy hunter’s blood would buy her opponent’s freedom. Then Turquoise could kill Daryl without worrying about whether Jaguar had gotten rid of Jeshickah yet. Then she could get on with her life.

  As soon as they entered, Sarta approached. “Ravyn, Turquoise? Are you ready?”

  Ravyn walked toward Turquoise, a graceful predator’s walk. She snapped her whip, and it cracked little more than an inch from Turquoise’s skin, then wrapped around the hunter’s throat harmlessly. “I’m ready when she is.”

  Turquoise shook Ravyn’s whip from her neck and lashed out, catching the handle of the other hunter’s weapon. One quick tug before Ravyn could react, and Turquoise caught Ravyn’s whip as it jerked from the woman’s grip.

  Sounding amused, Sarta simply said, “The fight is to third blood. Ravyn Aniketos and Turquoise Draka, you may begin.”

  Turquoise tossed the whip back to Ravyn, who accepted it with a glare, and the duel began.

  Ravyn lazily snapped her whip in Turquoise’s direction, though Turquoise had already put herself out of reach. She was testing her opponent’s reflexes.

  The opponents circled each other on the cold Bruja floor, watching each other for weaknesses.

  “You’re not going to win,” Ravyn said.

  Meanwhile, Turquoise watched Ravyn’s arm carefully, waiting for telltale signs that the hunter was about to move. The muscles tensed.

  Turquoise saw the movement before Ravyn actually attacked with the whip, and raised her own. The two leather braids twined around each other. Ravyn pulled hers away with a practiced flourish, and then attacked low.

  The material of Turquoise’s pant slit, but the blow wasn’t hard enough to draw blood.

  “Are you playing with me, Ravyn?” she asked. Turquoise flicked her own whip, which cut open the stomach of Ravyn’s shirt, and Ravyn jumped back a pace. The wound did not bleed, but she could have made it do so if she had wanted. Turquoise saw the unease that slid behind Ravyn’s eyes as she realized her opponent had more skill than she had suspected.

  Ravyn masked the emotion. “And here I thought you had no taste for fun,” she teased. This time when her whip cracked, it fell where Turquoise’s left cheek should have been. Turquoise ducked out of the way, cracking her own whip as she moved.

  “You little brat!” Ravyn’s free hand went to the new cut on her weapon arm.

  “First blood, Ravyn,” Turquoise said calmly, hyper-focused.

  Ravyn’s whip came down hard, too fast for Turquoise to get out of the way, and landed on Turquoise’s left shoulder at the hardest part of the snap. The skin split.

  “First blood, Turquoise,” Ravyn said sweetly. “I saw Daryl a day ago,” she commented. “He gave me some pointers.”

  Turquoise let the barb bounce off her ears. Ravyn’s whip cracked again. Turquoise moved slightly, and her opponent’s whip wrapped tightly around the handle of her own. Yanking, Turquoise pulled the other hunter off balance. Before even bothering to untangle the two weapons, she flicked her own, and it cut open the back of Ravyn’s left shoulder. Second blood.

  Ravyn rotated the shoulder that had just been hit, and pulled her weapon away as she again moved back to gain distance.

  “A little more practice, Turquoise, and you could be quite good at this,” she encouraged. Ravyn liked the sound of her own voice, apparently. Turquoise personally preferred a silent fight, but many hunters liked to talk; it helped them focus, and their opponents were more likely to be distracted by engaging in dialogue.

  Turquoise refused to banter, and attacked again.

  Her strike fell short, but she managed to evade Ravyn’s next one. There was blood running down her back from the wound on her shoulder. It wouldn’t be fatal, but Turquoise was annoyed to realize that she would have yet another scar.

  Ravyn sidestepped Turquoise’s next attack. Her whip hit Turquoise’s right wrist and snapped around it, a mirror to the blow that Lord Daryl had given her years ago.

  She hissed in pain, but forced herself to keep hold of the whip. Her wrist was bleeding heavily. This fight would be over soon.

  They were both at second blood. Whoever hit next would be the winner.

  Ravyn attacked again, and Turquoise collapsed to the ground to dodge. Then, before the other hunter could react, Turquoise snapped her whip around Ravyn’s ankle and yanked as hard as she could.

  Ravyn lost her balance and fell to the floor hard on her back. Before she could r
ecover, Turquoise struck with the whip one more time, drawing a fine band of blood from Ravyn’s left cheek.

  “Third blood,” Turquoise announced, rising to her feet. The movement was more painful than she would have expected.

  Ravyn silently raised a hand to the mark on her cheek. “If this scars, I am going to bereallyangry,” she snapped as she pulled herself off the floor. “Cheap trick, Turquoise.”

  “It worked.”

  Sarta had come to Turquoise’s side, and started to wrap a bandage around her wrist wound to stop its bleeding.

  “Congratulations, Turquoise,” she began, but Turquoise shook her off, and wrapped the bandage by herself.

  “I hope Daryl snaps your neck,” Ravyn growled.

  With a chuckle, Gabriel wrapped an arm around his burgundy-haired friend’s waist, pulling her away before she could attack her bleeding adversary. The vampire turned Ravyn toward himself, and licked the blood from her cheek.

  Ravyn shoved him away.

  Gabriel laughed again. He caught the hunter’s wrist, and again drew her toward himself. He licked the blood from her arm, and Turquoise saw Sarta shake her head in disgust. To Turquoise, Gabriel said simply, “You’re freeblood, Turquoise. Go put a knife in Daryl for me.”

  Ravyn leveled her garnet eyes in Turquoise’s direction.

  Turquoise tossed the whip down at the burgundy hunter’s feet. “Take the title, Ravyn. I don’t want it.” She saw the shock on Ravyn’s face, but did not bother to stay and explain her decision.

  She didn’t want to be leader of Crimson.

  She ducked Ravyn’s punch, and ignored the ungrateful threat, then walked out of the Bruja hall for perhaps the last time.

  CHAPTER 22

  THE BUS RIDE HOME—to Nathaniel’s house, Turquoise hastily amended—was painfully long, and stifling. She wished she had driven, but had not wanted to risk needing to drive home injured. With a light jacket on over the black tank top she had worn to Challenge, Turquoise could feel sweat dripping down her spine. The wound on her shoulder ached as the salt found its way beneath the bandages.