Blood Hunt (37 page)

What if she was injured? What if she needed Hope at her side, praying for her recovery?

Hope reached for her cell phone, before she remembered it was gone. She needed to call for a cab, but she didn’t even know where she was.

Flashing lights, smoke, and flames filled the TV screen. A bright red banner scrolled across the bottom, mocking her inability to move forward as it did. She didn’t know what to do next.

Sister Olive may be dead.

Grief crashed into her, making her sway. A low sound of mourning filled her ears. Hot tears slid down her cold cheeks, stinging as they passed.

Nothing was ever going to be the same again. Her whole world had gone up in flames and now she had nothing. No family. No home. No job. Everything had been stripped from her, laying her bare.

The air was too thin. She couldn’t seem to get enough of it to fill her lungs. Her chest burned and she held herself as she rocked. The ice inside her had melted, and now she felt everything. All the fear and pain and grief. It slammed down on top of her, over and over, beating the life from her body.

Her mind struggled to make sense of things, to find some course of action that would help. But nothing came to her. There was nothing she could do to fix this. Her life was gone.

Again.

For the second time in less than thirty years, everything had been taken from her. She couldn’t go through it again. She couldn’t start from scratch and rebuild her life. She wasn’t that strong.

If that Synestryn had meant to kill her in that fire, he’d succeeded, because Hope was certain she wasn’t going to survive. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to try.

 

Hope’s anguish assaulted Logan’s senses. He could hear her heart race and her breath wheezing in and out of her lungs. The heavy scent of mourning flooded his nose, and the sight of her tears made something dark and violent writhe in his chest.

He had to do something.

Logan turned to Nicholas. “Do not try to stop me,” he told the Theronai.

“What are you going to do?”

“Ease her pain.”

“Why would I stop that?”

Logan didn’t answer. Instead he gathered her trembling body in his arms and carried her back to one of the bedrooms. She didn’t fight him. She didn’t even seem to acknowledge his existence.

Nicholas was right on his heels. “Whatever you’re going to do, I’m going to watch.”

“No, you’re not.”

“The hell I’m not. She’s my responsibility.”

Logan whirled around, snarling at Nicholas. He tried to keep his voice quiet, but he managed only to sound more feral. “Hope is
mine
.”

Nicholas stopped in his tracks, looking stunned. “I’ve never seen you act like this before. What’s gotten into you?”

“A woman I care for is in pain.”

A silent sob shook Hope’s body, making Logan wish she’d turn to him for comfort.

“You care for her? Since when do you care about anyone but yourself?”

Logan restrained his anger long enough to lay Hope down on the bed. She curled into a ball, hugging herself. Every moment Nicholas delayed him was another moment of suffering for Hope.

That was simply unacceptable.

He gathered his power and grabbed Nicholas by the throat. He slammed the beefy man into the door frame. “I care not what your opinion of me is. Hope is the one who matters here. She’s in pain. I intend to ease her suffering. Back. The. Hell. Off.”

Logan let go of Nicholas. The man’s neck was red, but he didn’t even rub away the sting. Instead, he filled the doorway, crossing his thick arms over his chest. “I’m not leaving you alone with her when you’re like this. Not unless you kill me.”

Which he knew Logan would not do. His blood was far too valuable, as was his sword arm.

Logan was going to have to ease Hope with an audience, which was awkward, but necessary. He didn’t want to waste even one more second on Nicholas.

Hope was facing away from them. Quiet sobs of pain shook her shoulders.

Logan sat next to her, shoving all emotion from his mind in preparation for what he was going to do. After several deep breaths, he laid his hand on her forehead and forced his blood to give up its stores of power.

He sought out her grief and gathered it up. It swarmed about him, stinging like a hundred wasps. The pain grew the longer he controlled the emotion, but he needed to accumulate all he could. He wouldn’t have the will to do this twice.

Once he controlled her pain, he shoved it into himself, holding his breath as her emotions became his own.

A sense of loss so deep it would never heal split him open. His soul wept boiling tears of mourning that burned until he was sure the pain would kill him. Every empty part of him was filled with grief and loneliness.

Intellectually, he knew that these emotions were not his, but that made them no less real. Hope felt things deeply. More so than any other human he’d ever known. Her sorrow invaded every part of her until her very cells were drowning in it.

Logan didn’t know how she’d survived feeling like this, even for a moment. He carried only a portion of her anguish and it was enough to drive him mad.

Normally, he would have adapted to the feelings, absorbed them, and transformed them into chemical and electrical signals that would fade in moments. But this was too much. He couldn’t process it all. He didn’t know how she could stand it.

He heard Nicholas’s concerned voice, but couldn’t make out the words. Not that they’d matter. Nothing seemed to matter now except Hope.

Logan gathered her into his arms and held on tight. Her warmth sank into him, anchoring him in place.

He needed just a little more time to fight off these feelings. To let them dissipate. And then, when they had, he’d go back to gather up more, despite the pain it caused him.

He couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her to suffer alone.

Chapter 25

N
icholas didn’t like this situation. He didn’t know what Logan was doing to the woman, but whatever it was, it was costing him dearly. The Sanguinar’s skin had gone so pale it was nearly translucent. His body shook, and Nicholas could see Logan’s flesh wasting away before his eyes. Muscles that had been there only moments ago were shrinking and fading, leaving the other man’s clothing hanging on his frame.

He went to Logan’s side and put his hand on his bony shoulder. “You need to stop.”

Logan didn’t seem to hear him. His grip on Hope was tight, his body curled around her almost possessively.

Or maybe not almost. The Sanguinar
had
claimed her. Backing up that claim was a different story entirely, and modern women tended to be a bit prickly about such things. Their independent streaks were wide and tender. Treading on one was risky.

Not that Nicholas wouldn’t have done the same thing if he’d thought Hope could save him. He would have. He would have done anything in his power to hold on to her. Just the way Logan was doing.

He heard the door to the Gerai house open. He put his hand on his sword and went to see who was there.

Tynan shut the front door behind him, gathering his coat about his lean body to ward off the chill. The Sanguinar was strikingly perfect in his appearance, with the kind of good looks that made women stare in lust-filled awe. Like all the Sanguinar, he had pale skin and eyes that had the ability to shed light when their emotions ran hot or they were using their magical mojo.

A Sanguinar with glowing eyes was a dangerous beast. Of course, even without the glowing eyes, Logan and Tynan’s kind were not to be trusted. Unless it was to trust that they would do whatever benefitted them.

Which made Nicholas wonder what Logan stood to gain by easing Hope’s pain. Perhaps her cooperation?

“What are you doing here?” asked Nicholas.

“I’m looking for Logan. Where is he?”

“In the bedroom. With a woman.”

Only a faint flicker of surprise lifted Tynan’s brow before he controlled his reaction and his face once again became impassive. “I see. Perhaps I shouldn’t disturb them then.”

“Actually, you probably should. I don’t know what he’s doing, but it doesn’t seem to be too healthy for him.”

Tynan hurried past Nicholas and down the hall until he found Logan. He watched for a moment before he went to the bed.

“Stop,” said Tynan in such a forceful tone that Nicholas found himself freezing in place, not even daring to breathe for a second.

Logan growled. The quiet warning was unmistakable.

“You must stop,” repeated Tynan, this time with more force.

Logan ignored him.

Tynan turned to Nicholas. “Strike him.”

“What?”

“Hit him. Hard. Disrupt his concentration.”

“Do it yourself.”

“As you wish. I would have thought you’d enjoy the task.”

There had been times when Nicholas would have bled for the chance to slap one of the Sanguinar, but not like this.

Tynan drew back his fist and slammed it into the side of Logan’s face.

Logan was lying still one moment, and the next, he was flying at Tynan, claws and teeth bared, eyes glowing. The snarl on his face was a deadly warning, as was the hiss pouring from his mouth.

Nicholas yanked Tynan out of the way and took the brunt of Logan’s attack. The Sanguinar’s claws raked across his face, drawing blood, but Logan was no match for Nicholas’s strength. He spun Logan around and tossed him to the floor. His head bounced off the wall and he stayed down.

Logan shook his head as if to clear it. Tynan knelt down by his side. “Are you well?”

Logan nodded. The light had gone out of his eyes, leaving them the normal, pale silver color. He looked up at Nicholas. “I apologize. I will repair the damage.”

“No, I will,” said Tynan.

“It’s just a scratch.”

“One that is bleeding and will draw unwanted company.”

The leech was right.

Nicholas stood still while Tynan worked his mojo, closing up the small wounds. As soon as the searing heat faded from his cheek, Nicholas went to wash away the blood. When he got back, they were all going to have a serious talk about what the hell had just happened.

 

Rory had managed to fight off the smaller monsters that had come for her, but she was no match for this one. It was huge—easily three times her size. Its skin was covered in a slimy layer of filth, pulsing as if something was crawling beneath it. It stood upright; the lower half of its body was submerged. Above the waterline, it widened as it went up, getting bigger and thicker as it neared the ceiling. Its nostrils were above its eyes, leaving an odd, empty spot in the middle of its face. Fleshy lips protruded from its jaws, the bottom one sagging under its own weight.

Beyond the mottled gray lips, she could see the glint of teeth. Not that it needed those. The wicked claws extending from its flipperlike hands were more than enough to kill her.

It regarded her with a kind of curiosity, blinking and sniffing as it neared.

Rory didn’t think she could be any more afraid than she had been since she’d been dumped down here, but this thing was proving her wrong. Her body found the strength to send a spurt of fear rocketing through her system.

She gripped her makeshift weapon harder, until the edges of it dug into her palm. She’d sharpened the tip by rubbing it on the concrete walls, and now that tip was caked with the black blood of the things she’d used it to kill.

As she looked at the two-foot length of metal, a bubble of nervous laughter rose up inside her. There was no way she could even get close enough to this thing to hit it without it being able to strike her first.

But as the thing glided closer to her, parting the dirty water, she realized it was going to make her test that theory.

A shrill whistle sounded from somewhere outside this room. The monster spun around and sank below the water, swimming out the door. Four thick tentacles broke the surface as it fled. It didn’t have legs at all.

Rory had no idea what had happened, but she didn’t question her good fortune. She was too busy trying to think of a way out. She couldn’t be here when that thing came back. Her last attempt to crawl over the ceiling tiles had ended in disaster. The stairway was blocked by more monsters than she could possibly kill, and so far, she’d found no other means of escape. No windows, no tunnels, just an endless stretch of concrete walls and cold, disgusting water.

She heard the slosh of that water as something came her way. She crouched into the corner and lifted her weapon.

One of the guards who’d thrown her down here came into view. “You’re still alive. Good. Come with me.”

She tried to tell him to go to hell, but her mouth was too dry to speak. She hadn’t been able to get back to the leaking water pipe at the far end of the building today, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to drink the muck these things lived in.

He motioned for her to come. “Hurry. The food I gave them will hold their interest for only so long.”

What choice did she have? There was no way out down here. At least if she went with him, she’d have a fighting chance to escape. Or at least a chance to die warm and dry. Even that would be an improvement.

Rory hopped down from her perch. The cold water sucked the life from her and stole her breath. The guard grabbed her arm and practically hauled her through the sludge.

As they neared the stairway door, she saw a throbbing mass of twisted bodies fighting a few yards away. She didn’t want to see what they were fighting over. All she cared about was getting out of here.

Her legs barely worked to push her up the steps. She was weak from dehydration, hunger, and exhaustion. There was no way she could run in her condition—at least not without falling on her face.

Even her curse—or her
gift
, as her grandma called it—had quit working, which she counted in the pro column of situational accounting. At least without it, she didn’t have to see the horrible things that were going on around her.