Authors: Shiloh Walker

Tags: #Romance, #Contemporary, #General, #Paranormal, #Fiction

Hunter's Fall (11 page)

BOOK: Hunter's Fall

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It revealed a girl—fourteen, maybe fifteen.

She stared at Nessa and her eyes rounded. Then a brilliant smile split her face. Nessa sensed what was coming before it happened, and by the time the girl had her arms wrapped around Nessa, she’d tensed up, prepared to defend herself.

But not against a hug.

As the girl clung to Nessa, she whispered under her breath, “I knew it. I knew Mama lied. I knew you weren’t dead, Morgan.”

Morgan.

The young girl’s face was familiar—disturbingly so. A younger, more innocent version of the face Nessa saw in the mirror every morning. Softer, perhaps a bit less jaded.

A sister, then.

So Morgan had had a sister.

“Well, well, well.” From the porch came a low, throaty murmur.

The bottom of Nessa’s stomach dropped out at the sound of it. She made herself look up at the older woman.

If the girl was a younger, more innocent version of Morgan, then this was an older, harsher version. Crueler, too, although Nessa wouldn’t have thought that possible.
Well, precious, at least I know where you got it from.

The woman smelled like the man Nessa had left back in the alley. Smelled of his skin, smelled of sex . . . and life. The boy’s energy all but crackled around this woman.

There was little doubt what had happened to him.

This malicious cow had stopped just short of killing him.

And she’d killed others. Nessa could feel it—the stain of death clinging to the woman like an oily cloak.

“
Precious
,” Morgan said, “
I’d like you to meet my mother. You can call her Mommy, if you like. Or Isis. If you have time, before she kicks your ass screaming into hell.
”

Isis?
Nessa smirked.

A cold smile twisted the older woman’s lips and she said, “Jazzy, get the hell away from her. That isn’t Morgan.”

“But . . .” The girl stared at Nessa’s face, confused.

“I told you. Morgan is dead.” Isis grinned, a sharp-edged smile that revealed perfect white teeth. “And that would mean this bitch is your sister’s killer.”

Staring into the girl’s face, Nessa watched the bloom of anger, the darkness of grief dance across her face.
I’m so sorry, child. I’m so sorry.

In the back of Nessa’s mind, she heard a cold, hard voice.
“How do you like my mother, you old bitch?”

“
If you thought to surprise me, precious, then you’re in for a disappointment. I’d already figured that much out
,” Nessa said to Morgan, but her heart wasn’t in it. She couldn’t give two damns about sparring with Morgan.

“No,” the girl mumbled under her breath. “No. No. No . . . she’s lying. Morgan, she’s lying, isn’t she?”

Unsure of what to say, Nessa peeled herself out of the girl’s arms. Pain and rejection turned the girl’s face pink, and Nessa felt a twinge in her heart.

As she turned her head, Nessa could make out the healing shadow of a bruise on the girl’s cheek. Anger settled inside, hot and potent. She could handle anger.

She caught the girl’s eyes once more, saw the plea in them. Saw the loneliness. The girl was walking down a troublesome road. Nessa could already see the darkness on her, but she wasn’t too far gone. Yet. She had only a fraction of her mother’s gift, of Morgan’s.

She wasn’t that strong—ironically her weaker gift was probably what made it possible for her to hover just shy of going too far. The darkness craved power. The child didn’t have enough inside to appeal to it.

There were tears welling in the girl’s eyes, and as Nessa stared at her young face, one broke free and rolled down her cheek. In the back of her mind, Nessa felt Morgan’s reaction to the sight of the girl’s tears.

Oh, honey . . .

Nessa stilled at the sound of Morgan’s voice. It was unwelcome, but more . . . it was surprising. There was a note of . . . well, Nessa couldn’t quite put her finger on it. It almost sounded like she cared.

“
I did care, you old bitch
,” Morgan snarled, her voice an angry roar in Nessa’s head.
“She was my sister.”

“What’s her name?”

“What in the hell do you care?”

From the corner of her eye, she saw the mother on the porch, watched as she took a step down. Aggravated, Nessa spoke silently to Morgan.
“Look, you insolent, arrogant, foolish little bitch, I asked you a damn question, and unless you just want me to kill them both, you’re going to give me an answer.”

There was a hesitation. Then, angrily, Morgan said, “
Her name is Jasmine. I used to call her Jazzy.
”

Finally.

The mother was still moving closer. Nessa ignored her, focusing on the girl. Judging by the look in the girl’s eyes, she wanted to believe that Nessa was her long-lost sister—no matter what her mom said.

Fine enough. If it would keep the girl safe for a bit, Nessa would act like her sister, then.

“Is it true?” Jazzy asked, her voice breaking. “Is my sister really dead?”

When Nessa spoke, it was with no trace of an accent. “Come on, Jazzy. Do I look dead to you? She’s just messing with your head.” Slanting a look at the woman on the porch, she added, “That bitch’s favorite pastime is to mess with people’s heads, after all.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” The older woman threw down her cigarette and snarled at Jazzy. “She’s a fucking liar. You think she’d honestly tell you if she’d killed your sister? Why would she do that? Hell, if that really was Morgan, do you really think she’d come back here? Why in the hell would she?”

Confused, Jazzy looked from one face to the other. Can’t lay it on too thick, Nessa suspected. It seemed Morgan had cared for her sister some, but if Nessa laid on the protective sibling bit too much . . . well, it probably wouldn’t ring true.

She didn’t know the woman, but somehow, Morgan’s mother struck her as the greedy sort—she might not love her daughters, but she wouldn’t want to share them, either.

Focusing her thoughts, she projected them toward Morgan.
“Did you ever tell her you’d come back for her?”

For a few seconds, it seemed as though Morgan wouldn’t answer, and then finally, there was a reluctant assent.

“I’m here for you, Jazzy. I told you I’d come back, didn’t I? She didn’t want me coming back for you, did she?” Nessa said.

“Lying cunt,” the woman snarled. Her voice was thick with hate, with anger.

Jazzy’s eyes were wide . . . almost glowing . . . hopeful. “Morgan?”

“Come on now, Jazzy. You go on inside and let me talk to Mommy Dearest, okay?” Nessa gave the kid a reassuring smile.

“Don’t even think about it, Jasmine.” The mother’s blue eyes narrowed as she spoke.

Heavens, she stank. Reeked with the same foul magics Morgan had practiced.

“Jazzy, go inside.”

“You don’t get to order my kid around,” she drawled, lifting a cigarette to her lips and taking a deep, hard drag. It was hand-rolled and judging by the pungent scent in the air, there was more than just tobacco in it.

Nessa gave the woman a hard smile. “Jazzy, go to your room. Now.”

The mother glanced at Jazzy and said in an offhand voice, “If you move one inch, Jasmine, I’m going to beat the shit out of you when I’m done here.”

“No, she won’t.” She had, though. Nessa could see the fear bloom in the girl’s eyes and she knew, as surely as she knew her own name, this woman had beaten the girl. One of many sins, she supposed. “She’s not going to touch you, Jazzy. Not again. I told you I’d come back, told you I’d take care of you. That’s what I’m going to do.”

Jazzy darted into the house.

Dimly, she heard Morgan’s voice. Heard it jeering her on. She tucked her hands in her pockets as the other woman shot an ugly, hate-filled gaze at her.

“Well, then.” She smiled at the older woman as the door slammed shut behind Jazzy. Not bothering to hide her accent, Nessa cocked her head and said, “Let’s get this started, shall we?”

Nessa was covered in blood and half of it was hers.

She ached from head to toe and her head . . . oh, her head.

Staggering, she shoved upright and glared at Isis. “You know how this ends,” she snarled.

“Yeah, with me killing you. I’ll get a good charge from your blood,” Isis said, but her voice shook as she said it.

“You’d choke on me.” Nessa swiped a bloodied hand over her eyes. From the corner of her eye, she saw a blond head. Swore hotly.

The girl.

Isis took advantage of her distracted state and attacked. The energy bolt sent Nessa flying. Even as she crashed to the busted-up pavement, Nessa sent an energy bolt of her own hurtling back.

Isis screamed, but Nessa barely registered the sound as her head smacked against the ground with enough force to set her brain rattling.

It took a few minutes for her head to clear, and a few more to realize that Isis had taken off.

Ran away, the malicious cow.

Now I’ll have to run her down again.

Damn it.

Exhaustion, heavy and cold, hit her, square in the chest.

Gray dots swarmed in on her vision and Nessa lay there, staring up at the night sky.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” she whispered. “I don’t want to fight. I don’t want this life.”

Tears burned their way out of her eyes to trickle down her cheeks, mingling with the blood.

“I don’t want to remember this life.”

The gray dots merged together, forming a huge, enveloping gray cloud that came up and swallowed her whole.

CHAPTER 6

I
T was too fucking early for him to be up and moving. Rafe had literally forced Dominic out of the bed, using the bond between them and giving Dominic a command he’d been physically forced to obey. The sun was hours away from setting—
fucking
hours. The sun wasn’t even kissing the horizon. In a foul mood, he trudged around his room, trying to clear the cobwebs from his brain. Rafe’s Master strength might be enough to have Dominic out of bed, but it wasn’t enough to wake his mind up. Everything was foggy and surreal. Even the scalding hot shower didn’t help.

As he shuffled out of the bathroom, there was a knock at his bedroom door. He sniffed and scowled as he recognized the scent. It was Lindsey Sue Whittaker, a relatively new addition to the Memphis enclave.

If he knew Rafe, he had no doubts about why she was here.

Snagging a towel, he wrapped it around his waist and headed to the door.

It took a minute or two. He felt like he was walking, wading, through a room stuffed with cotton. He was pretty sure his head
was
stuffed with cotton.

Opening the door, he stared at Lindsey. She was one of Rafe’s newer recruits and had a habit of flirting with anybody with a dick. Dominic didn’t read much into it. It was just her way.

Right now, she had a semiserious look on her face and she gave him a quick smile. “Rafe sent me down—he wants you to feed.”

Dom grunted and turned away from the door. He’d figured that much out. “I can get my own food.”

“You won’t have time tonight, and he said you weren’t eating bagged blood right now. You need something to help you wake up and you’re still healing. Bagged won’t cut it and I’ll do a better job than mortal, too.”

Grabbing a pair of jeans, he disappeared back into the bathroom and dropped the towel. Once he’d pulled the jeans on, he threw the towel over the rod and went back into the bedroom. “So basically, you’re my wake-up call.”

“Yeah.” She grinned at him. “I grabbed me a double mocha with extra espresso before I headed home. You might even get a caffeine jolt.”

He didn’t need the caffeine, not if he was going to feed from a werewolf. Their blood had more than enough kick in it. And considering how much trouble it was just to think, he needed that buzz. Sighing, he sat on the edge of the bed and waited for her to come to him.

Her voice was slightly husky as she asked, “Where do you want me?”

There had to be something seriously fucked-up with him. Lindsey was adorable, slender and cute, with big breasts, a tiny waist and a voice that just screamed sex. She had short, spiked black hair and big green eyes and she dressed like a gothic version of Tinkerbelle. If the look in her eyes was any indicator, she’d be more than happy to give him something besides blood.

All he could think about was a blonde with big blue eyes and a sad smile. The words
Good-bye, lover
were still haunting him.

He patted the bed beside him, watched as her brow arched, as her smile widened. But when he took her wrist, she sighed.

BOOK: Hunter's Fall

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