Diana's Hound: Bloodhounds, Book 4 (4 page)

Diana rose and turned her back on the sofa, lowering her voice until she hoped Victoria couldn’t hear. “But it’s not true, right? She’s sick from going without the drugs.”

Nate’s jaw clenched as he shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think one can bind a human life to a vampire’s…but I wouldn’t have considered my existence possible either.”

If it
was
a possibility, it wasn’t one they could fight. They could only treat her as if she would be fine, and let the rest sort itself out. If she was dying, at least she’d be safe and comfortable.

The doctor arrived, took a quick look at Victoria and enlisted Hunter’s help in moving her to a bedroom for further examination. She barely stirred, even when Hunter lifted her into his arms and edged through the parlor doors.

As soon as the woman was out of earshot, Diana grasped Wilder’s arm. “She said a hound sold her.”

“What?”

“A
bloodhound
,” Diana insisted. “She seemed certain. Lucid too.”

Wilder shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

But Emmett only sighed, his shoulders heaving under the weight of it. “Maybe more than you think, Harding. There’ve been rumors, and they ain’t just talk.”

Nate seemed unusually still. Sometimes he pulsed with the feral energy of another hound, but now he was a statue. A cold, distant statue that spoke in a tone as heavy as granite. “Rumors of what, Emmett? Surely the Guild’s financial need has not become so great that they’ve taken to selling women across the border to put a little gold in the coffers.”

“Course not.” The older man glanced at Diana, then looked away. “There’s a rogue hound operating over the border. Supposedly someone the Guild disavowed but let walk.”

Nate’s gaze followed Emmett’s, but he didn’t look away. Diana felt the weight of his stare as he continued speaking. “Why hasn’t someone dealt with the bastard? Is he that difficult to hunt?”

“Yes and no.”

Diana barely heard the words. “A rogue hound.” Her lips had gone numb. “If you’re looking at me, that must mean—”

“It’s him,” Emmett interrupted. “Ephraim—Doc—he did tests when you and your man were attacked. He gathered blood that must have belonged to the hound that did it, said it was…different.” He turned to Wilder and Nate. “He hadn’t been branded, but he did have some of the traits the Guild likes to add in, so he wasn’t made in the wild like Hunter or our girl here.”

Nate blinked, his gaze finally jumping to Emmett. “You had contact with Ephraim after he disappeared?”

“We don’t have time for this,” he growled in answer. “This hound makes trips through Eternity. There’s one coming up, and I don’t know when another chance will roll around. We need to lay a trap to catch him now.” Emmett took a deep breath. “We need Diana.”

“Absolutely
not
,” Nate snapped without giving her a chance to speak. “Out of the question.”

He was still treating her like a delicate, endangered flower, but her protest hung in her throat. Instead, she focused on Emmett. “This hound—the one selling the women—could he be the one who made me?”

“It’s likely,” he allowed. “Tobias and I ran across something a while back—a slaughter at an outpost nearer the border. At first, we thought it was ghouls or bloodsuckers, but it wasn’t. A hound had ripped through them all. A dozen folks in all.” He lowered his gaze. “Men and women. Even the young’uns.”

Wilder swore under his breath. “Aside from hoping there isn’t more than one monster like that on the loose, what makes you think it’s the same hound?”

“One of the victims survived long enough to describe him. He stayed in town after the massacre, walking the streets, screaming and laughing.” Emmett drew a crumpled sheet of folded paper from his vest pocket. “I did a sketch, but it wasn’t until I made a trip back to headquarters and was going through the archives that I recognized the face.”

Diana leaned forward, unable to help her need to
see
the face, just in case. But the simple, unsmiling sketch evoked nothing—no fear, and no memories. “Who is it?”

“Joe Felder,” Emmett told her quietly. “He’s listed on the rosters as killed in action, not turned out, but his modifications match the traits Ephraim found in the hound who attacked you. Could be the same man.”

Could be
—and closer to closure than anything else she’d ever had. “And he’s the same one who’s been in Eternity?”

“I’ve been tracking him, and that’s what my source tells me.”

She squared her shoulders. “What do I need to do?”

Nate turned on Emmett, and Diana had never seen such rage in the inventor’s eyes—cold, vicious rage. “You
happen
to have been in contact with Ephraim, a man we all thought dead. And you decide to bring it up now, when it
happens
to be the one scrap of proof that might offer her a bit of vengeance—but only if she walks into a suicidal trap for you. How perfectly convenient.”

The words surprised Diana with their breathtaking sting. “You think I’m a fool on top of everything else, don’t you?” As if she couldn’t recognize a dangled carrot, the desperate promise of a man determined to stop a predator. “I’ll do it, Emmett, no matter who he is. Because he needs to be stopped.”

Nate opened his mouth again, but Satira spoke from the doorway before he could. “Nate, the doctor’s asking for you. Hunter told him you had some experience with Victoria’s situation.”

“We’re not done discussing this.” He jabbed his finger in Emmett’s direction to emphasize the words, then strode toward the door with such temper that Satira ducked out of his way and stared after him as his heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway.

When they’d faded, Satira turned to Diana. “I’m not sure if I should apologize for him or offer to knock some sense into him.”

“Neither. It’s none of his business.” Diana poured two glasses of whiskey and handed one to Emmett and the other to Wilder. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Seconded,” Wilder said as he settled on the love seat with Satira beside him.

“Victoria’s father was one of us, God rest him. A bloodhound.” Emmett drained half his liquor in a single swallow. “I’m pretty sure that’s why she was sold—as a kind of exotic delicacy.”

Diana read between the lines. “If a hound’s daughter is considered exotic, what does that make me?”

“Unheard of.” He leaned forward. “It’ll be dangerous. If we send you out there, it’ll be exactly what Nate called it. A trap, with you as the bait.”

Her numbness began to give way to a thrumming in her veins. Excitement. Anticipation of a hunt. “Wilder?”

He shook his head. “She can’t sell herself, Emmett.”

“Course not, but another hound could. Act like he found her out in Crystal Springs and would rather make a quick buck than turn her over to the Guild.”

Which might work—even better if Felder recognized her. “And if it
is
the hound who attacked me, he’ll have a vested interest in making sure the Guild doesn’t have proof of such a thing.”

“Exactly.”

Diana braced herself for a fight and turned to Wilder. “If you can spare me—”

He held up a hand. “You’re a bloodhound, honey. This is what you do.”

The words sparked a fresh round of anticipation, along with the clear ring of truth. In spite of the personal danger or the potential cost…

This is what you do.

She rose. “I’ll pack.”

Wilder and Emmett exchanged a look, and the former spoke. “We’ll make plans.”

Nate stalked the halls in search of Emmett, more than ready to start the fight that could end a decades-long friendship.

Or maybe he’d just sink a knife in the bastard’s back and end his life.

The very notion of him being capable of killing Emmett had been a startling one. The old hound was as eternal as bedrock, a rough soldier who had been among the Guild’s first recruits. Nate’s memories of the man were all shrouded in a scholar’s reluctant awe for a warrior.

There had been times when he’d envied the physical power of the bloodhounds. Especially when pretty young women flocked to vigorous men in far greater numbers than seemed drawn to an arrogant young inventor with ink-smeared fingers and perpetually crooked spectacles. Nate had been brilliant. He’d been valued, cosseted, indulged and encouraged.

But he’d never been a fighter. He’d never before wanted to close his fingers around the throat of a bloodhound and throttle the life from his body. And it was the realization that he felt
more
than capable of tearing flesh from bone that drove him from his basement workroom.

He found Emmett in the sitting room with a glass full of bourbon. Nate slammed the door shut and turned on the old bloodhound. “Tell me why I shouldn’t rip you limb from limb.”

“Because it would be a waste, for both of us.” He nodded to the sofa. “Sit.”

Nate ignored him. “I have Ephraim’s journals. I just spent three hours looking for a reference to you, and I finally found it. You told her the truth. That’s why I’m not killing you.”

Emmett laughed. “Good to know, though I don’t see why it matters. Truth or lies, you’ll try to talk her out of it. Or am I wrong?”

He’d considered trying, but had discarded the notion just as quickly. Any chance he’d had of getting through to Diana had gone up in flames when he’d lost hold of his control. “You’re wrong.”

Emmett shrugged. “Glad to see you’ve come around, then. You needn’t worry. Tobias will take care of her.”

Tobias. A cocky young bloodhound barely old enough to shave. Anger stirred again, and this time Nate bit it back. “No, he won’t, because Tobias isn’t taking her. I am.”

Every last vestige of humor faded from Emmett’s countenance. “The hell you are. I’ll not have the both of you on my conscience come Judgment Day.”

Nate dropped to the couch and braced both elbows on his knees. “I’m not a weak old inventor anymore.”

“Of course you’re not. But you’ve proven you don’t have any sense in your head when it comes to that girl, either.”

“Perhaps not.” That much, at least, he’d been forced to admit after the previous night’s foolishness. The humiliating memory of being drunk enough to spill his guts to her had been the first push. “Unlike the rest of you, I’m not blinded by her bloodhound nature. And I’ll tell you, it’s damned odd to suddenly be the one fighting to hold a woman back from her chosen path. I’m not blind to the sort of hypocrite that makes me.”

Emmett waved away the words. “You’re no worse than the rest of us. No better, either, and maybe that’s the part you’re starting to figure out.”

“In this, I’m better than Tobias.” Nate met the man’s gaze squarely. “A vampire master for a bloodhound pet. They still might suspect a trap, but they won’t
expect
it, not the way they would if her captor was a bloodhound himself.”

Emmett glowered. “No, but posing as a master and his pet would almost certainly lead you to other complications.”

Nate’s hands curled into fists before he could stop them. He couldn’t stop the image from forming, either—Diana, dressed as bait, clinging to him… “No need to be gentle with my pride. Are you worried I can’t keep my hands off her?”

“No. Can’t help but think you might get yourself even deader trying to keep
other
hands off her, though.”

“If that’s what it took to keep her safe, perhaps. But I’m not fool enough to get myself killed over something trivial and leave her without protection, either.”

Emmett stared at him for a moment, then finished his drink and grunted. “Fine. The two of you can handle it well enough…assuming Diana agrees to it.”

He’d given in quickly enough, which made Nate wonder if this had been Emmett’s original plan before he’d gotten a good look at the tenuous state of Nate’s self-control.

Something told him convincing Diana wouldn’t be as simple. “I pissed her off.”

“That’s always been a singular talent of yours, Nate.”

“I’d actually mellowed with old age, you know. It’s humbling to imagine a man’s tendency to enrage women is directly proportional to how much time he spends with an erection. Vigor is wasted on the vigorous.”

Emmett snorted. “Spoken like someone who’s gone too long without pussy.”

A crude but undeniable truth. “Hiding from the Guild in the basement has certainly limited my options. Though you might have trouble comprehending this, I’ve had other things on my mind.”

“Something you’ll regret when they’re parading Diana around in her unmentionables, showing off her pretty bite marks.”

Bite marks. He shuddered at the thought of her blood. Oh, that was hunger. A keener, more dangerous kind of hunger than lust for her body. “Even if we leave immediately, we’ll be stopping before we reach the Deadlands. I’ll have plenty of time to attend to personal needs.”

“One of those stops should be Crystal Springs.” Diana spoke, the words clear and firm, even as she opened the parlor door.

Oh, fuck. Nate felt the heat in his cheeks and wondered if half-vampire bloodhounds could blush. An interesting biological question he would spare himself from answering. “Have you been listening for a while, Diana?” Hopefully not too long.

“Long enough.” She faced Emmett. “I’ve been wondering something. What are these sales, these auctions, usually like? Do they favor innocence or experience? White lawn dresses or red satin? Tell me what I need to know.”