Hunter Mourned (Wild Hunt Book 3) (29 page)

“No.” She glared at her older brother. “I’m faster than you. He’s mine.”

She wouldn’t bother trying to explain her desire for revenge. To Rhys, they always sought revenge. It shouldn’t matter who struck the blow that took Craig’s life. A Teulu shared its victories. She understood that, but Craig’s actions against Trevor were personal. She could’ve lost him before she’d realized what he was to her.

“Hunt well, sister.” Rhys hurried to the stairs.

She focused on the changing numbers. It was still going up as slowly as it had the day before. Finally, the elevator stopped at the top floor. His choice didn’t make sense, but she turned and ran for the stairs. With the power of the Hunt influencing her, she could climb them faster than the elevator could go.

The open door at the end of the hall caught her attention. She glanced inside and groaned. Jen lay naked and unmoving on the bed. There were no marks on her body and no blood, but her stillness spoke of death.

Rowan rushed to the bed anyway. She couldn’t leave Jen without knowing for sure that she was dead. Her cold skin gave Rowan the answer she sought.

Jen had been dead for hours.

The senseless loss of life stirred Rowan’s anger. She clenched her hands, hiding the emergence of her claws, then turned and ran for the stairs. Craig would pay for Jen’s death. Rowan would make sure of it.

With the door shut behind her, she embraced the power of the Hunt. Her vision sharpened, and her sense of smell increased. She used both to ensure no humans lingered on the stairs above her. She couldn’t be seen by them in even the altered form she’d embraced. Blood would be oozing from her eyes, and her skin would be too pale. She’d look like the walking dead.

They’d fear her.

The floors passed by more quickly than they had going down. She reached the top floor, her breathing still even and steady. She pushed the door open and scanned the hall. A housekeeper pushed a cart overflowing with dirty sheets.

Rowan tightened her control over the Hunt, shoving the powerful force back. The moment her vision returned to normal, she closed the distance between them. “Excuse me. Did a man just get off the elevator? Black hair, dark eyes, and a black baseball cap?”

“Yes.” The woman nodded. “He was crying.”

No. Rowan wouldn’t even try to contemplate why. The redcap had killed the woman who’d once been his soul mate. Whatever the reason was for leading the life he had didn’t matter. He’d pay for his crimes. If he could make up for the horrendous things he’d done, then more power to him. She didn’t believe for a second it would happen, however.

“Where did he go?”

“He took the stairs. Didn’t you see him?”

Rowan glanced at the stairs. Another flight led up. She turned her back on the housekeeper and ran. The door at the top of the stairwell had been kicked in.

A storage room greeted her. Boxes filled the space. She swept her gaze over them. No sign of Craig. That didn’t mean he wasn’t hiding. Trevor had said Craig liked to play games with the authorities. It was obvious he enjoyed doing the same with the Huntsmen. Why else kill Jen in the same building where Rowan was staying?

The redcap was crazy. That was the only explanation. It only made him more dangerous.

Rowan moved quickly through the room, stepping around boxes and scanning every darkened space where a man could hide. The ladder at the far corner of the massive room caught her eye. A bright yellow, metal cage enclosed the ladder that led to the roof. The square door at the top stood open.

She gripped the metal rungs and climbed. At the top, the wind whipped her hair around her face. She shoved the strands back and scanned the roof. Craig stood near the edge of the building. He didn’t look her way. She hopped to her feet, thumping hard against the surface, and let her claws slip free.

Finally, he glanced at her and grinned, showcasing a mouthful of deadly teeth. His sharpened nails lengthened. Blood filled the whites of his eyes. “Are you here to deliver me to Hell, Hunter?”

Although he’d embraced his redcap traits, he hadn’t moved toward her. He stood there as if waiting for her. She slowly approached him, watching for any signs he’d attack. His actions didn’t make sense, not unless he wanted to be killed.

“Are you ready to accept your punishment?”

“I thought I was.” He flexed his hands, piercing his own palms. “I was wrong.”

He leapt at her, arms outstretched and teeth bared. She knocked him back with a kick to his gut and called forth her sword.

He focused on her blade, and his breathing quickened. Fear slid into his eyes. He blanked his expression a moment later and dove for her legs. The move caught her off guard. She fell backward under his weight and opened herself completely to the Hunt. The change in her shape came quickly, a rush of pain she embraced. Power thrummed in her veins.

She bent her knees and knocked Craig off her. He jumped to his feet before she could take his head and ran for the access door. Without a weapon, he was powerless against her. His retreat told her he knew it too. She followed him, running faster than any mere human could, and swung her blade. The tip caught his back, ripping his shirt and tearing his flesh. He rolled, avoiding the second swipe of her blade.

He grabbed her shoulders. His sharp talons dug into her skin and scraped her bone. In her alternate form, she barely felt the pinch. She wrapped both hands around the hilt of her sword and thrust upward into his chest. He groaned, and blood oozed from between his closed eyelids.

The wound might have hurt him, but it wouldn’t kill him. She needed to take his head or heart. She yanked the blade up, tearing him open. Warm blood gushed over her hands. She ignored the sensation and tugged on her sword. She didn’t get the chance to pull it free. Craig rolled them, over and over. Her head thumped against the tar-covered roof, and the blade pushed deeper into his body. She wiggled the weapon, trying to get it free. Finally, it slipped. She jerked her hand to the side and raised her arm. Never got the chance to take his head. The solid surface under her body gave way to air.

She did the only thing she could. She enclosed them in the shadows of the Hunt and let gravity take them.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
S
IX

The sounds of life reached Trevor’s ears. A television blared behind a closed door. A man and woman argued. A baby cried. All reminded him of the risks of failure. The sluagh that was lurking somewhere in the apartment building couldn’t be allowed to hurt anyone. There was no sign of it, however.

He scanned the hallway on the top floor. Empty. He walked by each door anyway, looking for damage to the locks and listening for any sign of trouble. He’d done the same on the other three floors. Nothing. The sluagh was here, though. Somewhere. The tingling in his arm assured him he hadn’t guessed the sluagh’s destination wrong.

Rowan had said it was a fresh kill. Having just died, it shouldn’t be decaying yet or experiencing the hunger for life, but its natural instinct to protect itself would be strong. Trevor cursed inwardly. Of course. The sluagh was hiding, not looking for its next meal. That was why Trevor hadn’t found it. Where would it be, though?

An empty apartment would give it the seclusion it required, but even vacant ones would be locked. None of the doors he’d passed had appeared tampered with.

He swept his gaze over the doors. All had numbers on them, marking them as apartments. None led to an attic. That left the basement. He rushed to the stairs.

The stairwell was quiet compared to the hallways. His pounding steps on the treads echoed, announcing his approach. He didn’t bother trying to hide it. An elderly woman had been leaving her apartment on the third floor with a laundry basket. He had to get to the basement before she did.

He reached the first floor without seeing her. Curses whipped through his head. She couldn’t have gotten down three flights of stairs before he had. The woman had appeared to be in her seventies, and he hadn’t been on the fourth floor that long. He didn’t bother wasting time trying to guess at her destination. He took the narrow steps leading to the basement, jumping the last few treads to the door at the end.

The muffled sound of clothes thumping in a dryer reached him. No screams. He flung open the door. Another short hallway greeted him. A door on the right boasted a sign that said Staff Only and the one at the end listed the hours for the laundry room.

Somebody would be returning for their clothes, and just because he hadn’t passed the woman didn’t mean she wasn’t on her way. The risk to those who lived in the building was too great. He couldn’t allow anyone to stumble into the room while he confirmed the sluagh’s location. If it were here, he’d lock the damn thing inside.

The swinging door to the laundry room wouldn’t have a lock, though. He ran his thumb over the doorknob for the one leading down into this hall. Smooth. No lock either.
Great. Just my luck.

He slipped back into the stairwell and ran to the first floor. A metal chair sat in the entryway. He snatched it and turned to head the way he’d come. Movement caught his eye from the landing between the first and second level. The woman from the third floor slowly took the stairs with her laundry basket propped on one hip and her hand gripping the stair rail. He rushed to the bottom before she noticed him.

She’d be annoyed once she got to the basement and couldn’t open the door. Better that than dead.

With the chair propped under the doorknob, he turned his attention to the hallway. He tried the door on his right. Locked. Not a surprise; management wouldn’t want its tenants going in there. He walked toward the laundry room door. The tingles along his forearm grew stronger with each step. He was headed in the right direction.

He pushed open the door. A whiff of floral-scented air washed over him. He swept his gaze over the room. A row of washers took up one wall. Dryers lined another. The other two walls were obscured from his view by the sheets and blankets somebody had hung from a clothesline stretched across the room. He bent and looked under the space between the floral bedspreads and the floor. The only legs visible belonged to tables and benches.

Slow steps took him to the end of the “wall” of sheets. He gripped the edge of one and pulled it back. A flash of red was his only warning. The sluagh he’d been hunting jumped off a nearby table, launching himself at Trevor with his sharp teeth bared.

The sluagh collided with him, and they fell backward, pulling the sheet down with them. Trevor slammed his hand against its chest, stopping it from tearing out a section of his throat. He shoved the sluagh off him and hopped to his feet. With the blade held loosely in front of him, he waited for the sluagh’s next move. It didn’t take long for it to act. It rushed him.

Trevor sidestepped the sluagh, then jumped out of the way to avoid its next lunge. It snarled and crouched with a hand splayed on the floor. Besides its mouthful of deadly teeth, the sluagh still looked like the young man he’d been before being lured into a fairy ring. There was no spark of humanity in its blue eyes, however.

Sympathy gripped Trevor, but he knew not to let the emotion direct his actions. The sluagh wouldn’t have any for him. The man he’d been was buried deep, along with his free will. All that remained was a shell that obeyed its redcap master. With the murderous look directed Trevor’s way, he could guess exactly what the sluagh wanted—Trevor’s death.

Nope. Not happening. He had too much to live for.

Resisting the urge to rush the sluagh, he gripped the dagger and studied the undead creature, looking for a sign of how it would attack next.

The rattling of the door Trevor had blocked broke the standoff. Long, sharp nails extended from the sluagh’s fingers. It curled its hand, gouging the vinyl floor, and focused on the laundry room door. A crack of wood sounded, followed by a thump.

Somebody was coming.

Shit, shit, shit. Why hadn’t Rowan killed Craig yet? She should’ve had plenty of time to take the bastard’s head. The sluagh would’ve disintegrated if Rowan had been successful. Unless this undead creature didn’t belong to Craig. Either way, time had run out. The sluagh needed to die. It would have to be freed from its decaying tomb another day. Saving a living person from death at the sluagh’s hands came first.

Trevor did the only thing he could. He launched himself at the sluagh. It was time to end this, once and for all.

****

The impact of Rowan’s body hitting the concrete would’ve killed her had she been human. Her skull cracked and spine snapped. Sharp pain radiated through her body. She ignored it, but the loss of vision and the use of her muscles weren’t things she could overlook.

Craig rolled off her limp body and ran, shattering the veil of darkness she’d cloaked them in. Somebody screamed. Car horns blared. Tires squealed. She willed her body to heal faster. Craig couldn’t get away.

The first tingling wave of regeneration raced down her spine. The crackling of bones mending echoed between her ears. She gritted her teeth against the pain of returning to life. The moment feeling returned to her muscles, she pushed to her feet and swayed. A quick scan of her surroundings didn’t give her any indication of where Craig had run off to. Humans were gathering around where she’d landed in the middle of the street. They blocked her view.

A woman grabbed her arm, steadying Rowan’s body. “Oh my God! Are you okay?”

“Yes.” The word came out gargled. She cleared her throat. “The man who was with me …” She coughed up blood, but swallowed it and focused on the human female looking at her with concern. “Did you see him?”

“Yes, I saw him! That jerk ran and left you here!”

“Where?”

The woman pointed toward the side street that led to the pizza place where Trevor had gone to deal with the sluagh. “That way. He—”

“Thank you.” Rowan managed to mumble the response and ran.

Rhys stepped from the hotel. His gaze landed on her. She didn’t bother waiting for him. He’d follow.

Rowan rounded the corner. Her muscles strengthened with each step she took. By the time she reached the end of the block, her body had healed.