Authors: Shannon K. Butcher
Blood Hunt (16 page)
She’d rushed out without her satchel. Which meant she’d also left behind her flashlight. What she wouldn’t have given to have that light now.
Or a torch.
Right. She had fire. She could make a torch. Couldn’t she?
It was worth a shot.
Hope sprinted over the dusty floor to the toppled stack of pallets. She braced her foot against it and pulled on one of the boards. The nail screamed as it was wrenched out of place, but she was able to get it free.
She grabbed a wad of discarded newspaper she found on the floor and crumpled it into a tight ball. She stabbed the ball onto the bent nail and went back to the stranger’s side where she’d left the lighter.
It took a moment for her to fumble it free of the cigarette package, and even longer for her to get her fingers to work the thing. The tiny flare of light made her rejoice.
The flame wobbled as she set the newspaper on fire. She angled it so the dry wood would catch fire, holding her breath the whole time.
A few seconds later, the pallet board caught flame and victory surged inside Hope.
She was going after her phone, and if she didn’t find that, she was going after Logan.
Iain readied himself for the infant to attack. He flung the back door open, sword poised to strike.
Nothing happened. He saw no movement, heard no warning hiss coming from inside the vehicle.
The woman lay still. The blanket covering her was soaked with blood. Her face was lax, her eyes staring unfocused and fixed in death. She’d bled out. He’d failed to get her help in time to save her life.
There had been a time not so long ago that Iain’s failure would have bothered him. But no longer. The life of one human woman apparently wasn’t enough to stir his dead soul.
Not that he cared. He’d long since stopped caring. His entire focus now was on playing the part of a healthy Theronai long enough to give his brothers hope—to help them cling to life long enough to find their mates.
He could remember a time when his desire to help had burned fierce and bright inside his chest. It no longer did, and his actions were more from habit than anything else. Still, those habits ran deep, giving him a reason to pull in his next breath.
Atop the woman’s chest, the blanket shifted as something beneath it stirred.
The child. It let out a faint cry of distress.
Iain used the tip of his sword to move the blanket, pulling it down, uncovering the child.
It didn’t lunge for him. In fact, it flailed around, its tiny arms and legs jerking in the air. It had four limbs. No tentacles. It didn’t even have teeth, much less fangs.
It looked like a normal human baby.
A flicker of relief fluttered deep inside Iain, so faint it barely registered. He wasn’t going to have to kill it.
Him. The baby was a boy, not an it.
Iain sheathed his sword and gathered the squalling infant. He was tiny. Iain’s hands swallowed him up.
The child screamed louder, his cries vibrating with demand to fix what was wrong.
He was probably cold.
The blanket was too wet and bloody, so Iain tucked the naked baby inside his shirt, warming him against his chest. He zipped up his jacket to keep the wind out.
Something warm and wet slid down Iain’s stomach.
The child had peed on him. Of course.
Iain covered the dead woman with the blanket and got behind the wheel. He needed to get the baby back to Dabyr where someone could care for it. Unfortunately, that trip was going to take several hours and he doubted the child would hold its bodily functions for that long.
Time to find some diapers.
He pulled back onto the road, holding the baby in place with one hand while he drove. After a few minutes, the child’s cries quieted, then stopped completely. He could feel the warm brush of air against his skin as the baby breathed, telling him he was fine.
Not that Iain was worried. Death was probably the best thing that could happen to the boy. His mother was gone. His father was likely dead. The Synestryn would have had no reason to keep a man alive. They would have drained his blood and eaten him.
This child’s life would no doubt be filled with pain and suffering. It would be a kindness to simply let him die. If it weren’t for Iain’s vow to protect humans, he probably would have.
The vow stayed his hand, removing the choice from his conscience. Whatever hardships the boy would face were his to bear. He’d have to suck it up and deal like the rest of the world.
Iain found an all-night convenience store and pulled into the parking lot. He parked away from the entrance, as far away from lights as he could. Anyone who glanced in his ride would see the bloody blanket covering the woman’s body. He really didn’t want any trouble with the police.
As soon as he shifted, the child let out a disgruntled breath at being disturbed. He patted the lump under his coat and hurried into the store.
He found diapers and bought the smallest ones they had. He also grabbed some wet wipes, a can of formula, a plastic bottle sporting yellow ducks, and some bottled water. The boy was going to have to eat sometime, though hopefully not before he got back home.
The clerk behind the counter was a man in his early twenties with as many piercings as pimples. He grinned at Iain’s purchases. “Daddy duty, huh?”
Iain ignored the kid and pulled out his wallet.
The baby squirmed and let out a shrill scream.
The kid’s grin faded. “You got a baby under there?”
Iain laid more than enough money on the counter, grabbed his sack, and left. As he got back in his car, he could see the clerk on the phone, talking fast.
Shit. He was probably calling the police, telling them all about the big, scary man with the stolen baby under his coat.
A venomous anger streaked through Iain’s blood. The baby screamed and he realized he’d tightened his hold and had to ease up.
If he hit the highway now, every cop in the area would find him, the baby, and the dead woman. He needed to stick to the back roads and hide for a while—maybe switch vehicles.
He couldn’t drive, dial his phone, and hold the baby all at the same time, so he sped out of the parking lot and headed for the closest Gerai house. They were scattered all over this part of the country, and there were two less than an hour away. He picked the one closest to Dabyr and raced for it as fast as he dared.
The demon crouched over Logan’s legs, feeding from the blood that seeped from his wounds. His body was fighting the paralysis, but not fast enough. He couldn’t feel his legs anymore, though perhaps the demon’s saliva contained yet another toxin he couldn’t combat.
Logan scoured his mind for options, but the churning hunger inside him was distracting.
Being a meal for a Synestryn was even more distracting.
He closed his eyes, gathering up what little bit of power remained. He wasn’t yet sure what to do with it—there wasn’t enough for a powerful assault—but he’d think of something.
Light seeped through his closed eyelids. The beast at his legs hissed in annoyance.
Logan looked up to see what it was. Standing a few feet down the hall was Hope, holding a burning board aloft. Her hair seemed to glow in response to the firelight, and her eyes burned a bright, determined gold. Fear tightened her mouth and widened her eyes. Her chest rose and fell with her rapid breathing.
He’d never seen anything more beautiful in his long, long life.
“Get out of here!” he ordered, using a bit of his remaining power to spike the command with a compulsion for her to obey.
He must have been weaker than he thought, because she didn’t even pause long enough to blink before striding forward, flame first.
“How do I kill it?” she asked.
“You don’t. You run. Now.” A little more power left him as he struggled to force her obedience.
“And leave you here for it to snack on. I don’t think so.” She stabbed the torch forward and the demon flinched back. “It doesn’t like light. I know that much.”
She stepped forward. The demon batted at the torch, missing. Its eyes streamed with tears.
“Give me the torch,” he said. “I’ll kill it while you run.”
“You can’t even stand.”
“I’ll manage.”
Hope took another step forward, jabbing the fire near the demon. It inched back, hissing in frustration and rage.
“Can you hold the torch?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She handed it to him. The wood was rough in his palm. He kept his grip tight, not wanting to lose their only real weapon.
“Keep it back. I’m dragging you out of here.”
Before he could argue, she grabbed the collar of his coat and began pulling him back faster than he would have thought possible for a woman her size.
She was strong. Inhumanly so.
The importance of that would have to be examined later. For now, he had to pour all his concentration into holding the demon back with nothing more than a chunk of burning wood and steadily weakening arms.
As they moved down the hall, the Synestryn followed them, keeping out of reach of the firelight. Occasionally, it would bend its head and lap up a spot of blood on the floor left behind from Logan’s wounds.
Its eyes burned a bright, eerie green, telling Logan that it hadn’t given up on a meal yet.
They hit the first step. Hope grunted with effort. Through the leather, he felt her arm quivering with the strain of dragging his weight. Logan lifted himself, helping her as much as he could with one arm.
The demon kept up its pace, searching for an opening. Fire had eaten its way down the wood and was now only a few inches from his hand. Once he had to drop it, the demon would pounce.
They had to be out of here before that eventuality.
“You need to go faster,” he told her.
Her voice was breathless. “I’ll try.”
Even without looking at her, he could almost feel her gather her will, as if the air around her had shifted at her command. The torchlight wavered, the flame eating its way toward Logan’s hand.
The demon made a grab for Logan’s leg. Its claws raked across his skin, but sliced cleanly through his flesh, leaving nothing for them to catch on.
Pain burned his limb and he felt more poison enter his bloodstream.
The torch became heavier. So did his eyelids. His arm drooped and the demon lurched forward.
Logan raised it up at the last second, singeing away a spot of fur on its paw. It howled in pain and its eyes glowed brighter.
The last few steps bumped beneath him, rattling his spine. He heard the squeak of door hinges and felt a cool rush of air pass his cheek.
The demon flinched away from the relatively bright light of the first floor. Crackling power gathered around them, like static electricity. A moment later, Logan’s body nearly flew across the concrete, landing a few feet away. Hope slammed the door shut, picked up a discarded length of pipe, and slammed it down on the handle.
The metal doorknob bent slightly, jamming it shut.
The demon pounded against the door, rattling it on its hinges. That bent knob wasn’t going to hold it off for long.
Hope came over, grabbed the torch from his hands, and shoved it in the crack under the door, swinging it from side to side.
The demon screamed, but the pounding stopped. For now.
She came over and crumpled beside Logan, panting. “Please tell me you have a cell phone on you. Mine’s gone and we need to call for help.”
“We need to get out of here. That demon will be back.”
She let out a heavy sigh and her head hung limp from her neck in exhaustion. “I don’t know if I can drag you both out of here. I barely made it up those last few steps.”
Not to mention the fact that he was bleeding and the scent would eventually draw other Synestryn to him to feed.
He was too weak to heal himself. Too weak to even stand. He needed blood. If she wasn’t going to leave his side, he had to be strong enough to defend her.
“Feed me,” he whispered, feeling ashamed that he had to ask. “Give me some of your blood and I’ll get us all out of this mess.”
Hope’s hand covered the spot where he’d fed from her last night. Uncertainty drew her pale brows together before she gave him a resigned nod. “No more hospitals,” she warned him. “Deal?”
Logan couldn’t speak. His mouth had already begun to water in anticipation. His body clenched at the thought of holding her close again, of feeling her power sliding into him to become a part of him.
He returned her nod, sealing the deal. Even unspoken, the promise he’d given her had power. It fell across him, warm and sweet like a lover’s kiss.
Hope brushed her hair away from her neck and bent down. “Don’t you dare make a habit of this,” she said.
Logan feared he already had.
Krag stilled as that flash of power slammed into him again, coming out of nowhere. This time he was ready for it.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on the path, letting his mind slide out and through the ribbon that led to the source of that power.
The frozen landscape flew past him, giving way to homes and then to the run-down buildings at the edge of the city. The speed at which they passed was dizzying, but he held tight, needing to know who the source of such a vast amount of power was.
Krag caught only a glimpse of honey blond hair and a slender neck for an instant. A Sanguinar was feeding from the source. A woman.
How dare that leech touch what belonged to Krag? All blooded humans in this region belonged to him. Their blood was
his
.
his
.
Rage broke Krag’s concentration and he was flung away from the scene, dragged back into his body against his will. He fought it, struggling to go back to the woman and see her face, but it was useless. The connection was already gone.
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