First Witch (Awakening Series Book 2)

by Jane Hinchey

  "We'll see." He shrugged. The further away he moved, the more relaxed she became. At the door, he tossed her a dark look.

  "I'm going to get food for your aunt. Stay here. Don't do anything stupid." The door closed behind him and she dropped her hand from her mouth with a shaky sigh.

  "Shower's free." Melissa plopped down onto the bed she'd claimed as hers and grabbed the TV remote from the night table. "Where's Zak?"

  "He's ducked out to get you some food. He'll be back in a minute."

  "He's so thoughtful. And I'm starving!" She switched on the TV and began flicking through the channels. Georgia moved to sit beside her when she felt the weight of her phone in her back pocket. Her phone! Pulling it out, she powered it on. A signal. Not much battery life left, but she had a signal.

  "I'm calling home. Back in a sec." She stepped outside, pressing Skye's number. While waiting for the call to connect, she paced back and forth in front of the hotel room.

  "Georgia! How are you doing?" Skye's voice crackled through the speaker.

  "We're okay. A bit shaken, but we're fine." She moved away from the hotel room, not wanting her aunt to overhear.

  "What on earth happened?"

  "A bomb. The hunter planted a bomb."

  "Who?"

  "What do you mean who? The hunter. The guy we're running from? The one who hurt Zak?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about," Skye said, her voice skeptical. "Did you hit your head?"

  "You don't remember. He's compelled you." She spoke the words aloud as realization hit.

  "Zak’s not hurt. He's with you, isn't he?" Skye sounded genuinely puzzled.

  "Sort of."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Nothing. It doesn't matter. I just wanted to let you know I was okay."

  "Zak already let us know he found you guys."

  "He did? When?"

  "Couple of days ago."

  How could he have? They were in the middle of nowhere with no phone signal.

  "What did he say? Exactly?"

  Suddenly the phone was wrenched from her hand, flung to the ground and crunched beneath the sole of a black boot. Shit.

  "Did I not make myself clear? I said don't do anything stupid." His voice was cold, his eyes angry.

  "I was calling my sister. She'd be worried." She crossed her arms over her chest defensively.

  "No, she wasn't. I dealt with it. No calling anyone."

  "You want me to act normal? This IS normal! If I've been missing for days I'd call my family, my friends."

  "Who else did you call?" His voice menacing, he backed her up against the side of the building, fingers gripping into her throat.

  "No one, dickwad. I had like ten percent battery left on my phone. I only called Skye."

  His black eyes flashed steel at the insult, and he hesitated, fingers still tight around her throat before he loosened his grip. Apparently, he believed her.

  "You compelled them, didn't you?" she accused, back rigid with anger.

  "Get inside." He shoved her toward the door, fury emanating from him. Whirling from him, she did as instructed, storming across the room and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She dimly heard the sound of Zak talking to Melissa as she turned on the taps in the shower. Stripping, she stepped beneath the spray, sighing as the water poured over her, washing away the day’s dust and sweat, not to mention the dried blood staining her feet. She stayed under the spray until the water cooled, not caring Zak would be left to have a cold shower. Too friggin bad.

  Stepping out, she wrapped a towel around herself, tucking it between her breasts. She grabbed the towel her aunt had used and wrapped that turban style around her head, then wiped away the condensation from the mirror. She was pale. There were dark shadows under her eyes. And while her fangs had retracted, she could feel them, just beneath her gums, aching. She needed to feed.

  Filling the hand basin, she quickly hand washed her jeans, T-shirt, and underwear. The water turned a murky brown red from all the dirt and bloodstains. She looked down at her thigh, where the metal had pierced her when the plane had crashed. While she'd healed, there was now a pale white scar. She frowned, running her fingers over the raised edges. She shouldn't scar. Vampires healed. One hundred percent.

  The door opened behind her and she looked over her shoulder to find Zak leaning against the doorframe, examining her.

  "What?" she snapped.

  "Just checking." He grinned, his anger from earlier gone. God, his moods switched from Jekyll to Hyde quicker than she could blink.

  "That I hadn't crawled out the window? Hardly."

  He came inside and shut the door, leaning back against it. She turned her back on him and returned to rinsing out her clothes. Pulling the plug, she squeezed as much moisture as she could out of the clothing before tossing them over the shower rail to dry.

  "Shower’s all yours." Georgia walked up to him and stared him straight in the eye, refusing to be intimidated. He held her gaze for several minutes before he gave a half shrug and moved away from the door.

  Sitting on the side of the bed in the dim room, she unwrapped the towel from her wet hair and shook the strands out, dragging her fingers through them to try and get the tangles out. Melissa had finished the burger Zak had brought her and was asleep in the other bed. Glancing at the nightstand, she noticed a hairbrush and helped herself.

  As she detangled her hair, she stared at her sleeping aunt. The sound of her heartbeat was loud in the silent room, and Georgia could see the pulse fluttering in her throat. Her fangs descended and she practically drooled. Hair forgotten she let the hairbrush drop to the bed and stood, standing between the two beds, eyes intent on her aunt’s neck. One small sip wouldn't hurt, surely? She was so hungry.

  "Are you sure?" Zak’s deep voice vibrated against her ear. She didn't acknowledge him but moved slightly closer to her aunt’s prone body. He sighed, then his hands landed on her shoulders. She barely registered him, her hunger so great. He pulled her back, but she resisted, her body leaning forward, to the blood that was calling her. Just a taste. Her tongue flicked over her fangs.

  "I would love nothing more than to let you have at her," Zak continued, one hand tracing lazy circles on the bare flesh of her shoulder and upper arm, "but I fear the ramifications would be more than you could bear, my sweet Georgia."

  She glanced at him, irritation pulling her brows together. Her eyes were red and her lip curled up in a sneer. She was further gone than he realized. Moving in front of her, he pushed her back onto the empty bed and straddled her, pinning her to the mattress. She hissed at him, eyes flashing fire.

  "You said it yourself. Your aunt can't spare you her blood right now. If you fed on her, she'd be weak. Very weak. And both you and I need the witches strong."

  "We do?" She sounded confused, her eyes unfocused.

  "Trust me. We do. So no drinking from your aunt. You can have me instead."

  Her gaze focused in on him, her mind processing what he'd said. She loved his blood, she remembered. It did wonderful, wicked, sinful, things to her. And then she remembered he wasn't Zak and she didn't want the wonderful, wicked, sinful things the hunter was prepared to give her.

  Tears pooled in her eyes. She was in the ultimate catch twenty-two. She was so hungry she was prepared to do just about anything. Did that include selling her soul to the hunter? If she had Zak’s blood there would be very little stopping her from taking his body and all that he offered her. The hunter wouldn't stop her; he'd made it perfectly clear he'd be willing to indulge her. And with him on top of her, shirtless, her in only a towel, lying on a bed. Already images were flickering through her mind of them naked, her hips rocking as she rode him, his hands caressing her breasts. Closing her eyes, she shook her head.

  "No." Her voice was a whisper but he heard her. His head tilted. He wiped away her tears.

  "You're sure?"

  She nodded. He moved off her, surprising her. She'd thought he'd force the
issue. She sat up, tugging the towel more securely around her.

  "Come here." He stood in the middle of the room, hairbrush in hand. Not thinking what she was doing, she obeyed, standing in front of him, then spinning when he motioned with his finger for her to turn around. She tried to block out the sounds of the heartbeats she could hear from the other side of the thin walls as he worked the knots out of her hair and dragged the brush through, from roots to tips.

  Once he was finished he tossed the brush on the cracked table under the window.

  "Get dressed. You still need to feed. I can't have you accidentally tearing your aunt’s throat out. We'll just have to go find someone to make a donation."

  "Okay." She still stood in the middle of the room. He nudged her toward the bathroom door.

  "Starvation makes you much more agreeable, but I think I prefer the feisty version. Go get dressed."

  She dropped the towel and walked to the bathroom, not registering the breath he sucked in. Inside the bathroom, she pulled on her wet clothes. They were cold, clammy and infinitely disgusting. Her face registered her feelings perfectly.

  "And maybe we'll get you some new clothes." He grinned as she appeared, most unhappy, in the doorway. "Come on." He held out his hand and she took it, letting him lead her out of the room. He locked the door after them and pocketed the key.

  14

  "Pretty sure there's a late night store around here somewhere." With her hand still tucked in his, he led them out of the hotel and into the night air. Out on the street, she realized it wasn't that late, the sun had only just gone down. Funny how exhaustion made her feel like it was already midnight. They walked a fair way, her thoughts not on anything in particular...except blood. God, she was hungry.

  "Hah." He grinned, nodding at a shopping center up ahead. The car park was half full, indicating the shops were still open and plenty of people were around. She could feed. And buy new clothes. She was shivering in her damp clothes, her jacket offering her no warmth.

  He led her into a large department store and headed straight for the women's section.

  "Size?" he asked. She told him, following numbly as he flicked through racks and selected three pairs of jeans, a handful of colorful T-shirts, a hooded sweatshirt, a fleece-lined jacket, a dozen pair of socks, knickers and two bras. How he knew the size of her bra had her beat. Arms loaded with the haul, she stood and looked at him.

  "We're going to need a shopping cart," he surmised, disappearing and reappearing a moment later pushing a cart. He took the clothes from her and dumped them in.

  "Now let's get you fed. We're going to need a dress."

  "A dress?" She was so confused. He nodded and began his search among the racks again, this time coming across a gorgeous floral dress with a sweetheart neckline and long hem.

  "Go try this on." He thrust it at her. She looked at him blankly. Why would she need to try it on? He knew her size. It would fit.

  With a grin at her tired puzzled face, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and faced her in the direction of the dressing room.

  "Go try it on. Call the girl in to help you. Feed."

  "Oh!" Right. Now she got it. Taking the dress from him, she approached the dressing room attendant.

  "One item?" the girl asked.

  "Yes." Georgia took the colorful tag and proceeded into the dressing rooms. Stepping into an empty booth, she closed the door behind her and shrugged out of her wet clothes. Unzipping the dress, she slipped it over her head and let it settle against her. It was gorgeous. White with a wildflower pattern all over it. The sleeves reached her elbows and were edged in lace, the hem reached just above her ankles, and the skirt flared as she moved. She reached behind her to do up the zipper when she remembered what he'd said. Feed.

  "Excuse me, miss?" She stuck her head out the door and called for the attendant. "Would you be able to give me a hand with the zipper?"

  "Of course, ma'am." The young girl appeared at the end of the passageway and gave her a friendly smile. Back in her booth Georgia waited. As soon as the girl reached her, she dragged her inside. "Don't scream, don't make a sound, don't move." She wasn't very good at compulsion, hadn't had to use it, but it seemed to work because the girl didn't scream, move or make a sound.

  "This isn't going to hurt. Once I'm finished, you won't remember this, or me." The girl stood passively while Georgia brought her wrist to her lips and bit down. Blood poured into her mouth and she swallowed hungrily. She kept an eye on the girl, who simply stood with a blank look on her face. Sooner than she would have liked she released her grip. More would have been good, but then she'd have a dead body on her hands. She swiped her tongue over the puncture wounds and smiled at the girl.

  "Well done. Now zip me up. And can you remove the tag? I don't want to put my wet clothes back on."

  The girl did as requested, then left.

  Zak was waiting outside the dressing rooms. His face split into a smile when he saw her in the dress. Then he laughed when his eyes landed on her scuffed, dirty boots. She'd left her wet clothes on the dressing room floor; they were ruined anyway. She eyed the cart he was leaning against, pretty sure the contents had grown since she'd been in the dressing rooms. She dropped the tag from the dress on the top.

  "I'll take the dress too." She smiled.

  "Feeling better?"

  "Much."

  At the checkout, she noticed he'd grabbed a sports bag along with a collection of toiletries. He'd thought of everything. Pulling out his wallet, he flipped it open and swiped his credit card. For some reason, it went a long way with her that he'd paid for their purchases and not compelled the sales staff to let them through without paying. Even the dress. The cashier folded all the clothes and packed them neatly into the bag, giving Zak a warm smile when she was done. He thanked her and picked up the bag, ushering Georgia from the store.

  Outside he guided her toward a restaurant situated on the corner. She looked at him, puzzled when he held the door for her. Frowning, she stepped inside.

  "What are we doing here?" she whispered as they were shown to a table for two. She sank into the chair the waiter held out for her, absently smiling her thanks.

  "I know we don't need to eat, but we can eat and I wanted to do something different with you."

  "With me?"

  "Just humor me, will you? We don't have to fight each other every step of the way."

  "We're not on the same side," she reminded him, crossing her arms over her chest, "You're planning on killing my aunt, my sister, and me."

  "It's not personal."

  "Pft. It is to me!"

  He reached out and grabbed her hand. She frowned at him. What was he playing at?

  "I can't help what I am. I was created a hunter, it's what I do. I can't just switch it off."

  "Why are you here now? My aunt told me you turn up every ten years, but it's only been six years since you..." Killed her parents. The thought ricocheted around in her brain. How could she be sitting in a restaurant with the man who'd killed her parents? His grip tightened on her wrist when she would have stood up, keeping her in her seat.

  "I'm sorry." His words were soft, his eyes beseeching.

  "Why? Why are you doing this to me?" Her eyes filled with tears and he sighed, shrugging.

  "I'm a weapon. My sole purpose is to destroy the Darkmore witch bloodline. It doesn't matter who gets in my way, how many casualties, as long as I meet my objective."

  "But I still don't understand why!"

  "It's not my choice." He shook his head, eyes glancing away, then back to her. "I don't have a say in any of it."

  "You don't?"

  "Nope." He shook his head. Picking up the menu, he began to study it with great intensity.

  "Why don't you just...stop then?" She picked up her menu too but didn't look at it.

  "I can't. As in I literally, cannot. It's like a force, a power, forcing me on."

  "When will it end?" She bit her lip. Probably a stupid question. It woul
d end when the witches were dead.

  "I wake every ten years. It's a trade-off for my immortality. I get to live...hunt...for a year, then I sleep for ten. As for when it will end. It won't."

  "How long has this been going on?"

  "Eight hundred years." He shrugged.

  "In the year you're awake, all you do is hunt and kill witches? No fun?"

  "Just hunting."

  She couldn't imagine his life for the last eight hundred years. No one to care about, no one to care about him. Just wake up, go on an epic killing spree, then back to sleep for ten years. He was existing, not living. He watched, half a smile on his face as she studied him and thought about what he'd said.

  "I was created as a weapon, remember? That's all I am. Not a man. A weapon."

  "Why are you telling me this?"

  He shrugged. "I like you." Her draw dropped. "But..." He held up his hand to silence her. "I have a plan for you. And so do the witches. Don't trust them, Georgia."

  "Are you just saying that so they, or I, don't thwart your plans?"

  "No."

  The waiter appeared, ready to take their order. Zak ordered for both of them, beer and steak. Usually, she would have bristled at such chauvinistic behavior, but she let it slide because, well, she actually wanted a beer and steak. This hunter was getting into her head.

  When their meal arrived Georgia was surprised at the wave of hunger that surged over her as soon as the aroma of the meat reached her nose. Her stomach growled and she placed a hand over it, embarrassed. She hadn't eaten food since becoming a vampire. It hadn't been necessary and, to be honest, she hadn't given it any thought. Grabbing her cutlery, she dug in, cutting off a strip of meat and popping it in her mouth, chewing with her eyes closed as the flavors burst on her tongue.

  "This. Is. Divine." She shoved another piece in her mouth, then cut up the Idaho potato covered in sour cream, shoving that into her mouth too. She glanced at Zak, frowned a little at the big smile on his face, but didn't let that deter her from enjoying her meal.

  The food revived her almost as much as the blood had earlier. Sitting back, she took a sip of her beer, the frosty glass cold against her fingers.