A Hunter's Passion
Read A Hunter's Passion Online
Authors: Gwen Knight
Ryker Bennett has dedicated his life to hunting down—and
eliminating—creatures of the dark. But his latest assignment has him questioning
everything he’s ever believed in. Jenna Sinclair may be a witch, but she’s also
the only woman Ryker has ever loved.
Jenna thought leaving Ryker two years ago would save him from
having to choose between their forbidden love and his sworn duty. But when he
tracks her down, it’s clear the desire between them burns as hot as ever—and
that they’ll have to walk through the flames to be together....
A Hunter’s Passion
Gwen Knight
Dear Reader,
I had a lot of fun writing about Ryker and Jenna. The idea began as an image in my head of Ryker lying in bed when he hears Jenna’s name. I imagined him distraught over the fact that he was responsible for killing the only woman he’d ever loved. From there, the idea grew into something so much more. Soon, his brothers began to intrigue me, as well, and suddenly this whole new world developed in my head. Thank you for being a part of it, and I hope Ryker and Jenna bring you as much enjoyment as they did me.
Gwen Knight
Dedication
To my husband, Shaun, who has always believed in me and encouraged me every step of the way. And to the girls of the Write Stuff for being the best cheerleaders ever.
Chapter One
Ryker Bennett was in a foul mood.
That filthy leech had actually managed to score a bite, and Ryker’s skin burned from its venom. He’d been foolish to allow something so small to distract him. The rules of survival were clear, and he’d abided by them his entire life. Why tonight had been any different, he’d no idea, but laboring on it seemed pointless. Right now, all that mattered was cleansing the wound. Though, he didn’t relish the idea of dousing his throbbing shoulder in holy water.
A name—something so simple, and it had nearly brought his end upon him. If his brothers ever found out, they would never let him live it down. Hell, if he hadn’t managed to stake that blighted vampire, the entire paranormal community would have heard of his incompetence. Thankfully, the leech was little more than dust now, and if Ryker was lucky, his brothers would never learn of this.
Rolling out his shoulder, he pinched his eyes shut as he bit back a pained groan. Lord, did it hurt. It wasn’t the first time a darkling had managed to land a blow against him, but this was by far the worst. And all because it had uttered Jenna’s name.
Stupid.
Jenna was long gone from his life. There was no reason she should still affect him, and he hated that she did. As if the woman hadn’t brought him enough heartache, now she was adding physical anguish to the list.
Cursing under his breath, he palmed open the church’s oak doors with his good arm and slipped within. Far too late for mass, the church stood empty with only the stone statues to keep him company. It was a small consolation that there was no one to witness him bleeding to death.
Pausing in the entry, Ryker glanced down the aisle, his gaze falling on a bank of prayer candles. Once, there’d been a time when he might have lit one and whispered a few words of gratitude: for being alive, for surviving another hunt.... Tonight, he was simply tired, and with a quiet sigh, he turned and slunk down the nearby hidden stairwell.
Though he’d never admit it aloud, it bothered him that some vile bloodsucker had spoken Jenna’s name. That they knew she’d once meant so much to him proved he’d been careless. For that reason only, he’d be forever grateful that she’d left him. At the very least, perhaps her leaving had managed to keep her safe from everything that went bump in the night.
Ryker hadn’t been particularly careful with his stories of everything he hunted, and when he’d finally looked back on their time together, it was no wonder she’d run. What woman wanted to tie herself to a man who hunted monsters? What life could he have provided her beyond blood and death? Of course, that justification did little to ease the ache. Two years, and she still had such a hold over him.
Pathetic.
Grimacing, he repositioned his arm against his side and rounded the bottom of the stairwell.
Though the room he entered was small, it contained all he needed. Dragging his feet over to the battered table resting against the far wall, his fingers curled around a first-aid kit. Closing this wound was going to hurt more than the whetted fangs that had torn him open, but with a deep breath, he flipped open the lid and fished out the necessities.
Ripping into a package of sterile cloth with his teeth, he dabbed at the rivulets of blood spilling down his shoulder. He could have done with a little courage, preferably of the liquid sort. Too bad he didn’t have any.
“Here,” an aged voice grunted behind him.
Cursing, Ryker spun, wincing when the tips of his fingers caught against his torn flesh. “Father Stewart,” he bit out, swallowing the colorful blasphemies dangling from the tip of his tongue.
“That looks painful,” Father Stewart muttered, the heels of his shoes falling lightly against the concrete floor as he edged closer.
“Nah,” Ryker deadpanned. “Nothing more than a tickle.”
“I may be a man of faith, but I still understand sarcasm, child.”
Unaware that he had blood left to spare, Ryker was stunned when his cheeks warmed. At the very least, he should have been grateful that it was just the father who had found him, and not his brothers. “My apologies.”
His pale face turned upward, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Here,” he said again, offering a silver flask.
Ryker blinked at him. Surely, the old man wasn’t offering him alcohol, was he?
“For the pain,” the priest assured him. “We’ve no anesthetic, and I’d rather the sisters not alert the police. They remain blissfully unaware of the Church’s...” His hands flourished as he struggled to find the words.
“Extracurricular activities?” Ryker offered with a bemused smile, before throwing back a mouthful of whiskey. Wincing, he lowered the canteen, eyes tapered as he waited for the liquor’s burn to ebb.
Father Stewart bowed over Ryker’s injury, his mouth pursed as he regarded the extent of the wound. “Be grateful it was just your shoulder. It looks as though it was trying to tear your arm off.”
“I had it all under control,” Ryker muttered, eyeing the old man apprehensively as he reached for a small vial of holy water. “The bastard—sorry Father—played dirty.”
“Yes, well, they are beings of darkness and corruption. I doubt they even understand what a fair fight entails.”
Ryker’s lips quirked before he took another long swallow. “Suppose so.”
“Deep breath,” the priest warned, before pouring the wretched liquid over his shoulder.
Searing agony set Ryker’s shoulder ablaze, wrenching a pained cry from him. His eyes slipped shut, his jaw setting as he slammed a clenched fist against the table. Unbearable torment brought spots behind his closed eyes, the world swaying as he fought to keep his balance. How he loathed vampires—only they could make something as benign as holy water so excruciating.
When he finally cracked open his eyes, Father Stewart’s steady fingers were reaching for the kit. Already light-headed, Ryker’s knees turned soft the moment he laid eyes on the thin needle, the metal glinting in the faint sconce light. Give him vampires, werewolves, even malevolent spirits, and he was cold as steel. But the moment he laid eyes on a needle, all bets were off. Not that anyone knew of this fear; he’d rather die than divulge that embarrassing little tidbit.
“Might want to swallow some more poison, my boy,” the priest mumbled, his warm breath ghosting over Ryker’s neck. “This won’t be pleasant.”
It rarely was. Nor was it the first time he’d been stitched up in the church’s basement. His entire family had shed blood down there at one point or another—such was the cost of hunting the paranormal.
Since the Salem witch trials, the Church had been dedicated to eradicating darkness. Generation after generation, they’d put flame to witches, driven wood through vamps, pumped silver through the veins of werewolves. And century after century, Ryker’s family had been the Church’s weapon. Father to son, mother to daughter—each new generation took an oath to purge the world of evil.
More often than Ryker liked, it was his own family that died, murdered by that which they hunted. Stronger, faster and more bloodthirsty, these creatures held the upper hand. His father had fallen ten years ago, his mother six. And yet, Ryker still thought himself lucky. Not one of his brothers had yet to fall. The Bennetts might not have had their parents anymore, but they still had each other.
Tonight, however, he could have been the first. The notion hit home, and for one wavering moment, Ryker wondered how his life might have gone were he not a hunter. Would he have found his happiness with Jenna?
A pinch sundered his thoughts, and, wincing, his gaze dropped to Father Stewart’s hand, watching as the suture sealed the ribboned mess of his shoulder. Feeling green, he diverted his eyes and focused instead on the flickering candle resting next to the window.
“Tell me, my boy, how did this come about?” Father Stewart murmured, his voice low with concentration.
Ryker shrugged, his chin jerking to the side as he fought back a sudden wave of pain.
Idiot
, he berated himself,
hold still.
Father Stewart’s eyes flicked up, his thin, gray brow arching. “Think of it as a confession,” his old friend teased.
Rough laughter broke free of Ryker’s throat, and, pinching the bridge of his nose, he nodded. “I let it distract me,” he conceded. “I broke the first rule in hunting—never let them trick you.”
Tugging on the thread, Father Stewart nodded. “And how did it manage to distract The Great Ryker?”
There was a second in which he debated revealing all. This man had been in Ryker’s life since he was a child first learning how to handle a sawed-off shotgun. He’d stood back with an appraising eye, watching as his future warriors trained.
But the words wouldn’t form. He couldn’t admit that the simple whisper of Jenna’s name had been enough to undo him. It was no secret how he’d felt for her—hell, after tonight, it seemed that even the paranormal community knew. Regardless, he just couldn’t confess that she still had him tied in knots.
“Not important,” Ryker finally whispered, averting his gaze. It wouldn’t happen again and that was all that mattered.
“All right,” the priest conceded, his fingers quickening as he tied off the stitch. “There.”
“Diagnosis, doc?” Ryker teased, tossing the old man a half-cocked grin when he rolled his eyes.
“I’m quite sure you’ll survive, and just in time for your blind date tonight.”
Swallowing, Ryker’s eyes dropped to his bloodstained shirt. Right, the date—the very last thing he was in the mood for.
He hated dating. The playful banter, the hidden innuendo, it all smacked of dishonesty and deception. But his brothers had insisted. They believed him to be on edge, and, for them, there was only one way to relieve such tension.
Grimacing, he raked a hand through his rumpled hair. So, maybe he had been a touch cranky lately—his family was in the middle of an all-out war against evil. And so what if he hadn’t slaked his need in over half a year? He still had his own two hands, and that was one relationship that couldn’t be destroyed. They were pleasantly skilled, and hardly ever demanded a postcoital snuggle.
As he began to devise a means of escaping the date, the door at the top of the stairwell creaked open, a flood of light bathing over a figure.
“Hey, little brother. There you are.”
Ryker stiffened, his heart sinking as he tipped his chin up to regard the eldest of the Bennett siblings. “Mason,” he mumbled, eyes flicking to the table of medical supplies. With a grim nod, the priest began to gather them up, quietly returning them to the kit while Ryker held Mason’s attention. “What are you doing here?”
“I think the better question is what are
you
doing here?” Mason asked, pausing midway down the stairs.
“I was just—”
“Getting stitched up, it would seem.” His brother’s narrowed gaze dropped to the tattered ruins of Ryker’s shirt, his jaw tensing with anger. “Been letting some darkling use you as a chew toy?”
Squaring his injured shoulder, Ryker drew to his full height. It’d been a long time since he’d let his older brother intimidate him; he wasn’t about to let him start again now. “Don’t worry about it, it’s taken care of.”
“That so?” Mason murmured, an appraising eye lingering on Ryker’s wound. “I take it you aren’t meeting Natalia tonight, then?”
A bark of laughter slipped past Ryker’s tight lips. “Looking like this?”
“It’s fine,” Mason replied with a light shrug. “Just means I get to take your place. Been looking for a little fun recently, anyways.”
“You’re incorrigible.” Ryker shook his head. “I’d say I expect better from you, but...”
A smile broke through the shadow darkening his brother’s face. “You don’t.”
“No, I don’t,” he repeated, chuckling softly. “Give her my regards.”
Waggling his brows, Mason leaned against the banister. “Oh, I’ll give her something.”
A disgusted sound rose from Ryker’s throat, his eyes fluttering shut. “In case you didn’t notice, that’s Father Stewart behind me.”
“I noticed,” Mason teased, still holding Ryker’s gaze. “Nice to see you again, Father.”
“Always a pleasure,” Father Stewart grunted at their backs, quite used to their banter.
“Well, enjoy your date.” Ryker was thankful his brother had stepped up. Right now, all he wanted was to take a hot shower, some painkillers and maybe a shot of whiskey to numb his nerves.
“A moment, please,” Mason appealed, his light touch falling on Ryker’s hale shoulder. “There’s something we should discuss.”
It was his sudden seriousness that brought Ryker still, his gaze jumping to his brother’s. Mason’s entire demeanor had shifted, his face thinning with concern.
“Something wrong?” Ryker questioned.
Mason’s slate eyes—a familial trait—dimmed as he cleared his throat. “We received another name tonight.”
Relief loosened Ryker’s shoulder. Just the family business was all. “All right,” he uttered, head bobbing as he waited for the rest of the intel.
“Wes and I have decided to give you first dibs on this one. If you choose not to take this job, no one’s going to hold it against you, all right? I just want you to know that.”
Ryker’s brow furrowed. “Please. When have I ever rejected a job?”
“I know.” Mason sighed. “I know. But I really want you to think about this. Any one of us would be willing—”
“Mason, tell me what’s going on,” Ryker demanded. His brother was rarely so awkward. This dodging and refusal to explain set Ryker’s teeth on edge.
The names came from the Church. Any of the holy men within the stone walls could deliver them. Where
they
acquired them, Ryker hadn’t a clue. His family simply followed their instructions, ridding the world of creatures that got their kicks from tormenting humans. It wasn’t the first time any of them had been handed an assignment and it would hardly be the last. Which begged the question: what had upset his brother?
Mason rubbed at his square jaw, senseless evasions tumbling from his lips.
“Mason,” Ryker growled. “Just tell me. Stop skirting around—”
“It’s Jenna,” his brother bit out.
