Bloodhunter Page 2

  “What’d he say?” Angus continued holding the shotgun in a white-knuckled grip. “What’d he say?” His voice was a low growl and he turned his angry glare on me, as though it were my fault Amias had gotten away.

  I wasn’t the only one who wanted a piece of that vampire.

  I’d told Angus before that if I got to Amias first, I wasn’t sharing.

  “Nothing.” With Lydia still holding my hand, I turned and began walking toward the long office building that held not only Stark’s Pizza, but Bay Town Real Estate, Bay Berry Accountants, Bay Town Daily Times, Clary Sage Coffee, and…

  Miriam Crow, necromancer.

  The woman who’d introduced me to Bay Town and the nonhumans who lived there. The supernaturals weren’t exactly invited to live in the city with the humans.

  “Nothing?” Angus raised an eyebrow.

  “He said he needed to talk to me. Told me to listen. That’s all.”

  Angus snorted with derision. “Go inside.” He was finished with the conversation. “It’s not safe for a girl out here.”

  “I’ve told you to keep your orders and your opinions to yourself, you sexist, condescending bastard,” I said, but mildly. I had bigger, bloodier things to worry about than the chauvinistic bull shifter.

  Lydia tugged my hand. “Come in with me.”

  “She likes to play with that tea set you gave her.” Angus stared into the distance, after the vampire who’d just fled. “And she likes cookies. Go on in and feed the child.”

  “Triny,” the child said, insistently. “Play with me.”

  I patted the little girl’s hand, then gave her a gentle push toward the shop. “Not tonight.” She forgot me immediately as she knelt, grabbed a pebble of some sort, and took off after her siblings. “Cory,” she yelled. “I got a rock.”

  Angus focused on me, staring down from his great height, his nostrils flaring as though he caught the scent of something that pleased him.

  “I work for you, Angus. I make pizzas. I’m not tending your kids.”

  He frowned. “What?”

  “I said, I’m not tending your kids. That’s your job, and their mothers’, if you can find any of them. Seriously. Birth control. Look into it.”

  He flashed a white grin, and his stare dropped to my lips.

  I could see what attracted women to him, honestly I could. He was one of the most handsome men I’d ever seen. Not that handsome was really the word for Angus Stark, exactly. He was hot, raw, domineering, loud, and bossy. And every single thing about him screamed sex.

  Women threw themselves at him.

  He had fourteen children—that I knew of—and one on the way. He adored them all. It was obvious in the way he looked at them, the way he cared for them.

  And that was just awesome, but I wanted no part of it.

  Their mothers gave them over to Angus’ care because they’d have been unable to raise a shifter baby. Not only were they unequipped to deal with the special needs of a supernatural child, their human community was an inhospitable environment for a nonhuman.

  Very inhospitable.

  I strode into the pizza shop, Angus at my back. I’d worked for him for five years, and considered myself lucky. I had my reasons for staying at the restaurant. Angus paid well, was lenient, and I loved pizza.

  But mostly, I stayed there because no one in Bay Town was human. Well, except for me. I was human, but I was also one of supernaturals.

  I’d been through hell because of a nonhuman, and they understood me. They accepted me. They didn’t look at me like I was a freak.

  The Red Valley Thanksgiving Day Massacre had changed me.

  Amias Sato’s bite hadn’t killed me, but it had modified something inside me. Now their tricks didn’t seem to work—they couldn’t mesmerize me, and no matter how motionless they stood with their spooky, creepy stillness, I saw them. They couldn’t hide from me.

  The attack had taken away my innocence and replaced it with rage.

  There was more—I could feel it. I didn’t know what else he might have done to me, but there was more.

  And I felt more comfortable in the supernatural community than I did in the human world.

  For the most part, humans accepted the supernaturals. The shifters and wolves and other nonhumans who lived in the humans’ world were pretty much allowed to exist without constant persecution—as long as they lived by the rules.

  But no one loved the vampires. Most humans shuddered at the very thought of a parasitic monster walking the city. Most supernaturals shuddered at the thought, as well.

  Lucky for them, vampires had protections. How else could they survive in a world full of humans? Creepy, mystical protections, like being able to stand so still a human would look right past them and have no idea the bloodsucking monsters were lurking nearby. At least the older vampires had that ability.

  But I saw them. And I saw Amias often. He stalked me. His obsession was obvious, but his reasons were murky.

  All I wanted was to kill him.

  The memories began to break free from the coffins in which I’d buried them, and I hurried through the restaurant, muttering “shit, shit, shit,” under my breath.

  “Trin,” Angus called. “Are you all right?”

  “Lydia wants tea and cookies,” I snapped. “Go feed her.”

  I jogged down the hall to the small bathroom, shut the door, and slid down the wall to sit on the floor. I didn’t turn on the light. I sat with my arms wrapped around my knees, shivering.

  Amias had that effect on me. Every time I saw him, I lost control. Still, each interaction left me a little less affected. But I didn’t want to get used to the homicidal bastard.

  “Listen to me.”

  And then echoes of human screams flashed through my mind.

  I put my hands over my ears, which did absolutely no good.

  Until I killed Amias, I would never be free, and I would never be forgiven. Maybe that wasn’t logical, but it didn’t matter. That was how I felt.

  I had no choice. I had to kill him.

  There was, of course, one problem.

  I couldn’t kill him.

  Stabbing him in the shoulder was the closest I’d gotten to that cold, black heart. I shivered as the remembered pain from that attempt streaked through my body.

  I wasn’t sure why it caused me such pain to hurt Amias. He’d attacked me, had nearly killed me, and for some reason that made him off limits. When I hurt him—or even attempted to hurt him, I was brutalized by some unseen, mystical force that had decided it was a bad idea for me to hurt that particular vampire.

  The fact that I’d been able to stick him meant something was wrong. If he’d been alert, I wouldn’t have gotten in the lucky shot.

  And that worried me. Things had been good lately. Quiet. I thought maybe I was going to be okay after all.

  I didn’t want the vampire showing up out of the blue, trying to talk to me. I saw him lingering in the distance sometimes, or lurking in the shadows of the building in which I lived, or standing in the parking lot at work. I’d race toward him, my stakes out, but when I reached the spot where he’d stood, he was gone. Always.

  I knew there were times when I didn’t see him.

  He watched me, followed me, stalked me, but he was quiet.

  Until tonight.

  Finally, I heaved myself off the floor and staggered across to the sink, then turned back to flip on the light switch.

  I splashed water on my face, flinching when my wet fingertips touched the scars on my right cheek. I ran my wet hands over my head, dampening my dark, short hair, then washed and dried my hands.

  When I walked into the kitchen, I’d successfully buried the memories once more, and it was time to go to work.

  Chapter Two

  The heat of the kitchen wrapped around me, warming me even as scents of sausage, onions, and tomato sauce made my stomach growl.

  Angus’s sixteen-year-old daughter Derry smiled at me. “You want a slice?”


  “Yes.” I rubbed my stomach. “Two slices. Onions and bell peppers, please.”

  Angus shook his head and sighed.

  “What?” I asked. “I’m hungry.”

  “I’ll be in my office,” he growled, and stomped away. He was back in ten seconds. “Harlan and Jerome can do deliveries. You stay in tonight. Take the register.”

  He knew I hated the register. I shook my head. “I’ll wash dishes. And make pizzas.”

  He threw his hands in the air and stomped away once again.

  Behind me, Derry snickered. “He doesn’t like when people disobey him.”

  “He doesn’t like when women disobey him,” I corrected. “And he’s not the boss of me.”

  “Actually,” she said, “he is.”

  “Not in the way he wants to be.” I took the plate she handed me and lifted a slice of hot, saucy pizza. The thick cheese stretched and finally broke, and I closed my eyes as I slid the point of the slice into my mouth. “Oh,” I mumbled. “So good.”

  “You can help me in the dining room,” Kristin Hoffman offered. She was one of the nonrelatives Angus hired, along with Jerome. “The tips are great tonight.”

  I started on my second slice of pizza. “I’ll stay back here.”

  She paused, her bright stare flitting to my scars, then away. “They don’t look that bad, Trinity. And the customers love seeing you with…” She gestured at my face. “Those, and the stakes. They love that you wear them.”

  “Thanks,” I replied, a bit dryly. “I’ll stay back here.”

  I wasn’t in the mood to be stared at and whispered about. Not tonight. Not when my emotions were still too near the surface. I’d gotten used to the stares and the curiosity. I was, after all, the only survivor of the Thanksgiving Day Massacre, and six years wasn’t that long. People didn’t forget. They looked at me and shuddered and clutched their stomachs uneasily, understanding it could have been any one of them.

  And that I’d been driven mad, for a while, by the horror of it. Perhaps, I could almost hear them thinking, some of that madness remained.

  I’d spent three months in the hospital as they’d put me back together.

  My body was covered with scars that would never fade, but I’d lived. I’d survived with my mind intact.

  Mostly.

  “Loaded pizza for Miriam,” Derry told Harlan. “Take a picture of Clayton for me.” She waggled her eyebrows, and her brother sneered.

  “You’re stupid,” he told her.

  She laughed. “If you were a girl, you’d understand.”

  Clayton Wilder belonged to Miriam. She’d told me a few different stories about how she’d come to possess him, and I didn’t believe any of them.

  But I was fascinated as hell by both of them. I held out my hand. “I’ll deliver it.”

  “Hey,” Harlan protested. “She’s the best tipper in Bay Town.”

  “Maybe in all of Red Valley,” I agreed. “I’ll split it with you.”

  “You’re as bossy as my dad,” he said.

  I shrugged. “I’m also older than you, and you have to respect your elders.”

  He dropped his eyes to my body, smiling. “You don’t look old.”

  I snorted. “You are your father’s son.”

  “You’re twenty-four,” Derry said. “That’s not anybody’s elder. But here. Take Miriam the pizza. You’ll owe me one.”

  I snatched the large box and gave her a wink. “You are my favorite Stark.”

  She preened as Harlan rolled his eyes.

  “Be careful out there,” he told me. “Another human woman was murdered last night.” He leered at me, and curled his fingers into claws. “By vampires.”

  I frowned. That made the third woman killed in the last two weeks. The month before last one woman had been killed. The murderer was spiraling out of control.

  I shuddered.

  “Stop scaring her,” Derry said.

  “I’m not,” he insisted. “Just telling her to watch out.”

  “As if she doesn’t already know to watch out. She learned that the hard way.”

  I left them to it and headed to Miriam Crow’s office, which was two doors down from the pizza store.

  The night air was crisp, and sounds from the not-too-distant city infiltrated the little Bay Town. The raucous honking of angry horns, screaming sirens, revving engines. None of it belonged in Bay Town.

  I closed my eyes and turned my face to the sky, then pulled the fresh, cold air deep into my lungs.

  My cell rang, startling me out of the moment, and I juggled the box as I pulled the phone from my pocket. I frowned.

  “Angus?”

  “Stop standing there asking for trouble,” Angus said. “Get that pizza to Miriam’s before it gets cold or come back into the store and let one of the boys do it.”

  My face heated despite the cold night air, and I glanced at the camera high on the exterior wall. I saluted him with my middle finger, then ended the call, cutting off his laughter.

  After another glance at the camera, I walked down the sidewalk to the necromancer’s office, rapidly cooling pizza in hand.

  I knew Angus would have scoured the footage from my earlier brush with Amias. He wouldn’t have seen much. Amias knew the cameras didn’t reach far into the parking lot. Vampires learned the surveillance situation in their territories early on. They were smart that way.

  I walked past the realtor’s office, glancing through the window as I passed by. The realtor was a man named Rhys Graver. Angus had told me once that selling real estate was a front for Graver’s real job, but would never say what his real job was.

  Rhys was a couple inches taller than my five feet nine inches, with short, black hair, velvety brown eyes so dark they were almost the same shade as his skin, and full lips that smiled even when his eyes didn’t. I got the feeling his job wasn’t the only fake thing about him. He put on a happy attitude, friendly voice, and easy laugh that might have fooled most people. Probably did.

  But they didn’t fool me.

  I saw something dark in his eyes. Something cruel, hard, and frightening. It didn’t matter how hot he was. He was scary.

  I still had no idea what Rhys Graver was. Wolf, maybe.

  Clayton pulled open the door just as I reached it. He said nothing, as usual.

  He reached for the box, then left the door open as he turned and walked away. I couldn’t help but watch him go.

  He was dressed in a black suit. The slacks and open jacket were a lighter shade than the midnight black of his pullover shirt, and he wore a black band on the ring finger of his left hand. His dark hair was parted in the middle and pushed back behind his ears. His eyes were a cold, light blue, surrounded by thick black lashes and topped by slashing dark brows.

  Whatever he was, he was sexy as anything. Maybe the fact that he was so untouchable made him even more irresistible.

  I followed him in, then shut the door behind me. Miriam’s space was pretty much like any other office—surprising, considering what she did.

  Most of us believed Clayton was a golem, but what proof did we have? The fact that Miriam dominated him? That he followed her around, took whatever abuse she doled out and continued to stay with her? That he rarely spoke?

  That deep in his blue stare was a spark of rage so fierce I could barely look into his eyes for more than a few seconds at a time?

  Yeah. That seemed pretty definitive.

  He was a golem. He belonged to Miriam.

  And he didn’t want either of those things to be true.

  “Trinity,” Miriam greeted. She was a slender, pale woman who looked around thirty, though she seemed somehow…ancient. She was all blonde sleekness and creamy skin with pink cheeks, bright blue eyes, and full, pink lips. She couldn’t have looked less like a creature of the night, but Miriam could hold her own against just about anybody. Or anything.

  I’d seen her stare down an irate man determined to carve out her heart, and I’d seen her ord
er a moaning, rotting ghoul back to its grave. I’d watched her bully her freaky-ass-sexy-as-hell golem as though he couldn’t reach down and pinch off her head.

  “Miriam,” I replied. “Cold night.”

  “Yes, indeed.” She tilted her head and studied me, as though I were the strangest thing in that room.

  After a minute of standing still for her probing stare, I shifted from one foot to the other and cleared my throat.

  “Clayton.” Miriam pushed her chair away from her desk and crossed her legs. “Pay her.”

  He walked immediately to her desk, opened a drawer, and withdrew a checkbook. As he scribbled, Miriam gave me a conspiratorial smile.

  I had no idea what was going on, but the tension in the room was thick enough to chew. It had a bitter, poisonous flavor.

  Still, I returned her smile, because it was the polite thing to do.

  Clayton looked up at that exact second, intercepting what likely appeared as two women mocking his forced servitude. His face darkened, his eyes narrowed, and he pinned me with a look so full of anger and disgust that I could only gape and take a quick step backward.

  “Clayton,” Miriam snapped. “Leave the room!” But as he started to exit through a doorway leading to the hall, she stopped him. “Clayton.”

  He kept his back to us. “Yes.” There was nothing in that voice but rust. Nothing at all.

  “Apologize to Trinity for scaring her.”

  There was a heartbeat of silence when I thought this might be the time he decided to rebel, but his voice came, finally, forced and empty. “I apologize.”

  “It’s okay,” I managed. “I’m sorry for…” I waved my hand, unsure.

  He whipped his head around, surprise lighting his eyes. Miriam stiffened, and he gathered himself quickly, then strode from the room.

  No, strode was the wrong word.

  He slunk from the room.

  And I felt like shit.

  “He’s a very dangerous thing,” Miriam said. “You don’t ever need to apologize to him.”

  “Why do you keep him?” I didn’t really expect an answer but she gave me one, and I believed she was being truthful. At least partially.

  “Because forcing him to bend to my will gives me great pleasure.”