Hunter's Fall (8 page)

Read Hunter's Fall Online

Authors: Shiloh Walker

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

BOOK: Hunter's Fall
7.47Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
Nessa sighed. “I know.”
CHAPTER 4
 
T
UCKED inside a warm, soft bed, Nessa rolled onto her side and clutched a pillow to her chest.
She was back at Excelsior.
She’d been at the school for three days—something she hadn’t had much choice in. During the fight in Chicago, she’d collapsed. If it wasn’t for Malachi, she would have died there. Part of her couldn’t quite manage to be glad for that fact.
Not just yet. Maybe not ever.
Outside her rooms, she could hear the low murmur of voices, sense the rush of life. Her shields were shot, and everything just felt too intense. She couldn’t block a soul out to save her life.
She was far too weak, far too vulnerable just yet.
Closing her eyes, she reached up and touched the smooth skin where she’d been bitten. Kelsey had healed her, good and fast, but Nessa didn’t remember. According to the other witch, she’d spent the first forty-eight hours unconscious.
She’d woken in this room to find herself healed, bathed and dressed in a long, cotton nightshirt. It resembled the chemises she’d worn for much of her life, gathered at the neck and hanging to her ankles. The first thing she’d done when she woke up was tear the damn thing off.
She’d made the mistake of looking at the mirror and it had been like being flung back into time.
It was an ugly, awful irony that Morgan’s former body bore a striking resemblance to Nessa’s. The shape of the eyes were a bit different, and her hair was blond now rather than brown, but the differences were so slight they could have been sisters—nearly twins.
Seeing herself in that chemise and wearing a face that looked far too much like the one from her youth had been too much.
Now she had echoes of Elias’s voice in her mind, the low, rough sound of his laughter, the heated whispers in her ear as he made love to her. The tormented, awful rasp of his voice as he lay dying in her arms.
My Nessa . . .
Only God Himself could keep me from you.
Pain wrapped around her heart and squeezed. It poisoned her, darkened everything and stole the breath from her lungs.
Closing her eyes, she buried her face against the pillow and whispered, “Please, just let me rest. Please . . .”
 
 
K
ELSEY stood outside the door, her hand frozen just inches from the door. She’d been about to knock, but then a wave of pain had threatened to send her to her knees.
Helplessly, she turned toward Malachi and rested her head against his chest.
“What’s wrong, sweet?” he whispered, stroking his hand up her spine.
She shook her head, unable to explain the maelstrom of pain coming from Nessa’s room.
“Kelsey,” Malachi said, his voice low, rough.
Lifting her head, she looked at him. In his midnight blue eyes, she saw the warning. If she didn’t explain, he’d go look for himself. Sighing, she rested a hand on his chest and lowered her shields, projected some of the pain she felt from Nessa.
It hit him like a sledgehammer. She watched as he stumbled back a step before righting himself. She cut the flow off and took his hand, guiding him away from Nessa’s room.
They had their own quarters, tucked in the east wing—or rather,
under
the east wing of Excelsior—and that was where her footsteps led her. Once inside their bedroom, she curled up in a chair and hugged herself, watching while Malachi started to pace.
“What in the hell are we supposed to do?” he finally bit off, turning to stare at her. Fury and worry warred in his eyes.
Kelsey understood completely. “I don’t know.” She sighed and rested her head against the padded back of the chair. Closing her eyes, she muttered, “I just don’t know. But she can’t survive with that kind of pain inside her, Mal. It’s going to drive her mad.”
“I think it already has.” He laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “You didn’t see how weak she was, sweet. If I hadn’t seen her, I never would have believed it, and yet she plunged feetfirst into a fight with a couple of ferals. She passed out—right in the bloody middle.”
She’d heard this already. Several times. But she said nothing. If she was shocked just to hear it, she couldn’t imagine the shock it had given him to watch.
Nessa was courting death too closely these days.
“How can we help her?”
Kelsey opened her eyes and stared at her husband. It broke her heart, in so many ways. Just to see him look so confused, just to feel how helpless he felt—this was
Malachi
. The oldest of them all. He went where angels feared to tread and did it with a laugh. There was nothing he couldn’t handle . . . or so it would seem.
He couldn’t handle this, though. And she didn’t have any idea what to say to him, how to help him. She didn’t know how to help Nessa, one of her dearest friends.
Quietly, she said, “I don’t think we can.” Rising, she crossed the floor to stand in front him. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she rested her head against his chest. She sighed as his cool body began to warm from the contact. He ran his lips down her neck. Cupping the back of his head, she tipped her head to the side and pressed him close.
They both hurt. They both worried. After so many years alone, it seemed as natural as breathing to press herself closer and take comfort in his nearness.
She wasn’t alone any longer.
Neither of them was.
He nuzzled her neck then sank his fangs into her. Kelsey shivered as heat danced through her veins. She could feel his mouth drawing against her flesh, feel his cool body warm. The tension in the air grew thick, hot, wrapping around them.
When he pulled away, she groaned, instinctively trying to draw him back to her, but it was too late. He licked the small wounds at her neck and she felt the faint tingle as her body healed it. Lifting her head, she stared up at him and trailed her fingers across his mouth. She needed him. She needed the strength of him, the warmth of their love. The comfort they could offer each other.
“Take me to bed,” she murmured softly.
Malachi’s dark, midnight eyes glowed. He lifted a long-fingered hand and cupped her cheek. “You have students and teachers awaiting you, pet.”
She reached between them, stroking him through his jeans. “I don’t care.”
“Well, then.” A smile curled his lips and he lifted her into his arms.
 
 
B
ECAUSE she knew she’d come too close to death, Nessa didn’t leave the school the minute she had the strength to climb out of her bed.
She should have felt at home here. After all, she’d taught in this school for many, many years . . . back in that other life.
That other life.
She smiled without humor. She could break her life into two parts now . . . no, three.
Life with Elias. Life after Elias. And now . . . life after death.
Nessa didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to be around another soul—not a friend, not a student. Nobody. She couldn’t risk it. Another loss would destroy her.
Where’s your strength now, you stupid old bitch?
The sly, insulting whisper of Morgan’s voice stirred something inside her, the first embers of anger, selfdisgust. Something. But she couldn’t very well get angry, now could she?
After all, the girl wasn’t wrong.
Nessa’s strength was gone. She couldn’t find that strength again, and she didn’t want to.
She just wanted oblivion and if she couldn’t have that, then she wanted peace and solitude.
If she was alone, then she wouldn’t come to care about anybody again and if she didn’t come to care, she wouldn’t be shattered by another loss.
“Too many losses,” she murmured to herself. Far too many.
As her strength slowly returned, so did lucidity. Clear thoughts weren’t particularly welcome, but she had to face the facts. She couldn’t keep doing this to herself. Even if she didn’t particularly want to live, she didn’t want her friends to pay the price, and sooner or later, that would happen if she kept to this road.
Kelsey visited often, using books, movies and bribes of French chocolate and plum wine to draw Nessa out of her shell. As fond as Nessa was of her shell, though, she let her friend coax her outside.
As little as she cared for her own neck, for her own life, she did still care for her friends and she was tired of making them worry.
Within a week, her energy was back.
Thanks to the food they’d been pushing on her, she’d put on a few pounds.
And her mind was all too clear. That was the bothersome part about taking care of herself. It was harder to avoid thinking about things.
Memories taunted her, and the ever-present Morgan renewed her assault with glee.
She was tempted—for the first time since she’d realized that the bitch had taken to haunting her—to tell somebody else about her hitchhiker, see if anybody might have a clue how to get rid of the annoying ghost.
But she didn’t. If she seriously put her mind to it, she could probably think of a way to rid herself of Morgan.
It’s a sad thing in life when one hesitates to rid oneself of an enemy. But if nothing else, Morgan was a constant in Nessa’s life.
“How low I’ve sunk,” she whispered, staring off into nothingness. She tolerated the presence of a murdering ghost, just because it meant she wasn’t alone inside her head.
The irony wasn’t lost on her.
 
 
S
HE came awake to hear the high-pitched chatter of laughter and she groaned, rolling onto her stomach. She tugged the pillow over her head and tried to block out the sound of the students, but to no avail. She’d left the blasted window open the night before, forgetting that the students resumed their studies today.
For the past week, it had been relatively quiet. The students had been on spring break, but now the time for quiet was over. School was back in session.
Kicking her legs over the edge of the bed, she rose and stormed to the window, half tempted to mutter a spell that would darken the room again. She could pretend it was still nightfall.
Staring out the window, she watched them. They were laughing amongst themselves. A few were griping about an assignment they’d failed to do over the break. Others were loitering here and there, with that feigned air of apathy teenagers had long since perfected.
Across the broad expanse of green grass, Nessa could see the front steps of the school. Kelsey was there, along with some of the other instructors. They spoke to the children, answered questions and waved the students on when they lingered too long.
On the surface, it looked like most any other school. That was exactly what the mortal world saw—a school for the gifted and troubled.
Gifted
meaning
highly capable
, though, since naturally the mortal world didn’t tend to think in terms of witches, shapeshifters or vampires.
And Excelsior was a damn fine school—it provided a top-notch education, one of the finest private educations money could buy. It provided that . . . and a lot more. Many, though not all, of the students had no family to guide them through the training needed to attain control of their gifts.
Once the sun set, a new set of students would emerge from the secured, safe rooms under the school—the newly Changed vampires—there to learn control over their bloodthirst.
Excelsior was small. No fewer than two hundred minor students and maybe half as many adult students. A little world, isolated from the rest of mankind.
Nessa closed the window and jerked the heavy curtains into place. Turning, she stared at her room. She dismissed the bed without even looking at it. There was no way she could rest now. A headache pounded behind her eyes.
There was a neat stack of books on the little table near the window. Yet another offering from Kelsey. Depressed and tired, Nessa moved to the chair and sank down. She blew out a breath and glanced at the paperback on top. A pretty girl, dressed all in black. She flipped it open and saw another image just inside. The same girl, this time with a man. They stood close, not quite embracing.
Blood roared in Nessa’s ears as she stared at the man. Black coat, worn open over a bare chest, the long ends of it flapping about his legs.
Nessa’s hands trembled. Her heart began to slam against her ribs.
Dark hair . . . a strong jaw. She couldn’t see his face well, but her imagination was quite content to fill in the void. In her mind’s eye, she could see him.
Her dream lover . . .
The book fell from her slack hands, but she didn’t notice.
His face. There was something about his face . . . then the image faded away—or perhaps
she
faded . . . into the image, for the girl was no longer there. It was him. He lifted his head, staring at her. His face—almost too pretty for a man.

Other books

The Secret Box by Whitaker Ringwald
The Lost Continent by Bill Bryson
The Broken Sword by Molly Cochran
Black Jack by Rani Manicka
Third Strike by Zoe Sharp
Come Lie With Me by Linda Howard
End of the Line by David Ashton
Extensis Vitae by Gregory Mattix