Not Quite Dead (A NightHunter Novel) (18 page)

She swallowed, thinking of the attack that had taken Eric down. "I know." After a moment, she walked over to her grandmother's bag and pulled out a tin of the powder she'd used on the vampire who had attacked Eric. "Let me go in there. If he attacks, I'll use this."

David shook his head. "That only works if they're still trying to hold onto their humanity. It doesn't work for those who embrace the depravity. You don't know what he'll choose. The power of bloodlust is intoxicating."

Jordyn cocked her head to study David, surprised by the vehemence of his voice. "How do you know?"

He looked away from her. "I know." His phone rang suddenly, making them both jump. He turned away as he answered it. He listened, then hung up. "I need to go check on someone. I'll be back by dawn. We'll open it then. If he's a vampire, he'll at least be weakened by the daytime. I hope. Who the hell knows how much sun affects them anyway?" He shoved his car keys in his pocket and headed toward the stairs that rose up out of the basement.

"Wait!" She held out her hand. "Give me the keys. Just in case something happens, and I need to let him out."

David glanced at the steel door, and then at her. "No," he said. "I'm sorry, but I see how you look at him. I don't want you to risk your life because you like this guy. We'll deal with him when I get back, I promise." Then, he turned and sprinted up the stairs, ignoring her shout of protest.

Jordyn raced up after him, but by the time she reached the front door, his truck was already pulling out of the driveway. "David!"

Gravel sprayed from his back wheels, and then he was gone, nothing more than red taillights. She growled in frustration, and immediately called him on her phone.

He didn't answer.

"Dammit, David!" She slammed her finger onto the off button, and shoved the phone back in her pocket. Now she remembered why she'd moved away from this town. It was too hard to find her own path when she was surrounded by people who still thought of her as a young girl who needed to be protected and coddled.

She didn't need protection from Eric. He wasn't a monster, and he wasn't a vampire. What she needed was his help. It had been two days since they'd been back, and she'd made no progress toward finding Tristan, because she'd been focused on Eric.

It was time for him to give up on his beauty sleep. They had work to do. Where to start to find Tristan? Go to assorted graveyards around the town and look for evidence that he'd been raising the dead? Or—

A shadow crept across the edge of David's overgrown lawn.

She stiffened, whipping around to stare at the woods. It was dark now, in the deep of night, the hour when sunlight was nothing more than a distant memory and a vague promise. She held her breath, frantically searching the woods as she eased back toward the front door.

Nothing moved, but the hair on the back of her neck prickled, and her skin crawled, as if invisible fingers were sliding over her flesh. Was it true that vampires couldn't enter a house uninvited? She tried to remember what her grandmother had said, and she had a distinct memory of Oba saying that the night was never safe, no matter where you were.

The sensation of being touched intensified, and she suddenly felt a warmth on the side of her neck, as if someone were breathing on her. She jumped sideways, instinctively slapping at her throat.

Nothing was there.

But she knew she'd felt it.

Something had come for her. Or someone.

She whirled around and darted into the house. She slammed the door and locked it, then raced through the first floor, shutting all the windows as she frantically dialed David. "Come back," she shouted into his voicemail. "Something's outside the house!"

She raced upstairs and shut those windows, her heart pounding with fear. What would glass do to stop a vampire? Nothing.
Nothing.
No wonder her grandmother had had heavy wooden shutters on the
inside
of her house.

Something banged against the glass of the window she was closing, and she jumped back, stumbling over the bed Eric had been sleeping in. For a split second, she froze, gaping at the window as she waited for a vampire to burst through to the sound of shattering glass. It was so dark outside, and the light in the room was bright, making it impossible for her to see if anything was there.

A slow, creepy scratching sound drifted through the room, as if razor-sharp claws were being dragged across the window. "Oh, God." She bolted for the stairs, racing toward the basement. What fools they'd been to be so focused on Eric being the threat. Instead of saving him, they'd cut her off from the one man who could help save her.

She thundered down the stairs and hammered on the door to his cell. "Eric!" she shouted in a stage whisper, afraid to draw attention to the basement. "Wake up!"

There was no response.

Frantic, she leaned her back against his door, scanning the basement. The stairs opened right up to the first floor, giving her no place to hide. David's lab was behind the decrepit wooden door that wouldn't stop even a toddler. She had no stake, and no weapons. All she had was the powder she'd been saving for Eric.

Reluctantly, she grabbed her grandmother's bag and pulled out the pouch containing the last of the powder. If she used it on a vampire coming to kill her, it might do nothing, and she'd have nothing left for Eric if he were a vampire.

Despite what David had said, she knew Eric, and she had no doubt that if he'd somehow gone vampire, he'd be fighting it every step of the way. The powder would help him.

Dammit, she wished she had a gun.

She had nothing except a half-empty bag of powder. And what if it wasn't a vampire? What if it was something else? She needed
something
to defend herself with. David must have something hidden away. He was sort of paranoid now, and he'd never set up his office without making sure he had a way to defend himself.

She raced into his lab and looked around. Shelves of powder. Some traditional medical supplies. No, no, no.

Then she saw a steel cabinet in the corner.
Yes.
She ran over to it and grabbed the handle. Locked. Frustration roared through her, and she slammed her palm against the metal in frustration. What now?

Then, above her, somewhere in the house, a window shattered.

She was here
.

Tristan paused on the second story windowsill, perched on the frame with ease as the glass shattered from the blow of his fist. His fingers dug into the wood, and the entire room was bathed in a red tinge from his vision. He inhaled again, and her scent wrapped around him, deepening the hunger raging through him. It was familiar, but he couldn't place it. All he knew was that she was here, and he was going to claim her on every level.

His incisors lengthened, and his fingernails elongated. Desire and lust roared through him, a need so loud it was almost deafening.

He'd been hunting her for the last two days. Drawn to her scent. Needing her flesh. Her blood. Her body.

And now, he'd found her.

The urgency that had been driving him heightened, and he leapt soundlessly to the floor. His jeans were in tatters, and his body was gaunt with the need to feed. Once he'd scented her, no other would suffice. It was
her.

Hunger gnawed at him, eating away at his flesh and his sanity, getting stronger and stronger, until all he could do was stalk her.

When he'd seen her standing on the front porch, his entire body had clenched. Need had roared through him so violently that he'd almost screamed with the glory of it.

He'd started to attack. He'd moved swiftly to the edge of the woods, his body lean and primed for the hunt, and yet, when he'd seen her standing there, he'd stopped. He'd been riveted by the moonlight on her face, by the way her blond hair seemed to glow in the darkness. Her lips had been pure temptation, and her neck had been an elegant line of beauty.

She was his. He knew it. And yet...he hadn't moved to take her.

He'd just stayed where he was, at the edge of the shadows, mesmerized by her. Her scent had drifted across the night to him, a rich fullness that had made his body taut with need. He would have her. She would save him. Bloodlust had roared through him, and yet, when she'd turned her head and looked right at him, something had stayed him from attacking.

He hadn't moved until she'd disappeared from sight, breaking the hold she'd had on him.

The bloodlust had roared back, and he'd charged across the lawn and leaped up to the second floor window just as she'd slammed the window shut.

He'd held onto the frame, his face pressed up against the glass as she'd stumbled back, falling. She'd stared at him again, so intensely that he'd felt his entire being go still, and the howling emptiness inside him had quieted for one brief moment.

He'd wanted to touch her. He'd dragged one fingernail across the glass, tracing it right across her lips.

Then she'd run, racing out of the room, prey in flight.

And now...now it was time.

Tristan straightened up, striding to the door of the bedroom. He was almost there when another scent caught his attention. A familiar one. He stopped and spun around, searching the room for the source of the scent. It was a man. A man he knew had slept here. Memories nudged at his mind, but he couldn't quite remember.

"Eric. Wake up!" Her voice drifted up from downstairs, sweeping through his body and igniting his need to feed. With a low hiss, Tristan spun around and sprinted for the door, the scent of the man forgotten, obliterated by his need for
her
.

When Jordyn heard the sound of the window shattering, her heart plummeted in terror. It was inside the house! She raced over to the door of Eric's prison and pounded with her fist on the steel. "Eric! Wake up!"

Again, no response.

Frustration roared through her, and she heard footsteps gliding down the stairs from the first floor. Movement so swift and quiet, that she knew it was preternatural.

Something was coming for her.

"Eric!" She hit the door once more in frustration, then spun away, her heart thundering through her as she frantically scanned the basement for something she could use to defend herself. There was nothing in the foyer except an old carpet.
Nothing.

 She ran back into David's lab, skidding on the smooth floor as she whipped around the corner. He must have something in here! Desperation galvanizing her, she grabbed every cabinet door and yanked it open. She shoved her hands across the shelves, knocking things off as she searched for some hidden weapon behind the bags, bottles, and vials of powder, feathers, and other supplies. Bottles crashed to the floor, the glass tinkling as it shattered, and feathers flew up into the air, drifting down with a serenity that drove her mad with impatience.

She yanked open drawers. She searched cupboards. She even broke a pair of scissors trying to pry open the locked metal cabinets against the back wall. Nothing worked.

Then she heard footsteps on the basement stairs.

She was out of time. The only place to hide was the safe room that David had locked her out of. Damn him!

Everything went still out in the basement foyer, as if her assailant was pausing to assess the layout.

She grabbed the pair of scissors and tucked herself into the sliver of space between the locked metal cabinet and the wall. The gap was only about six inches wide, and she could barely fit. She was trapped, but at least three sides of her were protected. She went still, holding her breath as she waited. Her heart was hammering so loudly she could barely think, and she took a deep breath, trying to slow her pulse. Whatever was out there would track her heartbeat with ease. She had to slow it down.Again, another deep breath, as she fought for control that she couldn't attain.

For the longest time, there was only silence.

Had he left? Had she somehow been spared? She whispered a little prayer to the God that she had long ago stopped believing in, her fingers tight around the handle of the scissors. They weren't a wooden stake, but maybe a direct blow to the heart would give her enough time to make it to Eric's truck that was still sitting in the driveway.

She leaned her head back against the metal and closed her eyes, listening carefully, straining to hear the smallest sound that would warn her before he attacked.

There was a small creak, and she caught her breath. It was the sound of the lab door opening. He was inside the lab now.

The air became colder. A dank, penetrating chill settled directly into her bones.

She shrank further back into her sanctuary beside the metal cabinet, her fingers tight around the handle of her scissors.

She waited.

Then suddenly, the cabinet she was hiding behind was ripped away from the wall and flung across the room. It crashed into the opposite wall, tearing David's shelves apart with a horrifying screech of metal. The contents went flying into the air, filling it with so much powder it was as if a sandstorm had swept into the room.

Standing in the middle of the whirling tornado was the man who had resurrected her eight times. Jordyn was so shocked, she forgot to be afraid. His jeans were shredded over his emaciated thighs, no longer packed with muscle and sinew as they once had been. His shirt was gone, and his chest was streaked with blood and dirt. His ribs were protruding from his chest like a skeleton that had been barely covered with the flesh of a human being. His eyes were sunken and glittering with a faint red tinge. His feet were bare and filthy, and his cheeks were caved-in hollows in his face. Her heart stuttered in horror at his condition. "Tristan?" She barely even recognized him, he was so far gone.

His body visibly flinched when she spoke, then he began to inch closer, like a predator stalking its prey.

She realized his face was devoid of human expression. None of the good humor and smiles that had once been a part of his personality. He was pure predator, and he was coming for her.