Bloodhunter Page 14

  “No,” I screamed. “Angus, go back.”

  He caught a vampire with his horns, speared him through his chest, then shook him off and stomped another with his huge hooves before goring another one.

  Blood flew.

  Death had come to the woods of Raeven’s Road, and I was not the only one carrying it.

  Angus wouldn’t listen to reason as a man, and he for damn sure wasn’t listening to it as his animal. He roared and tossed his head and gored anyone in his path, and he was magnificent.

  All I could do was help him.

  The human female was dead, and the male lay sprawled across the bloody ground, torn open, his intestines spilling from his body. He twitched, his right hand opening and closing, his eyes staring.

  I ran Silverlight through his heart and put him out of his misery.

  And with a disorienting abruptness, the ground was littered with the dead and the world was quiet. Angus’s kills lay with torn apart bodies, entrails steaming in the cold air, but with the ability to come back. To rise.

  I set about rectifying that.

  And when I’d finished giving the diseased their true death, I sheathed the sword, fell to my knees, and sobbed. The night had been too much and I was only human, after all.

  Mostly.

  Angus shifted to his human form and pulled me to my feet. He wrapped his arms around me, murmuring quietly into my ear.

  “You shouldn’t have come,” I wailed. “You could be infected.”

  “I’m not infected, honey.”

  I wiped my eyes and leaned back in his arms to look up at him. “You don’t know that. There’s no cure, Angus. You have those many, many children to look after. You can’t be doing stupid shit like this!”

  “Hush now,” he said, but his eyes twinkled. “Shifters can’t catch a nasty vampire disease.”

  I sniffed, and the beginnings of an enormous, hopeful relief began to drift through me. “How do you know?”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Trinity. I know.”

  And there in the woods, with the dead all around me, with the horror of that night—Shane, humans, infecteds—still heavy on my mind, I began to notice other things.

  Like his scent. That irresistible, unforgettable, delicious scent. It forced the decaying smell of death and disease out of my nostrils, out of my brain. I inhaled it eagerly, glad to rid myself of the stench of infecteds.

  He stiffened against me, in more ways than one.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, when my eyes widened.

  Perhaps he thought I’d berate him for his reaction, but I had my own reaction. High on the aftereffects of battle, I pressed my palms against his bare chest and stood on tiptoe to brush my lips against his.

  “Trin,” he said, his voice hoarse and raw and strained. “What are you doing?”

  “I don’t know.” But whatever it was, I wanted to do it.

  He slammed his mouth against mine, then grabbed my ass and pushed his erection against me. His kiss was intrusive and hard and filled with lust and need and desire, and I lost myself in it, unable to do otherwise. I couldn’t have fought his overwhelming sexual power even if I’d wanted to.

  No wonder he had so many children. Women would be helpless against him. I was helpless against him. Maybe helpless was the wrong word. I was helpless against the sexual need exploding inside me. I wanted him. I wanted Angus Stark.

  My body wanted sex.

  His heat spread through me, burning me up, devouring me, and I gasped against his lips. His hard fingers bit into my rear almost painfully as he explored my mouth, and he held me there against him. I was little more than a rag doll in his arms, a shivering, seething mass of sex and emotion, and I was certain I’d never felt so good in my entire life.

  And then he thrust me from him and backed away, hastily, desperately, inexplicably.

  “No.” I swayed on my feet, unable to keep my balance. “What?”

  “You’re not you,” he said. “I don’t take advantage of women.” And with his fists clenched, his naked butt cheeks plump and hard and tempting, he strode away from me.

  “Son of a bitch,” I murmured, and unable to avert my stare from his nude body, I tailed him all the way to his truck.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  For some reason, throwing myself at Clayton, even though I’d had a damn good reason, embarrassed me more than my encounter with Angus.

  Angus was…Angus. Women threw themselves at him all the time. He was used to it. He’d understand. He’d wait for it to invariably happen again and would likely wonder only why it’d taken me so long so notice his hotness.

  I rolled my eyes even as I sat in the truck pretending not to watch him through the side mirror as he got dressed. Shifters always carried extra clothes with them.

  His muscles bunched as he pulled a black t-shirt over his head, and when he’d smoothed it over his flat stomach, he paused to look my way. Smiling.

  God.

  He’d be even more insufferable than usual now.

  I shivered and turned the heater fan down a notch. The sky was a lighter shade of black, and I dreaded going home to bed. No matter how exhausted I was, I would replay over and over and over every single moment that had occurred that night.

  “Shane,” I murmured, regretfully.

  The vehicle dipped when Angus climbed in under the wheel. “We’ll get it sorted out. Shane is well aware of the risks that come with hunting vampires.”

  I shook my head. “I doubt he was aware of the risks of hunting vampires with me. And those two dead humans…”

  “I’ll take care of it.” He reached over to squeeze my knee, and I jerked as the warmth traveled up my thigh. Perhaps he meant the squeeze to be comforting. It wasn’t. “Everything will be okay, Trinity.”

  Finally, he put his hand on the steering wheel, where it belonged, and drove us away from Raeven’s Road.

  I watched Shane’s truck grow smaller and smaller in the mirror, until finally, it disappeared. “What about his truck?”

  “I’ll send someone for it,” he growled.

  “Do you think Amias will heal him?” I asked, after we’d driven in silence for a few miles. “Or do you think he’ll turn him?” Either way, Shane would live. And either way, he would hate me.

  “I don’t know,” Angus said.

  “Shane will come after me.”

  “No, he won’t.”

  I turned my head to look at him. “He’s going to want to kill me.”

  He didn’t take his stare off the road, but he smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. “Trin, no matter how pissed he might be, he would never kill another hunter. Especially not a bloodhunter. Also, if he goes at you with the intent of doing you harm, I will stomp him into the ground.”

  And it was only when I felt a certain amount of relief at his words that I realized how scared I was of Shane Copas.

  Pathetic, but true.

  “It’s said,” Angus went on, his voice rough and deep and steady, “that hunters are connected somehow. The way vampires are connected. Vampires can’t kill each other. They can’t kill themselves, either. Don’t worry about Copas.”

  I said nothing.

  “Even if you don’t trust me to take care of the situation,” he continued, “trust the fact that hunters have a connection. He won’t hurt you.”

  “If he tries,” I said, after a while “I’ll have to defend myself.”

  I could feel his curious stare. “Of course you will. Why wouldn’t you?”

  “I gave him to Amias.”

  “Ah,” he said. “So you think you’ve hurt him enough.”

  “I guess.” I lay my head back against the seat and closed my eyes, and despite the filth on my clothes and body and the worry on my mind, I fell asleep in the warm, dark, secure cave of Angus Stark’s truck cab.

  I woke up, startled and struggling, when Angus pulled me out of the truck and into his arms. “Settle down,” he said, striding with me toward the front door.

  Angu
s was a domineering brute, but after a moment of bleary-eyed acknowledgment of that fact, I snuggled against his warm chest and let him pack me into the silent, sleeping house.

  He set me on my bed, then strode into the little en suite washroom. I yawned, nearly cracking my jaw, and heard the shower start. He came back out and stood with his hands on his hips, staring at me.

  “Water’s getting hot,” he said, finally. “Go clean up so you can get some sleep.”

  I nodded. “Angus…thank you.”

  He gave me a nod, then turned and stomped from the bedroom, angrier than when he’d gone in. I didn’t have the energy to try to figure him out, so I shrugged, grabbed some clean clothes, and headed for the bathroom. It was going to take me a good long while to scrub that hard night off my body.

  And I took my time, because I wasn’t looking forward to lying alone in that bed.

  When I finally climbed under the covers, clean and so very, very tired, I was sure I’d drift right to sleep.

  But after forty-five minutes of exhausted wakefulness, I dragged a pile of covers and my pillows to the closet and pulled the door shut after me.

  Everyone—and everything—was shut out, and I was safe.

  I slept.

  Strangely enough, I dreamed not of Angus and the potential scorching hot sex, nor of Copas and my perceived betrayal, nor even of my own brokenness and the fact that I’d done something too awful to contemplate in protecting Amias.

  I dreamed of Rhys Graver and the foam-carrying incubus, who, in my dreams, were one and the same.

  When I awakened, I opened my eyes to find the closet door open and Angus crouched in the doorway, watching me. “Trin,” he said, when I opened my eyes. His voice was calm, but his eyes were mournful.

  I sat up, angry because I could feel the heat of embarrassment climbing my cheeks. I glared at him. “What?”

  He stood. “Shane’s back, honey.”

  “Okay,” I muttered. “He’s alive. He’s alive.” I shoved the covers aside and jumped to my feet, and he stood aside as I strode past him. “What time is it?”

  “A little after noon.”

  I rubbed my arms, then turned to look at him, almost afraid to ask the question but needing to hear the answer more than anything. “Is he…?”

  He shrugged, then grinned. “He’s raging, but he’s no vampire.”

  I was afraid to believe him. “How do you know?”

  “For one reason, he walked into this house under his own steam. If Amias had turned him, he’d be out of commission for at least a couple of weeks while his master…” He shrugged. “It takes a while for a vampire to transition. And he came in a couple of hours ago, Trin. In the daylight.”

  “Oh, my God.” I reached out to clutch his big arm. “That’s great. That’s unbelievable.” His muscles rippled under my fingers and I realized suddenly that I was touching him. I dropped my hand and crossed my arms.

  “He was being a pissy little bitch, of course.” Angus gave a tiny shiver and stuck his hands into his pockets. “But he and I had a nice long talk. He’s calmed down.”

  I frowned. “I saw his attack. He lost so much blood. How is he okay?”

  “The vampire got to him fast, I guess. Copas is weak, but he’s stubborn. He’ll be fine.”

  “Amias fed him, didn’t he? He had to. Shane lost so much blood.”

  “Most likely, but that’s a secret he’ll carry to his grave. I wouldn’t go asking him about it, if I were you.”

  I snorted and dashed away the tears of relief standing in my eyes. “I’m not stupid.”

  “Another thing,” he said.

  I sighed. “Of course there is.”

  “Clayton is downstairs. The man with the Foam of Aphrodite is indeed an incubus. What do you know about these demons?”

  I shook my head. “Not a lot. Offspring of a demon and a human, sucks out a person’s life force to live.” I shrugged. “Not much else.”

  “Get dressed. Come down for breakfast. Clayton will explain everything he learned and some of what he suspects.” He eyed me. “Your heart is too soft, Trin.”

  I paused on my way to the dresser. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “You can’t change what Clayton Wilder is.”

  I pulled open a drawer and rifled through it to keep from looking at him. “And what is he?”

  “He’s the necromancer’s property. And he will be until she lets him go back to his grave.”

  “What if she never does?” I murmured, surprised at the little flare of grief that sparked inside me when I thought of Clayton dying.

  “Then he will belong to her forever.”

  I grabbed some underwear from the drawer, then slammed it shut, barely noticing when Angus’s stare lingered on my silky panties. “That’s not right. There has to be a way to help him get his freedom.”

  “Trinity, he killed her daddy.” He finally looked away from my undies when I wadded them up inside my fist. “Tortured the man. Miriam watched the whole thing.”

  The blood drained from my face so suddenly I swayed. “What?”

  He nodded, solemnly. “She was little more than a kid. Neither man was aware of her. She hid in the kill room, terrified out of her mind, and watched as Clayton tortured and murdered the man she loved most in the world. That broke her mind, Trin.”

  “My God,” I whispered.

  I only realized I was crying when Angus slid his thumb through the wetness on my cheek. “He’s hers, sweetheart,” he murmured. “And she deserves to keep him.”

  I nodded, then turned abruptly and slipped into the bathroom. The horror of the world was sometimes too overwhelming. Too dark.

  I let the hot water rush over my back and did with Miriam’s story what I did with my own. I beat it, subdued it, and hid it away in as deep a corner of my mind as I could find.

  There wasn’t really any other way I could live with it.

  By the time I joined Clayton downstairs, I was calm and even slightly cheerful. But I couldn’t look at him the same way I had.

  I knew I never would.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The huge house was mostly silent, though I heard a vacuum cleaner somewhere in the distance, sucking up the debris left behind by a dozen kids.

  Clayton sat tall and silent at the large table, and after I poured myself a huge mug of coffee and grabbed a package of cookies, I joined him. The house possessed a large, formal dining room, but nearly everyone in the house preferred the kitchen and the battered old wood table to the dining room. That particular room was utilized for large Thanksgiving and other family dinners, when the children’s mothers and extended relatives descended upon the house.

  “Angus says you have new information about the attacker,” I said.

  “Yes,” Clayton responded, when I sat down. “I do.”

  At last, I looked at him. I tried to keep my emotions out of my face but was pretty sure I was unsuccessful when he studied me for a few seconds, then gave a small sigh.

  A light in his eyes seemed to flicker like a sputtering candle flame, and then it was extinguished, leaving only a dull emptiness behind.

  Maybe I’d been the only person who’d ever been in his corner—at least since he’d been brought back. Maybe I’d been the only person not to look at him with contempt. Maybe I’d been the only person who looked at him the way a woman looks at a man.

  And maybe he was sad to see that go.

  I couldn’t feel bad about that. I couldn’t.

  But fuck me if I didn’t.

  Peppered in with the judgment were the memories of how he’d touched me, how his lips had felt against mine, how his voice had sounded when he’d whispered my name.

  God. God.

  “What did you find out?” I asked, my voice a little hoarse. I dropped my gaze, unable to think clearly when the remembered heat of him was fierce enough to burn me.

  “Trinity,” he said, quietly. “Someday I’ll—”

  I shook my head
hard to dislodge the images. “What, Clayton? What will you do? Convince me that torturing a man in front of his daughter doesn’t make you a monster? I don’t want to hear it.” I sat back and crossed my arms. “Just tell me what you found out about the demon. He’s the only asshole I want to think about right now.”

  He inclined his head. “He’s definitely an incubus.” He slipped his hand into his suit jacket and emerged with a folded piece of paper. “The name he uses is Seth Damon. We traced him back sixty years. Back then, he didn’t kill his victims. He took what he needed and left them alive, as most incubi do. The victims would have thought they had the flu for a week or two afterward. This drawing came from one of his later victims—he nearly killed her but she escaped with the help of her boyfriend.”

  “I glimpsed his face.” I stared down at the drawing. In the picture he looked…human. Surprisingly normal. Handsome, with intense eyes and short, dark hair. The face I’d barely seen had been…terrible.

  “That’s his façade,” Clayton said. “Some humans believe vampires can’t be photographed, but they can. Demons can’t be photographed. At full power, he could change his façade to look like anyone he wanted. If he’s sick, he’ll stick to the easiest disguise, which is the one you’re holding now. And it’s beginning to crack.”

  “That’s why he wears the hood,” I said. “To hide his face.”

  He nodded. “He no longer has the energy to maintain it. At least not all the time.” He took back the drawing, then continued. “If we don’t find him before the humans discover the foam, there will be trouble. He’s not going to leave Red Valley.”

  “Because of me.”

  “Yes. And because his time is running out. I think this is his last stand.”

  We stared at each other in silence. I didn’t see worry or doubt in his eyes, but I knew mine would be full of both. Clayton believed he and the others could really help me defend myself against a hungry, desperate demon.

  I wasn’t so sure.

  “Some time ago,” Clayton said, “he came and never left. I don’t think that was his choice. I think he’s stuck here, and in order to go home, he has to generate a huge amount of energy.”