Authors: Nancy Holder,Debbie Viguie
The Damned (50 page)
“Ay, no,”
Antonio whispered, gazing at her. “I would never leave you.”
Antonio stroked her cheek with his thumb, and she closed her eyes, leaning into the touch. Calloused, velvet. When his lips brushed hers, she returned the kiss with a sob. She threw her arms around his neck and clung to him. His lips were soft and yielding against hers, and the taste of him mixed with the faint metallic flavor of the blood in her mouth.
Leaning against Antonio, she whimpered, wanting more. Then, suddenly, he
was
gone.
Jenn opened her eyes and saw Antonio hunched over a few feet away, eyes glowing and fangs protruding. Eriko strode up beside Jenn, a thick stake clasped in her hand. One throw and she could kill him.
“Estoy bien,”
Antonio growled deep in his throat. He wiped something dark off of his lips and onto his black cargo pants.
Her blood.
“Eriko, I’m all right,” he said in English.
His deep voice always made Jenn shiver, but with fear or desire she was never quite sure. Sometimes when they were kissing she would forget, just for a moment, all that kept them apart.
Antonio was a vampire.
She forced herself to take a good look: the gleaming teeth, the hungry, feral look that had crept into his eyes, the way the muscles in his face contorted as he tried to overcome his bloodlust. He didn’t like her to see it, but she needed to. She needed to remember so that she could protect herself—and him.
Some vampires claimed to be able to control their cravings, but Antonio de la Cruz was the only one she had ever met who could actually manage it. Years of meditation, study, and prayer had given him the strength he needed. Or so he claimed.
But deep inside Jenn knew that every moment they spent together was eroding that strength. One day he wouldn’t pull away, and then she would have to kill him. If she could. Or one of the other hunters would. Like Eriko. Or Jamie—
“Good,” Eriko said. “One down.” But she didn’t lower the stake. Muscular and petite, Eriko was a couple of years younger and a couple of inches shorter than Jenn. When they had graduated from the academy two months before, Eriko had been chosen from their class to receive the sacred elixir that bequeathed astounding speed and strength. The elixir was so difficult to make, there was only enough for one Hunter, capital
H.
Their leader.
“Antonio killed one too,” Jenn said.
Eriko raised a brow and glanced at Antonio, who nodded. His face was returning to normal. “There were only three, right? We’re nearly done.”
“Three’s what we were told,” Jenn said, relaxing only slightly. She pulled out her garlic salve and quickly applied it to her cheek and lip.
Eriko sighed and pressed the fingertips of her free hand against the spiky stubble of her hair. “The villagers might have miscounted. It wouldn’t be the first time that happened.”
Jenn swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, Eriko,” she said. “I didn’t back you up.”
Eriko shrugged. “You don’t have the power I do, Jenn. You did fine.”
But Jenn knew she hadn’t. She had panicked. She’d been more worried about Antonio than anyone else, including herself.
Eriko looked past her to Antonio. “Antonio, on the other hand . . .”
“He was burned,” Jenn said, angry and defensive at the implication. “Look at his hands.”
“Bloody hell, that was all arseways,” a familiar voice fumed. Jenn turned as two figures approached. One was tall, with a nearly shaved head and heavy tattoos on his arms and neck, which made him look like a demon in the firelight. The turtleneck he had been wearing was gone, and only an undershirt remained. That was Jamie O’Leary.
For once the girl at his side didn’t disagree. From her black battle clothes—padded jacket, leggings, thigh-high boots—to her white-blond rasta braids, to the silver crescent-moon ring on her thumb, Skye York was covered with soot except where tears had cut paths down her pale cheeks.
Skye made circles in the air with her hand while muttering an incantation with the Latin refrain
“desino.”
Cease. One by one the fires in her vicinity were extinguished.
“Cursers all dead?” Jamie asked, gazing around. He looked at Antonio. “The ones we’re
allowed
to kill?” he added pointedly.
“There’s one more,” Eriko said. “I got one, Antonio got one, and that leaves—”
“None,” Jamie interrupted. “I got one on my way out of the church.” He showed them his singed palms. “Staked him through the back with a piece of burning timber. It was good and long and caught him in the heart.”
“That’s great; we’re done, then,” Eriko said, grinning at her fighting partner. Jamie grinned back, clearly relishing that both of them had managed kills. They hadn’t been near each other when the church went up in flame, but they had still caused the most damage. Energy practically sizzled between the two. They did seem to belong together, somehow.
After fasting, praying, and working magicks, Father Juan had matched them into fighting pairs, insisting that each fulfilled some complicated balance of yin and yang, light and dark.
Strength and weakness.
Jenn was paired with Antonio, much to her relief. Eriko and Jamie were matched, and they pushed each other hard and themselves harder. Skye and Holgar were the third pair, and they had a quiet closeness with each other that was enviable.
Like Jenn, Jamie had no special gifts or powers. But his ferocity and the fighting skills drilled into him by his family during his childhood in Belfast more than made up for it.
Eriko seemed unaware of the way Jamie looked at her. . . . It went beyond a Hunter-hunter relationship. It must have been obvious to Skye, too, as she turned away to concentrate on her incantations. Their gothy witch carried a torch for Jamie, and Jamie had no clue. Jenn wasn’t sure if the other team members knew, or if she was the only one who had figured it out. She felt both sorry for Skye and, frankly bewildered, because Jamie was a jerk. He made no secret of his desire to be elsewhere; he didn’t even believe that there should be a team of hunters. Jamie was only there because Father Juan had asked him to stay in Salamanca and serve the cause. If it hadn’t been for his deeply ingrained loyalty to his church, Jenn was sure that even Jamie’s attraction to Eriko wouldn’t be enough to keep him from going home.
Finished with her incantation for the fires, Skye gendy touched Jamie’s palms, and his skin began to heal. Her delicate face nearly glowed as she infused him with her nurturing energy. Jamie sighed with pleasure but said nothing.
Skye turned next to Antonio. Moving into position while the sun was still up had weakened his system. He held out his hands, palms up, and Skye moved her hands over them and whispered in ancient Latin. Jenn felt herself relax slightly She hated it when Antonio came close to fire. Fire was one of the few things that could kill a vampire. Vampires could also be killed by sunlight, a wooden stake through the heart, and decapitation.
“How many dead,
brujita
?” Antonio asked softly, calling Skye “little witch,” as he flexed his fingers. “Villagers?”
Skye shook her head, her rasta braids swaying down her back. “At least fifty. When the fires started, the vampires killed the first few people who tried to escape the burning buildings. The rest were so afraid . . .” Her voice broke.
“Some of them stayed inside their homes and burned to death,” Jenn bitterly finished for her, sick knots twisting her stomach. “Then we failed.”
Eriko shook her head. “No one would be alive if we hadn’t come.”
“And about that,” Jamie said, spitting into the dirt. “How the bloody hell did they know—”
“Where’s Holgar?” Skye asked, glancing around for her fighting partner.
“Fried, extra crispy if we’re lucky,” Jamie muttered.
“Sorry to say it, Irish, but my ears weren’t burned off,” Holgar quipped, limping toward the group. His clothes hung in tatters from his body. Gaping wounds on his chest and legs had already begun to scab over. Holgar’s hands were bloodied, though whether it was his or someone else’s, Jenn couldn’t tell.
Jamie swore under his breath, but Jenn only could make out “. . . bloody werewolf.”
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