Hunter's Rise (10 page)

Bobby’s fear of Toronto worked to keep him in line and right now, it might work to help get some information about Pulaski if there was any to be found.

Toronto made it to the bar without Bobby scenting him. If the lesser wolf had caught his scent, Bobby would have been half-mad with fear.

But the second Toronto pushed through the door, the game was up.

They were the only non-mortals in there and although Toronto could mask his presence pretty damn well, Bobby was a werewolf— weak, but still were.

At a table off in the corner, Bobby sat rigidly, eyes on the floor.

Gazes skittered toward Toronto and then away. Unlike Bobby, they didn’t know what he was. They just recognized trouble. He ignored everybody in there, including the pseudoboys dancing on the stage. They’d be legal, he knew. Probably just
barely
legal, but barely was enough— it had to be.

Sauntering toward Bobby, he caught the back of a chair and gave it a glance before he sat down. “Your taste in entertainment hasn’t improved, Bobby,” he said.

Bobby ducked his head, hunching in on himself.

Toronto leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, staring at the top of Bobby’s bowed head. “You been being good?”

“Yes.” It was a high, tight whisper. “I… I swear. I come here. I have— well, a friend. It works.”

“A friend.” Toronto checked the air. The wolf wasn’t lying. “How old is the friend?”

“Twenty. He works here. This is how we met.”

Still being honest. Good enough. Still, he couldn’t let Bobby think he was getting complacent. Laying a hand on the table, he did a minor shift. Judging by the way Bobby’s scent changed— sour, acrid fear— the other man could see Toronto’s altered hand just fine and he didn’t like the look of the elongated fingers, the black claws. It was a freaky sight— that was the whole point.

“Look at me, Bobby.”

As the other man lifted his head, Toronto smiled. “You remember what I said I’d do to you if I even
thought
you were going to slip, right?”

“Yes…” Bobby blinked his eyes rapidly, trying not cry.

“You’re not going to slip. Are you?”

“No.”

“Good.” Pulling the wolf back inside, his hand reformed, shaping itself back into a human one— it was like water flowing over his skin. Bones popped, breaking as they realigned. It wasn’t a painless process, but he took it without blinking or looking away from Bobby. It was part of what made him a Master were— that ability to change at will, to think past that pain, to handle those minor shifts. “Now. Let’s chat.”

Bobby blinked. “Ch… chat?” The words came out a bare squeak.

“Yeah.” Slumping in the chair, Toronto reached inside his coat, pulling out a picture. He threw it down on the table. Even touching it made him want to vomit. “Know this guy?”

Bobby went white. “I had nothing to do with anything he did, Master, I swear. I—”

Master
—hell. That annoyed him. It wasn’t a title given just out of fear. It came with responsibilities— responsibilities too close to those Rafe carried. And while Rafe might be the local paranormal badass, he wasn’t wolf. Toronto was. Here, the wolves bowed to him, whether he wanted it or not.

He lifted a hand and Bobby’s chatter cut off in midstream. “I didn’t ask if you had anything to do with it. If you had, I’d already know, and you’d already be scraping up your guts off the floor in hell.” He flashed Bobby an ugly smile. “I look forward to the day I can send you there. But that’s not why I’m here. I want to know if you
know
him.”

“I…” Bobby’s eyes wheeled around and he leaned forward. “If I talk to you in here, and they see, nobody will let me back in.”

Toronto leaned forward as well. “And if you don’t talk to me, I’m going to reach under the table and slice your balls off, right here and now. They’ll grow back before the paramedics even hit Beale Street, but you’ll hurt like a bitch. Then I’ll do it again, and again, until you tell me what I need to know.”

A panicked whine escaped Bobby’s throat and a faint glow sparked in his eyes. Fear rolled from him in waves.

“Oh, please.” Toronto rested his chin on his fist. “Do it. The moon was just yesterday— you probably have enough juice in you if you get scared. And if you lose control in here, I can finally kill you— can’t have you being a danger and all.”

Bobby wilted, his head falling forward to hit the table. “You’re such a bastard, Toronto. Don’t you get it? I
need
this place. It…” He paused, swallowed. “It keeps me in control. I can’t lose it.”

A bastard…
He should have been pissed. He could kill this pussy in under three seconds and the werewolf still had the nerve to call him a bastard. But he heard the naked desperation, sensed it. Maybe Bobby did need this.

Maybe it kept him from going back to what he’d almost been.

Years ago, after his attack, Bobby had found his… urges… strengthened. He’d always liked his lovers young and pretty, but the Change intensified
everything
, it seemed, and it had done the same to Bobby’s preferences. Young and pretty wasn’t enough, not unless they were
too
young.

Toronto had found him outside a middle school. The lust coming off of him had been strong, but he hadn’t done anything. Toronto had watched. Had waited. Had stalked.

But Bobby hadn’t broken— he’d fought it. So Toronto let him live. He’d never once tried to cross that line. After Toronto put the fear of God, death and blood into the weak wolf’s mind, the wolf had stopped doing the shit that was playing havoc with his faulty control and
tried
to get better. Fear was apparently his motivator.

And this place was Bobby’s release valve.

Stroking his tongue along his teeth, Toronto made a decision. In a voice so low no mortal could hope to hear it, he said, “You’ve got my number. In ten minutes, you’re to leave here. You’re to call me. You’re to tell me every
fucking
thing you know. And if you don’t, I suggest you go kiss your pretty little toy good-bye, because in twelve minutes, I’ll be back and I’ll kill you. There won’t even be skin left when I’m done with you— do you hear me?”

Bobby nodded morosely. “I hear.”

“Good.” Rising, he shoved back from the chair, letting the infamous edge of his temper show through. “You sorry little shit— I ought to beat you into the ground. Tell me, damn it.”

This time, he raised his voice so that everybody could hear.

Bobby glanced up— surprise flickering in his eyes, followed quickly by understanding. Then… relief. Before it could morph into anything else, Toronto snarled at him silently, flashing teeth and letting his wolf gleam in his eyes. He wasn’t doing this for Bobby— it was to prevent any future victims. If Bobby truly did
need
this place, Toronto wasn’t cutting off that need.

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know,” Bobby said. The stink of the lie flooded the air around them, but nobody else would have been able to tell.

“You expect me to believe that?” He glanced around, his gaze lingering on the stage where a couple of the dancers hesitated before continuing their routines. He had all sorts of attention now. That was fine. “You sick bastards all seem to flock together, from what I can tell. You all like them pretty and young.
Too
young.”

“Everybody here is legal,” Bobby said, that whine slipping into his voice once more.

“Legal.” He sneered once more, but this time, he directed it at the crowd, keeping any sign of fang and flashing eyes hidden. “Maybe legal— they just pretend otherwise.”

Shaking his head, he turned on his heel and stalked out the door. Once he was outside, he pulled his phone out. He figured it would be roughly seven minutes before Bobby left the club. If he left right away, it would be
too
suspicious. If he waited much longer, he’d be pushing it too close. Bobby was many things, but he wasn’t stupid.

E

The little strip joint off Beale Street appealed to those with seriously weird tastes. She wasn’t sure of the
best way to approach anybody just yet. The customers, the clients, they were all male. She couldn’t pass for male, no way, no how.

Blowing out a sigh, she moved along the sidewalk, studying the building, glancing down the alley that ran alongside it.
Hmmm.
She pursed her lips and pondered her options. An employee, possibly. Wait at the side door and…

Her skin prickled. A scent that made the hunger within her burn in her caught her nose.

Scowling, she jerked it under the choke chain of her control and skimmed her gaze along the crowd, searching for whoever had caught her attention. Then she did a double take— the one person that drew her gaze had just come striding through the doorway of the club.

That wrong sort of club, if she had any hope of filling this sudden, burning hunger.

Everything about him was long, it seemed.

Long, pale hair, worn pulled back in a queue. Long, lean face; long, lean body; long, almost poetic hands. She watched as he pulled out a phone and glanced at it before turning away from her and striding off down the street, moving with an eerie, unearthly grace.

Inhuman.

Animalistic.

Werewolf…

He sensed her in that exact moment, which surprised the hell out of her. Most vampires developed an unusual ability as they aged, and some developed several of them. Sylvia’s main skill was the ability to hide herself.

Vamps gave off vibes. She simply suppressed hers. It was a handy skill for a paid killer, especially since half of her targets were non-mortals.

But he’d still felt her.

He hid it well, but she felt his awareness all the same, heard the telltale quickening of his heart— it only lasted a few seconds before he controlled it. Impressive control, too. He moved out of the ebb and flow of people, and if she hadn’t been concentrating so completely on him, she never
would have seen him as he slid into the shadows, all but becoming one of them.

Oh, she did like how he moved.

Even people like them— the non-mortals— had to learn how to
move
like that and it wasn’t something that happened overnight, or even in a few weeks or months. He had that easy, sinuous grace of somebody who knew his body, knew his surroundings.

She could just barely see him now, standing still as death in the shadows. He shouldn’t be that hard to see, damn it. He was pale— he was a blond white dude, nice and tanned, but hell. He shouldn’t blend with the shadows so easily. He might as well be one of them. Nothing about him moved— he didn’t even seem to breathe, although she knew he needed to. Warm-blooded creatures still needed oxygen.

She made the bad mistake of looking into his eyes, and her breath caught. Blue. Soft, pale blue. Almost gentle. But there was nothing gentle about him. She knew that as well as she knew her name. Nothing gentle or soft.

And she appreciated that. She had no room for gentle or soft in her life, not even for a few moments. Sylvia wanted him— for those few moments.

Seconds ticked away as they stared at each other. Those seconds bled out into minutes and then a sour, acrid stink filled the air. Fear.
Musky
fear.

Resisting the urge to cover her nose, she searched the crowd from the corner of her eye and saw somebody else come out of the club just moments later. Another wolf. He didn’t move quite so well, and when he saw the other man, he stumbled to a halt for a brief second before he kept on moving.

The blond wolf continued to watch her. There was something about his gaze that unnerved her. A lot. Even as need clenched through her middle.

He continued to watch her and then abruptly, he winked. And turned away.

She might have gaped. But then she realized what he was doing. He was following the other guy.

Instinct demanded she do the same.

*  *  *

S

Damn it.

It was one thing to see a woman and
want
her. It was another to see a woman and feel like he had to have her… or die trying. Throw in the complications he had and Toronto had a mess all around.

She was quick, he had to give her that.

Sylvia James might not call Memphis home, but she had sure as hell arrowed in on the right area pretty damn fast.

Toronto couldn’t decide if he was irritated or amused as she started trailing him. She didn’t make much of an attempt to hide herself. There wouldn’t have been any point, and she probably knew that. Since he was already aware of her presence, hiding from him would be a lot like trying to hide an elephant in a ballroom full of world-class dancers.

Pointless, and a waste of time.