The Hunt (17 page)

“You’re sure, Lori? The scents match?”
I ask of the young woman cradling her arm to rest her injured shoulder.

“Oh, yeah. I’d recognize the bastard anywhere.” An unbecoming sneer crosses her features. “I swear, I think he intended to peel the flesh off me after that first initial bite and lunge.”

“Really, how do you reckon that?”

“He had me pinned and pulled the material back, off my shoulder. Then he put his fingers in the wound and felt around the edge. His fascination with my skin provided the opportunity to fling him off and scream. I think the sounds of others racing toward us is the only thing that made him run.”

“Interesting.” I walk through the cabin and back toward the door. “Notice anything else?”

“He smelled like the scent trail in this cabin, but also with some spices mixed in.”

“Cologne perhaps?”

“No. More like what I smelled at college when the guys tried to cover up pot in the dorms.”

“Incense?”

“Yeah, a little bit of that.”

I thank the brash young woman and lead her back to her cabin. Realizing Rafe is still sleeping, I decide to head back to the main building and fill him in when he wakes up. A glance at my watch reveals it’s close to eleven. Maybe three hours asleep is enough for a mid-morning nap?

Pain rips through my mind, causing me to stumble on the well-lit path and go down on one knee. Opening up my senses, I find a well of terror pouring through my connection with Jon. I feel the pierce in my own neck as a vampire clamps down on my servant’s throat.

Anger and rage spiral up out of the abyss within me. Who would dare try to claim what is
mine
? Power escapes my careful shielding, cracking it first and then tearing it down with my increasing wrath. A metaphysical candle of energy encases me as I lunge to my feet and race toward Jon. The invisible tether of consciousness connecting me to everyone on the property is thicker and broader with Jon and Rafe, allowing the werewolf’s full agony to pour through. Every debilitating ounce of terror and pain he’s experiencing fills my mind, ripping a scream of rage from my throat.

I can see the Indian vampire as he leans over a beaten and bloody Jon, sucking down his life force, like a greedy child does candy. Fury colors my mind red as I run, leaving a film over my vision and tinting the night with a hint of blood. At one point, my feet cease to touch the ground as I sprint through the hot tub grotto. Raising my arms in a diving motion, I plunge through the gym window. The glass shatters, raining upon the blue exercise mats.

My dive turns into a roll and I come to standing mere inches from the two entwined bodies. Reaching down, I place my hands on either side of Vikram’s head. Without a thought besides getting him away from what is mine—I twist and pull, tearing his mouth from Jon’s neck and tossing the vampire’s severed head back over my shoulder in one smooth move.

“Jon!” I pick up the now headless vampire corpse and throw it away from the beaten werewolf. “Can you hear me?” I kneel down and pull his limp body into my arms. Blood pumps from an open artery and spills down the tattered flesh of his chest. His eyes roll back before fluttering closed.

“Damn you! Don’t you dare die on me!” Biting my wrist, I tear a jagged wound and force it to Jon’s cool lips. “Swallow! You need my blood to heal.”

Jon is unconscious and can’t respond to my orders. I plunge deep into his mind and seize control of his movements, something I’ve sworn to never do to either him or Rafe. Forcing his mouth to function, I coerce him to ingest several mouthfuls before the wound on my arm heals.

“More!” I scream while slashing my teeth across the pink flesh. This larger gouge causes the blood to flow steadily down my arm, dripping onto the open wounds of his chest as well. Positioning my wrist back at his lips, I once again compel his body to drink.

I can feel the power coursing through him and witness the artery close before my eyes. Soon, the torn skin starts to mend and I sense Jon’s mind stir. I pull out and allow control to flow back to him. The wound on my wrist knits shut and his body warms beneath me. I hug him close, rocking his ragged form in my arms.

“Jon, you’re going to be okay.” I repeat the phrase over and over, not sure if I say it for his benefit or mine.

“What took you so long?” Jon croaks out after I subside in my chant.

Stunned, I look down at his healing face, running my fingers over the fading bruises and cuts. “What do you mean?”

“I tried calling you… maybe I didn’t do it right?”

Shame courses through me as I realize I’d shielded so hard to protect him and Rafe from each other that I effectively cut my servant off from reaching me in his time of need. I settle on the floor and haul him over, leaning his head against my chest. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. It’s my fault you couldn’t get through.”

“Ow… still healing here, Dria.”

“Oh,” I say while altering my death grip. His use of my real name is so infrequent he shocks me a bit using it now. Good God, I almost lost him.

Jon’s arms come up to wrap around my middle, gently pulling me to a more reclined position. Before I know it, the injured wolf is half-draped over my middle, hugging me close and breathing deep.

“Why did you cut me off? I liked having you in my thoughts.”

Pain stabs deep in my heart at his words. I’ve kept him at arm’s length for so many years it’s become second nature. I need to take the next steps with him as my servant and allow him in more. Balancing his needs with Rafe’s will be tricky, but as I run my hands down his back, I find that I can’t bear the thought of losing him forever.

“We’ll find a way to make it work, Jon. I promise. I won’t shut you out anymore.”

He nuzzles my parka, scooting up against me like a pet on a long winter’s night. “The heat’s off,” he mumbles. “It’s cold in here.”

I chuckle with relief while glancing around at the wreckage surrounding us. The gym lies in ruins and the winter temps from outdoors rushed in when I broke the window. A strong wind has whipped in some loose snow and a small pile forms around the decapitated remains of Vikram.

“Well,” I say. “I guess that solves the mystery of who killed Melvyn.”

Jon tilts his head against my abdomen, snuggling in but freeing his mouth to speak, “Man, it’s been a rough week so far. What are we on, day two?”

“Almost. Hard to believe, isn’t it?” I start to stroke his hair, shaken at how close I came to almost losing the son of a bitch. Why is it, we don’t see what we have until it’s gone? The soft strands of his brown hair slip through my fingers, I’ve found a spot that’s amazingly gore-free. “Can you move yet? I’m thinking we need to get you cleaned up.”

“You worried about the fallout from Sanji?” He asks weakly, once again, putting my needs and concerns before his own.

“Shush, darling.” I say with a gentle pat to the back of his skull. “Don’t you worry your pummeled little noggin. He attacked my servant—no way I can get in trouble for ripping his head off.” A shudder passes through me at the ease with which I’m able to slip my monster on and off, when the situation warrants it. Some things never change; it’s best to learn to accept and adapt.

“Come on,” I nudge him gently.

His arms tighten around me once more before he lets go. “I may need some help cleaning up.”

The worst of his injuries have stopped bleeding, but I know from experience they will take some time to close internally and even more to fully heal. He’ll be out of duty rotation for a few days, missing most of the rest of the hunt.

The powerful man stumbles when he tries to rise and I rush to support him. “Lean on me, Jon. No one is around to see you need my help.” Pain crosses his face, but he nods and allows me to take some of his weight. “Let’s get you to one of the showers.”

We make our way slowly to the bathroom connected to the gym. The lights flicker on with our motion and the spa-like tones of the co-ed facility jump into view. I ease Jon over to a bench and lower him to a sitting position.

“I need to call to have the window boarded up and the body taken care of. Just give me a second.”

I strip off my coat, revealing a sweater and jeans. Flipping open my cell, I place a quick call to Drew and have him make the needed arrangements. When I turn back to Jon, pain grabs my heart and squeezes. His shredded clothing exposes deep furrows in his skin, and that’s only what I can see so far.

I grab scissors from a first-aid kit under the counter, determining the best way to remove his clothes is to cut them from his body. “Jon,” I say. Hazel eyes filled with emotion swing my way. “I’m going to need you to sit very still while I remove the fabric from the wounds, okay?”

He nods and appears to brace himself. “Hell, it can’t be worse than getting chewed up by the addict to begin with, right?”

Starting at his feet, I take off his boots and socks. The underlying skin looks to be the only place on his body free of damage. “What were you doing in here anyway? It’s not like you to work out in the middle of the day—and with boots on.”

The mind connection I promised to keep open blooms forth a vision of me kissing Rafe, followed quickly by one of me rising nude from the pool. “I was trying to meditate,” the usually teasing man admits in a solemn tone.

Guilt descends, shrouded with the knowledge he was trying to get
me
out of his mind. The feeling of the proverbial dagger twisting in my chest is not an unknown sensation for me, just one I haven’t experienced in years. I ease back a tiny bit, not closing our connection, but distancing myself from his surface thoughts while I attend to his wounds. This is not the time to dwell on past slights or current heartache; it’s a time requiring action.

I lift his thick denim jeans away from his skin, slide the blunt-tipped end of the first-aid scissors beneath and begin cutting. “Well,” I clear my throat, “looks like you might want to lock the gym door, or try it in a more secluded place next time.”

Jon winces as the material pulls away from a gash on his thigh. “We don’t normally have a crazed vampire out for wolf blood running around, but thanks,” he says, a touch of his sarcasm returning. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

I snip all the way up through his waistband, with him helping by maneuvering into a prone position on the bench, and then continue with the other leg. His thick, well-muscled thighs come into view. The fuzz of hair covering his skin is matted in some areas with blood, and distinct angular-shaped contusions seem to cover almost every inch of flesh. The greenish bruises, which are fresh but look to be a few days old, fade a tiny bit as I concentrate on my task.

“Surface injuries are healing well,” I say.

“God, it fucking hurts.”

“Shh… just lean back and let me get the rest of these rags off you.” Unbuttoning the remains of his flannel shirt reveals a blood soaked thermal undershirt. Matching gashes in both show where Vikram raked his side and chest during their fight. I cut carefully up his torso and sleeves until his whole magnificent body lies naked before me, with the many wounds on display.

Jon lunges to sit up, perhaps in an attempt to get up for the shower, and a cry of pain escapes him. Blood trickles down his side and I see a line of four unsealed, deep gouges. “Settle back,” I say with a gentle hand to one shoulder. “Let me take a look.”

With a shaking hand, I probe the largest tear. One sharp vampire nail lodges in Jon’s flesh, hindering the repair his ingestion of my blood triggered. A sharp intake of breath greets me as I dig out the offending item. “Sorry, Jon. Looks like Vikram left a piece of himself behind in this one.” I toss the nail into a nearby garbage can and bend to re-examine the rest of the torn skin.

Jon’s labored breathing bounces off the tile walls and the scent of his blood mixed with mine teases my senses. My tongue snakes out to lick the open wound before I have a chance to think my action through. Vampire saliva can heal the punctures we make to feed, and I know from experience it will help here as well. I rest one hand lightly on an uninjured portion of his stomach, the other on his thigh, while I trail my tongue up and down the deep furrow.

Sexual pheromones spill into the air between us, a werewolf’s natural reaction to stimulation. “Jesus, Dria. You would pick now to bust a move.”

I don’t respond, but remain fixed on my new goal of closing this last weeping injury. Jon’s emotions and desires trickle in to me from his blood, allowing me to read the depth of his love. Ignoring the clench I feel and the craving within me to return his wants, I try my best to stay the course.

The muscle in his leg jumps beneath my light touch, sending a jolt of energy up my hand. “Relax, Jon,” my voice comes out raspier than before, my own hidden wishes pushing to the forefront of my mind. “I’m not making a move on you…” I trail off as I lick the now sealed gash, hesitating on the firm skin longer than I should. I lean my forehead against his side, hiding my face from view while emotions flash unchecked across my features.

I came so close to losing him. To never smell his woodsy, wild scent again; to never drink his tasty, dark chocolate laced blood; to never have his solid loyalty by my side… when did I fall in love with him? When did I begin to long to press my lips to his and never let go? Have I betrayed my husband with my thoughts? My eyes tear and a shuddering breath escapes me.

“Dria? You okay?”

I blink quickly before rising, averting my gaze from his knowing eyes. “Just shaken. We came close to losing you.”

Jon reaches up and weakly grasps my upper arm. “You’re shielding me again, why?” Before I can answer, Jon’s hand drops and I look to his face. His eyes have drifted shut and his head lolls to the side.

Panic squeezes my heart—I fear the worst. “Jon!”

“Don’t worry,” Rafe’s voice sounds from the door behind me, “I only put him to sleep. This time.”