Hunter's Fall (9 page)

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Authors: Shiloh Walker

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

BOOK: Hunter's Fall
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You’re too pretty
, she’d told him.
Dark, velvety brown eyes.
Long-fingered hands . . . almost elegant.
Her heart skipped a beat as her imagination kicked into overdrive. He was touching her and she was helpless as he lifted a hand to cup her cheek, angling her head back.
Tears burned her eyes.
Just before he would have kissed her, she flung herself out of the chair, landing in a heap on the floor.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. She couldn’t do this. She’d refused to let herself dream of him in the past year, refused to let herself take comfort in his presence. In those dreams, she’d felt almost happy . . . and she couldn’t be happy. Would never truly be happy and having it in her dreams, only in her dreams was just too much.
Too painful.
“No,” she whispered again, shuddering.
The spell was shattered and Nessa found herself on her hands and knees, staring at the book. It lay just inches from her hands.
Swearing, she shoved upright and kicked it away. It ended up under the bed, but she didn’t bother retrieving it.
Nessa cast a look around the room.
Enough.
She’d had enough.
“Damn it.” She shoved a hand through her hair, fisted it in the blond strands. She jerked at it, hoping the light tug would help clear her mind, but it did nothing.
Her head ached, her heart ached.
Confusion and chaos reigned inside her.
All from a bloody picture on a damned book.
And she was so fucking
tired
of it. So tired.
“I’m stronger than this,” she muttered. Slowly, she turned and stared into the mirror hanging over the fireplace.
She
was
stronger than this.
“By God, it’s time I started acting like it then, isn’t it?” Lifting her face upward, she gathered her magic, and in moments, she was gone, letting it carry her away.
CHAPTER 5
 
“
I
’M not doing very well, darling.”
Nessa was talking to a stone angel.
The marble headstone held Mei-Lin’s name, her date of birth and the day she died. Such a short time she’d walked this earth. Seventeen years, to the day.
Below the dates there was an angel, etched into the marble with amazing delicacy. Brushing her fingers over the wings, Nessa said, “I’d be ashamed if you could see me now, what I’ve become.”
There was no answer, but she hadn’t expected one.
The past week had passed with startling, unpleasant clarity. Ever since she’d left Excelsior, she’d been all too sane, all too aware. She hated it, and some part of her yearned for the oblivion of the past year. She hardly remembered much of it. It was a vague, hazy blur, one she longed to find again.
But it wouldn’t be so easy this time.
Grimacing, she touched her neck. The skin beneath her fingers was smooth, unscarred, no sign of the nasty bite that could have killed her—it likely would have, if she were human.
Or if God had any intention of letting her die.
Damn Malachi for saving her. Damn her own hide for collapsing and giving him the opportunity to get her to Excelsior.
Just being at the school had reminded her. She knew who she was. She knew what she was meant to do with her life. Finding her own death wasn’t in the plan, no matter how much she longed for it.
Pushing her hair back from her face, she stared off into the night. It was past midnight. The cemetery was closed and she wasn’t supposed to be here right now.
Not that she cared. Nessa didn’t listen to or follow rules that kept her from doing what she wanted. If she wanted to visit a loved one’s grave, why couldn’t she do it at whatever hour she chose?
The mild spring breeze teased her hair, carrying with it the scent of rain and blooming flowers. It smelled of life, and of new death. Why did people always feel the need to offer flowers to their dead?
“I can’t keep going like this, can I, darling?” Nessa stroked the marble headstone and then pushed herself to her feet.
Tucking her hands in her pockets, she said, “I think it’s time I say good-bye.”
Since Mei-Lin’s death, Nessa had made it habit to come visit her grave as often as possible. She’d done it in part because she wasn’t ready to let the girl go, but also because she wanted to remind herself—punish herself. Using the pain, deliberately inflicting it upon herself, like jabbing a needle into an open wound.
Logically, Nessa knew there was nothing she could have done to save Mei-Lin. It had been an accident—a horrible, terrible accident in which four young women lost their lives.
She needed to let the girl go, and she needed to let go of her grief. She rested a hand on the headstone. “I’m sorry, Mei-Lin, so sorry. You should have grown up, found a man who looks like Daniel Day-Lewis and lived happily ever after. I’ll miss you, darling. But I need to let you go.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks and she wiped them away.
“Good-bye.” She turned on her heel and strode away from the stone, refusing to look back, no matter how much she wanted to.
There was one more good-bye she needed to make.
One more dream to kill.
Once she was out of the cemetery and away from any prying electronic eyes, she lifted her face to the sky and called her magic.
It carried her away, sweeping her across miles and miles, over land and ocean. It was nearing dawn when her feet alit on the ground.
She breathed the air in, filled her lungs with the scent of the forest—trees, moss, the morning dew. She stared around her, amazed to realize she barely recognized the place. Centuries had passed since she’d seen this bit of land. No sign of Oneoak remained and logically, she hadn’t expected to see anything of the long-gone village.
Even the trees were different. The land. Peering up at the sky, she searched for something that she recognized. But there was nothing.
Swallowing the knot in her throat, she started to walk.
Although the land no longer seemed familiar, she knew where he rested. She could have found his grave had she been forced to stumble blindfolded through a snowstorm.
There was nothing to identify it. No marker, no stone. But she knew. Deep inside, she knew. Settling on the ground next to his grave, she rested a hand on the earth and said, “Hello, lover.”
 
 
H
ELLO, lover . . .
It was a bad time to get distracted. Dominic barely managed to evade the werewolf’s clawed hand, aimed straight for his throat.
The woman’s voice echoed in his ears and he scowled, blocking it out of his head.
Not now. Can’t lose my mind right now
.
No way could he afford to get distracted right then. He wasn’t fighting alone—Sheila, one of his fellow Hunters and his best friend’s wife, was with him. If she got hurt because he couldn’t pull his head out of his ass, he’d never forgive himself for as long as he lived. And that wouldn’t be very long.
Rafe would kill him.
Gripping his knife, he waited until the werewolf came at him and ducked under the strike, using the wolf’s speed to his advantage and driving them both to the ground. He plunged his knife deep, and the stink of burning meat filled the air.
The heart—had to destroy the heart. He twisted the knife, making sure the wolf was completely and utterly dead before he shoved himself upright. The dead body was changing back to his natural state, revealing a middle-aged, slightly plump man, his body nude.
Dominic lunged for the other wolf just as the creature went to belt Sheila. Judging by the bruises on her face, she’d already taken quite a beating. Oh, yeah. Rafe was going to have his hide. He wrapped his arm around the wolf’s neck and pressed—unlike vampires, werewolves did still need to breathe, and Dom used his strength to choke the wolf into submission.
“Don’t kill him,” Sheila warned. “Rafe wants to know where the rest are holed up.”
Dom grunted as the were tried to smash his head backward. “Maybe he could save us the trouble and just tell me now.”
“Go fuck . . . your . . .” The were gasped, struggling to breathe. “. . . self.”
Dom grinned. “Be nice. There’s a lady present. Tell us where the rest of them are and you can die nice and fast.”
“Fuck off.” He tried to drive an elbow backward.
“Fine. Have it your way—the Master will get it out of you if he has to bleed you one drop at a time.” He squeezed tighter, tighter, until he felt the wolf go slack. He held another minute or so and then he let the unconscious sorry bastard fall to the ground. Reaching for the reinforced silver cuffs at his belt, he gave Sheila a narrow look.
“Well, that was fun,” Sheila said, her face pink and her eyes gleaming at him despite the bruising around her left eye.
Normally, Dominic would have stared at her and laughed. She was black-and-blue, and that was her idea of fun? But just then, he heard another whisper.
It’s long past time that I do this.
What
. . . ? He staggered, all but swamped by a wave of misery—
her
misery. His woman . . . his witch. Pressing the heel of his hand to his temple, he braced the other against the brick wall nearby, barely aware of Sheila’s odd, worried gaze. “Hey . . . you okay?”
No. No, he wasn’t.
He was hearing
her
voice again. He could hear her. Clear as day. Clear as a bell. Like she was standing right next to him, murmuring in his ear.
Past time she do what?
he thought, half panicked. He was so focused on her, on her voice, he wasn’t aware of anything, of
anybody
else.
I have to let you go. All these years, I waited for death . . . knowing I’d finally be with you, and now, death has denied me. I’m not meant to find you.
The hell she wasn’t—he wanted to scream. To snarl in sheer frustration. Over a
dream
. Over a woman who didn’t even exist.
The blood roared in his ears. Dimly, he heard Sheila shouting his name. Heard the scrabble of claws on concrete. There was a howl.
Danger—danger—
His body tried to scream the warning at him, but he was lost, caught in the spell of his woman’s voice as she continued to whisper inside his head.
I don’t know why. But I’m not. So I need to let you go.
Good-bye, my love . . .
His heart no longer beat that much, but it still functioned and as her voice echoed in his mind, Dominic felt a tearing pain, unlike anything he’d ever known.
Unlike anything he had ever imagined. It was worse than the pain he’d gone through when he Changed. It was worse than the sickening, terrifying nightmares that still haunted him—the nights he’d spent helpless as a feral Master toyed with him.
It was the worst pain he’d ever felt in his life and he went to his knees, unaware of Sheila, unaware of anything but
her
.
It was the pain of a heart shattering into a thousand pieces.
And then there was a very
real
pain—the pain of his own blade, cutting deep, deep into him. The pain of it was enough of a shock to force him out of whatever spell held him captive, and he stumbled backward and saw Sheila struggling with the wolf he’d neglected to restrain. Blood splattered across her face and her eyes glowed. As his blood gushed out of him, too much, too fast, he heard another whisper.
Good-bye, my love . . .
 
 
“
S
o what did her voice sound like?”
It was a full twenty-four hours later, and Dominic was still trying to get past the ache in his heart. It was worse than the pain from the slowly healing wound in his gut, worse than
anything
.
Good-bye, my love
. . .
He’d collapsed into a healing sleep not long after the other Hunters had arrived on the scene, but even that had provided no respite from the haunting echo of her voice. Hell, even now, facing a very disgruntled Master, all he could think about was
her
.
“Dom?”
Dominic surged out of the chair with such speed it toppled back behind him, falling to the floor with a clatter. Shooting a dark look at Rafe, he ground out, “I don’t know—a woman’s voice. Sounded English. I’ve never heard it in my life.”
At least not awake
, he thought bitterly. Her voice was eerily, haunting familiar, but he knew, as sure as he knew his own name, he’d never spoken with this woman, never heard her whisper his name in the night, never held her in his arms while they slept.
“Can you be more specific? Is she young? Old?” Rafe asked, his black brow rising. There was a certain amount of skepticism on his face.

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